“Her.” He pushes me on the shoulder and I stumble forward. Like a lamb being offered at a slaughtering. I brace myself for the worst, hoping for the best.
I’m no lamb. I’m sick of the not knowing. The lies and deceit. The betrayal. Drawing back my shoulders, I glare at Franco. Has he just come from brutally beating my sister? Anger races up from within. I’m no lamb, I’m a raging bull. All I see is red. Bolder and brighter in color than the Ferrari we arrived in.
Raging red.
Sometimes in moments like this, the Dalai Lama had better turn a blind eye. First murder, now this.
I ball my fist, draw back my arm, and punch Franco square in the mouth. Breaking open his lip and causing him to drop his drink.
Just like Kylie’s shown me.
For a heartbeat, everyone seems to pause.
Then all hell unfolds around me, though not the kind I expected.
The room fills with laughter.
Franco is cupping his mouth. Did I knock a tooth loose?
And “Lorenzo” . . . Hayden . . . looks as if I’ve just handed him a world boxing championship trophy.
Franco charges, but I’m grabbed from behind, hauled out of Franco’s reach.
“My advice is to leave her alone, undamaged.”
“Fuck you, your advice, and this bitch.” Franco swings and I’m swept away and out of his range.
“Listen, friend. If you want to get the woman you’re interrogating to talk—”
No. Now who is selling who out?
“Hit me, you pussy,” I holler, struggling to break free of Hayden’s hold on me.
“Let me at her,” Franco barks.
“She’s her—”
I kick backward and nail Hayden between the legs with my heel. He drops me and I land in a ball at his feet.
More laughter erupts.
I glare up at Hayden. “Traitor.”
He straightens, and in a hoarse voice, informs Franco, “You want to get that bitch to talk, show Kylie her sister.”
Franco frowns, staring at me. “My men informed me her sister was dead.”
The laughter stops.
While he turns his attention toward his men, Hayden pulls me to my feet.
“Say hello to Kylie for me,” he whispers softly. Then in a louder voice, addresses Franco: “Remember who delivered this gift to you, my friend. I’ll be off, then. I’ve got a social-media campaign to attend to.”
“You’re a real down-and-out bastard,” I ground out.
“That’s right,” he responds, finally releasing me, only to reach over and tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
With a feather-light touch, he taps his finger on my temple.
A gentle reminder before he walks away.
31
Declan
I smell Madelyn’s scent on my skin.
Even after I showered, I couldn’t leave well enough alone. Like a randy teenager, I had to have more, waking her up with my fingers inside her pussy, my tongue flicking over her clit, and her moaning my name.
My girl.
My love.
The field psychologist prepared us well, training us to bury our emotions. No self-doubts. No regrets. I was her star pupil in that aspect, proving over and over what a heartless, reliable killing machine I’ve become. Yeah, there are exactly twenty-nine reasons why I’m Hayden’s right-hand man.
Yet it’s Madelyn who could teach a lesson in stealing up on someone.
Catching them by surprise.
Causing them to yearn for things they’ve never had.
Bringing out the best in the fucking absolute worst.
What a fool believing I don’t care. Yet this feeling . . . this love . . . is as foreign to me as Christmas presents around a tree or Sunday family dinners. Hell, my only family is TORC. My gift is at being the best damned mercenary around. My dinners, lunches, breakfasts consist of intimidation and fear. This is who I am. Killing is what I do.
I bring my fingers to my nose. Jesus, I can still smell her. A simple reminder of how I want her more than anything I’ve ever wanted.
Which is why I plan on fulfilling our deal we made on the porch. I’m going to terminate them all, beginning with that second-rate punk Franco.
And after that . . .
I grimace. Man, he’s done a number on Kylie. While I made myself comfortable in an adjacent bedroom, I listened to his men come in, chuckling and thinking like fools. Underestimating her, until their humor died and turned to furious outrage. Until ten minutes later, when they finally succeeded in restraining her by force-feeding her a bunch of pills.
Preparing her for Franco’s abuse.
Amateurs. For a mercenary like Kylie, it’d take a needle into a major artery to sedate her. After they left, she puked their pills back up, draining her stomach like we practiced during Hayden’s Hell Camp.
It amuses me how Franco thought he’d get off by torturing a sedated woman. When they returned, in a macho I’m-the-fucking-boss move, he ushered his men away.
Wrong fucking woman to deal with alone, buddy. Kylie teased then taunted him. Led him on and then right down the evasive path of her choosing. Somehow, God knows how, she managed to tie him up.
I know this because when his piss ants returned to check on him, the mob boss kept screeching like a madman, “Untie me. That bitch is gonna tell me who she works for, why she was spying on me, then she’s gonna pay.”
What followed was a nasty fifteen minutes of grunting and groaning, cursing and swearing, everything but Kylie selling us out.
As a matter of fact, she’s done everything up to code. Which makes me wonder, why keep TORC secrets if you’ve already done your worst?
Now, I wait, pulling out the branch from my pocket to kill the time. There’s just enough room for fourteen small marks, insignificant terminations. Thirteen disloyal assholes who’ll probably cheer as I terminate Franco, seconds before I take them out of the picture.
The last open space on the branch would have been just enough room for Kylie’s.
I stand and stretch my legs as I secure the bit of branch back inside my pocket.
The room next door is quiet. Kylie better suck it up and shake off what they’ve done to her. Having the element of surprise only gets you so far in our business. She’ll have to handle a few men herself if she has a prayer in hell of surviving.
Yeah, living long enough for me to kill her.
Finish my order.
Right.
I exit, quietly yet efficiently pick the lock to her room, and enter it. The shades are drawn tight and it takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust. The smell of sweat and blood greets me, followed by a sharp kick to the abdomen.
“Declan,” she hisses, her eyes piercing mine through the darkness.
Disliking the advantage she has, I reach for the light switch on the wall and flick it on.
I immediately wish I hadn’t.
Her right cheek is a bloody mess, puffy and likely to bruise. She has a deep cut on her eyebrow. It looks like the asshole busted it open with his ring. Her eyes are swollen and her clothes are dirty and ripped. She’s a damn mess. Yet that’s not what sets me on edge.
There’s this desperation in her eyes. Like nothing a good beating or brutal interrogation can drive away.
“Madelyn?” she demands, her tone hoarse and raw enough it sounds like it’s bleeding along with the rest of her wounds.