Series: Sean Moriarty
Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 113805 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113805 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Babies. I’m surrounded by men with babies. It’s way too fucking domesticated for my tastes.
And the fact that Simon and Johnathan are standing beside each other without so much as flinching is far too unnerving, to say the least.
For the past two months, they’ve been acting closer. No reason has been stated, but I know they went on an off-the-books trip together and whatever happened certainly removed some of their distaste for each other.
The whole world is changing around me, and I’m stuck in a cramped office, watching it go by from a window.
I knew my time out in the wild was running short. Even before the incident in Kentucky. Yet, I tried to play it off in my mind that I was simply being paranoid.
Paranoia has its benefits when you’re on your own.
I could feel the calling to come back home, though.
Lucifer may have had the final say, but I’m not positive I would have been able to resist the gravity well I felt pulling me back here.
I think all of the family has felt it recently. As if we’re being called in to protect the pack.
Keep the lions at bay long enough for us to regroup, grow, and show a new monster to the world.
The main problem with Lucifer’s plan, though, is an easily exploitable one. He’s decided to not only bring new men and women into the family, but to also have families.
Spouses and children are not a good thing when it comes to murder, theft, drugs, smuggling, and whatever the fuck else we do to make a living.
I let out one long internal sigh as the doors finally open for the top floor of the building.
Those concerns of mine are not to be heeded, of course.
Lucifer opened Pandora’s box when he claimed Lily as his own. Just how much he fucked the box, how much of a gaping fucking axe wound he left when he thrust us further into war, is to never be mentioned.
I never figured I’d die quietly in a bed from old age. But right now, I’m debating on whether or not my life expectancy is closer to the mid-thirties.
When we’ve all finally gathered in Lucifer’s office, it’s not nearly as full as it was a couple of years ago. Sure, we’ve filled some of the gaps, but there’s a looming emptiness that hovers like a shadow.
We’ve lost a lot of men over the past few years. Some in the line of duty, protecting the family. Others from betrayal. Each death, regardless of which way it came about, has hit us painfully.
Thomas, Peter, Paul, Michael, and Bart. All dead and gone.
Amanda, Uriel, and Nathaniel have joined the family.
But that’s only three new men to five dead souls.
Regardless of how we look at it, we’re losing more than we’re replacing.
If we’re in a war, that’s a bad thing.
I highly doubt we can just throw bodies into the breach and hope to plug it.
Adam, Lucifer’s son, stares at us like he’s the next king of the family. There’s no arrogance, just simple confidence he’ll be leading the next generation as he ushers in a new era of… what exactly? Death and mayhem? Is that even possible in today’s day and age?
Perhaps, if he does it the right way. But he’ll need to surround himself with hard men and women. The type of family that makes their bones the honest way. Ones who are tested in ways all the normals in the world could never handle.
“Adam, please have Albert give you the quarterly report for the Miller account,” Lucifer says with a broad smile for his son.
“Of course, Father,” Adam says and moves through the room quietly.
He’s, I think, ten now, and it’s frightening how at ease he is around us. It’s as if he doesn’t care that the room he’s in is filled with killers.
Then again, we’re all more than likely wearing our day masks. The ones that we keep in place to hide our true selves from the outside world. It wouldn’t do for us to show our true inner workings.
The mask I wear keeps the voices that torment me from howling at the moon in frustration.
When Adam is gone and the door is closed, Simon clears his throat quietly.
Then he looks at me. “We’ve finally matched the casings we found and the bullet fragments pulled from your body.”
“Why has it taken so long?” I ask.
I understand we’re not a crime lab on some television show, but it’s been nearly six months.
“Because I wanted to be sure what we found was correct,” Simon answers and looks down at the laptop in front of him. “The rifle that was used was reported stolen eight months ago in a home burglary. We’ve checked with the original owner, and I have no doubt he was telling the truth when he said it was stolen.”