Chapter 19 #2
I wait until nightfall, staking out the property and watching Alistair’s movement.
His phone line was easy to tap, though I was surprised anyone still uses a landline for anything.
Listening to his conversations has been pure entertainment.
He’s cocky, that’s for sure. Thinks he’s untouchable.
He knows there’s a possibility that the Bellini family will organize a hit, but he severely underestimates them.
They aren’t the low-level mafia family he thinks them to be.
They obviously have the means to find him outside of New York.
He thinks he’s safe in his little city penthouse at the top of the fifth-floor complex, and that in a few days, he’s going to smooth this all over, but little does he know that he won’t make it through the night.
Glancing down at my wrist, I watch as the time ticks over to 10 p.m., and not a moment later, under the cover of darkness, I slip out of my newest rental and step out onto the street, my gaze sailing up to the fifth-floor penthouse across the street.
Hired guards are stationed at the front of the building, and more inside, but dealing with them isn’t going to be an issue, and unfortunately, collateral is sometimes required as part of the job.
Now the question is, do I slip into the shadows and go in like a ghost in the night—silent and deadly? Or do I go full Kiara chaos and take this job guns blazing, unforgiving, and relentless?
As I stride toward the luxury apartment complex, two sharp pops fill the night, and I watch the guards drop to the pavement, each with a bullet placed cleanly between the eyes.
My head snaps toward the sound, and there she is in all of her fucking breathtakingly lethal glory.
Kiara St. James. Standing just up the street, gun lifted to her lips as she blows across the barrel like she’s putting out a candle, that infuriating, delicious smirk playing at the corners of her mouth.
Fuck me. I am so in love with this woman. But it’ll be a cold day in hell when I allow her to take this hit out from under me.
I guess we’re going full Kiara on this one.
She holds my gaze for only a second, the thrill of the competition flashing wild and bright in her green eyes, before we both bolt for the apartment complex.
I don’t hold back—my long strides devour the distance, and we slam into each other at the door in our rush to be first. She yelps, then laughs, her shoulder knocking hard against my ribs before she shoves through the main entrance before me and tears into the staffed lobby.
Hired guards crowd every corner, immediately launching into action as they reach for their guns, but they don’t possess even a fraction of the speed we have, and as I storm in behind my little firecracker, we open fire, sharp pops from our guns firing through the room.
The terrified staff scream and hit the floor as Kiara drops two of the guards.
“You don’t stand a chance,” she calls, her shots splitting the air like snapping wood, precise and controlled as chaos erupts around us.
“Might as well head back home and wait for me there. Let the real professional handle business.”
I scoff and veer for the stairs. “Sure thing, Firecracker. You handle this mess, and the real professional will take care of Alistair.”
“Fuck!”
She gasps just as I slip into the emergency exit, not bothering with the elevator, knowing she can handle the untrained security guards without even breaking a sweat.
The staff would’ve already sounded the alarms and locked the elevators down to protect their residents.
That gives us minutes—maybe less—before the place is swarming with law enforcement.
I don’t know about Kiara, but I pride myself on never having my ass hauled away in the back of a police cruiser, and I don’t intend to start tonight.
Sailing up the stairwell, I listen to the rhythmic crack of Kiara’s shots, each one followed by the heavy thud of a guard hitting the floor, and I can’t help but admit she’s fucking incredible. A sharper shot than me? Not a fucking chance. But she’s right up there.
I fly past the second floor and take the third two steps at a time when I hear Kiara storming in at the bottom.
“Low blow, asshole,” she calls up the stairwell.
“What’s the matter? Can’t handle the heat?”
“Fuck, I hate you.”
“I’d say you could tell me all about it later, but you’ll have your mouth full of my fat cock.”
A shot cracks through the stairwell, the bullet slicing past my face and ricocheting off the metal handrail. I skid to a halt, eyes locking on the fresh scratch gouged into the steel. I turn just as Kiara rounds the corner.
My brow arches, taking in the sight of her in those tight leather pants, done up by a corseted front, and goddamn, it’s the most mouthwatering thing I’ve ever seen. “Did you just shoot at me, Firecracker?”
