Page 167 of Healed

I planned to tell her what had happened later tonight, once the club had calmed down, people had gone home, and we were alone. I wanted to spare her for as long as possible, but I also recognised I was on a deadline. When I told her, I wanted to be able to reassure her that there was good news as well—preferably that we had Nico’s decapitated head on a stick. But I’d settle with just knowing his location at least.

Kissing her deeply, I left her in the capable hands of my brothers and went to find Dante and Hacksaw to see if there was any news on the email tracing.

Nico was close. I could practically feel him nearby.

He’d fled whilst he regrouped, but this was an unstable man, and he was fast running out of patience.

At this point, it was clear that Gabriella was not just a random woman to him—not just his cousin or his fantasy old lady—she was his obsession. His fixation. And he was edging closer and closer to her every day.

Which meant we needed to find him before he decided to strike again.

Just as I was about to push open the door to the clubhouse, it opened for me.

“Fuck me, I’m magic,” I said, stumbling forward, my hand still outstretched.

Dante looked at me, propping the door open with his foot. “Are you alright or what?”

“Didn’t you see that? I thought about the door opening and, boom, just like magic.”

“Or just like I was opening it from the other side?”

“Nah, I’m not quite sure that’s what happened. I remember specifically.”

“You remember specifically what happened five seconds ago?” he said.

“I do. And the door opened by itself.”

“It didn’t.”

“Fairly certain it is. But it’s okay. You don’t need to be jealous that I’m a wizard and you’re not.”

“Whatever you say, Gandalf. Come on,” he said, stepping outside and letting the door close behind him.

Rude.

“Why did you shut the door on me?” I asked, wrenching it back open and walking over to the bikes.

“Thought you could open them with your mind, Carrie?”

“Carrie could move things,” I scoffed. “If you’re going to reference something, at least get it right.”

“How about reference the club rules about annoying the president?”

“I don’t believe such a rule exists. But if you’d like to put it in the suggestion box and—where are you going?” I asked as Dante climbed back off his bike.

“Well, I was going to take you to the location of where that email was sent from, but I see you’re in an annoying mood and I can’t be fucked with that. Let’s try again tomorrow.”

“No, no, I’ll be good, I promise.”

“I don’t believe you,” he sighed, swinging his leg back over the bike. “But I’m pretty damned invested in this now, so… let’s go.”

“Well, shit,” I said, looking around the small room of the second-floor flat.

“Shit isn’t a strong enough word for this,” Dante said, pinching the bridge of his nose. He pulled out his phone and brought it to his ear. “Yeah, we’re gonna need a clean-up crew here, ASAP… Nah, mate. One man ain’t gonna cut it. It’s a fucking massacre in here.”

Massacre wasn’t the right word either.

This was… there were no fucking words for what this was.