Chapter 11 #2
Turning around, I come face-to-face with the most terrifying man in the fucking world.
Does he know this loser?
“Need help?” he asks, as casually as ordering a coffee.
But I know better than to be tied with this motherfucker, who most likely purposely hung back for a moment to see what I’d do.
It doesn’t matter. This isn’t a performance for him or anyone else.
This is my unfiltered rage, which at times has gotten me into a lot of fucking trouble.
But anything goes when you knock out my best friend, my voice says in an unhinged singsong voice.
My gaze drops to his waistband, and a smile blossoms within me when I see the gun. “No, thank you. I have this under control.”
“Silas, I didn’t know—” the man begins spluttering.
There’s a second of logic that reminds me I don’t know whose crew this man is from, or how it might implicate things for me—quickly squashed by the lethal edge and need to protect Nessa.
No man hurts what I love and gets away with it. Not now. Not ever. Not anymore.
My hand touches his shirt, just above his waistband, where his gun is. He raises a perfect brow, and before he can stop me, I remove the gun from his body and turn around to aim it at the fucker still smoking and trying to blubber excuses as if Silas is the one to be feared.
He doesn’t even acknowledge me until his gaze drops to the gun, and he smiles, as if I’m joking.
Because I’m a woman, not to be taken seriously.
That he should be allowed to do as he wants with a woman, because he feels so fucking entitled.
I pull the trigger.
The bullet slams into his thigh, and his scream echoes through the room. People gather behind me, but I ignore them and walk up to the asshole bleeding all over the club’s luxurious black carpet.
I’m going to shoot him again.
Maybe in the knee.
Maybe in both.
Or maybe I’ll do the world a favor and shoot him in his ugly, smug face.
That’s the funny thing about not being taken seriously.
They don’t think you have it in you until they push you over the edge.
And unfortunately for him, my being over the edge doesn’t work in his favor.
Because I relish in his fucking screams and the way the fear grows in his eyes.
That he’s finally acknowledged the Grim Reaper we have in all of us. Some of us just hide it better.
As I take aim, a big hand wraps around my wrist.
“Give it to me, now,” Silas says. A cold chill drips over me.
“I don’t do well being told what to do,” I growl, wondering if I should turn the gun on him as well. It’d solve one of my problems.
“You have an audience. It’ll be harder to get away with this if he’s dead by your hands in such a public execution. Think of Nessa and Larissa.”
I grow colder, hating the fact that he knows my weakness so clearly. That I would do anything for them. But it works, and I lower the gun.
Without looking at him, I hand the gun back to Silas, then bend down to pick up the burning cigarette. The asshole is crying and clutching his leg, too weakened and distracted by pain to predict my next move. Just because I don’t have a gun doesn’t mean I can’t still make my point.
Grabbing his leg, I dig the cigarette into his skin, directly above the bullet wound, grinding it in deep. He screams and lashes out at me, attempting to slap me across the cheek.
“Do not lay a fucking hand on her, or I will take your head,” Silas’s dark voice growls behind me.
The wounded man seems to understand the warning and stops.
He grits his teeth together. “The bitch shot me.”
“You behave like an asshole, then you get punished like an asshole,” Silas says matter-of-factly.
“You need to learn how to treat a woman,” I add. “Consider that lesson number one.”
“You fucking whore…” he snarls, saliva running down his chin as he groans in pain.
The hot blood running through my veins doesn’t lose its edge, but because of Silas’s words, I’m brought back to a more controlled version of myself.
Or maybe it has to do with how pathetically this man grovels on the floor.
I swing my attention back to Silas. “Are these the type of men you associate with, ones who hurt women?”
“No.”
“No?” I cross my arms over my chest. Because I certainly imagine this is one of his men. He might act like a gentleman, but it would appear that the men who work for him are still just pigs.
A smile seems to dance on Silas’s lips as he says, “You’re a woman who trusts actions more than words.”
“I don’t trust any word from a man’s mouth.” I learned that the hard way.
