CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Raina
T he weight of all my weapons plus the heaviness of a steel briefcase challenges my arm as I step away from Rhys’s building to get the hell home. My weapons are usually tucked against different parts of my body. Now, they clang around like sad silverware bought at a garage sale.
I should be furious.
I am furious. That hilarious scene with Rhys and Fallon only temporarily brought my blood pressure down.
My precious fucking knives are locked up, kept from me like I’m some wild animal who needs a muzzle. I want to hate Rhys and his gorgeous man bun. I hope Fallon brings that smug giant of a cocky bastard to his knees. And that I get to see it. That’s too much to hope for.
Wait. Do I hope I end up with Connor?
I keep the briefcase solid in my grip as I fumble with my phone to get a car to pick me up. I just want my weapons back in my apartment where they belong until I suit up again to take another chance at killing Connor.
I keep my head low, careful not to draw attention to my weapons. But my scattered thoughts send me a few blocks from Rhys’s building in the wrong direction. I look up at the street sign and gulp, realizing I’m in a dangerous neighborhood where I need a man like Rhys Quinlan protecting me.
Every other person looks shady, and I don’t dare ask anyone where the nearest Starbucks is. I just need somewhere to hide while waiting for car service. Not that I think a car will come get me anytime soon.
Head buried in my phone, some asshole shoulder-checks me from out of nowhere. It happens so fast. A sharp whack of pain, and next, the briefcase is ripped from my hand.
Son of a bitch.
I whip around just in time to see a lanky guy in a cap and hoodie racing down the alley, Rhys’s briefcase swinging from one scrawny arm. I don’t think. I run .
This guy is fast with those long legs, but I’m faster with my muscular thighs. Plus, I’m no longer lugging around an extra twenty pounds. My boots pound the pavement as adrenaline pumps hot through my veins.
Another guy runs alongside the one who jabbed my shoulder. I run faster and follow them by skidding a hard left into a narrow alley. I round the bend and pull up short.
Shit.
The two guys stand there, glaring at me. No longer on the defense, they take a step to strike. Figuring I can’t fight them both without any weapons, I back up.
The one who grabbed the briefcase is grinning, tossing it between his hands like a football.
“Nice haul, sweetheart,” he sneers. “Pretty thing like you shouldn’t be carrying valuables around here.”
“No shit, asshole,” I crack back at him, even though I’m shaking.
“Dumb bitch.” His buddy grabs the case and starts playing with the clips to open it. “Fuck. What’s the combo?”
“I don’t have the combination, fuckface.” I roll my shoulders back. “I’m just a courier. The mob boss who that belongs to has me wired up. He will find you and skin you both alive.”
“Mob boss.” The guy goes to unzip his pants. “Do you know what I can do to a mob boss’s pretty bitch with a fresh mouth?”
“Disappoint her with your small cock?” I fold my arms, buying myself time to figure a way out of here.
His friend laughs.
Maybe I scored some points, but my Sig inside that case is registered to me. They will eventually break into the briefcase and go on a murdering spree. Between the gun and knives that can also be tied to me through purchase records, I’ll be arrested within twenty-four hours.
Mentally cataloging their faces for when the cops pick me up, I take a step back to run. I’m sure these morons are in the system.
But the first guy lunges at me. A fist slams into my stomach, knocking the wind out of me. I stagger back, gasping. He grabs my arm and wrenches it. A shot of white-hot pain rips through my shoulder.
I scream and collapse against the brick wall, clutching my arm. Fuck, it’s dislocated. I know that pain too well. My body locks up, my nerves screaming, my teeth chattering.
Some jerks see that a woman is hurt, and they move on. But a wounded gazelle is more fun to these pricks. They close in on me, and I grit my teeth, trying to stand up.
Focusing, I fight through the agony. I open my mouth to lay some blood-curdling decibels on these motherfuckers, but then everything shifts.
“You fucked with the wrong lass.” A force of muscle and violence explodes out of nowhere, moving with terrifying precision and merciless intent.
Connor.
He must have followed me to Rhys’s like a predator.
I hear brutal cracks, grunts, and curses. The guy holding the briefcase drops like a dead weight. The other guy barely has time to turn before a fist collides with his temple. He stumbles back, reaching for something in his jacket, but a gun is already pressed against his throat.
“Say your prayers quickly, mate,” Connor says, his accent thicker than I’ve ever heard. “I hope you two like sucking each other’s dicks, you’ll be spending eternity together in hell.”
Not wasting an ounce of effort, Connor pulls the trigger.
A thud into the neck from a silencer sends one guy down.
Skinny Guy gets to his feet and points his gun at Connor, but the metallic clicking of a jam is all Quinlan needs.
Connor leaps and slams the butt of his gun into the guy’s face.
He crumples, and I flinch, hearing two more shots from the silencer tear into flesh.
It’s over in seconds.
Connor steps over the bodies like they’re trash. He picks up my briefcase and tests its weight before turning to me. His sharp blue eyes skim down my body, stopping at my useless, hanging arm.
His jaw clenches. “Fucking hell, Venom. I can’t let you out of my sight for a minute.”
I force out a breath, still shaking from the pain. “I had it handled.”
His lips curl in. “You’re adorable when you lie.”
I push off the brick wall, but my shoulder screams. Connor is there before my knees hit the ground. His arm loops around my waist, hauling me up, and bracing me against him.
I try to shove him off, but the movement makes me whimper as I nearly collapse.
“Hold still.” His grip tightens, steady, grounding. “You dislocated it.”
“No shit,” I bark.
“What a mouth on you.” He exhales hard, his chest rising against mine. “I should fuck it right here to teach you a lesson. But I’d rather fix your arm and get you out of this pain.”
I shake my head. “I can do it myself.”
His expression darkens. “As much as I’d love to see you try, I hate the idea of you with only one arm the next time we fuck. I love both these hands scratching my back. Now let me help you.”
He presses me against the wall, his body heat consuming me. Keeping me still, his steady hands ghost over my arm. Firm and sure.
“Breathe,” he murmurs.
I glare at him over my shoulder, choking on the warm air. “I hate you.”
“As only a beautiful rattlesnake does and...”
Pop.
Pain. Sharp. Blinding.
Then, relief. I tumble backward, but he catches me.
“It’s back in, baby,” he whispers.
I sag against him. “Where did you learn to do that?”
“I’m one of four brothers who worked for the mob with a da who didn’t trust hospitals. You learn.”
“Thank you,” I say through clenched teeth.
“You never have to thank me,” Connor purrs.
Something inside me jolts. He holds me like I’m fragile, too fragile for a monster like him. Yet, the heat in his gaze and the tension in his fingers twitch against my waist like he doesn’t want to let go.
And I don’t want him to. God, I’m fucked.
He just saved me. A woman who vowed to kill him. A woman he fucked when I lost a bet. And I let him!
This is so messed up.
Our eyes lock, and the world falls away. Whatever connected us, sparks to life like a summer lightning storm. Its pull is undeniable. That and the bulge in his pants.
I back up against the wall again and let him kiss me.
But I know he won’t be satisfied with just a kiss.