Going out for the holiday was not to celebrate the day of love, but to annihilate in the name of the day of massacre. Valentine’s Day wasn’t a thing – it was another excuse to put a victim in a shallow grave. Going into town was a bad idea. A private investigator had nabbed him, done a pretty decent job of beating him bloodied, and when Dante left the man’s body in the alleyway, completely exposed to wandering eyes, he’d almost forgotten to brand the man before leaving. It almost felt wrong. The last person it should’ve touched was Jace, but the brunette wasn’t getting enough done every day to suffice. Being stuck in the clubhouse was fine, but it wasn’t like Jace was a boyfriend. He couldn’t walk around sporting the blonde and forcing the rest of everyone into discomfort. The gash on his upper arm had gotten repulsive from being cut by Jace, but at least now he would have an excuse as to the rest of the damage done. Unbelievably, he’d taken better care of his property’s wounds than his own. Dante entered the home with the investigator’s head in his hand, the man’s scalp in his grasp, a trail of blood dripping from the severed neck. If he stayed in one place too long, the smell of Old Spice began to get to him and he’d have to move again, only to find it following him wherever he went. Pragonis walked past the threshold and shoved the man’s head at the person standing just past the main entrance, “Hold this.”
