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as blink.

He released Rooster’s arms and grabbed his head between both palms. Then gave a twist, severing the human’s spinal column in one swift twitch of his hands.

He let the body drop, and Rooster’s head with its bright red comb of hair flopped at a grotesque angle in the dead man’s lap.

Then Nathan turned and calmly walked out of the dump and into the night to continue his mission.

16

THEY HAD BEEN IN THE CITY FOR MORE THAN AN HOUR, BUT so far, Rooster was as good as a ghost. He wasn’t at his apartment. Hadn’t been seen all day, according to the lowlifes he tended to hang with, dealing drugs or fencing electronics down in West Roxbury. No one had seen or heard from him since he’d run with them the night before.

As for Kellan, although he knew he’d recognize Rooster’s signature hairstyle on the spot, he’d never had direct contact with him, always filtering messages and intel by way of Vince. Now he regretted that lack of connection. Finding the bastard would have been much easier if he’d been able to call Rooster and personally threaten his sorry life if he didn’t cooperate in locating Vince. Not a good way to avoid the murder charge he had no intention of inviting.

But while Kellan’s frustration level was steadily climbing toward lethal fury, Mira wasn’t deterred by the lack of success thus far. She charged forth with her usual stubborn-headed determination, dragging him along to Boston’s old North End, to the club and cage-fighting arena where she’d last seen Rooster a few nights ago.

“Since we’re down here anyway,” she said as the neo-Gothic silhouette of the converted church rose up into the night sky ahead of them. “It’s early, so if he’s not inside the club somewhere, our next best bet is a crackhead who calls himself Billy the Kid. He and Rooster did a stretch together in Bridgewater for possession a while back. From what I’ve heard, they’re still tight.”

Kellan grunted, impressed with her as usual, and finding it far too easy to fall back into the rhythm of seasoned patrol partners. He had to remind himself that this was not an op shared by fellow warriors. He was not a member of the Order, and Mira was risking her life just being with him—not because of the danger of what they were undertaking here but because of who he was, of who he’d become over these past eight years.

Fortunately, he’d been careful to keep a very low profile. His name, Bowman, might be uttered in dark rooms and back alleys from time to time, but he could practically count on one hand how many people had ever seen his face. Most of those people were back at the base in New Bedford. And now one of that number was dead.

Heavy bass throbbed, grinding guitar chords screaming, as Mira strode for the vestibule door of La Notte’s main entrance and pulled it open. Kellan walked in alongside her, surveying the place with a judicious eye. Although the club was crowded for the early evening hour, most of the clientele gathered in front of the head-banging, five-man group looked like kids out of the suburbs and assorted tourist types. Primarily human, although Kellan noted a trio of Darkhaven youths skulking in the far corner, eyes trained on a clutch of big-haired, scantily clad young women who had a table full of empty glasses and seemed more than ready to keep the party going.

“The cage matches don’t start until close to midnight,” Mira told him, leaning in close to avoid having to shout over the din of music and chatter in the room. “This is just the warm-up.”

Her breath beside his ear went through him like a lick of flame, unbidden but hard as hell to ignore. He narrowly resisted putting his hands on her, his head suddenly full of images of her naked in his bed, in the shower. But then Mira put her hand on his forearm, and her fingers bit in as she tugged him into the crowd. “Come on. Rooster’s not here. Let’s move.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked, pivoting his head on a scowl to scan the area behind the bar, where she’d been looking just before she grabbed him away. His gaze lit on a pair of males—one of them unmistakably Breed, with long blond hair pulled back in a braided leather tie, accentuating cheekbones that would have looked more in place on a female, if not for