by Tabatha Kiss
Her voice travels through my brain and radiates my spinal column. Myra. The bitch who killed my brother.
“Liiii-laaaah?”
I stay quiet. I force myself not to reply or else I’ll give my position away. I want to see the surprise in her eyes when I slit her throat.
“Come on, Lilah. This is childish.”
I tighten the grip on my knife.
“Okay, well...” She sighs. “If you’re not gonna talk, then you’re gonna listen. I understand why you’re angry but you must know that none of this is personal. I like you! You’re like a sister to me.”
I grit my teeth, holding back.
“And your brothers are awesome. Or...” She chuckles. “Were, I suppose.”
“Dante’s not dead,” I say, against my better judgment.
“Yet,” she says. “Trust me. There’s only one way this is going to end for you guys and it ain’t good. Good for me, obviously. But not you.”
“We’ll take our chances.”
She scoffs. “If you insist.”
I force my mouth shut as her man walks into the kitchen with his pistol pointed out in front of him. I watch him through the narrow crack in the pantry door, holding by breath as he inspects the room. Wes. That’s his name.
Or was.
He passes by the pantry door and I jump out, quickly jabbing the knife deep into his heart. His gun discharges, firing a single shot into the refrigerator in the corner. I pull the knife out and stab him again, making him drop to the floor.
“That sounded like a good one!” Myra says in my ear. “Good job.”
I slide the knife out and wipe it along my pantleg. “You’re next, bitch,” I say.
“Doubtful. You see, you have a knife. And I have a machine gun.”
Goddammit.
I drop to the floor as the bullets spray through the walls, breaking everything in their path.
“Sorry, Wes.”
I grab his lifeless body by the collar and roll over with it, using him as a shield to catch the avalanche of broken glass falling toward me and any possible stray bullet that ricochets in my direction. My head pounds, ears ringing loudly. I bow my head, staying down until the siege is over.
Finally, her clip empties and Myra’s insane cackle carries over the receiver.
“Did I get ya?” she asks.
I say nothing, slowly sliding out from under Wes and grabbing his pistol.
Myra’s boots echo around the corner. I point the pistol at the wall from my back, following the slow tapping as she makes her way closer to the kitchen doorway.
I aim for eye-level. I just need one to hit. One tiny bullet plugged into her skull and it’ll all be over.
I fire three shots through the wall and a body tumbles to the floor in the hallway.
Gotcha.
I hoist myself off the floor, feeling a warm rush of adrenaline at the thought of seeing that bitch’s dead body on the floor.
I step out into the hallway and the butt of a rifle slams into my gut, knocking the wind out of me.
“You missed!” Myra taunts me. “How did you miss?!”
She slams the rifle against my wrist and I drop the pistol to the floor.
I grit my teeth. “I could ask you the same thing.”
Myra lifts the rifle to hit me again and I raise my hands to block the blow. I jolt backwards as the hard metal connects and I snap my fingers around the first bit I come in contact with. Sharp edges dig into my palms but I refuse to let her pry it away from me.
She bolts forward, forcing me backward into the wall and I cringe as pain fires down my back. I push back, digging my left heel into the floor as I kick with my right, striking her as hard as I can in the crotch.
Myra seethes in pain but doesn’t fall. She twists the rifle, trying to knock me off balance but I bear down with equal strength and brace myself to kick again.
She reacts on instinct, letting go of the rifle with one hand to try and block the second painful blow and I smirk with opportunity. I shove her harder, easily slamming the rifle into her porcelain face and she grunts in anger.
I hit her again and releases the rifle, lashing out at me before I can pull off a third hit. Her perfectly-painted fingernails dig into my neck, sending bolts of pain through my throat and neck. I drop the rifle to try and stop her from clawing my trachea out. It tumbles to the floor between us and Myra kicks it far down the hall before slamming me into the wall again.
“Just let it happen, Lilah...” she growls, pressing harder to cut off the blood to my brain. “Sleep...” she coos. “Go to sleep...”
