His voice is slow and careful as he says, “I can do both. What do you have planned?”

“If they’ve got inside security feeds, get yourself into them and you’ll see,” I say and then disconnect the phone.

* * *

When I’ve had a moment to bring my simmering anger down a notch, I get into the truck and take a look at Meghan. She’s far too beautiful, so much so it makes my tongue feel thick with unsure feelings for her.

“What was that about?” Meghan asks as I pull out of the cemetery.

“My asshole brother set us up for that little fucking visit,” I growl out as we pull onto the main road.

James hightailed it pretty damn fast out of there. No chance in catching up with his ass.

“Why and who was he? I mean I know he was a priest… but why is he coming to talk to you guys?” Meghan asks.

When I don’t immediately answer her, she pokes my arm with her slender fingers. “What was that about? I thought you said we’re in this together?”

“Coss was a power behind the throne when it came to the family business. He stood just to the right side of Lucifer’s father,” I say as I get us onto the highway heading towards Bethlehem.

“You mean Lucifer’s father had a priest working for him?”

“No. He was one of Lucifer’s father’s men, one of the best hitmen around. Lucifer gave him the choice of the church or the graveyard,” I say and try to ease the fucking tension in my shoulders.

It’s been a long fucking time since I saw that fucker, and he still makes me want to commit violent fucking murder. I want to wrap my calloused hands around his old, weathered fucking throat.

That motherfucker stayed out of the grave and prison, while I spent ten long fucking years inside a cement fucking block. I’m not fucking mad at Lucifer, Simon, or any of the other guys. They had their lives stretching before them like a beautiful sunrise. I was in my sunset. I’d killed too many men to clear the way for the family.

To clear the way for Lucifer to take over as the unmitigated leader.

Father Coss, that fucker was left alive for appearance’s sake. At least that’s how he got Lucifer to spare him. He did some of the dirty work with me and in return he got to live. It also kept the status quo with the surrounding families. He was kept around to guide Lucifer…

Like that would have ever truly fucking happened. Lucifer took full control the day he smothered his fucking father, and I put a bullet in anyone who objected. I killed eleven men that day for Lucifer. Father Coss killed two. Might as well have killed me, or so I thought. Wouldn’t have been much to kill off a son of his.

The wheel groans again as I start trying to bend it into something beyond the circular shape it’s supposed to be.

“Gabriel. Stop,” Meghan says quietly, her small fingers tracing the popping veins of my arms. “Stop for me.”

Slowly I pry my fingers off the steering wheel. I don’t know if I could truly bend the fucker in half like I want to, but I’m willing to bet it wouldn’t be good for the car if I did.

“You’re going to have a heart attack before you’re forty…” she says quietly. “Which reminds me, exactly how old are you?”

“Thirty-one,” I grunt as I shift in my seat.

Meghan has a way of bringing me out of my rage, even if I still want to fucking kill Coss. That high-horsed motherfucker thinks of us as fallen soldiers, and we probably are. But him trying to fucking redeem us is a fucking joke. He’s got more than enough blood on his hands.

“Shit, I robbed the retirement home!” Meghan groans loudly. “You’re going to keel over any year now from old age. Do we need to get one of those stair-escalator things? You know, the ones the old people sit in to ride up a flight of stairs…”

“I’d fucking break one of those things just by sitting on it,” I growl out as I latch my hand onto her inner thigh. “Besides, I didn’t see your young ass caring about me being so old last night.”

“Oh…” she murmurs as I start to stroke her thigh. “What… What about family? Brothers or sisters?”

My hand stops roaming so I can grab the steering wheel again with it.

“Simon… That asshole you’ve met already is my brother. Had a sister, but she died very young to an infection that wasn’t caught in time,” I say.

“Gabriel… I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” I say.

But it’s not really. I think back to then and I don’t remember as much as I used to. It fucking hurts somewhere in my stomach that I can’t remember the last time I allowed myself to think of Miriam.

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