The White Knight & Black Valentine Series (Book 4): Kill Them All

by Brand, Kristen

  “What’s your goal here, Joey? Are you trying to be as goddamn annoying as possible?”

  He calmly sipped his martini. “I said it before—I’m offering my resources to help you get revenge. An attack on you is an insult to the Belmonte family. We have to hit back.”

  “What do you care? You’re not family.”

  He set down his glass, his mouth still stretched into a mean smile. “I run the organization your father left behind. I’ve been loyal to him since I was fifteen years old. In a way, I’m more of a Belmonte than you are.”

  “Oh, please.” I leaned forward across the table. “That’s not what being a Belmonte means. It means Dad has you kill a man for the first time when you’re thirteen years old. It means as soon as your powers develop, he hires a teacher to mind-control you into cutting yourself, burning yourself, and hurting the people you care about until you can fight back and kill her, too. It means watching your sisters’ backs because your mom was so depressed she took a drug cocktail and never woke up, and there’s sure as hell no one else who’s going to look after you.”

  I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms, my glare not wavering as I stared him down. “Then again, Dad screwed you up pretty good, too. Maybe you are one of us.”

  The waiter returned before Joey could reply, setting down a glass of ice water in front of me. “Ready to order?”

  Heaving my gaze away from Joey, I tried to smile pleasantly. “I need a little more time to look over the menu.”

  My smile must not have been as pleasant as I thought, because he squeaked, “Take all the time you need,” and left at nearly a run.

  Joey chuckled. “I do admire that intimidating aura of yours.”

  “What do you want from me?” I asked, my voice flat.

  He shifted, sensing my change in tone, and his deep voice lowered as his eyes met mine. He reached across the table and grasped my hand. “You must have some suspicion.”

  My father’s death must have really done a number on him. He’d never been this forward before.

  I pulled away. “And if I’m off the table?”

  “What a perfect way of putting it.” His lips twitched. “Regrettably, the deal would be off. But are you really telling me you wouldn’t do anything to get revenge on those who hurt David?”

  I thought of Dave lying in bed this morning, no change whatsoever, and looked Joey in the eye. “No, I’m going to make them regret what they did to him for the rest of their short, agonizing lives.”

  “Well, then,” he said.

  “Well, then,” I agreed, and under the table, I ran my foot slowly up his inner leg, my boot lightly teasing his muscles through the fabric of his pants. Joey’s thick eyebrows rose appreciatively.

  Seduce him, get him alone, and stick him with a knife before he could stick me. Bo-ring. But it was a trite and overused strategy precisely because it worked, and I’d do whatever it took to kill Joey. Once he was dead…

  Once he was dead, I’d have nothing to throw myself into to distract my mind, nothing to keep me from facing the fact that Dave may never wake up and there was absolutely nothing I could do to help him.

  My lungs constricted, but I forced the flirty smile to stay on my face as I focused on Joey. “My place?”

  “I’ve got a perfectly good limo parked outside,” he replied.

  That wouldn’t work. Too many of his men nearby, and not enough privacy to get rid of the body afterward.

  “Sex in a limo reminds me too much of prom.”

  “Then I have a hotel in South Beach.”

  Which would give him the home turf advantage.

  “You sure you wouldn’t rather just go to my place?” I purred, reaching into his mind. Joey had always had decent mental shields, but I didn’t need to fully mind-control him—just give him a tiny nudge to agree with me. He was horny enough; it should be a piece of cake.

  But when I reached out telepathically, I found a fortress. I circled the walls, prodding and testing for weak points. Nothing. I couldn’t even sense his general emotions, much less read his thoughts. I hadn’t come across a mind so completely closed off since my father was alive. When had he taught Joey how to do the same thing?

  “Ah.” Joey’s casual posture straightened. “And here I thought this was going so well.”

  He waved his hand as if signaling the waiter, and I sensed his men pull guns on me behind me back. They did so under tables, so none of the diners or waitstaff noticed and started screaming. At least not yet.

  “Don’t try to mind-control me again,” Joey said.

