CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

"We're five minutes away." Carter's eyes are on the touchscreen of my Bentley. "Turn right at the next corner."

"I see where we are just fine, Carter." I regret my outburst as soon as the words leave my mouth.

We've been driving past Central Park, luxury stores, the American Museum of Natural History. The Upper West Side of Manhattan is beautiful. The greenery and townhouses have a calming effect on my soul. It's clean, neat, organized.

Amara's parents don't deserve to live in this beautiful, peaceful area. Don't deserve to smile.

To breathe.

We won't murder them today. We'll rob them of their peace, though. Of their sense of security.

Once we're finished, their lives will be as miserable as they are. They'll always be on the lookout. Always worry about someone creeping into their penthouse.

They'll worry every second of every day.

Like Amara worried about her shop and apartment being taken from her. Like she does now.

Carter's cheerful humming sobers some of my anger. Makes me aware about the fact I've been an asshole.

"Sorry, you didn't deserve that." My eyes dart between his face, the Glock in his lap and his face again. "I just hate these fuckers."

"Same. Don't worry about it."

I'm packing the same Glock. Fucking hate the thing. Means we'll be going easy on her parents when I wish we could do worse.

When going face-to-face against someone, I prefer using my fists or letting Carter have at them. Both options are far more effective than guns. Pain, humiliation, and scars last better. It ingrains Carter's and my faces in their memory and skin.

Not to mention they're far more satisfying.

But it takes time. And that's what gets me—we don't have time for that today. Today, we need fast results. Go in and out undetected and back to our Amara.

We would've gone from the hotel to her directly, except then, we wouldn't have been able to get her this gift.

Some people buy their loved ones a bouquet of flowers. Chocolates. Jewelry.

We're buying her the building from her parents.

A surprise we'll present her with at exactly the right moment. Which isn't today.

The thought of her face when we tell her is a balm to my simmering anger.

A smile teases my lips, and I repeat, "Again, I'm sorry. Shouldn't have lashed out on you."

"And I said don't worry about it." Carter shrugs, relaxing in his seat. "I'm on edge too."

I chance a glance at him, watching his large hand running through his hair.

A hand that fisted my cock this morning, getting me hard before both he and Amara climbed on me. I flipped her on her back, took her ass while Carter fed me his cock.

He smirks, reading my heated expression.

"I know what you look like when you're mad," I huff, turning my eyes back to the road. "This isn't it."

"Oh, I am. But I'm saving myself for them." In my periphery, I see him scrubbing his toned thighs. Now, I see the simmering anger. "Gonna give these fuckers the best version of myself."

An old stone apartment building appears after I turn. I gaze up at the light on the top floor.

Her parents are there. At least that's what our detectives informed us, and they're never wrong. These fuckers are practically waiting for us. Comfortable and safe. They think these four walls and guard at the front mean nothing can hurt them.

Think again.

We stop at a parking garage on the same block as her parents' place, and I swerve the Bentley into a free space.

"Ever met them?"

"Amara's folks?" Carter barks an unamused laugh, flipping his Cyclone between his fingers. "Fuck no."

"Why?" I quirk an eyebrow, glancing at him and then back at the road.

"She's never offered," Carter says offhandedly.

"Hasn't she?" I slip it into the holster. Carter does the same.

We both get out of the car. Adrenaline thrums in my veins, but my hands don't shake one fucking bit when I button my suit jacket.

"No. I get why." Carter slams the door of the car. We're silent as we take the elevator to the street.

Once we're in the open air, he adds, "I lost it when she told me how they'd been treating her. Pinned her to the wall, fucked her ass. Bit her until she bled. Took out all my violent energy and made things better for her."

He says it as if we're having an everyday conversation. To the people in the street—those who don't hear him—it must look like one. Like we're two rich pricks talking business.

In a way, it is. Except I can't do what I want, which is put a hand on the small of his back. We never know who's watching us.

One day, I will. One day, I'll have both of them at my sides and I'll touch them out in the open however the fuck I want.

With security around us, granted.

Carter turns his gaze to me at the entrance of the apartment building. I don't move, and Carter's psycho smile stretches on his face.

Something vile is about to leave his mouth. I fucking smell it.