I claw at her hands, cursing the lonely spot taking over my vision.
“I won’t kill your boyfriend,” she says, her voice bright and bubbly. “Not right away. I’ll have a little fun with him first and we both know how much fun he can be, right? Just between us girls...”
My rage spikes. I reach out with one hand, quickly looping her long, black locks around my fingers, and give her the hardest yank I can.
“Ow!” she shrieks as I tear several strands from her scalp. “That hurt—!”
I pull again and she dips to the right, trying to retain as much of her precious hair as possible. I lean forward and slam my knee in her gut. She releases my throat as she tumbles to her knees and I slink away to catch my breath.
Before I can take a second breath, she leaps onto my back and wails like a banshee in my ear. I reach back to grab whatever piece of her I can to try and flip her off me. I rush backward, crushing her between me and a bookshelf in the hall and she cries out even louder. I roll forward, forcing her to flip over my shoulder and she releases me as gravity drops her onto her back. I raise my foot, quickly aiming for her face with my heel but Myra dodges out of the way as I stomp down. I keep my foot on the ground, pinning her hair beneath it, and she growls in pain as she once again tears a few strands out.
With a grunt, she lashes out with tight fists, hitting the back of my knees to force a bend. I jolt backward to keep from losing the upper hand, reaching up to grab the bookshelf teetering over her head. Myra’s eyes grow wide as she realizes the danger she’s in and I summon all my strength to pull the thing down to crush her stupid, fucking face.
She lunges away at the last moment but her right arm gets pinned beneath the heavy wood. I step up onto the shelf as she screams in pain, making the wood dig into her wrist a little more. Delight tickles my chest as a few tears spring to her dead, black eyes. Maybe she’s human after all.
Won’t stop a damn thing, though.
Myra gives the shelf a jolt, sliding a bit of her arm free and I stomp again to make that a little bit harder for her. As she keeps her focus there, I hop off to stand next to her, charging up my leg and kicking her as hard as I can in the stomach. The force of it sends her backwards and she slips her arm out from under the case, her fingers drippings with fresh blood.
“That broke... my nails,” she spits as she tries to breathe.
I kick her again, the blow partially blocked by her other arm. “You won’t live long enough to care,” I say.
I grab her throat with one hand and roll my other fist, prepared to jab her as hard as I can. She opens her mouth to speak but I silence her with another jab to the nose. Tears stream heavier down her cheeks and she recoils from the stinging pain no doubt radiating through her brain.
I punch her again, my knuckles popping loudly, but the pain is worth the gush of crimson blood falling from her nose and lips. A lump builds in my throat as memories threaten to come back. Elijah... blood pooling beneath him.
I pick Myra up and shove her into the next room as hard as I can. She stumbles over the dead legs of one of her agents and trips, falling hard onto the edge of the glass coffee table behind her. It shatters beneath her and she winces at the broken shards digging into her palms as she tries to crawl away from me.
I kneel to free the pistol from the dead agent’s belt.
“Lilah...” Myra chokes on blood and spit.
I check
the clip. It’s full. Good.
“You can beg if you want,” I say, “but I’ll just enjoy it more.”
I point the gun at her face, ready to pull the trigger.
I’m so sorry I didn’t do this sooner, Elijah.
“Lilah, wait.”
I keep my stance locked, refusing to glance away from Myra. “Archer...” I warn.
He takes another step into the room behind me. “Wait,” he says again.
“For what?” I seethe.
Myra looks at him over my shoulder, her lips twitching and hopeful, but she doesn’t speak.
“If you kill her,” Archer says slowly, “then we may never find the Boss.”
“I don’t care.”
“Think, love...”
“He’s right, Lilah,” Myra says, her red teeth showing. “Listen to reason.”
“Shut up,” I tell her, my rage spiking with the sound of her voice.
“Do you really think it’s going to stop with me?” she asks, cradling her shaking hand. “Fox killed Mercer and that was just the start of his problems.”
