Glowing blood seeps through his burst lips and torn eyebrows. How I missed the coppery scent and cries from damnation. I swear I wanted it all behind me, but life has the irony in returning the joy lost in the fog of time. When it comes, embrace it.

I roll the sleeves of my shirt, wipe off the sweat on my forehead, then chug the spiced rum while looking at him all tied up in a chair—old classic ways never go rusty. Strained. No movements except for his head. Just as I love it. From here we can tangle all night long.

"Where is Cora? I won't ask again, boy, as much as I enjoy this little reunion." I smile while collecting the blade from the table filled with a lamp and blood-stained devices for torture.

Pliers, blades, wrenches, and a hammer, if you will. A gun is just a plus—no fun.

"I said I don't know! I don't know!" he yells, crying again and again, begging and hiccupping like a pig ready for the slaughter. "Just let me go, Mr. Kingston. I don't know anything. I don't know anything, I swear!"

"So you keep saying, boy, but the problem is... I don't believe you." I take a sharp-pointed blade and turn around.

He pants heavily, this Russian, the assistant of that scientist bitch who dared to betray me after everything I've done to build her an honorable career. I need to find her; she's the mole I've been searching for all this time.

She may have allies, so I ought to catch her myself and bleed her out for being the low-life bitch she is. And to top it all, she stole the formula of Project Z—my lifelong invested research that I worked and sacrificed so much to strive it.

As I lean over to the Russian, my little blade is sheathed, ready for fun. Like good ol' days when I played the confessor to those who dared to betray me. I wanted to be better; I swear I did. For my butterfly. But she took it all from me and now she must see what she's made me become.

I grab the Russian's chin, pulling his gnarly face up to catch a glimpse of his swollen, tearing eyes. He cries, and he bags.

"Please. Please..."

"Well, I guess you're no use to me." I shove the blade into his stomach.

He gasps, and I close my eyes to relish the moment, savoring the sound of his guts splatting. I twist the blade gently, and artfully, the feeling highly fulfilling. I love the sound of death, the scent of demise, the feel of the last breath escaping an enemy who bit the hand that fed them.

I think of the press buzzing outside my building since dawn, of the police appearing with an arrest warrant at my fucking doorstep, of the bastard who impregnated my wife, of Derek and his little bitch who dared to double-cross me, then at the woman who thinks she can outsmart me by playing me for a fool and get away with it.

No, butterfly. You must pay for your deeds. You and your bodyguard both!

"You have a call, boss," I hear Bastien from behind me as my victim chokes his own blood to death.

Silently, I open my eyes but don't move, nor does the blade inside his stomach. "Who is it?" I ask quietly.

"Ramos," Bastien answers.

"Put him on."

Loudspeaker pops and soon I hear, "The job is done, boss. We have your wife."

Ethereal breeze whistles on my face at the sound of that. I pull the blade swiftly and shove it back in a similar fashion. When I draw it out again, the Russian boy's neck falls to one side. And my insides relax; I sigh.

"Good. Very good," I reply while throwing the crimson blade onto the table. Someone hands me a towel to wipe the blood off my hands as I add, "Prepare the jet. We're leaving tonight."

"Yes, sir," Ramos replies over the phone in Bastien's hand. "But the drug will be worn out in an hour. What should I do by then?"

"Then put her back to sleep, Ramos. I want no scratch on her body and touch not a single strand of her hair." Heat rises on my skin just thinking of her and everything she's put me through.

But it won't be long, sweetheart. I'll make you feel exactly how I feel.

Three-third of Jack Daniels is down but I can't seem to escape this aching feeling burning inside me. I've been rumbling nonstop like a bitch after the altercation I had with Mia earlier. Maybe I'm at fault for hiding Kenna's identity even if I'm sure I'd do it again if I were to go back in time. But for fuck's sake, I'm doing everything I can for Mia.

Does she have to crucify me and my intentions based on one mistake?

To hell with Love! I hate it.

"At times I wonder how I ended up here in Portland coveting a woman who wasn't supposed to be mine. Deep in my guts, I knew it was a mistake I never thought I'd make until I kissed her for the first time as if a magical whip landed on my back to remind me of the world around me." I laugh and sip the fifth glass of bourbon. "I was spellbound by her from the moment we met but if somebody told me I'd be this... pathetic man right now I'd fight him head-on." I raise the glass and finish the drink inside it.

The last one. I can't allow myself to slip and lose focus.

"Well, a man can't know his true bravery until he's struck by love, Bro." Luca grabs the bottle from the counter and pours the remaining bourbon into his glass. "Not even great Kings and warriors." He gulps it, eyes amused.

"Yeah." I snort. "But what else does she want me to do so she understands that I fucking love her so much that it terrifies me? Take a bullet for her? Destroy everyone's career as I did mine by choosing her over my mission? Tell me, what else? How the fuck do we please these creatures called women, huh?" I burst out, feeling so out of it.

