Hitman's Bride (Bad Boy Empire)

by Vanessa Waltz

  “We shouldn’t have waited so long. It’ll be harder now that everyone’s complacent. They’re used to the brutality.”

  I can’t see any way around a bloody gunfire battle in the throne room. It’s a big open space—not a lot of options for stealth. I weigh my options. Poison? Not going to work unless I get close enough, and I have a feeling he’ll never allow that again.

  Shock electrifies my limbs as I stare through the glass windows of the restaurant. Several men in identical wool coats crowd the door outside. What the hell are they doing? They’re wearing blood-red shirts, the same as the syndicate.

  Boiling hot tea explodes over the table, scalding my hands as the pot shatters. A neat hole burns in the forehead of the man sitting right behind it. I shove myself back and hurl the table onto its side, ducking underneath. The restaurant erupts into chaos as gunfire punches through flesh and muscle, bright red misting the air and spraying over the white tablecloths like macabre confetti.

  Paul ducks down beside me, spittle flying from his mouth as he screams, “What the fuck happened?”

  “They found us. He knows.”

  The fucking waitress probably picked up the phone the moment we sat down. Damn it.

  Which means we’ve run out of options.

  Time slows to a crawl as I shove the table forward. I look back and see them huddled under the booth.

  “Come on!”

  They follow me as I run behind the booths. A vase shatters over my head, and I duck down. Adrenaline runs like fire through my veins, and dimly I realize that one of my supporters is already dead. They’ll kill all of us.

  It’s now or never.

  I slide the gun from my holster and lift myself over the edge, firing at the cloaked figures standing behind shattered glass. Any moment now I’ll feel a sting or maybe a punch to my head. Perhaps all I’ll feel is a flash of fear, and then I’ll be dead.

  Fuck that.

  “To the back!”

  They streak into the kitchen as I hurl myself over the banister, firing toward the yellow flashes of fire. At least one of them goes down, but I’m outnumbered, and chunks of wood fly in the air, blowing holes the size of quarters inches beside me.

  “Shit!”

  I squeeze off a few more shots, and then I chase after them, gun drawn as I whip my way through the kitchen. The cooks scream and hold up their hands as I make my way through. The red EXIT sign burns into my eyes. I sprint toward it, nearly slipping on the wet floor.

  Paul crashes into the exit, flinging it open with his shoulder. I hear the loud cracks before I can stop my feet. My body smashes into the partially open door, and I burst into the stinging cold. I straighten, hearing gunfire, and lift my arm toward the first face I see.

  CRACK!

  I don’t wait to see him fall. I turn like the arm of a clock, and fire three more shots.

  “Silas!”

  Warmth sprays over my face, blinding me. I don’t understand it until a body standing beside me collapses. Paul’s cheek hits the cement, his skin pale as though the blood was already drained from his body, but I can see it creeping toward me. It pools around my feet, and I wipe my face to brush the strange wetness off. The back of my hand smears with red and little flecks of black gore. My knees hit the ground and I grab Paul’s neck, but there’s barely any heat left. Already I feel it fading.

  “More coming!”

  I duck behind a trash can as male voices rebound off the walls and pounding footsteps grow louder. My hand dives in my coat, fumbling for ammunition. I snap open the chamber and load.

  “Drop your fucking weapons!”

  A booming voice echoes down the alley, and I freeze in my crouched position. Paul’s dead. Another gone. Two missing. That makes just five of us.

  Five against Viper’s syndicate.

  The sound of a shotgun cocking sends a thrill up my spine.

  “Drop them, or I’ll blow a fucking hole in your chest.”

  “Viper wants them alive,” a second, reedy voice says.

  I’ll fucking die before they take me alive.

  “Silas! We have your wife.”

  We have your wife.

  The words echo though me, but it’s as though my brain is frozen.

  They have Fawn.

  My chest caves in, and my fingers claw the dirty cement. I feel like I’m staring into Pepper’s dead eyes all over again. I’m crouching behind that rock, hiding, and that psychopath has her. He’s managed to get the only person who mattered in this whole goddamn place.

