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My eyes fly over to the cherry-cushioned, high-backed chair he’s referring to, and he bursts into sadistic laughter.
“Yes, I think we’ll fuck the dignity out of you, sweetheart.” I thought his English was native, but now an accent peeks out at his nasty excitement. He starts undoing his pants. “My brother and I will fuck that cunt raw.”
“Rufus,” the second man warns and, by the sound of it, he doesn’t intend to take part in this. “There’s no time for this.”
“See, Raphael, this is why I always prefer to take Rocco along on these jobs.” Rufus stomps his foot like an angry kid whose brother just spoiled the fun, his tattooed hand already on his cock. I look over at Raphael, who seems to be the rational one of the duo.
Raphael’s murderous eyes don’t change a bit as he stares at his brother. He seems to hate the strongman as much as any other guy.
For the first time in my life, I feel homicidal, too.
It’s all been too much since Romano came into my life, and I’m cracking under the pressure.
I want to see this filthy bastard pay for doing this to me. And I want Romano to bleed, too. My revenge fantasies pick up like a vortex as the brother with the scarred face glares at the other like he wants to make them come true. But just as he opens his mouth to spit out some poisonous remark, the door flies against the wall.
I shriek, but the two men pull out their guns with such speed that I don’t get to let out a full-on scream.
Then there are gunshots.
People talk about guns a lot, but what nobody tells you is that gunshots feel like bombs to your ears. A loud zing rips its way through my eardrums, and pressing my palms to my ears only seems to make it worse. I crawl backwards, toward the mahogany bookcase, while a hellish scene unfolds in front of me.
The two brothers charge at the intruder, and I discover in dread when I see that the intruder is Micah.
Looking like the demon on his back made flesh.
Maybe it’s the shock or the paralyzing dread in my bones, but if God created man in his own image, then the devil created Micah in his. He sashays toward his attackers like a deadly cobra, avoiding the bullets in a way that looks supernatural. At the same time, I realize it’s skill and lethality of the kind that only the most brutal and gruesome training can achieve.
The Morningstar brothers’ speed is impressive too, but Micah’s efficiency is mind-boggling. He meets them mid-movement, and rams his fist into Rufus’ neck.
For a moment, there’s complete silence.
Rufus’ features distort in slow motion. His eyes widen, his eyebrows rise to where his hairline should be, and his hands lift up to grab Micah’s wrist.
It’s too late. Blood spills out from where the blade pierced his neck, and it’s too fast to stop it. Micah didn’t just punch him, he went for the kill, and the great Rufus Costa of the Morningstars didn’t last a second. Between Rufus’ gaping face that’s struggling to understand what just happened and Micah’s outstretched, black-clad arm that radiates deadly power, realization spreads out like ice flowers over Raphael’s face. The scar distorts along with his face in a mix of pain and rage.
He grabs Micah’s wrist and expertly twists it off the hilt of his blade.
Then time picks up pace again.
Rufus tumbles backwards, gurgling and grabbing at the blade in his throat while his brother throws punches at Micah. The first one catches Micah in the jaw, and the second one in his kidney, but at the third he ducks, and Raphael’s fist rams into the bookcase. He roars in frustration and sweeps the books off the shelf with one arm, before lunging at Micah again with his fist raised like a weapon of destruction.
But instead of hitting Micah, his blow meets Damon’s arm, raised to block it.
When the hell did he join this mess?
The gothic prince swirls around and coils a flashy metal chain around Raphael’s neck, using it to drag him outside. The noises alert the guards.
Steps drum outside the door before two men appear, stopping in their tracks when they find Damon with a thorny metal chain coiled around their boss’ neck. The Morningstar raises one hand to signal something, but Micah launches himself at the guards with scary speed. He spins between them like a storm, blades flashing through the air as they slash the men’s throats before they even get to grab their guns. One still has a hand on his nine millimeter when he falls backwards and hits the floor.
Three men. Within minutes, Micah has already killed three men—Rufus Costa and two of his guards. More guards flood the room, and Damon has to kick one of them to prevent him from getting too close, which gives Raphael the opportunity to elbow him in the ribs, yank away the chain, and take off. Damon grunts, throws his chain like a whip at the men blocking his way, and storms after the Morningstar boss, which leaves Micah to deal with three—no wait, four men. All of them big and armed and looking like they want to feast on him until there’s nothing left but bones.
Micah positions himself with his back to me. Protecting me. Ready to take all of them on.
The air leaves my lungs, my heart beating in my throat, choking me. He took down Rufus and those men, but he had the element of surprise on his side. This is different, it’s too much.
I don’t even get to finish that thought before two of the guards pull out their guns and point them at Micah. I scream and scramble to my feet, ready to throw myself in front of him. Listening to some instinct that seems to have been there since the beginning of time, dormant in my DNA through billions of years of evolution, evoked by some bond that his atoms and mine have shared since the Big Bang.
But as I grab the shelves behind me and heave myself up to my feet, Micah’s body tightens, and a blade shoots up from his hand. It slashes through the air and embeds itself right in the middle of one opponent’s forehead. Gun still cocked in the man’s hands, his jaw slackens and he looks up, toward the trail of blood that slithers down his nose. A second later, he hits the ground backwards, a lifeless carcass.
