His throat is in my hand and I slam him mercilessly against the brick wall of the alley.

When all else fails, torture doesn't hurt.

Especially when it's for the girl I love. No, torture doesn't hurt at all.

With gritted teeth, I say, "Marie told me you would know where she was."

"I━I don't━I don't know anything!" he wails. His name is Gianluca, and he works for neither of the gang families. He is a spy for Maria, and she promised he would know something.

My fingers dig tighter into his neck. He struggles to breath.

"Let me ask you again," I whisper softly. "Because I know you know where she is. I know you've seen her around campus. Around the city. Somewhere."

"I don't━"

"How much are they paying you, Gianluca?" I snarl into his ear. "Think about it for a moment. Is it worth what I'm going to do to you in a moment?"

"Do to me? What are you going to━to do to me?"

My breath caresses his ear. My fingers squeeze tighter. "First, I'm going to snap your fingers. One by one. And then I'll snap your neck. To be honest, it's a little bit too quick for my taste. But I don't really have time to waste. I'll get what I need, one way or another."

Saliva bubbles from his mouth. He splutters, "Okay, I'll━I'll tell you━"

"I'm waiting," I say patiently, my hold growing tighter.

"I━saw━her━downtown━with some woman, a━an Asian woman━"

"Where," I hiss. "When."

"Next to━to the Maroni florist stand. It was a week ago, maybe, and it was morning, maybe the day after that Saint ambush on the Underground━"

I'm not surprised he knows about the attacks between our two gangs. He is Maria's spy, after all.

"More," I breathe, and his face grows paler and paler.

"I━that's all I saw━I don't know━"

"Who was this woman?"

"She was━like Japanese or Korean━I don't really━know━the difference."

"Tell me something about her," I growl. Hearing him ramble something racist isn't on my list of priorities. "What was she wearing? How tall was she?"

"She━she was very tall━maybe 5'9 or 5'10━and she had long black hair and━she was wearing a jumpsuit━she was very━slender━"

Even as he is being strangled, there is an appreciative edge to his words. I almost want to let go of him as though his skin is a disease.

But I have a strange, suspicious feeling I know who he is talking about.

And if I'm right . . . if it's true . . . Jude is in real trouble.

"You━said━you would━let me go━"

"And I will," I say darkly. I ram his head into the brick building with a sickening crack, and his blood leaves a smear on the building as he sinks to the ground. Not dead, although I regret that.

Thanks to Maria, I have what I need for now.

Mikayla turns around, her dark eyes flashing. Her features, vaguely Japanese, remind me of her brother. I knew him from one encounter, but he was a good guy. He was just manipulated into wanting the wrong things.

"Is it true?" she demands. "You don't know where Jude is?"

I hear a flicker of silence pass through the area around us. Curiosity. People listening in.

With one hand, I grab Mikayla's shoulder and pull her into the elevator. This is the one place I know Anise hasn't put security cameras━so there is no evidence of the people who travel down below the first 50 floors.

"Your cousin," I say. "Tell me about her."

"Lonnie? He's dead, you know that━"

"Not Lonnie."

Her face dawns with realization, her shiny black hair falling back over her shoulders as she tips her head to the ceiling. Mikayla and I fucked, once━a one-night stand. I barely remember it, and I doubt she does either. Neither of us expected more than what we got. Meaningless sex━to lose ourselves in pleasure. To forget.

"Pierce," Mikayla says.

I nod. "Does she still work for━"

"The Yakuza?" Mikayla asks grimly. "She does. And she's still the best assassin they have."

If she's with Jude . . . if she knows Jude . . .

But no. If she wanted Jude dead, she would be.

"Is she . . . where is she?" I can't help the hopeful tint to my voice. Maybe Mikayla will tell me there's no sign of Pierce here. Maybe she'll tell me her cousin is still in Tokyo.

"Jude told me she met Pierce maybe two weeks ago," Mikayla says. "She's back in New Orleans, and I don't know why."

"Jude met her two weeks ago?" My mind is racing. Two weeks ago, Jude was still here. Jude was with me. Which means . . .

"Did she say where?"

Mikayla hesitates. "I think it must have been aboveground. In a market, or something like that."

A market. The day we took Cloudy for a walk.

The day I met Jack Danielson, the Saints boss.

The day I made the deal with him.

While I was distracted . . . she met Pierce.

"Damn," I mutter. This is my fault.

"But where is she?" Mikayla pleads, and I know she's not talking about Pierce. "Please, Hunter, you have to know something."

An edge creeps into my voice. Something soft and reckless. "I'm trying."

In those two words, she must find what she's looking for.

"You have to find her, Hunter," she whispers. "Please. You have to━you have to make this right. I'm worried. Jude wouldn't just disappear like that."

You're right. She wouldn't.

I told her to run.

