The flames’ height had dropped as they consumed the most flammable of materials in the estate house. If anything, though, the fire grew in heat intensity, especially around the stone stairs to the bolt hole or safe room. I hadn’t been able to enter, and Brujeria had been to wounded and in too much pain to discus what she had seen, other than her sadistic father.

So while I didn’t have any true explosives to do what I would have preferred, there are plenty of materials in a house like this to increase the flames. At that moment, I heard a shuddering crack as one of the stones in the foundation wall crack as the heat destroyed its strength. Satisfaction seared through me. Some things I still knew how to do. Demolitions is about more than stringing explosives together.

But the emotion was fleeting as I turned away from the fire. We still needed to destroy the rest of his engineered minions. Titan had apparently disobeyed instructions and ignored the plan again, letting the powered cartel soldiers to escape, not realizing or ignoring that they would just gather again with others who hadn’t been here and continue to threaten Brujeria’s coven. We needed to find her father, I hoped he was trapped and dying in the flames, but I didn’t need genetically modified senses to know that scenario unlikely.

Rook hadn’t been able to heal Brujeria. Her injuries were….grotesque, as if she were unraveling from the waist down. We were going to split up in the face of the enemy. I didn’t like it, as we really didn’t know what we were facing, other than people who had abilities based upon some weird kind of sorcery. Even as many times as I have seen Brujeria use spellcraft, it still bothered me. I would never tell her this, but I suspect she knew. It just felt unnatural. I am well aware of the irony in that thought. We needed to send her back to her coven for healing, but I didn’t trust them, their motives. I had plenty of justification regardless of Spyder’s infatuation with Lala.

It had been a long day…..

---

12 Hours Earlier

I tried to meditate but the revelations during the single day we had been gone were proving…difficult to ignore. I needed to talk to Whitley, but we had only retired for the night a couple hours ago. She needed her rest for whatever she planned with this coven. The celebration had died down after the visit by the cartel, and their attempt to insert a sniper/watcher had been rather pathetic, but concerning to those who lived here nonetheless.

Even the simple comforts of this monastic cell room was not enough to calm me. I never really feel comfortable at the base, with all of its technology, ornateness, creature comforts. Even if I designed it all, it was just too…..rich. And the only reason our suite had been comfortable was now missing, thanks to the same fucking people in this coven. I wanted to go home, to spend time with my daughter, to get to know her. I wanted to figure out the fucking mess I had gotten myself into there as well. My mind certainly wasn’t focued on anything other than Olivia, Shawna and, Amelia. When we first got to the United States, I didn’t think life, any kind of life, really mattered anymore. I was just…..existing. Bryce had dragged me along into this super protector role, and I had met Shawna, lost her, then……loved her. I still love her, and yet she still lays in that fucking coma because of this fucking coven.

And yet, when I saw her at the motorcross track…..my world changed. I had wanted to come home, to say goodbye to mother properly, to see my daughter in person. In an instant, that all changed. When I saw her, I couldn’t leave her behind. Not again. No matter who it was going to hurt. No matter what it took.

I stirred from the waking dream in that cell.  I needed to talk to Whitley.  I needed to make sure she understood.  That she knew all of it.  Regrets can destroy everything.