This time when Steele's fist cracked across Hank's face, blood spurted from the mouthy prick and several teeth rattled across the concrete floor.
I gasped. "What the fuck, Steele?" I snapped, grabbing him by the arm and spinning him back to face me. He was as tense as a bow string, and his lips parted to argue with me—to defend his choice to smack the shit out of Hank. But I didn't much care. "You could have broken your fucking knuckles, you idiot," I scolded, taking his right hand in mine to check he hadn't done any damage.
After an entire week working out with Cass at the Reaper's gym, I was becoming more aware of things like that. Luckily, though, when I uncurled Steele's fist, I found he was wearing a glove of sorts. One with the fingers cut out and woven metal across the knuckles.
"I'm fine," he murmured under his breath, his tone losing that cold edge it'd had since I’d walked in. His hand turned over in mine, linking our fingers together briefly and squeezing. For a moment I almost forgot where we were. I almost forgot that there was a beaten, bloody killer strapped to the chair not five feet from me and that I was still staggeringly angry at Steele for keeping Archer's fucking secret.
I wanted to forgive him. I wanted to understand and let bygones be bygones. But my stubborn pride and betrayed trust wouldn't let me move on until he'd paid in some way. I unlinked our fingers and took a step away.
"We got all the information we need from Hank already, Princess," Archer said, dousing my weird mood with a bucket of irritation. "He's only still breathing for your benefit."
I shot Archer a small frown of confusion, but Hank started laughing again. Blood was pouring down his chin now from the teeth Steele had knocked out, but he didn't seem bothered. I supposed he was past that point by now.
"Isn't that cute, eh? Your boyfriends wanted you to see them kill a man. If that's not romance, I dunno what is." His lip curled in a blood-soaked sneer. "What's the reward for that these days? Blow jobs? Anal? I bet you're the kinda girl who loves a good gang bang, eh? Just like your mama."
I blinked at him, hardly believing what he'd just said. Cold fury built inside me like a tidal wave, but I gritted my teeth to hold it at bay.
"Do we need him alive for anything else?" I asked, keeping my eyes locked on Hank. "Or did you really just wait so I could see him die?"
"We thought you might appreciate seeing for yourself that there was one less threat on your life, Madison Kate," Archer snapped, sounding annoyed as hell at my question. He stalked over to the table where Kody stood and snatched something off it. "Recognize this?"
Archer tossed something at me, and I instinctively caught it. Cool metal touched my fingers, and my jaw dropped as I inspected what he'd thrown.
"This is..." I turned the folding knife over in my hands, then flicked the blade out to hold it to the light. It wasn't blood-red, like Archer's, but it was a deep enough orange that I could have easily mistaken it for red in dim lighting.
My gaze shot to Hank, accusing.
"You fucking stabbed me."
A blood-covered grin curved his lips. "Not as many times as I should have."
Fury raced through me, filling every inch of my body, and then... nothing. I went numb and emotionless. Or that's what I thought, until I found myself driving the orange blade deep into Hank's thigh.
I gasped in shock as hot blood coated my hand, and Hank let out a short scream of pain. It quickly faded to laughter, though, and I clenched my teeth.
Stabbing him back hadn't been a conscious thought, but now that I'd done it, I couldn't just run away like a scared bunny. And I sure as shit wasn't leaving the weapon sticking out of his leg like an invitation to try and fight back.
Nope, I tightened my jaw and wrenched the knife back out again, catching a spray of blood to the face in the process. Maybe I'd nicked an artery.
"Like mother, like daughter, eh?" Hank taunted me as I took a shaking step away from him. "She loved the violence too. Turned her on."
Bile rose in my throat. "You don't know the first fucking thing about my mother," I told him in a hard voice. A flicker of pride warmed me at the strength in my voice. Not even the slightest quiver of fear or upset showed through, despite the tornado of emotions that was sweeping back into me. So much for that calm which had allowed me to stab a man.
"Can I kill him now?" Kody asked when Hank started a jarring mix of laughter and groaning. "He's just talking shit to try and get under MK's skin."
Steele scowled. "Fuck you. I've been the one down here with him all damn day; if anyone kills him, it's me."
Archer let out a heavy sigh from beside me, and for a second I thought he was irritated by their argument. But then he fucking joined in. "I'll kill him," he declared. "It's only fair, seeing as Madison Kate thought it was me who stabbed her."
Hank was still grinning at me while the boys debated who got to kill him, and I knew he had more poison to come. None of it would be helpful, though. None of it would give me any relevant clues on who was trying to kill me or who was stalking me. When Steele said they had all the information they needed, I believed him. He was thorough.
"All this blood and violence is making you wetter than a slut in summer, eh?" Hank taunted me in a low voice. The guys didn't even hear him as their argument escalated. Who knew they each had so many reasons why they should get to end this prick's life?
I heaved a sigh and gave Hank a bored look. "Slut-shaming insults are so passé, Hank. If you weren't about to die, I'd suggest you work on new material." Casting a glance at the guys, I found them still animatedly arguing their points, so I slipped past Kody and picked up the gun sitting between a mallet and a blowtorch.
It was heavier than I’d expected, but the weight of it in my hand didn't scare me. Quite the opposite. While I'd never learned to shoot, I had listened and paid attention. I knew Steele carried a Glock-19, and I’d bet it was already loaded.
Without giving myself a moment to second-guess what I was doing, I closed the space between Hank and me. With the gun just an inch from the back of his head, I squeezed the trigger.
Bang.
Just like that.
Blood and chunks of Hank's head splattered the room, and the single gunshot echoed through the small space with deafening volume.
My hand remained steady as I lowered the weapon and carefully placed it back on the tool table.
The guys just stared at me, aghast but silent.
"Problem solved," I told them.
Clearing my throat, I carefully stepped past the bleeding mess that was Hank and made my way out of the room. I made it as far as the ladder before my hands started shaking.
One of the guys called something out after me, but I wasn't listening. By the time I’d clambered out of the trap door, my ears were ringing and my whole body trembling.
I’d just shot a guy.
I’d just killed someone in cold blood.
What the fuck had I been thinking?
When I stumbled out of the dust-filled cabin, my eyes were streaming and my stomach churning.
I’d shot someone. I was a fucking murderer.
Warm hands grabbed my upper arms as my knees buckled. Strong arms wrapped around me, saving me from crumpling into the dirt beside Archer's car.