  How had he noticed? I’d been careful. But that was a question for another time; right now, I crossed my arms and gave him a flat stare.

  “Really, Joey?”

  I seized the minds of all of his men who were close enough, having them shift their aim to the men who weren’t.

  Joey’s gaze went over my shoulder, but his expression stayed frustratingly calm, depriving me of the “oh shit” moment I wanted to see.

  “It would appear we’re at a stalemate,” he said.

  “It would appear you’re a dumbass,” I shot back.

  Being able to block my mind-control was all well and good, but it didn’t mean jack if your minions couldn’t do the same. Everyone knew that.

  “Well, not quite a stalemate.” That infuriating smirk returned to his face. “There’s still the bomb.”

  Chapter 18

  What bomb? I wanted to say, but luckily my brain stopped my mouth before it could ask something so inane. Keeping my expression as cool as his, I said, “I’m listening.”

  The tension that had filled Joey’s shoulders relaxed as he took back the upper hand, and he took another leisurely sip of his martini before answering. “It’s in the restaurant. I don’t have the trigger, and the man who does is safely out of range of your telepathy. I give him the signal, and the world has one fewer tacky restaurant in it.”

  “You’ll get blown up, too,” I said, buying time as I went through the minds of his men for more information.

  “I’ll survive.”

  He pulled up his sleeve slightly, revealing dark blue bruises on his arm. I could only image how much of his body they covered.

  If Joey Giordano had a supervillain codename, it would probably be The Masochist. His power was that he got stronger the more pain he felt, which was handy in a fight, but sometimes, he didn’t leave it to chance. He’d hurt himself beforehand, beefing up his strength and invulnerability before the fight even began.

  “Maybe,” I said.

  His men knew nothing of a bomb. That could mean Joey was bluffing, but more likely, he just hadn’t told them. My father’s men were loyal, sure, but not enough to voluntarily get blown to pieces. Especially not for a new boss like Joey, who wasn’t and would never be my father no matter how much he pretended.

  That’s not to say I didn’t find out anything useful in his men’s heads. Quite the contrary. Now, I just had to get out of here alive so I could act on that information.

  “But even if you survive the explosion,” I went on, “I think you’re underestimating just how heavy the rubble of a collapsed building can be.”

  Irma, I said telepathically, giving her the quick and dirty summary of the bomb. You need to find the man with the trigger.

  “And I think you’re underestimating my strength,” Joey replied. “I could give White Knight a run for his money, assuming he was conscious.”

  He could be anywhere, Irma responded in my head at the same time. He might even be in the restaurant with you.

  “Funny you should mention that.” I smiled, trying to keep any signs of concentration off my face. “I remember one time a building fell on Dave. I was there with him.”

  No, he wouldn’t be inside, I told Irma. Joey can’t count on him to set off the bomb if it means suicide.

  “Oh?” Joey said, glancing around as if bored with the story already.

  “I wonder if you can imagine being trapped under
all that rubble, the weight of it slowly crushing you.”

  Joey said he’d signal him, I continued with Irma. He doesn’t have his phone out, and he’s not wearing a smart watch. That means it must be a hand signal. Our man has to be somewhere he can see Joey through the windows.

  On it, Irma said.

  “You see, Joey.” I leaned forward, lowering my voice. “It wouldn’t be the explosion that kills you. It might not even be the weight of the collapsed building. But suffocation will do the trick. You’ll die buried and blind, hoping against hope that the rescue workers dig you out in time.”

  I smiled pleasantly, enjoying the mental image. That wouldn’t be a bad way to kill him, actually.

  “Well, let’s hope you don’t do anything stupid enough to force me to go through with it, then.” Joey tilted his martini glass, swallowing the last sip, and let out a refreshed sigh. “I’m willing to risk it. Are you?”

  I couldn’t help but listen to the laughter and chatter of the people all around us. In a booth to my right, a child no older than four had her face scrunched up in concentration as she colored with crayons on the kids’ menu.