And she did. She ran, and now I can't find her.

Now she's gone.

No, I think. No, I won't lose her again. I won't lose her for a second time, not when I finally got her back.

I won't lose her to those sons of bitches. And I especially won't lose her to goddamn Pierce, because the history we have━it's enough to make me seethe.

Jude is mine. Even if I betrayed her. Even if I have to beg for her forgiveness. She is mine, and I'll be damned if I let her go one more time.

"You saw her."

The brown-skinned florist is trembling from head to toe. "It was━maybe━a couple days ago."

I'm not quite sure what he's so afraid of.

Maybe it is the gun in my waistband, or the way my jacket just barely manages to conceal it from view. Maybe it is the tattoos that climb up my wrist, Italian writing of a poem I once read to Tommy. Maybe it is even the glint of a knife on my thigh.

Better yet, maybe it is me.

I know I have a reputation. I shouldn't be surprised it reaches this far.

After all I've done to earn it, sometimes I forget.

"A few days ago," I say. "Give me a date."

Recent, then━Jude was here only days ago. Why?

"Saturday," he stammers.

I smile pleasantly at him and lay my palm flat on the counter.

It startles him; he jerks backward as though I tried to brand him. But my hand is still, resting atop the green marble counter.

The scent of flowers hums in the air. I breathe it in.

I've never liked flowers.

"Surely that isn't all you know," I say lightly. "The date."

And then I pull out my knife and begin to trace the shape of my hand. A subtle caress of steel against skin, not hard enough to break the surface.

His eyes widen. "A girl," he blurts out. "A━a woman."

"Surely her genitalia wasn't all you noticed about her?"

"She was beautiful," he adds. "She was really beautiful."

I know he's talking about Pierce, and I stiffen. If I hear one more thing about how beautiful Pierce is, I'll take this knife and use the next person I see as target practice.

Jealousy, some soft, inner part of me sings. I don't deny it. Jude is mine.

"And . . . she was . . . they were talking about a murderer, I think. Something about university, and a campus, and a sorority house? I don't know. I don't know . . ."

"Thank you," I say, pleasantly, and I pull out a thick wad of cash.

"She's still with Pierce," I tell Mikayla, as we cross through the busy streets of New

 Orleans. She holds out her hand━flagging a cab.

Mikayla nods. "Makes sense. I don't know what Pierce wants with her, but once she digs her claws into something, she doesn't let go."

A cab screeches towards the curb, and Mikayla throws open the door. She pauses when I shake my head, a sign that I'm not coming with her.

"Do you know where Pierce is staying?"

Mikayla hesitates. "No, but I know who might. She's an ex-don, born into the Mafia. Do you know Angel Falcone?"

As soon as she ducks into the cab, I am running.

"Derek," I say into the phone, as soon as his number has finished ringing. "I need you to do something for me. I need you to stop a flight."

"Stop a flight?"

I do know Angel Falcone. And I know exactly where she will be.

Italy━if I don't stop her.

"Delay it all costs," I say harshly into the phone. "I don't care what you have to do. Angel Falcone does not get on that airplane."

"It's a private plane━"

"I don't care what you have to do. Do it."

Then I end the call, and I grab the nearest newspaper.

New Orleans is small. Small enough that I know I will find what I am looking for. And I do━right on the second page.

The headlines read, CAMPUS KILLER━"HOLY MURDERER" STRIKES AGAIN.

A list of victims. Including one from the night when I first asked Sylvie Pathman to keep an eye on Jude.

Cora Brady, 22.

McKenna Mavis, 20.

Lisa Parvati, 19.

Jenna Leopold, 21.

The list goes on. Almost 40 victims in total━since the beginning of the school year.

Why would Jude be talking to Pierce about this? About a murderer?

It's not adding up. Except . . .

"HOLY MURDERER" in the headlines.

What else could that possibly mean?

If it's one of the Saints . . . if one of the gang members has gone rogue . . . why would Jude risk talking about this?

Why would she willingly walk herself right into a trap?

Because it has to be. That's the only explanation for this. A trap. There has never been a serial killer in the small towns near New Orleans. So why now?

No, it doesn't make sense.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. Derek.

"What?" I snarl softly. "What is it?"

"I . . . stopped the flight."

"Good news. Why are you calling me?"

"Well, Angel Falcone isn't too happy about it."

"Why do I care?" I snap into the phone.

My mind is still racing. HOLY MURDERER. CAMPUS KILLER. Pierce and Jude in the flower shop . . . doing what? Buying tulips? The thought fills me with slow, cold fury. Pierce is bad news.

"Because . . . because . . ."

"Spit it out, Derek."

"Angel Falcone is holding a gun to my head."

>>>

I mean, what did we really expect?

Damn, it's been three days since I updated. Miss me? Probably not with this cliffhanger.

From the moon and back,
Sarai