CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Brixton peeled back the lid on the crate and peered down at the sleek, limited edition, gold encased AK-47 nestled in a bed of straw. A useless thing for idiots who fancied themselves dangerous, but who the fuck needed a gold gun?

Douchebags.

But that wasn't my problem once the money cleared.

"Oh, she's such a beaut, isn't she?" the piece of shit crooned, reaching in and running a manicured finger across the gleaming barrel. "After the horrid and tragic month I've had, this does make things feel a little less horrible. But I must say I'm very impressed by your speedy delivery, Mr. Lacroix."

I said nothing from my end of the desk, my arms folded, watching the unwanted fucker in my home. "Hopefully impressed enough to keep to the arrangement in the future. I don't like my directions being ignored."

Brixton replaced the lid on the crate and faced me. "I do apologize. I was in the neighborhood—"

I pushed to my feet. "The next time you're in the neighborhood, keep driving."

The smile faded on Brixton's face. "That's rude. I considered us comrades."

I would have laughed if I had the patience. "I provided you with a service. Nothing more."

Despite being a grown man well into his fifties, Brixton pouted. "I don't believe that. We had a great connection, don't you think? We had that lovely conversation about doing business together."

My jaw clenched. "This is our business together, Mr. Brixton. You requested the delivery of a shipment and I obliged. Our business is concluded."

I could have proclaimed we were breaking up the way he peered at me with sadness in his murky eyes.

"I don't think that's necessary..."

I circled the desk to stand inches from the other man, pleased when he scuttled back a step. "What isn't necessary is you coming to my home in the middle of the night thinking you can." I rolled my tongue over my back molars. Not to subdue amusement, but to keep from falling into old habits and shooting the fucker in the face. I was a married man now and Naya would hear the shot and it might scare her. "This is your only warning." I shouldered past him and started for the door. "Next time, the conversation will end very differently. Have a good night, Mr. Brixton. Cyrus will show you off the property," I stated over my shoulder before leaving the room.

Vance was waiting just outside the office doors when I stepped into the hallway and immediately fell into step with me as I stalked towards the foyer where I assumed Naya was waiting for me.

She wasn't.

I faced the man at my side. "Where is she?"

For the first time in my life, I saw panic in the other man's eyes. "I went up. She didn't answer the door."

Not yet concerned, but definitely curious, I jogged up the stairs, taking them two at a time to the top. I got to her closed door in half a heartbeat.

I knocked.

"Blue?"

Silence.

I knocked harder.

"Sweetheart, you ready?"

At the continued quiet, I reached for the knob. It jiggled in my hand but caught.

Locked.

Concern finally settled in.

My fist collided with the smooth surface in three, sharp raps.

"Naya? Open the door."

When there was still nothing, I reared back. My leg jerked up and I stomped my boot just under the knob.

Once.

Twice.

Again.

The wood splintered and the door burst open. It hit the wall with a shattering crash, but I was already in the room, air ripping out of my chest in serrated pants.

"Naya?"

The room sat in an unnatural silence that seemed louder in the darkness. My gaze shot over the empty bed and across the room before stomping into the bathroom.

Not there, but the window creaked, nudged by a stray breeze.

No. She wouldn't.

I rushed to the ledge and peered into the settling dusk.

It had been raining all day.

The ledge was damp, the trellis slick.

The swamp and lake overflowing.

Naya was running blindly straight to her death.

If she wasn't already dead at the bottom. Her beautiful body a broken mess in the dark.

"No..."

Every drop of blood rushed to my head, filling it with a high-pitched shriek even as I was spinning and running.