  “That’s your problem, Valentina.” Joey idly picked up the plastic spear from his glass and ate the olive off it. “You’re not willing to do whatever it takes anymore. David… Elisa… They’ve made you soft.”

  I telepathically checked in with Irma, feeling only sweat and stress as she searched the crowded street outside for Joey’s man. What if I was wrong about his location, and Irma couldn’t find him? Or maybe there was no man to find. I studied Joey, trying to figure out if the bomb was in fact a bluff.

  “You’re really willing to die for this?” I asked.

  “I’m not afraid to do whatever it takes to win.”

  “Win what, exactly? Why do this? Why do any of this?”

  He made eye contact with someone. The bomber? No. Just the waiter.

  “You’re the one who tried to mind-control me,” Joey said off-handedly.

  “And you’re the one who tried to have me and my family killed. Stop playing dumb, Joey. It makes you look like an idiot.”

  That got his attention. Joey stared at me, and when the waiter arrived and asked for our orders, he had to repeat himself twice before Joey noticed.

  “Another martini,” Joey barked, sending the poor man scurrying away. Then he returned his gaze to me. “So, you know.”

  “Of course I do,” I said, like it had been easy to figure out, like I hadn’t nearly died while uncovering the truth. “I just can’t fathom why you’d go to all this trouble. So please, entertain me with a supervillain speech. It just better not be about how I turned down your proposals and married another man, because then the pointed heel of my boot is going to meet your dick, and I don’t care if you blow up the building in revenge.”

  Joey grinned in a way I didn’t usually see on a man after threatening grievous harm to his genitalia. “Oh, Val,” he said, “if only you knew what I have planned for you.”

  Okay, that was creepy enough to give me shivers, but on the bright side, Irma sent me a telepathic message.

  Got him, she said, and when I read her mind, I felt her slide her knife between the ribs of a man she’d sat next to on a bench across the street. He sagged, and Irma stood and slid the knife up her sleeve, moving on before anyone could notice the growing bloodstain on his olive-colored suit jacket. She recognized him, and so did I: the man on the boat Jean-Baptiste had tried to have me delivered to. But Irma knew him as Carlo Dioli, one of my father’s old guards. No wonder I’d felt like I’d seen him before.

  “I’d like to find that out.” My purse sat in my lap, and I reached casually inside and pulled out a gun, aiming it at him under the table. “So how about you and I head to my place and talk about it.”

  Joey looked over my shoulder at his men, but the only ones not under my control sat too far away to see the gun in my lap.

  “Raise your hand, and I’ll shoot,” I threatened before he could signal them.

  “If I die, the building blows.”

  I shrugged. “You’re not the only one willing to risk it.”

  Joey’s eyebrows scrunched together as he looked at me intently, trying to figure out if I was bluffing. I kept my gun trained on him, wondering if I could manage to wipe the memories of everyone in the restaurant if I shot him. I wanted revenge, but going to jail afterward wasn’t part of the plan. I couldn’t leave Elisa, especially given Dave’s condition.

  Besides, the look of disappointment on Julio’s face would be damned annoying.

  But before I could do anything, Joey threw the table at me.

  One moment, I was staring Joey down, the next I was on the floor in a lot of pain. People shouted, and I had trouble breathing. Disoriented, I tried to shove the massive wooden table off me until someone fired a shot at the ceiling and started shouting. Joey’s men must have thought I’d attacked him.

  People screamed and ducked for cover. I mind-controlled one of Joey’s men into attacking the shooter. I didn’t have him return fire; there were just too many civilians who could get hit by a stray bullet. The rest of my men charged and tackled Joey’s, and I grunted as I heaved the table and squirmed out from under it.

  Then Joey grabbed me by the neck and lifted me into the air.

  I choked. Grabbing his wrist, I tried to pull myself up and relieve the pressure on my neck. My feet dangled in the air, and I kicked him. My heel missed his crotch and hit his abdomen, and it felt like kicking cement. He didn’t even flinch.

  He squeezed. “You always did have a knack for making things difficult.”