“Then you’re a smart woman.” He winks, then lifts his gun, and while dark eyes remain on me, he shoots the man. The blubbering stops. I arch an eyebrow, surprised and equally impressed. Silas is a man of deliberate action. Without hesitation, he just killed one of his own men.
“Guess you best get back to work,” he says. “Looks like you’ll have a body coming in soon.”
It goes without saying that he also just covered my ass because I don’t have the sway that he does over this city. If I’d killed him so publicly, while losing it, I’d be fucked. But those rules are applied differently to these men.
Although I can certainly be creative in how to make someone disappear, I’m best kept in the shadows. I wasn’t in my right mind just now, and I never thought the person who would pull me back to the edge of reason would be one of the most ruthless killers I’ve ever met.
Silas walks away without even glancing at the dead man on the floor. But I do. Silas’s bullet got him right between the eyes.
I should be shocked. Horrified, even. Because it’s one thing to want to shoot someone for the pain they’ve inflicted on someone you love, but shooting someone without even breaking a sweat is something else entirely.
When I look back at Silas, he’s standing with the owner of the club. A man in his sixties in a too-tight suit and dripping in gold jewelry. He looks like he’s part of the Nero crew. They do, after all, own all the strip clubs in Boston.
Silas pulls an envelope from his pocket. “Pay all your staff to stay silent and send them home.”
“You shouldn’t be here,” the man says, not with an ounce of authority. It sounds more like he’s scared. I’ve noticed, in the way of the bodies coming across my table, that Silas has been targeting Nero’s crew. They all cross my table with the same branded tattoo.
Only Silas would be so ballsy as to walk in here like he owns the club. Or maybe he really wasn’t here because I was. Maybe he’s here on business, trying to find more information.
I shake my head because I don’t care. Until he needs me, I’m not looking into his politics any further. Because that would mean I care. And I don’t do that.
The boss looks at the envelope, then nods before telling everyone to leave. I walk over to where Nessa sits on a lounge, holding her head. Soph sits beside her, tenderly rubbing her back.
I try to let all that adrenaline crash to the wayside. It’s not entirely gone, but I focus on what’s most important. Nessa. She’s okay. She’s alive.
I kneel in front of Nessa. “You okay, honey?”
She’s been crying. She has panda eyes, and her makeup is streaked down her face.
“Is he dead?” she asks, her voice detached.
“Yes,” I reply.
Her chin quivers. I think she’s about to yell at me again about needing this job, but instead, she says, “Good.”
My heart sinks. I know I did the right thing, even if I didn’t finish the job.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?” I push gently.
Her face cracks. “He wouldn’t take no for an answer. I fought back. So he hit me.”
My blood runs cold. If he weren’t already dead, he certainly would be now.
“I’m sorry that happened to you,” I say gently, trying my hardest to keep the lethal edge out of my tone.
Her voice drops to a whisper. “He was going to hurt me, Leo. With his beer bottle.”
“He won’t be doing that again.” I gently squeeze her knee.
Now I wish I could resurrect him just to make him suffer a little more.
“You’re safe. Now let’s get you checked out.
” I go through the motions, reminding myself that Nessa is okay.
She’s rattled and scared, but safe. And I will protect and look after her.
“She won’t let me call an ambulance,” Soph says.
“That’s okay, I can fix her up back at her apartment.”
Nessa shakes her head. “No, Larissa is asleep there with the babysitter. Can we go to yours? I don’t want her to see me like this.”
My heart softens, and I nod. “Come on. My car is out front.”
I help her to her feet, and we make our way to the entrance of the club. When I look back, Silas watches me as one of his men speaks with him rapidly. The club owner also seems to agree with what he says.
His dark sapphire blue eyes bore into me, and as I help my best friend walk out on wobbly legs, everything else seems to fade.
There’s only Silas and me in this room.
A predator and a part of me I never meant to expose to anyone—and certainly not him of all people.
I haven’t heard the last of this because I can sense his curiosity has only grown.
That in itself is a very dangerous thing.