  Oh God, what’s he done to her?

  “That’s right, asshole. Stand up and drop your gun, and maybe you’ll live long enough to say good-bye to her.”

  My throat burns with a silent scream, and the gun fumbles from my limp fingers.

  * * *

  They keep all of us alive as we’re shoved into cars and driven back to the syndicate, and then I’m in that black hall of death. Throughout the place a pungent smell lingers, as though they were never able to remove the blood from the carpet.

  He’s always been two steps ahead of me. Somehow he knew that I was planning something under his nose. He knew every fucking step I was going to take before I acted on it.

  How?

  My brain fires off suggestions that I quickly kill. There must be some way out of this. To save Fawn. Fuck my own life. I don’t give a shit about it, but I need her to live.

  I’m walking closer and closer to my death. I know that, but I’m doing it anyway. Because I can’t stand the ache. Because somehow I believe that if we’re together, it’ll be all right. I’ll figure out something and save us both.

  The muzzle at my back digs in slightly, and the guards standing outside the throne room open the doors to the brilliant, wide space. Dozens of syndicate men stand at attention in ranks, all facing the stone dais where Viper sits in a throne, surrounded by his most loyal subjects. At his feet, a naked woman kneels, bound in thick rope. She lifts her head, her cheeks streaming with tears as she finds me. Her pain tears at my heart as I screw up my face and scream her name.

  “Fawn!”

  I rip my arm out of the guard’s lax grip and sprint toward her, aware of Viper, standing from his throne and motioning to his guards. Two of them slide into view, aiming their rifles at my body as they block my way to Fawn, who lets out a low, piteous moan.

  God.

  “What the fuck have you done?”

  I look at her over their shoulders. She’s kneeling on the marble floor like a dog. She’s alive—and whole—but she keeps gulping for air. She moves her neck, struggling with the rope wrapped around her throat, tied in intricate knots between her breasts, looping over her arms to force her in a bent-over position, and then binding her wrists together. Her streaming eyes beg me to save her.

  “Nothing yet.”

  Viper’s footsteps echo in the throne room. He steps closer to my wife and regards her with a small smile. Then he touches her head, and I slam my shoulder into the guards blocking my way. The butt of his gun hits my stomach, and I double over with the blunt pain. Then Fawn makes a desperate sound.

  “She’s choking!”

  A mad smile tugs at his lips. “Fitting, isn’t it? I don’t think she can last much longer.” He gives me an apologetic shrug. “I thought you’d be here faster.”

  “What the hell do you want?”

  “This is what I want, Roach.” His eyes burn like pale flames as he stares at me. “I want your pain as you watch your pretty wife die.”

  Fawn’s horrible gasping sounds fill the throne room.

  “Why?”

  “You told her to kill me, remember? I didn’t forget.”

  Of course I remember. The crippled blond boy was flat on his back, and I thought no one could see the murderous glint in his eyes, his fury at being humiliated.

  I begged Pepper to kill him.

  “But you lost,” he says, his smile widening. He reaches for Fawn’s head and digs into her hair, yanking her head up s
o that the rope cuts deep into her throat. “And you’ll lose again.”

  The two guards shove me back, a third yanking my arms behind my body as I scream Fawn’s name. No, I can’t let it happen again. I shake free of the terror circling my chest, and I fix my gaze on Viper’s cold eyes.

  “The only reason you’re alive today is because Pepper felt sorry for the poor crippled boy.”

  “Shut the fuck up!”

  I turn my head, staring at the ranks of men behind me. “Is this the man you want leading us? He hides behind his guards and preys on the weak. He’s nothing but a psychotic, weak-minded coward.”

  “I’ll show you a fucking coward.”

  He yanks on the rope, and my heart seizes.

  “Leave the girl alone and fight me.” Even though it’s the last thing I feel like doing, I force myself to smile. “Or are you afraid you’ll lose?”

  Viper looks at me, silently turning over my words in his head. His teeth grate together, the heat in his eyes palpable. He wants to fucking kill me, but he doesn’t want to let go of his upper hand. If he doesn’t, they’ll see him as the coward he is.