"Later," I warn.

"Amara had to have known I wouldn't have been able to be civil around those assholes." He chuckles, shaking his head. "She would've been right. It took me over a week to cool off after I heard her story. Barely. I'm still considering the option of peeling off their skin and sowing it into a dress for Amara."

A gray-haired woman who walks next to us gasps. Carter's smile widens. He's about to distress her further, and there's nothing I can do to stop him out here. Like fuck his lack of tact out of him.

Fortunately, she has the sense to look away and speed-walk on her heels.

"I'm punishing you for this." I move close so only he would hear me. We stand eye to eye, his sandalwood cologne carrying into my flared nostrils. "It'll be a surprise, and it'll hurt. I promise you that."

"What if I say Cyclone?" His safeword. He chose it. What fucking else?

I refused to touch either of them until he had one, right after the day we fucked Christopher up. I had every intention of exploring his limits. Thoroughly. Someday in the near future, he'll use it. Just a matter of time.

"Oh, you will?" I edge closer. "Will that be before or after you come so hard it takes Amara forever to lick every drop of your orgasm off your stomach?"

I'm not exaggerating. That actually happened over the last two days. Twice.

"No." He steps back. Sucks in a breath. Pushes his hair out of his eyes. "I won't."

My smirk widens. Carter, albeit rattled, smiles back.

"Enough with the games. We're here for her." Motioning to the wood and glass door behind the archway, I tell him, "Let's go."

"About time."

The building's lobby looks like it hasn't been renovated for decades, and yet everything seems brand new. The antique marble floors, tall ceilings, the carved wood sliding doors of the elevators. Old and pristine.

"We're here for the Carmichaels," I announce to the concierge.

The younger, built man's brown eyes linger on us. I bet he doubles as their security. He takes note of the tailor-made suits. Our expensive haircuts. Deems us worthy to even step inside the building.

"Your names?"

"You won't find us on the guest list." Carter steps closer to the concierge's stand. "We're, what you might call, unannounced. But we're supposed to be here, so…" Carter leans in, reading the gold plate tag on the hefty man's jacket. "Porter. Let's not waste anyone's time. You're going to buzz us in."

"I don't know who you think you are." Porter's lip curls in a snarl, his chest puffed. "The answer is no. I'm going to have to ask you two to leave the premises."

"Is that an order?" I unbutton my suit jacket, tugging it to the side.

The man's brows scrunch together as he catches a glimpse of my Glock. He rises to his full height, his eyes narrowing.

Wraps his meaty fingers around the taser in his holster. As if that's going to scare us off—the people who are packing guns.

"For real?" Of course, Carter would find our situation entertaining. Of course, he'd chuckle. "You're threatening us with that?"

"I'm just getting started, asshole," Porter pulls the taser out. "Try me. You'll lose."

"Lose in fucking what?" Carter barks out another laugh, slamming his hand on top of Porter's desk. Before the latter has a chance to answer, Carter whips his head to me, his gray eyes glinting. "Afraid of a little electricity, Kill?"

"Nah." My hand finds the Glock. My thumb glides along the curve of the trigger. "He's going to have to do a little better than that."

"Much." Carter swivels his head back to the front desk, slowly, ignoring how Porter starts rounding it. "Stay right where you are."

Porter fails to listen, poor asshole. He comes to the front, aiming the buzzing taser on Carter. Carter, with his animal instincts, grabs Porter's wrist. He slams the man's hand on his own stand, then goes for his throat, dragging his back to where Porter stood a second ago.

I keep watch, though it's not necessary. Carter shoves Porter's face to the desk where no one will be able to see him.

There are struggle noises, then a, "Fuck you."

Carter plucks Cyclone from his pocket for Porter to see, his way of playing with his new human toy.

"These rich fucks worth it?"

"Fuck—"

Carter slices a straight line on Porter's cheek. Blood trickles to the wooden desk. "Say that again."

"You're a dead man."

"That's funny. You don't seem to be in a position to be issuing threats." Carter lifts his gaze to me. He makes a show of scrunching his eyebrows, pretending to look at me in confusion. "Am I missing something here?"

"No one threatens me and stays alive." Porter squirms from beneath Carter.

