Total pages in book: 197
Estimated words: 199143 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 996(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 199143 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 996(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
Angrier and more frustrated than ever, Lucian was overwhelmed by his emotions. He was known for being in control. He could handle any situation. He could be cold, callous, and cruel with a look and a word.
He’d been a killer ever since he bashed in the skull of a well-dressed man who’d tried to molest him when he’d been living on the streets and saw him as an easy target. He knew death. He understood pain.
Others, mostly.
His was not the same.
Before Lucian had even realized what happened, he’d smashed his iPhone into the steering wheel of the Lexus until it was beaten into bits and pieces.
Shattered pieces.
Like his mind and soul.
A sharp piece of the screen cut his hand when he smashed it into the steering wheel again. Blood flowed from the wound, staining the white leather and carpeting inside his vehicle. Physically, he felt nothing. Emotionally, he was stricken and useless.
Lucian didn’t give a damn.
His blood was okay to spill.
His son’s was not.
Where was little John?
*
Lucian found himself in a comforting place. It was a place he spent a lot of time in, a familiar place where mornings and afternoons of his life had been dedicated to. A place he’d never sought out before for solace simply because he felt there was nowhere else to go. There was always somewhere else.
Not tonight.
Pushing open the main doors of the church, Lucian was assaulted by the scent of oils, burning candles and the old musk of wooden pews and silent prayers. The congregation hall was dark, lit only by the lights at the altar and the flickering flames of candles.
Nothing more.
Father Peter turned in the front pew, far away from where Lucian stood, to see who had entered the sacred place at such a late time.
Lucian didn’t move when the Priest’s gaze met his. The man stood, moving gracefully into the aisle and down toward Lucian.
“I’m sorry,” Lucian whispered when he knew the Priest was close enough to hear, “I shouldn’t have just barged in here tonight.”
Father Peter’s brow rose. “Lucian, these doors are always open.”
So he’d been told.
Repeatedly.
“Has something happened?” the Priest asked.
Lucian nodded, but didn’t speak.
“What do you need, Lucian?”
“I need him back,” Lucian said.
“Hmm?”
“I need him back—I need Him to give him back to me.”
Rambling words that made no sense fell from Lucian. The Priest handled it in stride.
“Do you want to sit?”
“No,” Lucian said.
“Stand then?”
Lucian nodded once.
“Then I’ll stand with you.”
“I need Him to give him back to me,” Lucian repeated.
God had given him everything else.
Family.
Happiness.
Money.
Success.
Love.
His child.
Lucian stared at the large wooden cross hanging beyond the altar.
“Please give him back to me.”
*
Lucian felt terrible as he unlocked the front door to his home. At four in the morning, the street was still dark and the sky was still sleeping with twinkling stars. He wondered what his son was seeing. It sure as hell wasn’t the large, colorful mural on his wall, painted by his grandfather and uncle. It wasn’t the soft bear John liked to call Butter because it looked like the bear on the peanut butter jar. And it wasn’t his mother and father, who played and talked and sang to the boy until he was too tired to keep his eyes open.
People said Lucian and Jordyn spoiled John.
Loving a child wasn’t spoiling them.
The house was quiet as he stepped inside and closed the door. Without bothering to kick off his shoes or take his coat off, Lucian followed the silence to an empty living room, kitchen, and dining room. The downstairs was devoid of light, sound, and his wife.
Lucian’s heart fell and little further into his stomach.
He’d come home because he’d realized far too late that with his phone damaged and rendered unusable, his wife and family had no proper way of contacting him.
Mostly Jordyn, though.
Lucian was still pissed at Giovanni for not letting him question people on the streets. Lucian still wanted to kill Catrina.
As for Dante, Lucian still wanted to kick his ass, too.
“Jordyn?” Lucian called up the stairs.
His voice came out hoarse and tired.
His steps were sluggish and slow.
He wouldn’t sleep until his son was home. His exhaustion mattered little. Lucian had long ago taught himself how to ignore his need for sleep when his nights were plagued with dreams he’d rather not relive.
“Jordyn,” Lucian said again when he was closer to the stairs.
Still, nothing answered him back.
Lucian briefly wondered if his wife had left, but he quickly pushed the idea away. His father had taken his mother out of the city without much notice to Cecelia as a way to keep her from finding out something had happened to John. Giovanni had Kim set up in a hotel for the night, safely tucked away from any chance of harm.
There was Dante and Catrina, but Jordyn wasn’t likely to go over there after everything.