I put a little weight on the trigger. “I’ll take my chances.”
“Lilah...” Archer eases closer to me and extends his hand toward my gun. “I know what this means to you, darling, but think big picture. We need her to find the Boss—”
“Archer—”
“—or else we may never stop running,” he finishes. “She’ll hunt us down. She’ll never stop. I don’t know about you, love, but I don’t want that. For you. For Dante and Lucy. For us.”
He rests his hand on my wrist, slowly urging me to lower the gun.
“Please, Lilah,” he whispers. “Give me the gun.”
Myra stares at us, looking more than a little satisfied as I let his hand guide mine. He slides the pistol from my hand but I still keep my guard up just in case Myra makes any sudden moves.
Myra’s black eyes focus on Archer and she smiles. “Thank you, lover,” she says.
I lunge forward with gritted teeth but Archer quickly snatches my elbow.
“Don’t let her bait you,” he says, calmly yanking me back.
He keeps a tight grip on me as I take a breath to cool my red-hot cheeks.
“You always were quite the gentleman,” Myra says, tilting her head as she gazes at him.
Archer releases me and takes a step forward. He leans over her, extending his hand to help her up. I twinge as she takes it and another bolt of rage fires through me.
“Myra...” he says.
“Yes?”
He slams the butt of the pistol against her head, knocking her out cold. She drops back down to the floor and he releases her hand to let her fall hard.
I smirk. “My kind of gentleman,” I say.
He shrugs. “We should get her tied up. Secure the rest of the house.”
“Where’s Boxcar?”
Archer pauses. “He needs a minute.”
I raise a curious brow but whatever.
Archer bends down to scoop Myra off the floor, her limp body dangling from his thick arms as he carries her out of the room. I stare at her, feeling that rage quickening in me again as I hear her voice in my head calling Archer lover. She really did say it to get a rise out of me, possibly to make me kill her right then and there and foil any hope we had of finding the Boss. She’ll try again, maybe, and I can’t say with any confidence that she won’t succeed. The thought of the two of them together, as non-consensual as their relations were, makes me sick.
A soft groan carries from the kitchen. I turn toward it, slowly walking over broken glass and the fallen bookcase to follow the sound.
I pause in the doorway and watch as Wes reaches along the floor, inching closer to his pistol just out of reach.
I plant my boot on it. He deflates, settling down to the floor on his back and accepting his fate.
I pick up the gun and fire a bullet through both of his wide-open eyes.
Twenty-Nine
Dante
I pause in the doorway to our room. Lucy stands before the mirror in a little, red dress that covers nothing but the important parts and I grow a little more nervous than I was already. She pays close attention to Markov beside her as he instructs how to use the tiny syringe in his thick fingers.
“Just stick it in him straight and push down,” he says, his thumb on the plunger.
“Anywhere?” she asks.
“The closer to the heart, the faster it works, but anywhere should do.”
She nods. “All right.”
“Then, get away because he will fall.” He slides the needle into a small, leather holder. “Hide it deep in your boot. They won’t check there.”
“Thank you, sir,” she says, offering a soft politeness I rarely see out of Lucy Vaughn.
The man smiles and nudges her chin with the edge of his fingertip. “Ni pukha ni pera,” he says as he takes a step back.
I give him a nod as passes around me. He bows his head with respect, his eyes showing the same great admiration for Lucy as they did downstairs.
After he’s gone, I step into the room and slowly close the door behind me.
“What did he say?” Lucy asks.
“Good luck. Or...” I chuckle. “Break a leg, loosely.”
She winces. “Guess no one told him about the knee, huh?”
“I’m sure he would have come up with a better idiom if he knew.”
“You’re probably right.” She shrugs as her face turns a little more serious. “If you’re here to try and talk me out of it, you’re wasting your time.”
I shake my head. “I’m not.”
She eyes my hands in my pockets. “No handcuffs?” she asks, only half-joking.
“No,” I say, sliding them out. “I know better than to try that again.”
