CHAPTER TWELVE
Ava – Ten Minutes Earlier
“Y ou are one stupid motherfucker,” I say, feeling the steel blade against my throat.
“Shut up!” Brandon’s voice quivers with rotten breath in my ear.
“Your move,” I taunt him even though the knife is digging into my neck.
For a moment, I embrace death knowing that my brothers will burn the entire Irish clan to the ground for this. They’ll name fucking streets for me, for my sacrifice.
Brandon shoves me away, and I fall to my knees.
“I’m calling your brother right now. I’m telling him you killed my guards, and you tried to kill me.” He fumbles for his phone.
Bleary-eyed, I watch him. “And?”
“This ends today! You fucked up. Your brother needs to recognize me as the heir and agree to the truce, or I’ll kill you.”
I sit back on my heels. “Go ahead. Kill me.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “I’d love nothing more, you disgusting bitch. Your homicidal brothers ruined our turf.”
“Make sure you tell Ares that.” I take a breath and lay on my back, giving in to whatever the hell is going to happen.
I’m stripped down, my strength gone, and my emotions are flying all over the map. I’m dizzy, and I can’t think straight.
A clang draws my attention. I glance toward Brandon struggling with his phone that’s covered in blood from me breaking his nose. The phone is slipping from his bloody grip. Then I see what clanged.
The knife.
He dropped the knife .
Roaring, I lunge for it and don’t care about the consequences. With the blade in my grasp, I start swinging it the way I was taught in BUD/S and catch Brandon’s left leg, cutting right through his denim jeans.
He screams and bends down out of instinct to put pressure on the painful gash.
I kick him in the chest and he falls on his back.
Knife in hand, I plunge it into his chest, energy drawn from somewhere I don’t know. I lose count of how many times I stab him. Time loses all meaning.
I’m covered in blood, using my shirt around the handle so it doesn’t slip. I won’t make the same mistake as this loser. Although, there’s no doubt that Brandon is dead.
As dead as his four guards.
I keep going, I can’t stop. Every plunge is for every day he kept me prisoner. I decimate his face and eyes for every hour in that cage. Thirty, sixty, ninety, who knows?
I’m ready to fall over out of exhaustion. It’s over.
Until...
Movement to my left freezes me in place.
I glance that way, and through watery eyes, I see it’s...him.
Fuck, I’m hallucinating. Maybe I’m dead, too.
Is it really him? The private security contractor from seven years ago? One look at him, the auburn hair, the blue eyes, that jawline.
“Hadleigh?” he cries out in his Irish accent.
He’s one of them.
Narrowing my eyes, I grip the knife and rush toward the man from that night.
The hitman sent to kill me. He’s here to finish the job.
Not today...