"No one will threaten you. Since you'll be dead and all."

"Fuck you."

"That again." Carter rolls his eyes, sighing dramatically. "Ugh. He's no fun. I'm bored. Can we go now, Dad?"

Brat.

He's going to cry later. He'll cry. He'll weep. And I'll lick each and every tear.

"A moment," I say in a flat voice that doesn't betray my devious plans.

"What?" Porter spits out.

"We won't kill you." Once I hover over the concierge's stand, I glare at the squirming Porter. "Won't kill them, either. As long as you let us through without alerting anyone. What will it be?"

"It'll be a no."

"Have it your way." Carter is quick to lift his hand, curl his fingers into a fist, and land a punch into Porter's cheek.

The sound of bones cracking has Carter wagging his eyebrows at me. I smile back because I can't not smile at his playfulness.

Porter's eyes roll in the back of his head, and he's out. Fainted.

Carter winks, choking Porter just to make sure he'll stay out. After that, he pushes Porter beneath the desk until there's no sign the man's ever been here.

"He should be out for the next ten minutes. Fifteen tops." Carter shoves his knife into the back pocket of his pants. "Let's make them count."

We head to the elevators. I punch the code we extracted from Amara's phone while she was sleeping. There's no tension between Carter and me on the way up. Just a sense of readiness. Righteousness. Eagerness to pounce.

We're two predators. Two protectors.

Two killers, if that's what it'll take.

Ding.

The elevator doors to Amara's family penthouse open.

"Melina, honey, is that you?" A woman calls, the barest hint of affection slithering into her voice. "You're here early. What a pleasant surprise."

Must be her mom. I imagine Amara has never been on the receiving end of the woman's affection. A new wave of wrath ripples through me. Bleeding from my every pore. Carter's at my side, the same hatred pouring from him too.

We prowl forward from the foyer as I hear her heels clicking in our direction.

"Melina?" The woman I assume to be Elora Carmichael appears in the hallway.

It takes me a second to look her over. Blond hair and brown eyes that look so much like Amara's, though that's where their similarities end. Where Amara is a ray of sunshine, her mother is cold and detached. Beautiful in her thousand-dollar cream pantsuit and matching heels, but cold.

I see the moment she realizes the two men in black suits in her home are intruders.

"Ahh!" she screams, her howl pathetic as fuck. "Case! Come here! Help!"

With us here, threatening them, their money means shit. The high ceilings, the pristine white sofas, the furniture that no doubt cost a fortune, the solid hardwood floors. None of it will help them.

Elora's quivering chin and angry tears tell us she motherfucking knows her fate is in our hands.

More pathetic shrills ensue. Trembling legs. Wide, terrified eyes.

Nothing like our feral Amara.

Amara would've charged at us. Would've faced us without batting an eye. She did it before. I have no doubt she would've done it again.

"Elora, what in the world is the fuss abo—" Her husband's angry march comes to a halt three feet behind his wife.

At five-foot-five, the thin man is even less of a threat to us than his wife. His banana-yellow polo shirt and cream-colored pants make him look soft. Scared. Fragile.

Someone who either Carter or me could easily crunch beneath our boot.

And laugh while we do it.

"Thank you, sweetheart," Carter drawls, aiming his unsettling smile at Elora. "How'd you guess we'd be needing him here?"

They're silent when he takes a step forward. Carter flips the knife in his hand, high up for Amara's parents to catch the movement. They fixate on the blade gleaming beneath the overhead lights. Watching the crimson stain Porter left on the tip.

I get hard just from witnessing these assholes' horror.

"Who are you people?" Case stammers, sidling next to his wife.

Nextto her. Not in front of his wife. Not protecting her.

What a goddamn embarrassment.

Carter, ever the psycho, whistles instead of giving them an answer.

"Less than ten minutes," he reminds me.

"Ten minutes to what?" Case whispers.

"We're the men who are going to take your building from you." I don't beat around the bush. Don't feel inclined for niceties or being civil with these assholes. "Today."