  My lungs burned, and I tried desperately to inhale, digging my nails into his wrists. Instinctively, I hit him with a telepathic assault, but it didn’t work out any better than attacking him physically. I sputtered and wheezed embarrassingly. This wasn’t how I wanted to go.

  A smoke bomb went off. Even more screaming filled the air, and Joey turned. I would have sighed in relief if I could get any air. Irma must be close. But a smoke bomb wasn’t enough to force Joey to let go of me. Maybe I should have let her bring the rocket launcher, after all.

  Joey pulled me closer to his face, the majority of the smoke having not yet reached us. “You’re going to pass out any second now,” he said. “And when you wake up, you’ll understand everything.”

  He shouldn’t have pulled me closer.

  If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times: when you’re fighting someone with super-strength, go for the eyes.

  I jammed my well-manicured thumbnail into his eye, and he dropped me with a cry. I landed gracelessly, coughing and gasping. But I couldn’t waste time catching my breath. Seeing my purse on the floor, I snatched it and ran.

  I found my way through the smoke by heading for the sunlight and emerged, coughing and blinking, into the street. Dazed and frightened people bumped into me as the diners and waitstaff spilled out from the doors, and I looked around with watery eyes.

  “Val!”

  Irma had pulled the car right up to the curb. I jumped into the back seat, and we fled the scene of the crime.

  “Are you hurt?” Irma demanded.

  As I coughed, I took stock. My chest ached, and I had some cuts on my right arm that probably had something to do with our glasses shattering when Joey flipped the table. I could feel various pains in my elbows, legs, and tailbone, and I massaged my throat.

  “Nothing serious,” I said.

  Irma drove slowly, mindful of the people rushing across the street to either escape the restaurant or go help. She turned right at the first possible corner just as I noticed sirens in the distance.

  “I’ll have Dr. Quevedo check you out, anyway,” she said.

  “Later.” I leaned back against the seat, savoring what I knew would be a short rest. “Drive northwest for now. There’s one more thing we need to do.”

  Irma gave me a hard look via the rearview mirror. “And what might that be?”

&n
bsp; Closing my eyes, I smiled.

  “How do you feel about playing hero?”

  Chapter 19

  The adrenaline wore off as I sat in the back seat of the car, and everywhere I’d bumped and banged started throbbing. I downed a few painkillers from the extensive first-aid kit stashed under the passenger seat, resting my eyes but not falling asleep. I needed to give Irma directions, but navigating based on someone else’s memories was tricky. The henchman of Joey’s whose mind I’d read had been to our destination before. Since I’d read his thoughts, I should be able to get there, too. But he thought of roads as “the twisty one with all those billboards for adult stores” or “the highway where I nearly hit a deer that one time” rather than their proper names, and it could be difficult to translate.

  We left Miami behind. The thing about South Florida was that along the coast, it was basically one big city from Miami to West Palm Beach, but go inland a little, and suddenly, you found yourself in the boonies. Irma drove us past fields and swamps, across vast swaths of land where the only scenery was trees, trees, more trees, and oh, look—a cow. I brought up the news on my phone, and after a maddening wait thanks to the awful reception out here, I found an article about an unconfirmed supervillain attack on Downtown Flagler. It said no casualties had yet been confirmed, so hopefully Joey’s men hadn’t hit anyone despite firing shots in a crowded restaurant like a bunch of idiotic amateurs.

  “Think they’ve found the bomb yet?” I asked Irma, wondering if I should call in an anonymous tip.

  “The DSA’s not that incompetent,” she replied. “Besides, I left the trigger on Carlo. They’ll scour the entire block for bombs once they find it.”

  I imagined the controlled chaos that would have taken over the street by now: flashing police lights, yellow caution tape, reporters from all the local news channels. It was a good thing we’d escaped when we had.

  It was a good thing I’d escaped with my life.

  I didn’t know what to make of this new Joey, with his smug smirks and the martini glass held casually in his calloused hand. He’d had the boat shot up with me on it, but then he’d instructed Jean-Baptiste to take me alive. He was willing to blow himself up for… some reason. He must think it was a good one. He had a plan for me, and he sounded crazy, but…