  “Fine. In the end, I prefer it this way.”

  He releases Fawn, who collapses to her side, her sides heaving. She’s okay. Thank God.

  Then he grabs the pistol from his holster and slams it against someone’s chest.

  “Now we’re both unarmed.”

  Yes.

  This is a lot better than I hoped for. The fucking moron agreed to a fight with me—a world-class assassin.

  “Stand back!” he orders them all. “I want no one to interfere!”

  “No one to save you, Viper.”

  He removes his jacket, letting it spill on the floor, and I do the same as the guards open a path for him. A syndicate member, one of Viper’s thugs, approaches the dais as he throws a suspicious glare my way.

  “Sir, I don’t think this is a good—”

  In just a few seconds, Viper grabs the gun hanging on the member’s hip and buries it in his stomach. A loud crack splits the air, and the member slumps to his knees with a guttural moan, blood streaked across the white marble. The ranks waver slightly, but Viper doesn’t notice. He tosses the gun aside and it skitters over the marble.

  “When I’m through with you, I’ll decorate this room with your insides. You’ll watch me choke her and fuck her, and then you’ll die.”

  “You’ll never touch her again.”

  “Kill him, Viper!”

  Several cheers break out in the crowd, but I refuse to let them break my spirit. He takes a step down, his eyes focused on the stairs for a moment.

  Then I launch.

  I seize his arms and shove, knowing that all I have to do is use the floor as a weapon. His scream of fury hits the ceiling as his back hits the marble. My knees pin his chest down and I grab his head, relishing the pain flickering across his eyes as I slam him into the hard floor. A solid punch crashes against my ear, and pain explodes like a flash of light. Intense and furious, and then gone. His heavy arms shove me aside, but I get to my feet quickly and curse myself.

  Viper straightens himself, laughing off my attack, but even he must realize that he’s outmatched. He can’t hope to beat me in a fair fight. The asshole could have just gunned me down right there, but he let me goad him.

  Shouts echo in the cavernous throne room as I circle him, my fists raised to my chin in a traditional boxing form. Viper glances at the people surrounding us, a nervous smile playing on his lips. Two quick steps forward and I swing at his face, thinking him distracted. A vicious uppercut lands on my jaw, and I instinctively block my face, but two sharp jabs hit my abdomen. Fuck. The blows knock the wind out of me, and I stagger back. Viper takes the bait and a roundhouse kick to his stomach makes him double over. My elbow smashes into his back, and he drops to the ground, rolling away before I can aim a kick at his head. I don’t let that bastard up. My boot slams into his stomach as he gets up, and then my knee shatters his nose, whipping his head back in a trail of blood.

  The crowd roars, and I pounce on his struggling body, pinning my knee right over his throat. I crush it slowly, glee soaring through my chest as a horrible wheeze leaves his bloody lips. I press down harder, watching Viper choke to death as savage triumph runs through me.

  “How do you—fucking—like—it?”

  Then his arm moves and red slashes across my vision in a burst of sharp pain. A knife. I see him clutching it within his sleeve. He meant to slash my throat, but missed. I get up as he slashes again, the blade whistling through the air.

  “Cheat!”

  The word rings through the cacophony, and my heart pounds against my chest as Viper struggles to his feet.

  “You’ve already lost.”

  “I AM NOT LOSING!”

  The childish scream rings in my ears before he launches himself forward, desperate but still skilled. I throw myself backward, avoiding his wide arcs, until suddenly my back presses against the wall. He lunges, and I twist my body to avoid the streak of metal. It screams as it glances off the walls, and then I grab his arm and head, smashing them both against the stone. The knife drops, and his pupils contract as he watches his last defense clatter to the floor.

  “Viper, let us help you!”

  “STAND BACK!”

  He backs away from me, his hands searching the walls as the crowd refuses to part for him. He grazes the frame of a portrait hanging on the wall, and then finally the handle of an ancient, axe-like weapon.

  Fuck.

