Chapter 8
Massimo
My forearm still burns from her touch, as though the delicate beauty branded me when she stayed my hand.
She hadn’t wanted me to make that fucker pay for trying to drug her. He’d intended to violate her, but she saved him from my retribution.
She’s gone now, returned to the safety of the crowd of DEA agents. No one will dare to assault her while she’s surrounded by law enforcement.
I take a moment to catch one more glimpse of her gleaming, white-blond hair, ensuring that she’s safe. She kisses that motherfucker’s cheek, and the bastard all but ignores her.
She didn’t run up to her fiancé to tell him about the danger she’d been in. She didn’t cry and throw herself into the false protection of his arms.
No, Evelyn shoulders the burden of what just happened, and she doesn’t utter a word of complaint.
She hides her distress so that she won’t disturb him.
In her own soft way, she’s protective of the man she’s pledged to spend the rest of her life with.
She might not be strong enough to defend him physically, but it’s obvious that she protects his black heart.
I gnash my teeth.
I’ll eliminate him from her life soon enough, but I won’t get an opening tonight. Not when she’s by his side, and he’s surrounded by feds.
There is an outlet for my rage, though: the man who tried to assault her. He can’t have gotten far, and I’m good at hunting down my enemies.
It doesn’t take long to find the predatory fucker. I prevented him from victimizing Evelyn, but he hasn’t given up for the night. He didn’t even bother to slink more than two blocks away—I find him in the third dive bar I enter.
I hang back, allowing the increasingly drunken revelers on the dance floor to separate us. The bastard is too busy eyeing up the single women in the bar to take notice of me.
After taking a few minutes to assess his prey, he knocks back his beer and drains the bottle. His hands shake slightly; he’s probably still unnerved from our encounter. The coward needs liquid courage before he’ll try to drug another innocent woman.
Apparently, he’s chugged enough beer to need a piss. I follow him down the short corridor to the dingy bathroom. Just before he shuts the door behind him, I throw my weight against it, knocking him off-balance. I kick the door closed, trapping him with me.
My knife is in my hand. I don’t give him time to scream for help.
My blade slices across his throat, and hot blood sprays my face. His dark eyes widen in shock, and he lifts a hand to the gaping wound, as though he can hold the blood inside his body. I grip his shirt in my fists, holding him upright so he can see death staring him in the face.
“I should’ve made you scream for mercy,” I growl down at him. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t make you suffer for the last moments of your miserable life.”
I drive my knife deep into his gut and twist it. A wet, choking sound gargles in his ruined throat, and the whites of his eyes flash.
“You like making women feel powerless? Do you feel like a big man when you rape them while they’re unconscious?” I seethe.
I rip my blade from his stomach and slam it between his legs. Even though he has no hope of survival, I relish the abject horror in his eyes at being gelded.
I lean in close, baring my teeth at him. He tried to drug Evelyn. He wanted to rape her.
He’s dying far too quickly.
“You’ll never touch her,” I snarl, his blood cooling on my rage-hated cheeks.
I’ll do what’s necessary to keep her safe. Crawford would never do this for her. He only cares about his own miserable life. He’s already put her at risk for wealth and power.
And yet, she’s engaged to him. She belongs to that bastard.
For now.
I drive my knife into my prey’s failing heart and allow myself to imagine that it’s George Crawford’s lifeblood spilling over my hand. Soon, his eyes will turn glassy, and his features will go slack, his mouth dropping open in a silent, perpetual scream.
I step away from the dead man and allow him to drop to the ground, discarded like garbage. Then, I cross to the grubby sink and wash away the crimson that coats my face and hands.
Before I close the bathroom door, I twist the lock so that no one will be able to enter once I exit. They’ll have to get the staff to unlock it, and by then, I’ll be gone.
I stroll around the crowded dance floor and make my way out into the warm night air. No one screams in alarm behind me. They won’t find his body for a few more minutes, at least.
I wind my way through the throng of late-night revelers in the streets, losing myself in the bustle of increasingly drunken people. My heartbeats slow from the rush of murderous adrenaline, and I walk with nonchalance that won’t attract any attention.
Evelyn is safe. I protected her from one monster tonight.
It’s past time for me to eliminate the other threat to her safety: George Crawford.