“No, you’re not,” he agreed, rubbing his hand over the shadowed angle of his jaw, the ink-black stubble only accentuating the wicked sensuality of his looks. “You’re also hell on a guy’s ego.”
“Why’s that?” she asked, finding it difficult to believe that anything could dent his masculine pride.
“I’m just spit-balling here, but it could have something to do with how you tried to brain me with that beer bottle,” he offered dryly.
“And here I thought the Watchmen were supposed to be so tough,” she snorted, eyeing his wounded temple. “It isn’t even bleeding anymore.”
“It’s not so much the blood that irritates me as the fact that you had no reason to attack me.”
The corner of her mouth twitched at his put-out expression. “Would it make you feel better if I let you hit me back?”
Saige had never actually watched a man’s lip curl before, and was fascinated by the sight. “I don’t hit women.”
“Just because I’m a woman,” she lectured him, “doesn’t mean I can’t hold my own. I grew up with two older brothers, which means I learned how to fight dirty early on.”
“Don’t worry,” he responded under his breath, turning his attention back to the shadowed street. “I don’t think you’re weak, Saige. I just think you’re crazy.”
Unsure if he was teasing or actually serious, she opted to remain silent until they reached the next corner. “Javier’s apartment is at the end of this block.”
“Just make it quick,” he murmured, looking over the area. It was difficult to tell where one building ended and its neighbor began, the various balconies and awnings giving the three- and four-story structures a look of crooked imbalance. They’d always reminded Saige of building blocks stacked by a child, on the verge of teetering over if the wind blew too hard. “I don’t like it here. We’re not that far from the jungle, and there are too many places to hide.”
“This will only take a minute,” she assured him, hiking her backpack higher on her shoulder. Stepping up onto the raised front porch of the ground-floor apartment, Saige lifted her hand to knock, every sound coming from the nearby buildings making her flinch. Obviously her nerves were still raw from her recent brush with death, as well as her worry for her friends.
Blowing her hair out of her eyes, she knocked once…and waited. Then knocked again. Frowning, Saige started to reach for the door handle, when Quinn drew in a deep breath and grunted, suddenly grabbing hold of her hand and securing it in his steely grip.
“What are you doing?” she whispered, flicking him a startled glance. Like waves of heat, she could feel a strange energy pouring through the touch of his skin against hers, and her anxiety cranked higher.
“You can’t go in there,” he told her in a low, almost soundless growl.
Her eyes went wide. “No one in Javier’s family would hurt me. They’re my friends.”
“It’s too late,” he grunted, his expression one of grim resignation. “Come on.”
“What?” Saige pulled at his grip with her fingers and dug in her heels. “What are you talking about?”
“Casus,” he growled.
“Cas…” The word trailed off as she suddenly registered the strange, thick odor seeping beneath the door, and her stomach roiled.
Oh God, no. No. No. No.
“Javier!” she gasped, lurching for the handle, but Quinn held her in place. Banding his left arm around her waist, he pulled her away from the door and down the wooden steps of the porch.
“Trust me, Saige. You don’t want to go in there.” The words were hard…bitten, and yet somehow compellingly gentle as he scanned the street from side to side. The narrow road, for the moment, was empty, this section of the neighborhood quiet but for the bustling din of families sharing their evening meal, the clattering sounds of crockery spilling from open windows and doorways that had been left open to help alleviate the humid evening heat.
The breeze surged, bringing the combined scents of food and blood and what smelled like charred flesh into sharper focus. “I can’t…I can’t—” she choked out, painfully aware that she had to know what had happened. She couldn’t just run—not when there was a chance that Javier was in there, broken and bleeding…but alive.
Twisting suddenly out of Quinn’s grip, Saige turned and ran back up the steps, her backpack falling to the porch as she lunged for the handle. When it wouldn’t budge, she threw her shoulder against the door, instantly breaking it open. In the back of her mind, she acknowledged the fact that she shouldn’t have been strong enough to take down a door on her own, no matter how old it was, but the thought faded as she rushed into the ground-floor apartment. Her feet hit something wet and slick…and the next thing she knew, she was on her hands and knees in a thick, sickening pool of blood. It spread out around her like a crimson sea of hell, and her stomach heaved. Bile rose in her throat, and she lifted her head, too choked to scream as she took in the sight before her.
“Ohmygod,” she whispered, her lips so numb from the shock, the words felt strangely foreign in her mouth as she sluggishly stumbled to her feet. She was only distantly aware of Quinn’s strong, rough hands steadying her, of the sharp, virulent curse he scraped out, her entire attention focused on the mangled corpses of the Ruiz brothers.
Four bodies, all dead, sat with their backs propped against the far wall of the small sitting room, their long legs stretched out before them on the floor, while their heads lolled to the side like lifeless rag dolls. Gruesome, animal-like slashes and bite marks faded as their flesh continued to shrivel and char, huge pieces missing in some places, as if they’d been…eaten. What remained of their bodies smoldered, but without fire and flames, as if their skin was simply incinerating of its own volition—their eyes left open, mouths slack as blood continued to pool around them in a slow, sluggish pour.
A hysterical scream suddenly crawled up from the deepest part of her body, and she scraped her bloodstained hands into her hair, her body bent forward, as if the pain were pulling her in on herself. She teetered on the rim of a dark, deep chasm that was endless and black as pitch, a breath away from plunging forward, headfirst into that bottomless, suffocating pit. The horror was viciously destructive, like a poison rushing through her veins as she thought of Javier’s close-knit family. The brothers had had nothing but each other, and yet, they’d been the most giving people she’d ever known. And now they were dead—slaughtered—because of her.
The Casus, she thought. It had to have been the Casus.
Fighting the nauseating waves of heartache, she gulped in a huge, desperate gasp of air, and the pain transformed from one second to the next, the rise of fury—of murderous, red-tinged, gnashing rage—building up from the soles of her feet. It spilled through her body like something ugly and thick, slithering beneath her skin, and Saige realized in that moment that the primal passion of her Merrick was being distorted by hatred and anger. As she lifted her head and turned to stare at Quinn, his eyes went hooded. His body tensed. Saige knew he could feel it. Knew he could sense the rise of her beast, and acceptance settled across his stoic expression.
He was prepared to deal with whatever she needed to throw at him. To deal with her.
Giving in to the visceral, animalistic burn of rage, she made a deep, guttural sound in the back of her throat, then rushed at him, battering him with her fists, her blows landing heavily on his shoulders and chest. She wanted him to fight back, to lash out at her, justifying her attack, but he only held her, weathering the brunt of her assault, while doing his best to keep her from hurting herself. It made her angrier…made her want to hate him…to hurt him. Saige screamed again, louder, deeper, until the sound bled into a raw, sobbing cry and her violent fury crashed down into another shuddering, heaving storm of tears.
Unable