  It breaks off the wall, and Viper leaps forward, his hair swinging wildly around his mad face. The blade is old, but still lethal looking. My hand closes over something wooden, and I tear it from the wall. Viper’s scream of laughter hits my chest as I grab the only goddamn thing in reach, a fucking portrait of some old man who looks vaguely Asian.

  His axe splits the painting in two as I block his overhand swing. I jump backward as the pieces fall to the ground.

  “CHEAT! CHEAT!”

  A chant erupts around Viper, and he swings his axe at them, overcome with rage.

  “SHUT UP!”

  The loud noise persists. I dodge behind a column as the blade comes whistling out of nowhere, and then I wait for him to swing again. I’ll just let him swing and tire himself out.

  Except that the blade is lodged in the marble.

  His muscles flex, but it doesn’t budge.

  “CHEAT! CHEAT!”

  I tackle Viper, and his back sprawls on the floor. My arm twists around his neck like a snake, my legs trapping his body. My bicep flexes against his throat, and dimly I feel his blows crashing over my head.

  The horrible, rattling sound of death echoes through the throne room as I crush his windpipe. His fingernails dig into my arm, leaving long red marks. His tongue lolls out of his mouth, and I know because I’ve done this so many times that he’s only seconds away from death.

  “This is for Pepper.”

  Not just Pepper, but all of those he made to suffer. And there must have been hundreds.

  “Viper!”

  One of his thugs elbows through the crowd, his face stricken. He aims a gun at me. The gunshot ricochets off the floor as another member shoves him. Someone collapses—the victim of gunfire—and then it’s pandemonium. They jump over Viper’s supporter, punching, kicking, and stabbing any part of him they can reach.

  Viper’s body gives one last shudder and then his hands fall limp at his sides. Even if there was some flicker of life left, he wouldn’t be able to breathe through his crushed windpipe. I let him fall from my chest, and his body hits the floor with a sort of mundane finality. His blood-red eyes are still open and staring. Rage boils up in my chest as fighting erupts around me. I want to stab him, ruin his fucking face, and set his body on fire.

  Fawn.

  I give his body one last kick before I burst through the crowd and find her, still slumped over on her side.

  “Fawn!” My eyes burn as I flip her ov
er, stomach freezing at the sight of her bloodless lips.

  “Silas, here!” A man crouches beside me and hands me a knife. I do a double take as I recognize his very familiar face. But Paul’s dead. No, it must be his twin—Peter.

  I saw through her rope, and Fawn immediately takes a deep gasp as it snaps off her neck. Paul—Peter—hands me a jacket as I pull the rest of the ropes off, and I wrap it around her freezing body.

  “Here, sit down.” He gestures toward the chair Viper used as a throne.

  I lift her in my arms as Fawn takes deep, shuddering breaths, tears squeezing out of her eyes. My heart clenches in profound relief as I sit down with her cradled against my chest.

  “Michael.”

  “I’m here, baby. I’m here and I’m never leaving.”

  * * *

  Viper’s dead.

  His men are with him.

  Hopefully burning, rotting, or otherwise being tortured in whatever Hell accepted their souls.

  It doesn’t feel like enough. Not when I can still see his marks on her neck, and not when she told me what happened when I left the apartment.

  Across the apartment, Fawn sits at the kitchen table, poring over documents as anger pulses inside my chest. I’m pretty fucking pissed, all right. She confessed everything when she was released from the hospital a few days later. My heart broke when she dissolved into tears in my arms and told me what happened. I was furious, but I didn’t have it in me to yell at her when she was in so much pain.

  But now she’s out of the woods, and I’m ready to yell. I stare at her across the room as she reads diligently, oblivious to my feelings.

  “Fawn—”

  “We should set up a charity for all of his victims.”

  It cleaves me in two to remember all of those kids he kept hostage under deplorable conditions. We took them out, but there was the problem of where to put them. Many of their parents were dead. I made the decision to create a living space for the orphans, and there were plenty of women willing to take care of them full-time. I guess it’s a better job than opening up your legs for the entire syndicate.

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  “Cool.”

  I suspect she does this on purpose, because she knows I’m mad at her.