There are eight of them, each one somebody I used to know,somebody I might have called a friend in another life.
Men I trained beside. Men who used to trust me to walk into a room full of armed killers and walk back out with the job done. Their faces are tense now, eyes sharp, and shoulders rigid like they’re waiting for me to explode out of the chair and start snapping necks.
And I should. But as I continue assessing the men around me, something dawns on me. Their hands are empty. Their holsters are vacant of any weapons, and a slow grin pulls across my face, making each one of them uneasy as they watch me.
Even chained to a chair, they still don’t trust themselves to hold a gun around me, because they know any weapon they possess will likely end up in my hands. And when that happens, all eight of them will be hand delivered to an early grave, courtesy of the Iron Viper.
Fuck, why does that have me all giddy? Is this how Kiara feels when she gets to go apeshit on a target?
The anticipation swells within me. I’m usually so calm and controlled when on a job, but I feel myself breaking. I feel the rage boiling through my veins, just waiting for me to snap, and when I do, every last one of them better be ready to meet their maker. Because even without a single weapon, it makes no difference. Iamthe weapon.
A man steps forward from the group, his boots echoing across the warehouse floor as the fan above us continues its lazy rotation. The shifting shadows roll across his face, turning him into something distorted and unfamiliar, and a growing excitement pounds through my veins.
It’s showtime.
“You’ve caused quite the mess tonight, Raiden,” he says, taking point on this little execution of theirs, enlisting himself as the bossman. Though one thing is for sure, despite us having crossed paths years ago, he shouldn’t know my name. I suppose that all changes when your agency is trying to eliminate you.
I lean back against the metal chair, testing the chains with a slow flex of my wrists while holding his stare. I shrug my shoulders, keeping my cool. “They started it.”
His lips tighten. “You were one of our best operatives.”
I scoff. One of? There’s no question about it; I am the best, though perhaps there are a few too many egos in the room to let that little piece of knowledge fly free.
“Was?” I ask.
His gaze slightly shifts to the men around him. He hadn’t anticipated any kind of conversation. He thought he was going to come in and point out the obvious, and that would be the end of it. He’s nervous now. “You went rogue.”
A bitter laugh scrapes up my throat. “Rogue? That’s what we’re calling it now?”
“You compromised the agency,” he snaps, disgust in his tone. “You compromised multiple contracts.”
“Yeah,” I say calmly, a small smile spreading across my lips as I recall just how much fun I had compromising those contracts, and the reward I received after in the form of a feisty little spitfire kicking mydoor down. “What of it?”
A few of the men shift uneasily. I’m not responding the way they’d hoped, and that makes me unpredictable to them, a liability they don’t know how to handle.
“Your relationship with Kiara St. James made you a liability,” he informs me as though I hadn’t already figured it out. “You left us no choice but to step in, and now you will pay for your carelessness.”
There’s a bite in his tone, a smugness that has something tightening in my chest, and as I hold his stare, his reasoning becomes clear. “You put your hands on my woman?” I ask quietly, deadly.
He smiles. “Confirmed kill. She’s part of the cleanup now,” he says. “And you’re about to join her. You know too much to walk away from this. Surely you knew that.”
The chains creak softly as I shift in the chair, and as I listen to him talk, I realize there’s no conviction here. Confirmed kill? Over my dead fucking body. I know the odds were stacked against her, but I would feel it if she were gone. He’s foolishly trying to bait me.
I don’t respond, just simply watch him, taking in the way his thumb twitches at his side, the way his chest rises and falls with quicker movements, the way the slightest hint of unease flashes in his eyes. He’s nervous.
The self-appointed bossman sighs, trying to assert dominance and instill fear within me, but he’s barking up the wrong tree if he thinks he stands a chance. Does he know who he’s trying to intimidate? “It’s nothing personal,” he continues, with a hint of that psychoticnumbness that’s so common among men in this industry. He steps toward me, his pack of dumbasses inching closer as one. “This is going to hurt.”
I roll my shoulders slowly, feeling the metal cuffs biting into my skin and grinding against the bone. “Funny,” I say with a wicked grin. “I was just about to say the same thing.”
I make my move.
The first chain snaps with a sharp, metallic crack, and for just a second, they don’t understand what’s happening. Then the chair rips free from the concrete bolts as I surge forward, swinging the heavy metal frame straight into the closest man.
The impact sends him crashing backward into two others, bodies slamming against the hard floor in a tangled heap, and then chaos erupts.
Hands grab for me, trying to pin me down, but they made the mistake of thinking chains were enough to hold me. I twist hard, using the broken chair as leverage, and slam the metal frame into another man’s ribs. Something cracks, and he folds instantly.
One of them lunges from the side, and I react faster than humanly possible as I drive the chain between my wrists straight into his throat, and he collapses while choking, his larynx crushed beneath the force.
