Vicente dropped the cigarette in front of the door and put out the glowing nub with his foot. He put the key in the ignition, turned it around and entered the house. His footsteps echoed through the hallway when he headed to the stairs.

The steps were cracking.

And not only the steps.

From above he heard the cracking of a bed, accompanied by a shrill woman's voice. The growling of a man became louder when he left the last steps.

At the landing he stood still. He pulled his Cold Combat out of his waistband, put off the safety and walked to his bedroom.

Quietly he opened the door.

They had no idea.

His wife was on top, her lover had grabbed her tits while she rode him.

Their skins were equally dark, as if they formed one body.

Vicente kept watching for a while. Except for a deep disgust and wounded pride he felt nothing. He'd gotten over the shock a long time ago, his love for her had cooled off.

With a straight face he watched how she was getting her climax. He wanted to give her that last ecstasy before he would blow up her brains. Or would he feel more satisfaction when he squeezed the life out of her?

She was done, and the man beneath her started to groan. Vicente stepped closer, and when he was only a meter away from them, the man froze, staring right past the body of his lover.

Vicente gave him a dark smile. He raised his gun and fired.

With a shock the body was thrown back on the bed.

Legacy turned around, her eyes so wide it looked ridiculous.

"Honey..." he said, shaking his head. "I thought we had something precious."

She stood up, showed herself in all her glory. There was no regret written on her face, nor fear. "I've been reckless."

To his surprise, her insensitive voice affected him. He quickly shook off the feeling, walked toward her, grabbed her throat and pushed her down on the bed. He squeezed.

She didn't writhe, she just looked at him.

Slowly he squeezed the life out of Legacy, the notorious president of the Morrigans Motorcyle club.