MALACHI I have never been one to want to put a bullet in a man’s head. That’s Jaxon’s hobby, not mine. But Aaron Connor makes me want to murder a man so fucking bad. When I suggest we pay him a visit, Ronan doesn’t object. He knows it’s time we teach the fucker a lesson—or several. A couple of hours and some phone calls later, we’re on the front porch of Sarah’s old home. We don’t knock. Jaxon pushes the door open without a care in the world. It creaks, sure, but I don’t give a damn. Ronan and I step in right after him, and yeah, it’s a clean mansion. White marble floors, big-ass windows, polished furniture. Sarah’s touch is everywhere. I could tell from the furniture design to the architecture itself. The way the stairs welcomed us at the distal end of the room, and her office—a small room with glass sliding doors—overlooked, but didn’t impose itself on… Yes. The Living room. “Are you gonna be a good little bitch and take this dick?” Aaron’s voice seeps into my ears, and I fight hard to resist the urge to cut his tongue off as we head in the direction of wretched moans. His ass is out while he’s balls deep into some girl who’s bent over the couch. Her dress is raised all the way to her chest, leaving her tits and ass open for him. Real classy. “Seriously?” I say, deadpan. “In the living room?” Jaxon snorts. Ronan just shakes his head. He’s seen enough already. Aaron turns his head, and the look on his face plasters a wide grin on mine. I have to give it to Jaxon. His plan worked. Mine had involved less talking and dramatic entries, a nail gun, a couple of nails, broken bones, and lots of blood. But this works. He scrambles off the girl, yanking his pants halfway up while tripping over the coffee table.“What the fuck—how did you get into my house?” I glance around the place. White couch. Big TV. Gold accents. A product of Sarah’s sweat, no doubt. And this clown’s treating it like a motel. “We can see you’re busy,” I say, still smiling. “Don’t worry. We have plans to keep this short.” “You’re the HawkThorne brothers,” he says, a dreadful realization settling into his eyes. All of a sudden, he clears his throat and shrugs his shoulders, trying to look tough. “I do not have any business with you. If you need to speak to me, you call my office.” Jaxon mutters some incoherent words, but I don’t bother about it. The green eyed motherfucker in front of me is the only thing I give a shit about. One look at his whore, and she starts adjusting her wig and dress. “You got the tape?” I ask. She smiles and nods rather sheepishly. “Yep. Got everything. Front angle. Audio too. They’re on the coffee table and in some parts of the walls. Might be squishy too. I fixed it while he was fixing me a drink.” She walks towards us, and Jaxon hands her a fat wad of cash. She grabs it like Christmas came early, then slips out without another word. Aaron Connor looks like he’s about to shit himself when starts pacing. “You set me up, didn’t you?” “It’s quite easy when you have a reputation for fucking anything in a skirt.” I say, leaning on the wall. Ronan cut in. “Seeing as you have a woman like Sarah, one cannot help but wonder why.” He shoots me a stern glare, and it’s simply because he’ll be a fool to look Ronan in the eyes, he knows it. His jaw clenches, and he looks thoughtful for a small moment, before… “I get it now,” he jumps like a limping frog. “I know what you’re here for.” A painful chuckle tears through his throat. “You’re the assholes fucking my wife.” I smile, settling into the couch closest to him. “Exactly.”I turn to my brothers. “I can see why Sarah married him now. He’s smarter than he looks.” Jaxon scoffs. “In his fucking dreams.” Ronan looks like he’s trying not to gag. Aaron’s whole existence offends him. Fair. They’re standing by the only exit out of the living room. If he tries to be silly, he won’t be able to make it without running into Jaxon’s fist. Which—believe me—is an awful thing to me. “We talked to Sarah today,” I start to speak. “She was so fucking pissed,” “Typical of her, she didn’t tell us what’s wrong. But we know…we know you’re the only one who can pull that kind of visceral reaction out of her. So…” I pause, leaning back into the couch. “What the hell did you do, Aaron?” Aaron throws his head back in laughter. The sound is dry, bitter, unhinged. Makes me want to skip the whole talking thing and go straight to the part where blood spills on the floor. “She really thought she could have a man better than me, didn’t she?” The words leave his lips as the laughter slowly dies. “I needed to show her she’s nothing without me. I made her. Helped her build her company and her image. I took care of her when her brother got tired of her bullshit and moved to the other fucking side of the world.” He shakes his head and laughs again. He’s full of jokes, isn’t he? “She thinks she can just get with someone else? Please. I took her when she was innocent, pure. I would make sure she’s miserable with me, because she would never, ever be without… “Fuck this,” Jaxon cuts in with a hiss, and in a flash, he pushes forward and cracks Aaron a clean right hook. The fucker screams and falls to the ground, face flat. When he looks up at us, there’s blood all over his nose, on his shirt, and dropping to the ground. Ronan lets out a sigh. “It was about time someone made him shut the fuck up.” Jaxon turns to Ronan with a wry smile spread across his lips. He looks down at his bloody knuckles, and wipes it with a handkerchief he keeps tucked in the breast pocket of his black denim jacket. “You’re welcome.” I leave the couch and crouch down next to him.“You must understand that it’s nothing personal,” I reach for the side pocket of my pants, take out my own handkerchief, and begin to help him wipe the blood off his nose. “You were talking a lot, and like I said earlier, we have the intention of keeping this brief.” I drop my hand when his face is more…well, bearable, and flash him a smile. All good. “So, here’s what you'll do. We don’t know what you’ve done to Sarah, but whatever it is, you’re going to undo it.” He laughs again, and when he coughs, he spills blood all over his body again. I frown. He was ungrateful, no doubt about that. “And if I don’t?” Ronan makes a disgruntled sound, and Jaxon is ready to take care of his face again, but I hold a finger up, causing him to stop. I pull out my phone. “Hold on.” I FaceTime the contact. It rings once. Then twice. Connects. I turn the screen to him, and once he takes a good look at it, the color drains from his face. On the screen, a woman is tied to a chair, crying. And there’s a gun pointed at her head. “You know her?” I ask. He stumbles to his knees. “Don’t—don’t hurt her—” “A*. Look at that,” I rise to my feet. “Now, I know that she’s pregnant with your child. Your miracle baby.” He opens his mouth to speak, but Ronan cuts in. “Don’t lie or ask any funny questions. We pulled your medical records, Aaron Connor. We know your…” he clears his throat. “…condition. Which lets us know that next time, your swimmers won’t make it past the starting line.” Aaron stares, mouth open, like he’s trying to figure out how the hell his life turned to shit so fast. “Does Sarah know what kind of monsters she’s fucking?” he seethes. I can’t help the chuckle that forces its way out of my throat. “No,” I say. “She doesn’t. And we’ll prefer she doesn’t, but if you decide to make us blow our cover by delivering your lover’s dead body to this front door, we’ll be more than happy to oblige.” He starts crying and grabs at my ankle like I’m some sort of savior. “Please… don’t hurt her.” “Do we have a deal?” I ask. He pulls away, sniffs in, and starts to nod when… “What’s going on here?” My jaw clenches on hearing the voice. Fuck! We all turn. Sarah’s standing at the entrance, dressed in the same clothes she was in this morning. What the fuck is she doing here?