Brotherhood of Cain (Werewolf/Mafia)

Chapter Forty-Five: Till Death Do Us Part

"I used to think you were like me. You were attracted to the darkness. But, Tate, you are the darkness." - Violet Harmon, American Horror Story

Chapter Forty-Five

Draven's POV

"Who killed her?" I said. Because as long as someone was connected with Brotherhood of Cain, it wasn't "how did they die," it was, "which one of our enemies killed her, and how bad did they hurt her before they did."

  Tamal remained slumped on the floor. The smell of misery clung to him like a thick cologne, pungent and burning my nose. He was in that weird stage between shifts, where we verged on wolves but that tiny shred of humanity held us back. Thick hair sprout along his dark skin, clinging to the abnormally bulging muscles. A loud rip and his shirt fell to pieces, raining across the ground.

  "Herself," Tamal choked out, looking up at me with the blurry eyes of a predator. "Police said she'd killed herself."

  I'd met Cherie a few times, found her annoying and a little too comfortable that half the shit that came out of her mouth wouldn't get her smacked. Her mom was the same way, a hoity-toity French woman who opened up a candy shop in the ghetto. Tamal put up with her because apparently she was a "hellcat" in bed. And though she wasn't his only bed warmer, she was his favorite.

  I evened my breathing, speaking out on an exhale, "Deep breaths, now." My tone brokered no discussion, it was one Tamal was smart enough to heel to.

  Despite the animal that lurked in his slitted pupils, his face was exactly like how I remembered thirty years ago, lost and childish. It was the look that held me back from shooting him point blank when him and a couple of street kids had broken into one of the places I protected.

  He inhaled, holding it, then exhaled on an unsteady breath.

  Rheema moved closer to Tamal, grasping the dining table like it was the only thing keeping her afloat. Silent tears trailed down her cheeks, smearing the carefully applied makeup she'd put on. Her heart beat an unsteady rhythm, and she was wound up so tight a tap to the shoulder would shatter her. I shook my head when she reached for Tamal. It would only work him up more.

  When his breathing regulated and he leaned his head back against the wall did I dare broach the subject again. "How?"

  Tamal's arms locked tight around his knees. I listened to a tell tale crack. I really didn't want to in front of Rheema and the kids, but if I heard another bone break for the shift, I'd have to beat him into submission.

  "A shotgun. She'd put it right between her lips and blew her brains out." Doubtful it was all her doing.

  Statistically, women were less likely to kill themselves violently. They went for ways such as poisoning. Men, however, were the more likely culprit to eat their own gun. Besides, I didn't see Cherie sleeping with a Remington under her pillow.

  It looks like I'd be paying dear old Niklaus a visit, or at least Commander Grimes. The deciding factor would be if Niklaus was still alive when I got to him, and if Ethel was alright with it. If there was anything I'd do before telling her, it was talking to pops. Frankly, I would've been more than happy to stick him down in the dungeons and put to use what I'd learned from Able and Roman, but I don't think Ethel would like it.

  "When did you find out?" Rheema asked softly from behind me.

  Tamal's glanced at his grandmother, eyes watering even more when he saw the scared gleam in her own. He dragged a hand through his short hair and sighed roughly. "Last night. I went to the crime scene, but they weren't doing jack shit. Called it a suicide and had the coroners send her to the morgue, like just another fucking junkie overdose."