And why the fuck am I complaining? Why does it hurt like hell knowing I'm not enough for the big world of the trauma she chooses to lock herself in? Yeah, people close to her betrayed her but do I have to pay for everything?

"Bro, you're just in love and love makes you feel shitty things. That's the whole point. To feel." Luca grins at me. Not helping at all. "Little madam is just hurt," he goes on, carefully. "She's a tough nut to crack but that doesn't mean she's unbreakable. No one is unbreakable. Not even you. She was mad; she lashed. Doesn't mean she doesn't appreciate you, come on."

I scoff. It's horseshit, this thing called love. I was fine without it, and then it felt like a drug having it, but now... I don't know. It just twists and turns my world around every single day, yet I'm still addicted to it. I need it to survive. I need her.

"Well... I'm gonna be a father. Can you believe that?" I laugh. It still feels surreal for the most part no matter how many times I look at Mia and touch her belly. "And you wanna know what's the funniest part?" I glance at Luca who's having fun at my expense.

I've never been this fucked-up. Not even once have we talked about feelings and whatnot except the high-class shit about crime, guns, and computers.

"Go on, Bro. Let it all out," he encourages.

"I got no regret whatsoever, " I reply. "She may be hard... the bratty yet strongest woman I know, ballistic and overwhelming too, but... but she's the only woman I've ever loved. So yeah, I'm fucking hurt when she thinks I care about the mission more than I do her! That I'd fuck her friends just because her ex-husband did that to her! It makes me so angry whenever she compares me to Patrick Fucking Kingston! I just—" I grit my teeth, sighing heavily from mental exhaustion.

Luca laughs loudly. I guess it's the bourbon. I'm not one to vent. Never was. And by God's name, this shall be the last time I do this ungraceful thing for whatever reason.

It's almost seven when Luca receives the call we've all even waiting for. It's regarding Anne. I just can't seem to trust her that's why I needed her closer where I can monitor her.

"You had every reason to worry, Bro," Luca tells me after the call. I frown. "The redhead bitch is still in touch with Patrick Kingston. They talked just this afternoon and..." He stomps down from the barstool as though something sudden has struck his mind.

"And what?" I deadpan.

"Little Madam may be in danger. Call her, Red!" he snaps.

Without a second breath, I dial Mia's number. No alcohol ensnares my mind as I trudge around the empty glossary underground in Luca's garage. Out of business for the night and that's why we hung out from the afternoon until now.

A devastated male voice replies, "Red, right? You better come to MK as soon as possible. This is Detective Smith."

My chest tightens. The frown on my face hardens as I look at Luca's worried face that begs for an explanation.

"Why? What happened to Mia?" I demand.

"We believe she's been kidnapped," Smith replies and at this very same moment, regrets wash over me like a strong ocean tide in the deadly storm.

I shouldn't have left.

Nothing feels the same as I speed up to 40-MPH on the motorbike on my way to MK. I'm enraged. All I see I'd her face, her tears, her smile. I should have stayed with her. No matter how angry she was, or I was, her safety should've been my top priority.

I'm such a fool. A jerk!

Through the traffic, I swivel the bike, maneuvering my way between the cars, and the busses, then to the service road camped with reckless abandon, and lastly to the arrays of downtown buildings until I reach my destination. In ten minutes I'm up in the office with two detectives.

"What's going on?" I ask Smith who's inside Mia's office together with a few familiar faces including Leslie.

"Come. You should see this." Smith beckons, a laptop on the desk.

I stride closer, my heart pounding so fast it may break until I finally get a glimpse of the CCTV recording. A janitor in a black overall and cap walks into Mia's office with a cleaning supply cart when no one's around. Lunch hours, I suppose. Very unusual.

I feel my breath hot through my nose. In a few minutes I see Mia returning to her office, and then... thirty minutes later or so, the same man leaves with his cart, but he's pushing it rather heavily compared to before.

"Fuck!" I whisper under my breath, jaw clamped. "It has to be Patrick Kingston! I swear to God I'll kill him this time."

"No! We have to deal with it with caution, Red!" Smith rebukes.

"Caution?" I give him a poisonous glare after popping my neck. "He's a goddamn murderer! Do you think we gave time to go by the book? Maybe you do, but I don't!"

"Alright, then what are you gonna do?" Smith taunts me. "Go after him and do exactly what he expects you to do? Throwing yourself straight to his bait?"

I hate that he's right.

"Well, I fucking don't know!" I yell furiously; my breath is barely adequate. "But I can't sit by and do nothing, Detective. No, I can't."

______________

A/N: Things are getting ugly. I'm terrified to write the remaining chapters, I swear.