Chapter 24
A few minutes earlier
I’ll kill him. I’ll kill her, and I’ll kill Michael too.
Honestly, at this point, why the hell not?
That useless bastard took Anderson as a mission and what—just didn’t finish it? Did he get distracted? Take a nap? Stop halfway to admire the scenery? And now this clown thinks he can walk in and claim her? My girl. My responsibility. Mine.
If Michael had half a brain and had done his damn job, none of this would be happening. But no, no, no, he had to screw it up, and now I’m the one watching some idiot hover around what’s mine like he’s got a death wish.
And what is this bitch doing now? Flirting? Really?
Why the hell is she even touching me? I haven’t listened to a single word of her delirium. My brain shut the door the second she opened her mouth. She’s still talking like she thinks I’m actually interested.
Honestly, she’s lucky I have to behave for her. Another day and I’d have peeled that hand off me like gum off a shoe and poked their eyeballs out of their skulls.
And where the hell is that snake Michael?
Oh, he knows better. He’s probably wedged himself in some corner, pretending he’s invisible, because he knows me too damn well. He knows I’m in one of those moods where I don’t even need a reason to slit some throats. I’d even laugh while doing it.
Isabella stands up, looks at me, and her expression changes instantly. Something is off. I know it even before she sits down again. What the fuck did he do to her?
“And how old are you, Jack?” she asks.
Of course, I didn’t give her my real name.
“Cindy, it was great talking to you, but I’ve gotta go,” I say, forcing a smile.
“It’s Sloane,” she snaps, bristling.
I look at her a second too long, still smiling, but there’s nothing warm in it. “Yeah. Sure. If you say so.”
I walk up to Isabella without looking back.
There’s this itch under my ribs telling me to move.
“We need to go,” I say, straightening my blazer.
“What happened?” she asks.
“I didn’t say this date is over,” Anderson hisses, almost panicked that I’ll steal the most precious thing he’s ever laid his eyes on.
Michael and that Charlotte bitch—or whatever the fuck her name is—step closer, brows furrowed, ready to protect their precious king.
“Your father wants me back,” I reply, avoiding looking at this motherfucker.
“You’re not wearing any earpiece.” Charlotte nods. “How do you know?”
I give her a sidelong, lazy snide look. “I have a sixth sense.”
“You’re not leaving until I say so,” Anderson says, pushing himself to his feet.
Alright, relax, old man. Stand up that fast and your blood pressure’s gonna nosedive harder than your dignity.
“Calvano’s orders,” I hiss apathetically.
Isabella’s full lips twitch into a smirk she’s trying not to let show.
Anderson lets out an indignant huff and digs out his phone. “Let me call him myself.”
Son of a bitch.
I’ve had enough.
There’s a predator’s calm in me when I grab his wrist and push his phone down, while I shove my other hand in my blazer pocket. He goes statue-still, like he’s waiting for someone to tell him what to do.
Michael and the other chick press their muzzles to my temples, right and left. Like this is supposed to impress me. If anything, it just makes me want to laugh, then butcher them using simply the butter knife.
“Are you saying I’m lying?” I ask, staring into his wrinkled eyes with that dead-cold patience I get right before I do something everyone regrets.
“Yes,” he hisses, way braver than he has any right to be. He jerks his arm back, and my hand just tightens around it on instinct. “What are you doing?”
“There’s one thing you should know about me, Mr. Whatever-Your-Name-Is.” I tilt my head. “I lie all the time … honestly, I can’t help myself. But every now and then, I say something true.”
They both cock their guns’ hammers. Isabella gasps in fear, frozen.
“And when I do tell the truth, people always wish they’d listened sooner.” I tilt my head just slightly toward the door. “Now … think very carefully about which moment this is.”
“You have two guns pointing at you. What makes you think you’re faster than them?” Anderson says, his smile returning.
I swear, I’ll kill this rat, and I will enjoy it.
“What makes you so sure I walked in here alone?” My smile twitches.
“What makes you think those snakes at the door didn’t miss something?
Something small … something easy to ignore …
something that could turn this place into confetti before you even finish that thought you’re choking on?
” I lean in, eyes bright in the worst way. “Tell me I’m lying again.”
“Impossible,” Charlotte-bitch spits through her teeth.