"What? This building?" Case has the audacity to act confused. "We own this penthouse, but the rest of the building belongs to—"

"Can you believe these fuckers?" Carter's psycho smile is aimed at me now. He's anything but amused, though. A barely contained rage glimmers in his eyes, threatening to detonate any moment. "Next thing you know, they'll be asking us who Amara is."

"Amara?" Her mother's terrified posture changes. She stands taller. Spine erect, hands balled into fists. Cheeks red with annoyance. "What does she have to do with anything?"

"So you do remember that part." Any trace of humor I had in me dries right the fuck up. "Now let's drop the dumb act and talk about the shop and apartment she's been renting from you."

"The one on the Lower East Side." Carter stalks over to them, grabs Case by the back of his head, and pins the blade of his knife to his throat. Elora moves to jump Carter. He catches the movement, releasing Case to grab her delicate throat with ease. "As of this moment, it's ours. Where do we sign?"

Case's throat bobs. I hear his heartbeat the closer I get. Smell the stink of his sweat. And yet I don't hear him utter a single word.

He doesn't threaten us to leave his wife alone or anything else.

Not a peep.

Coward.

"Well?" Carter shakes Elora.

"W-what makes you think we'll give it to you for free?"

I guess he does have something to say. Too bad we're getting Amara her shop as a surprise. She would've smiled so pretty watching her dipshit father squirm.

"Excuse me?" Carter throws Elora on the floor, using his now free hand to grip Case's shirt collar. "Was that a no, grandpa?"

He presses the edge of the blade to Case's skin and nicks it. Blood trickles down to the collar of his polo. He cries out.

Elora finds her courage a second time. She scrambles to her feet, her heels scratching the marble floors. Then she launches herself at Carter.

I'm impressed. She has more balls than her husband does.

I'm also really fucking furious. No one touches Carter.

My stepson. One of my lovers.

"Elora." I cock my gun, the sound loud in the penthouse. "One wrong move and your brain will be splattered all over your Monet."

"Do try and tackle me," Carter addresses her while his eyes are still fixed on Case. "I'd love hanging that one up at home. I'd call it, The Bloody Lilies. A wonderful memory of a wonderful day."

Elora backs off, turning on the waterworks.

I don't care. I've done way worse to both women and men alike. Would've done worse to her had she not been Amara's mom. There's no telling how Amara will react to us killing her parents. Or to us killing, period.

I know I told Carter to fess up to her, but I definitely lose sleep over this.

Later.

Case stops crying, lifting chin and cringes when Carter's knife runs along the broken skin. "You're not getting it for free. We already have a—"

"Free. F-R-E-E. Now, let me tell you why." Defending Amara's honor has me talking more than I should. I keep going anyway. "For four years, you've taken rent from your daughter and have threatened her at every turn. Treating her as if she were another lowlife inhibiting this city. As if that isn't enough, you've demeaned her for doing what she loves. For being the person she is. Giving her the building in its entirety is the least you can do to make it up to her. And that's exactly what you're going to do."

"We already have a b-b-buyer." Her dad pinches his lips. Carter cuts him deeper.

"Goddammit." Losing to us annoys Case. Much more than the new blood trickling from his neck.

Tough luck, both Carter and I hate losing more.

Carter moves the tip of the blade to Case's chin. A cut he wouldn't be able to hide around his stuck-up friends.

That's what gets to him. "Fine, fine. I'll hand it over."

"Good dog." Carter pats his head. "I'll ask again. Where do we sign?"

"I'll call my lawyer." Case seethes. "Why do you care, anyway? What's your relationship with Amara?"

We don't owe them explanations. We don't owe them shit. But staying silent will raise red flags. It'll have them digging.

"She's one of our suppliers. We really love her flowers." I jerk my head to the elevator doors, signaling to Carter that playtime is over. "Our lawyers will call yours."

Carter wipes his fingertip along the blood trail on Case's throat.

"We'll find their number. We have our resources. And in case you fail to take their calls…" He smears crimson stipes on Case's nose, chin. Beneath his eyes. "We'll be back here. You'll be wise to avoid that, Casey boy. Real motherfucking smart."

"We were never here," I add, glaring at her parents. "You mention it to her or anyone else, both you and your beloved Melina are fish food."

"Bloop," Carter says, pushing Case to the floor.

And that's how we met our in-laws.