Page 13 of Dark Reunion

CHAPTER 6

DEAN

The man’s screams had already broken and were nothing more than whimpers and ragged gasps through the blood soaked gag clogging his mouth.

Dean tightened his grip on the pliers, the metallic tang of rust and blood thick in his nose. His father sat a few feet away, calm as a priest at confession, sipping wine while his men looked on.

“Enough,” Carlos said at last, his voice smooth. “He understands.”

Dean yanked the gag free. The man sagged against the chair, half-conscious. Carlos flicked two fingers, a signal. Dean knew what it meant.

Finish it.

Dean set the pliers down, pulled his knife, and drove it cleanly into the man’s throat. The body jerked once, then stilled. Blood poured hot across the blade, and the splatter seared his skin even though his heart had long gone numb. He yanked the knife free and watched the man bleed out, his body finally set free.

“Good,” Carlos murmured, standing and adjusting his cufflinks as though he hadn’t just ordered another death. “Very good, Mercurio. You are becoming what you were meant to be.”

Dean’s jaw clenched at the insinuation, but he didn’t speak. He only watched his father leave, the praise heavier than chains.

When the door shut, silence pressed down hard. Dean looked at the corpse, then at his hands. Blood slicked his skin, drying at the edges, crusting under his nails. He could feel it everywhere. It would linger long after he washed it away, seeping into him with all the other deaths he’d lost count of.

Every second here, something inside him rotted a little more.

Taking the knife, he walked out of the room and down the hall to the shower that felt more like decontamination chamber. Exhaustion dragged at his limbs. It had been two days since he’d seen Yasmine and his children. Two days locked in Carlos’s orbit, proving loyalty with knives and silence. His body was stone, but his soul…his soul was cracking down the middle.

So much death. So much blood. So many pleas and begging, all the voices ran together in one seamless chorus.

Dean stripped and dumped his bloodied clothes into the bin for incineration. Stepping into the small stall, he turned on the faucet until scalding water thundered over him. Red rivulets streamed down his arms, spiraling into the drain, vanishing as if none of it had ever happened.

He braced his palms against the tile, head bowed. The water pounded his shoulders, hot enough to sting, but it didn’t burn away the smell. It didn’t wash out the memory of the man’s eyes as he died.

Dean had to find a way out of here. His father had increased security and had three times as many men as years ago. There were only two chances to get his family to safety. Either he played the game long enough that his father let his guard down, or find someone to sneak Yasmine and the kids off the property while he stayed behind. Carlos would be less likely to chase them if Dean stayed. There was only one soul that his father wanted to crush.

Dean shut his eyes. Yasmine’s face rose in his mind. Green eyes ablaze, her voice fierce even when she whispered. She was the only thing that cut through all the darkness. The glue holding him together when everything else in him wanted to splinter apart.

He scrubbed until his skin felt raw, then turned the water off. Dressing quickly, he dragged his weary feet down the hall.

When he pushed the bedroom door open, he expected darkness. Yasmine curled around the children, asleep. Instead, she was sitting up in the plush chair, surrounded by pillows like the queen, she was. A book lay in her lap, the lamp’s soft glow painting her hair copper. Isabella slept in the crib, the twins curled up together in their own bed.

Yasmine looked up the second he entered, her gaze sweeping over him. His wet hair, the tension in his jaw, the exhaustion he carried like it had become part of his shadow.

“Thank God,” she whispered, relief softening her features. “I’ve been so worried.” She uncurled her legs and sat the book aside.

He shut the door behind him, leaning against it for a moment, just drinking her in. “Two days,” he rasped. His voice was rough with emotion.

“I know. Every minute has been like an eternity without you.”

Dean crossed the room, and sank to his knees in front of her. She reached for him immediately, her fingers gentle against his cheek. He closed his eyes, leaning into her palm. For two days, he’d been nothing but Mercurio, the heir to the Ramírez Cartel and Carlos’s son. Here, with her, he could remember Dean. He could be who he wanted to be and not who he was forced to become.

“I need you,” he said. Not just for sex, not just for comfort, but she was his tether to all that was good in this world. She was the reason he put one foot in front of the other.

Yasmine shifted, leaning down she kissed his lips, and he trembled with her touch. Sucking in a deep breath, Dean soaked in the love she was pouring into him. As she broke the kiss, he stood, pulling the sheer curtain that separated their bed from the twins’, and scooped his amazing wife up into his arms. She smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck.

He lowered Yasmine down to the bed and just stared into her eyes for a moment before their mouths met. He’d never understood how he’d managed to get so lucky when his hands had created so much darkness in the world.

As desperate as he was for her, he was soft and tender with ever touch. Her hands slid into his damp hair, pulling him closer. He let himself sink into her warmth, her certainty, her heartbeat against his chest.

He touched her worshipfully, not rushing as his hands traced her body. Her shoulders, the curve of her waist, the swell of her belly that carried their fourth child. His lips trailed her jaw, her throat, down to her collarbone. Each kiss whispered the words he couldn’t voice, you’re why I’m still alive.