I don’t bother looking at her. My smirk stays glued to fucker-Anderson.
“Try me. Please.”
His grin wavers. Ah, there it is. The fear.
That bitter, unmistakable metallic stench that hits the back of your throat. It’s almost funny how people think they can hide it.
It rolls off him in waves, and I swear for a second, I can practically drink it.
“Go on,” I murmur, voice too steady to belong to a sane person. “Test the extent of my deranged mind. See how far you get before the bane that follows right behind it.”
Sweat trickles down his temple, his throat tightening as he swallows hard. “Calm down,” he says with a shaky voice.
“Move, lover,” Charlotte-bitch hisses, pressing the muzzle further against my skull.
“Sloane, don’t!” Michael barks like he just remembered he has a spine.
First time I’ve heard his voice all night.
Guess he finally grew the guts to say something—about me, to me, whatever.
I’m sure he knows better than messing with me, but if he doesn’t remember, I’ll enjoy reminding him why he should.
“Easy, Sloane,” Leo says, his eyes locked on mine. Finally, some damn sense in that walking corpse. “Let’s not stain my restaurant with our blood, shall we?”
Was her name always Sloane?
The place floods with bodyguards, some in full tactical gear, others in expensive suits, closing in from every direction, all of them raising their guns at me and Isabella.
“Let’s see if you stick to that bad-boy attitude now,” Leo jeers, widening his eyes.
“Here’s how this is gonna go,” I say, the smirk dragging itself across my face whether I want it or not.
“I’ll pull this grenade pin so casually, and you won’t even have time to realize how stupid it was to test me.
” I cock my head to the side. “And if you shoot me now, my fingers might slip faster than you think.”
Leo gulps, more forced this time, his eyes still wide.
“Guns down,” he commands, and everyone immediately listens. All except for that bitch.
“Lower your gun, sweetheart!” Leo yells, turning red, but she doesn’t obey him.
“This is my favorite part,” I hiss quietly. “One …”
“Wait, wait—hold on,” Michael blurts, yanking the gun away from my temple like he suddenly remembered he actually wants a body on his hands. Took him long enough to realize I’m not joking.
“What the hell are you doing, you coward?” Sloane snaps at him, veins standing out on her neck. She looks one twitch away from ripping the gun right back out of his hands and finishing what he couldn’t.
Michael shoots her a glare, but his hands are still shaking around the gun. “I’m trying not to get us all killed,” he snaps back. “Maybe try using your brain for once.”
Smart boy.
“You fucked it up. Let’s do this again.” I smirk wider. “One …” I groan, almost bored.
“Put the gun down, Sloane,” Leo shouts again.
“I can kill him right now!”
“Two …”
“Sloane!” Michael barks.
She clenches her teeth, unable to admit she’s already lost.
“Thr—”
Suddenly, Michael fires, and the shot slams into her shoulder, spinning her off balance.
I shove myself back to my feet as a glorious rush of victory crawls up my spine and feeds my ego.
“Well, that was kinda kinky, I won’t lie.” I give Michael a sidelong glance. “Going against your own people might get you in trouble, though.”
Panting, he glances at Leo, who’s already staring him down like he’s deciding where to bury him. Michael didn’t shoot her for me. He saved his own damn ass, because he knows I’m not the type to hesitate when it comes to blowing things apart.
“Now, please, excuse us, gentlemen.” I grab Isabella by the waist and pull her closer, eliciting a small gasp from her. “I’ve got a girl to take home safely.”
We walk towards the exit, all eyes on us.
“Did you really have a grenade?” she whispers, her eyes fixated on the door.
“Nope.”
“You’re crazy!” she whispers.
“Pick up the pace. I bet they’re this close to checking my organs.”
As we reach the exit, the hostess is still there, almost shaking. News travels fast.
“I need my shit,” I mutter, giving her a lazy nod.
She grabs a luggage bag from the floor and offers it to me with stiff arms, keeping as much distance as she can.
“You can stop trembling now.” I smile broadly, giving her a lazy salute. Turning around, I find Isabella rooted to the spot, stunned. “Move,” I growl, pushing her slightly.
The walk to the car is either way longer than I remember, or she’s moving like she’s a snail.
“A little faster, maybe?” I ask, speeding up. “Preferably this decade.”
“Cazzo.”