gunshots: Derek's POV
In His Service
I paced across Virginia's penthouse living room for the thousandth time, carving a rut into the plush rug that stretched from the floor to ceiling window all the way across to the gas fireplace, which was currently flickering with a low, steady flame. I shot a frustrated glance at the fire, taunting me with its controlled, evenly spaced dance as I walked the floor with a riot of emotions ricocheting in my head as I went over and over the conversation I had just had.
"Derek." Luc's voice gave away the barest hint of a quiver that most people would never notice. But this was one of my brothers. I could tell from that one utterance that something was deadly wrong.
I sat up from the weight bench I had just been lying on and grabbed a towel.
"What happened?" I demanded, already stripping out of my gray sweatpants and heading out of the home gym.
"There was just an active shooter at the Vegas club..."
I froze on the staircase up to my bedroom as his words hung in the air. Luc's family was Italian mafia. He had fired his fair share of gunshots... so for him to suddenly be unnerved by a shooter didn't make sense... unless...
My heart started pounding a heavy beat as I waited for the words I already knew were coming.
"Virginia is with me."
I couldn't begin to process the possibilities of what those words meant. I should have been outraged. Livid. Murderous.
Unsurprisingly I felt all of those things in a nanosecond.
Surprisingly... they paled against the boiling surge of jealousy that ignited my veins at Luc's words.
I gripped the phone tighter, my jaw clicking as I ground my teeth together. I wanted answers. I would demand them, in fact. But now only one thing mattered.
My voice dripped with deadly malice as I spoke. "Get her home."