She pauses mid-step, a slow smirk carving across her lips, gun steady in her hands and aimed square at my chest. She moves toward me without lowering it, and my pulse stays maddeningly calm.
No matter the circumstances, she would never take that shot.
Not if it meant my life. Because when it comes down to it, Kiara St. James is in love with me, too.
She just doesn’t know it yet.
“An eye for an eye, Mr. Kane,” she purrs, creeping in even closer, the thrill of the hunt getting her just as worked up as I am. “You’re not scared, are you?”
The mere thought of me being scared sends a smirk flying across my face, and as I hold her stare, I reach up and close my hand around the barrel of her gun. “The only thing I’m scared of is—”
BANG!
BANG! BANG!
“Fuck!”
The guards hover at the top, and as Kiara tries like hell to shove past me, I angle my weapon upward and pull the trigger, watching the bullet punch clean between one guard’s eyes.
His body tips forward, momentum carrying him over the railing.
He drops five floors, plummeting past us before slamming into the concrete below like an egg against a counter.
It isn’t pretty, and I look away. I’m not here to dwell on collateral. I’m here to do a job—the very job that Kiara St. James is determined to steal from me.
We take the next flight two at a time, rounding onto the fourth floor, dodging and weaving through a spray of wild bullets as the remaining guards scramble to regain control.
They won’t.
Finally rounding onto the top floor, we face the guards head-on, barreling toward them without hesitation, anticipating every shot before it’s fired.
There are four of them, and we close the distance in a heartbeat, too near now to bother shooting.
I flip my gun into the air, catch it by the barrel, and slam the butt into the closest guard’s temple, cleanly knocking him out cold, before driving straight into the second.
The remaining two swing their weapons toward me, writing Kiara off as an afterthought, something not to be feared, and I almost laugh at the stupidity of it.
Fucking ignorant men. If only they knew the threat they just turned their backs on.
Kiara’s hand is on her blade in the blink of an eye, striking in a clean, shallow arc as she moves, steel flashing as she slices through one guard’s throat without ever breaking stride. He doesn’t even see it coming.
And then, just like that, Kiara leaves me with the rest of the bullshit and strides straight for the penthouse on the fifth floor, pausing at the door at the top of the stairs to turn back and offer me a sugary-sweet wave that quickly morphs into flipping me the bird.
“You might as well give up now, Raiden,” she says in a sing-song tone before she steps over the threshold, pulling the door closed behind her, and I groan as the softest click echoes through the stairwell as she locks the heavy door behind her.
Fuck me. This woman is going to be the death of me. But I’ll welcome it every goddamn day.
More gunfire comes from within the penthouse, and I quickly finish disposing of these morons. While it only takes seconds, they’re seconds that could make or break this job.
The guards’ bodies fall around me, and I step past them, making my way to the locked door. It’s reinforced steel. Not decorative. Not cheap. Built to stall someone exactly like me.
Fuck. Maybe I’ve underestimated Alistair. After all, I didn’t anticipate quite so many guards, not that they’ve been an issue. Just an annoyance.
Just like this fucking door.
Looking over it, there’s no way in hell I’ll be able to kick it down like I’d easily done to Kiara’s apartment door. An industrial deadbolt is only as strong as the doorframe it’s anchored to. And this particular doorframe is going to be an issue.
Grinning to myself, I tip my head back and take in the decorative window perched above the reinforced steel door.
How fucking moronic.
The man installs a door built to survive a missile strike, but leaves a thin pane of glass right above it, completely exposed like an afterthought. I suppose he had the right idea, just lacks the conviction required to be a true criminal mastermind.
I don’t hesitate. The butt of my gun connects with the window in a single upward swing, glass shattering inward. Shards rain down as I step closer, clearing the jagged edges with my forearm before jumping up and catching the high frame.
Glass bites into my palms, slicing through skin as I haul myself higher, but it doesn’t slow me down. Boots scrape against steel as I wedge my shoulder through the narrow opening, forcing my way inside while broken glass tears at my jacket and hands.
With one final shove, I drag myself over the frame and drop onto the other side.
My boots hit Alistair’s polished concrete floor with a solid thud, and as I peer into the home, I take in the chaos ahead.