Page 76 of Primal

Chapter 39

Braken

Bang.

I stop walking halfway up the third-floor stairs.

I’m no stranger to gunshots, both triggered by my hand or buried deep within my body. I still have a shell casing in my side from a firefight a few years back.

But I am a stranger to the sick feeling of dread that seizes my legs and lungs.

Fuck. Whose gunshot was it?

And who the fuck is hurt?

As soon as we pulled into the lot, I sent Jasper ahead. We lost sight of Marco on the highway, but I knew deep within my soul where he was going. The gas leak isn’t a coincidence. Marco set that up so he could be alone with Fiora on my damn property. And the answer is clear why: he’s setting me up. The question is, for what? Battery? Death?

Murder?

Now that his meal ticket is gone, Marco Pollozo has completely lost it. Plenty of men fall victim to the Godwins’ and other dangerous, powerful families’ flashy lifestyles. Who wouldn’t? Money, power, girls, drugs, weapons. All of it sounds enticing until you’re staring down the barrel of a gun becauseyou fucked the wrong man’s third bitch. You become just another body buried beneath the cement blocks of a new hotel.

Who will we be burying tonight?

Fuck, I hope it’s not Fiora.

My legs are shaky as I hurry up the stairs. I skip two at a time to make it there faster, tugging on my leather gloves as I go. I don’t give a fuck if Marco is police. If he touched a hair on Fiora’s head, I’ll enjoy watching the light drain from his eyes as I choke the life out of him.

I skid onto the top floor of my dilapidated parking garage and walk right into Marco’s hand.

He holds onto Fiora’s upper arm, a gun pointed right at her temple. She’s covered in blood, dark red smeared all over her pale skin and white hoodie. Jasper’s blood. My bodyguard and driver lies unmoving at Marco’s feet, a spreading pool of blood trickling from his gunshot wound.

Fuck. Jasper’s been with my family for years now. Proven loyalty to the Frost family time and time again. He’s supposed to be getting married next year. There are no guarantees in our world, but he deserved better than this bullshit.

I’m gonna kill that son of a bitch.

“Nice of you to join us, Braken,” Marco teases. He thinks he has the upper hand because he’s got a goddamn gun pointed at Fiora’s head and a dead man at his feet. “I knew you’d show up.”

“This is my building.” I chance a step forward. Marco doesn’t move the gun nor does he take his eyes off me. “But why the hell are you here?”

“Enjoying a night with my girl.” Marco chuckles like a dumbass. “That’s right, my girl. Since I had her long before you.”

A rebuttal is on the top of my tongue, but I swallow it back. Now’s not the time to talk about their lack of sex life.

“You should probably ask her since it’s her choice.”

“She doesn’t have a choice,” Marco snaps and presses the gun closer to Fiora’s head.

Fiora winces at the move. Her eyes lock on mine, and the fear and desperation in them make me clench my jaw. Now that I can see her more closely, she’s completely fucked up. Dried blood is caked in her hair, her ponytail is a mess, she’s got blooming bruises on her cheek and jaw, and her body shakes—she seems barely able to stand. And are those Marco’s fingerprints on her neck? Oh, this motherfucker is dead and buried. I just need to find a way to get the gun away from her temple.

“Well, clearly you wanted me to come.” I try to avoid any wild gestures that would make Marco trigger happy, but I keep shuffling closer, one tiny-ass step at a time. “You have something to say to me?”

“Not really. Just wanted you here for the show.”

“The show?”

“Fiora,” Marco says simply, pulling the gun away from her temple to gesture to the rocky ground below. “There. On your property, nonetheless. What do you think the cops will say when they catch wind of that?”

“Whatever you tell them to say,” I respond, fingers flexing. I have a gun strapped to my back belt loop, but I don’t dare reach for it.