on the verge of ruining me. That cranks up my anger, and I switch the image to something I know would really crush her. I imagine my imprisoning her head in an upraised position while my brothers take turns fucking her mouth. Or better yet, I envision another woman, summoned to the hotel I’ll be staying at that tonight, her nameless head thrown back while I fucking pound into her. Pound into her and call Emma, letting her hear me fuck another pussy.
I’ve left a trail of shattered hearts in here California, any number of women who will let themselves be dragged to my bed with the right words.
How much would my Wildcat hate me then? She’d be driven mad with fury, but I need her to hate me. The more she does, the easier it is for me to let the monster that lives inside me devour her.
I don’t even realize that I’ve sped up a little too much until I see the guy in the car in front of me glance over his shoulder, his face pale with fear as he takes in my cut. Fuck, I’m practically up the guy’s ass.
I smirk unapologetically and swerve in front of him, cutting him off, and then tearing down the road, leaving him in my dust.
Poor bastard, but Emma makes me want to set the world on fire and watch it burn.
Okay, while it’s fun to fuck with people’s heads, I have no desire to get into an accident or a confrontation that will slow me down, so I force my focus away from Emma and onto the business at hand.
I’ve come to California for one reason—to hunt down the man who tried to kidnap a kid who is like a son to me, and who tried to kill a woman who might as well be my sister. I can’t think about what he did to Emma. This is club business. I am a predator stalking prey, and for that, I have to be the monster, not the man.
Tonight, I have no obsessions save my query. I have no emotions to get in the way, no needs to satisfy except the need for blood. I am death, and death has only one desire—the kill.
I focus on what I know of Gary, letting the information flash through my mind. Locations, distances between stops, backgrounds, contacts from whom I will extract information. Cold, hard logic and facts.
Gary Jamison is a long haul trucker. He delivers mostly illegal goods—booze, drugs—or he did until he went to jail for the shit he did to Penny. According to what Rat has been able to dig up on him since Penny went into the hospital, he’s also neck-deep in gambling debts. My guess is some underworld big-wig he owes put the squeeze on him, and that’s why he went off on Penny.
My first stop is The Blue Bunny, a seedy strip club on this side of Barstow, one of the many shitholes where Gary apparently likes to lose his rent money. Having lost his job and likely unable to find a new one so soon after getting out, he’ll be looking to get his hands on quick cash. If I know him, he’ll have hit someone up for money and he’s out at one of his old gambling haunts, trying to win big at the tables. Since The Blue Bunny is on route to LA, where he’ll probably hole up, its underground table is the most logical place for him to hit.
Anger creeps up on me, punching a hole in the icy wall I’ve put around my emotions. Only it’s not entirely with Gary, and it’s not with my Wildcat. It’s with the asshole cops who didn’t let Penny or her family know he was getting out.
It’s mandatory for the law to inform a victim when her attacker is back on the streets, but it doesn’t always happen. I can only assume Gary slipped through the bureaucratic cracks. I’m tempted to add the cops the club has on its payroll to my to-do list. None of them notified anyone, otherwise Penny would have never let Ben come to see her. And sure as shit Dragon would have heard about it, and made sure we had someone on her door the minute Jamison was out of handcuffs.
Slamming a tight lid on anger that could undermine my focus, I pull into The Blue Bunny’s empty side street and kill my engine. Before going inside, I dig a dark