Nico
I learned early that rage was only useful when it was leashed. Uncontrolled anger got men killed. It made them sloppy. It made them loud and loud men didn't live long in my world. But that didn't mean that the rage wasn't there. It lived under my skin, coiled and patient, waiting for permission. Like a guard dog waiting for the command to attack its target.
Seamus taking Raven should have been enough to unleash it. Any man who touched what was mine without permission signed his own death warrant. That truth had been written into me before I ever learned how to bleed without crying.
And yet, as I drove through the city with my hands tight around the steering wheel, I knew — deep in my bones — that Seamus was only a symptom. The disease was closer to home. My phone vibrated against