“Good.” She turns toward the mirror. “How do I look?”
I blink at her perfect reflection with green, jealous eyes. Short skirt. No sleeves. Tall boots.
“Too good,” I answer.
She smiles. “Are we feeling territorial tonight, Mr. Hart?”
“Always.”
Lucy faces me. “I’ll be okay,” she says.
“If you feel something is off, trust your gut,” I tell her. “Get out of there.”
“I will.” She nods. “But I’m not scared. I’m not worried.”
“Why not?” I ask.
“Because I know you’ll be right outside,” she says. “You’ll be watching, waiting, and ready to pounce if I need you.”
I exhale slowly. “That’s right.”
“That... and Fox will have his dark, sexy eyes on me, too,” she teases, making me squint. “But, mostly, it’s because of you. Mostly.”
My phone rings in my pocket as I glare at her. I slide it out to read the number on the screen.
“It’s Lilah,” I say.
Lucy piques with interest.
I answer it. “Hey, little sister. How’s it going over there?”
“We’ve got Myra.”
I pause. “What?”
“We found the house,” she answers, “and fought our way in. She’s now tied up in the basement.”
“You fought your way in?” I repeat, my anger spiking. “Why did you do that? You were on recon.”
“Dante, did you miss the part where I said I have the cunt who killed our brother tied up downstairs?”
My lips twitch with vengeful adrenaline. “She’s secure?”
“She couldn’t even scratch her own ass if she tried.”
I nod. “Is Archer around?”
“Uh... yeah.”
“Let me talk to him.”
“Why do you want to talk to him?”
“Just...” I exhale. “Please, Lilah.”
“O-kay.”
Lucy turns up a hand. “What’s going on?”
I tilt the phone downward. “They caught Myra.”
Her jaw drops.
“Hello?”
“Archer,” I answer him
. “How’s she doing?”
His voice drops. “Bit on edge, I’m afraid. Not sure how long I’m going to able to keep her grounded. How far out are you?”
“We’re still in Moscow,” I say. “We have a job to do here and then we’ll be on our way. Keep her focused until then.”
“I will.”
“Send us the location. We’ll leave Russia as soon as we can. Until then, watch your backs.”
“I’ve got Sparky locking us down as we speak,” he says.
“Good.” I take a breath. “Thank you, Archer.”
“Anytime, mate.”
I hang up, lowering the phone to my side as my pulse spikes.
“Dante?”
I look at Lucy, her big, bright eyes locked on mine.
“This is good news, right?” she asks.
I don’t answer. Instead, I lean downward to wrap my arms around her. She accepts the embrace, pulling me in and holding me close. I instantly feel her soft kiss on my cheek and her little hands caress my back with comfort.
We’re so close, Elijah.
Soon you can rest in peace.
I pull away and Lucy cups my face, her touch soft and warm. It’s what I used to do for her. We spent weeks together after her father was killed right in front of her. I spent every night holding her until she fell asleep, wiping her tears and kissing her wet cheeks. Making love to her to try and make her forget the pain for just a few minutes.
“I love you,” she whispers.
My heart aches but it’s not time to break yet. I have to stay strong. For her, for me. For Lilah, for Elijah...
“I love you,” she says again. “Dante...”
I kiss her, crushing my mouth on hers to make myself forget. She parts her lips for an even deeper kiss as my hands glide down her back to grip her rear. I cling to her, lifting her little body up and turning around to pin her against the closed door. Her ankles link behind me, bringing us closer together as she slides a hand between us and opens my zipper.
“Lucy,” I sigh, nearly begging.
“Don’t stop, Dante,” she whimpers, shaking in my arms.
I don’t want to stop. I need her. I need to immerse myself in her. I need to remember how it feels to be the man behind the killer and to see the world with bright, vivid colors. Colors I’d long forgotten about until the night I first had her in my bed. I taste sweet beauty on my tongue. I sense pure, blissful pain from head-to-toe. Lucy. My Lucy Vaughn.