“I snapped the fucker’s neck,” I responded simply as I held the police officer’s gaze. The kid was clearly a rookie because he paled and swallowed hard. I couldn’t help but think that if me telling him I’d snapped some guy’s neck made him want to puke his guts out, maybe he needed to rethink his career choices.
“Yes, but, um, can you be more specific?”
“I snapped the fucker’s neck and then he stopped moving and fell to the floor,” I responded. When the officer just stared at me, I added, “Because. He. Was. Dead.”
“Right,” the officer murmured. He automatically looked over his shoulder to where the coroner was zipping up the body bag that held the dead man in question. Then he began jotting something in his little notebook.
I sighed because I could tell by his hesitant scribbles that I was going to be here a while. I glanced around the room. My younger brother, Cruz, was having a conversation with the paramedic who’d been treating the bullet wound on his arm. The mere sight of the bandage on his bicep made me want to bring the asshole in the body bag back to life just so I could kill him all over again.
I’d known something was wrong pretty much as soon as I’d arrived at the house. Cruz and I had been tasked with protecting a young man named Elliot Wittier after he’d been attacked a few days earlier. My job had been to shadow my brother as he’d gotten close to Elliot. After getting to the house, I’d realized something was off and I’d approached it from the back. It had taken next to nothing to pick the lock on the back door. I’d heard the raised voices long before I’d seen anyone. But as soon as I’d lain eyes on the guy with the gun as he’d railed at Elliot, Cruz and several others, I’d known what I’d had to do. The guy hadn’t seen me coming but he had managed to get a couple of shots off before I’d broken his neck.
Even if my brother hadn’t been one of the people shot, the gun-wielding asshole deserved a hell of a lot more of a painful death for putting his gun to the head of a little kid in a wheelchair.
“I killed him too quick,” I muttered absently as I pulled my eyes from my brother. The bullet had only grazed him, but I still found myself fisting my hands. The last time my brother had been shot, he hadn’t been anywhere near as lucky…
“What?” the officer asked, interrupting the rage that was simmering in my veins.
Interrupting it but not quelling it.
Not much did that these days. Pounding on guys like the one in the body bag definitely helped, but like any drug, the effect was short-lived.
“Did you say something?” the officer asked again.
“Yeah, I said—” I began, but then my eyes shifted beyond the officer to the kitchen and fell on the owner of the house. With the way he was standing, I could only make out his profile, but not surprisingly, my dick didn’t seem too concerned about that. Of course, my dick wasn’t necessarily selective when it was looking for the next warm body to lose itself in for a while.
No, what was a surprise was the fact that instead of telling the newbie cop how I wished I’d taken my time killing the scumbag in question, I actually paused to consider my words.
How often did that happen?
Oh yeah, never.
I once again opened my mouth to say what I meant when the guy in the kitchen suddenly looked my way and then it was like time decided to stand still for a while. The rage that was racing through my veins faded as something else took over my blood entirely and sent all of it south.
Way down south.
And just like that, my cock went from interested to something different altogether.
Something that had me not only pausing my words but forgetting them entirely.
What the hell?
“Mr. de la Vega…” the cop said, clearly waiting for me to finish my earlier thought.
Him and me both.
“What?” I finally asked. For the life of me, I couldn’t take my eyes off the man in the kitchen, which made no sense since he wasn’t my type at all. While my dick didn’t care whose body it ended up in, my mind liked ’em big and tough because getting a guy like that to