We walk out of the restaurant, and Malik shows us where he has parked the car. I place Jonah in the back with my father, who takes him. He is already dozing off, and I find bruises on his arm in a handprint’s distinctive shape. His little cheek is bright red, and he looks exhausted like he hadn’t been sleeping well.
“Andrei, let’s get him home,” my father says.
“I will be back soon. Put the heater on for him.” I nod at Malik.
“Andrei, you heard Tom. Dominic could be around here somewhere.” My father hisses in a whispered tone.
“I don’t care where Dominic is. I want Clive,” I tell him as I shut the rear door before he can say anything else.
I look over the building rooftops, where we are parked around the side of the restaurant. “Stay with them,” I tell Malik and walk off to head toward the Casino.
I move through the crowds of people, then turn the corner and finally, see the Casino. Valet is out the front, along with armed guards. Crossing the street, I walk toward the front entrance.
The guards are staring at me, and I see a few calls across their radios as I approach the doorman. He opens the door, and I ignore the staff at the front counter and head for the suites above the Casino, taking the stairs two at a time.
When I hear footsteps behind me, I glance over my shoulder. I see two guards following me. A sniff of the air proves they are werewolves, and both have Beta Genes. They keep their distance but continue to follow me through the corridors while I look for the room Clive and Jonah were in.
Walking up yet another flight of stairs, I stop looking at the guards behind me. “I am assuming Dominic knows I am here?” I ask, and one steps forward. He has a stocky build with a shaved head and a scar across his eyebrow.
“Yes, Alpha Andrei.”
“Take me to Clive’s room now. I am sick of walking in circles.” I watch his eyes glaze over and know he is mind-linking Dominic. The other man’s hand hovers over the gun at his waist.
“This way,” the man says, pointing toward an elevator.
We step in, and the guard presses the button to the second-highest floor, which I know are units. “He put them in a unit?” I ask the guards, and they both nod.
Then, when the elevator opens up, the man speaks again. “Third door on the right,” he says, and I nod, walking down the corridor.
Just as I am about to kick the door in, it opens. Dominic steps out and blocks it. He cleans blood off his hands on a tea towel and tosses it over his shoulder, back into the room. “Try not to break anything and make it look like an accident for the tourists. I hear the balcony views are amazing up here,” Dominic says, patting me on the shoulder.
“You aren’t going to try to stop me?” I ask.
“Would you like me to?” I shake my head, and a growl slips past my lips.
“That’s what I thought. I may be a prick, but I would never hurt a child, and to think he thought he could under my watch sickens me. I saw Jonah. When you are done, take the boy home where he belongs,” he says as he looks over my shoulder at the guards.
“Clear the ground below the balcony. I believe we have a jumper,” Dominic says, and I smirk.
“I will be over on Tuesday to check on Jonah and see Sage. Tell Kat to come if she wants, I will see you then, and I will bring Kyan. The boy has no one to play with, it would be good for him,” he says, walks off toward the elevator, and talks to the guards.
As he steps away from the door, I see Clive bleeding heavily and wiping his face. He looks up and whimpers. The entire room stinks of beer and whiskey. Shutting the door, I lock it, and he jumps up with his hands out.
Gripping the back of my shirt, I take it off to hang it over a chair. “Don’t want to get blood on it,” I tell Clive.
Donnie presses forward and my claws slip from my fingertips. Clive shrieks like a little girl as he darts behind the table to put distance between us. He grabs a chair and lifts it to use as a weapon. He swings it at me, and I grab it, tossing it away before lunging at him.
His screams are like music to my ears as I grab him. I punch him in the gut, and he doubles over before I bring my knee to meet his bloodied face. His head snaps back with a sickening crunch as his nose breaks.
Dragging him to the kitchen, he struggles to dig his heels into the floor, and I repeatedly smash his face into the counter while turning the burner on. Finally, he crumbles to the ground, and I hunt for a knife in the drawers. Finding one, I crouch in front of him, plunging the knife into his thigh.
He screams, and his leg bounces as he tries to pull the knife out but can’t bring himself to do it. His hands tremble that badly, and the knife is to its hilt.
“You laid your filthy hands on my son,” I tell him, yanking the knife out.
He screams again when I grab his hand and bring the sharp knife down on his fingers and sever three of them cleanly off. Sweat coats him as he screams and begs, crying out as I cut each finger off.
“You slapped a six-year-old,” I tell him, gripping his head and slashing his face.
I drag the dulling blade down his cheek, and he paws at my hand with his nubs left for fingers. Then, grabbing his ear, I pull on it and cut it off. His screams are dying as he loses his voice, and I haul him upright to the stove. The burner is bright red as it reaches maximum heat.
“No, no, no,” he begs, pushing his feet and palms against the oven as I drag him toward it.
I slam his face down on the burner, and he thrashes and screams. I hold my breath. The stench of burning flesh and facial hair makes me want to puke. Ripping him off it, he sags against me, having passed out. I drag him toward the balcony. Pushing the sliding doors open when I am hit with a chilled breeze.
Dominic is right. The view from up here is truly great.