5. ~Levi~

5

~Levi~

Dawn.

That was how long it had taken to conduct the cleanup of those motherfucker mercenaries.

I'd taken the help from four of our Hex members to drag the assholes into the transport van Mason had procured at impressive speed given the short notice, but after securing them, I'd handled the actual sanitization myself.

Right or wrong, I knew a thing or two about wiping evidence.

I'd left absolutely no sign of them or what had gone down in the stairwell.

Then I'd transported my unconscious cargo a hundred miles outside Stonewell and left them on the doorstep of a cop shop complete with rap sheets I'd managed to pull up on each while Hex had taken time to get me the necessary equipment to conduct my sanitization, as well as then taking undue time to haul the fuckers into the van and secure them for me.

Royce was effectively down four soldiers now.

Now I was speeding back home, using the backroads.

There was more of a peace to it than driving down the highway.

And, honestly, I'd needed it and the extra time that using the more roundabout route home afforded me.

It was hard to shove my bloodlust back into its proverbial sealed box once it was triggered.

Even when it wasn't triggered actually.

That was what I had my street fighting hobby for, to tamper down those urges that had been awakened a few years ago.

And usually that was enough to hold it at bay.

But lately things kept happening where I was being pushed.

First, the farmhouse takedown of some of Mason's Hex soldiers after he'd come at Brianna.

And then, last night, stopping that incoming attack at the apartment.

Those were both personal and much more uncontrolled than a street fight that had a ref was.

The last time I'd actually let go and unleashed everything had been that night when I'd taken down that gang in the City of Tolhurst.

This was the first time since then that the urge to let that fucked-up part of me loose and give into my bloodlust all the way was growing stronger than the rational part of me that cared about the consequences that would come crashing down upon all of us.

When I'd launched that attack against Mason's soldiers, I'd seen Brianna right after, and being in her presence, having her with me, had taken the edge off.

But now… now she was pissed at me and ignoring my attempts to connect with her.

Now there was no block in place, nothing else to hold onto, this… urge… it was nagging at me something fierce.

I was having to be controlled in all things at the moment.

That just wasn't me.

It wasn't the norm and it certainly wasn't my forte.

It took supreme effort to pull off.

It was fucking tiring.

Majorly emotionally taxing, in fact.

And it was starting to get the best of me.

My hands were shaking around the steering wheel.

I could feel my pulse starting to pound.

A wave of lightheadedness hitting me was the final straw, warning me that I needed to pull over quickly.

It wasn't an anxiety attack this time.

It was a flash.

Of the incident.

I saw a turnoff and took it.

The last thing I was aware of as I just about managed to pull the van to a jarring stop was a floodlight of a parking lot cutting through the darkness.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Blood oozed from my bo-staff as I dragged it along the worn wooden floor of the abandoned mansion that had seen better days.

Worse now after the horrors it had been home to tonight.

Horrors they'd brought upon themselves.

Violence.

Pain.

Death.

And a whole lot of bloodletting.

All in the name of justice and protection.

Of safeguarding those who couldn't safeguard themselves.

This gang of assholes tonight had already maimed, assaulted, and dealt in dirty dealings as it was. I'd made sure I'd stopped it from going any further.

I'd stopped them from becoming like the demons.

They'd been on the same path.

And now they weren't.

I had one target left to deal with—the big boss of the outfit—and then my mission would be complete.

He was staggering a few feet in front of me, looking back fearfully every now and then as he saw me still coming, still pursuing like the predator I was tonight.

I watched him disappear into the last door along the corridor.

Trapped prey.

Invigorating.

The thump of my boots echoed hauntingly through the deathly still mansion.

My combat pants swished and squelched, drenched in the blood of my enemies.

My black tee too. My face, my arms, my hands, even my hair.

Some was mine, I hadn't gotten out of this without taking some hefty hits myself, and I hadn't expected to. My training had taught me well where that was concerned. And because of that, I'd been able to take the hits I'd been dealt.

That was half the battle, being able to get back up after taking a brutal hit—or several.

Sixteen years old and I'd murdered for the first time.

No, more than that… massacred.

I should be disgusted.

I should be plagued by a shit-ton of shame.

I should feel remorse.

But I didn't.

A sense of victory rolled through me.

A feeling of unadulterated power.

"Lev!"

I spun and looked to see Mason striding up to me, his arm around a trembling Colt with his hand shielding his eyes from the horrors we'd just committed.

What Mason saw as unnecessary but I saw as essential brutal justice.

Him showing up suddenly after I'd thought he and Colt were heading out, while I dealt with the remaining guy, and then the cleanup, drew too much of my attention.

The distraction of it had me caught off guard when the door that my final target had disappeared into flew open.

He barreled out.

I registered the gun now in his hand a split-second before he fired off a shot.

I staggered back as a white-hot, jarring pain tore through my abdomen.

As I smacked against the wall, slapping my hand to my shirt that was quickly drenching in my own blood, the big motherfucker decked out in all denim came at me.

A shot rang out and I swung my head to see Mason there, his gun cocked.

The target roared and dropped hard, clutching his kneecap with one hand.

But the other… the other still held the gun.

I heard myself yelling to Mason.

But it was too late.

The target fired off a shot and hit Mason in his left arm.

He lost his grip on Colt and smacked back against the wall like me.

But he still had hold of the gun.

Thank fuck, he managed to fire off another shot.

This time, right through the shithead's skull—a solid kill shot.

"Christ," I breathed, sliding down the wall as the pain overcame the adrenaline coursing through my system.

As Colt ran to Mason, the latter stared out at me.

I saw him register that dark look in my eyes, reading me well as usual.

Something I vowed in that moment as his disgust became apparent that I would never allow him to do.

Because I saw it in there, the upsetting truth.

We were shattered.

And he'd never, ever look at me the same way again.

I squeezed my eyes shut against the memory and came back to reality.

I took a beat to regain my equilibrium.

Once my breathing had leveled out and I'd gotten my bearings, I realized I'd parked in the lot of a diner.

It was actually the one I'd marked on my GPS to take a break at for a few minutes before I continued on home.

I also didn't do well driving—or riding—without eating.

It had been several hours since I'd done so, and on no sleep.

Clearly that flashback was a sign that it was wearing on me, weakening me.

Intending to rectify that, I stepped out of the van, locked it, then went to head toward the diner entrance twenty feet away.

The clack of footsteps in the dark had me stilling in my step.

I heard it again and I followed the sound, spinning in that direction.

Just as somebody emerged from the shadows, the illumination of the floodlight touching them.

My breath caught in my throat as I took in the designer suit, the black curly hair that brushed his collar, and those striking blue eyes that even pierced through the night.

Just. Like. Mine.

Christ. "What are you doing here?" I only just managed to choke out.

The corner of his mouth turned up as he stopped in front of me and shoved his hands into the pockets of his fancy suit jacket. "Not your best greeting, Son."