Page 72 of Trapped Truth

“You’ll be shot on sight,” he mutters.

“Listen to your friend, 768,” Joe taunts.

“Fuck you! What do you want from us?”

“Nothing short of full and total surrender.”

“Tell Madden to face us himself.” Hyland’s barked demand sounds more animalistic than human.

Grinning, Joe unlocks his crossed arms. “He doesn’t have patience for your pathetic time wasting.”

A glance around reveals how outnumbered we are. Even if Warner or Blaine managed to warn Axel, he can’t fight off this horde any more than we can. That isn’t going to stop me from trying, though. Guns or not.

Relaxing in Hyland’s vice-like embrace, I encourage him to gently release me through touch alone. He isn’t stupid. This situation won’t end well for any of us if we can’t fight our way out of here together.

“Bad idea,” he murmurs almost inaudibly.

“Got a better one?”

“Nope.”

“On my mark then.”

“Em—”

As I yank free from Hyland’s grip, Joe watches me stroll towards him. I don’t miss the way he assesses my gait, cataloguing each move before enacting his own advance across the chess board.

“How about the person who killed his greatest ally?”

His eyes narrow. “And who might that be?”

“Antonio Gael.”

“What do you know of it?” he asks after a beat.

“Though Gael’s death has been good for business, I’m sure it was a blow for Madden to lose the man who gave him so much. Truthfully, I’ve enjoyed thinking about it.”

From the way his head cocks, it’s clear Joe’s turning my revelation over. Madden was in the wind long before the time I found myself face-to-face with the object of my nightmares. I doubt he knows who struck the killer blow.

“He doesn’t care to at least meet me?” I step closer still, goading him.

“Am I supposed to believe you left that crime scene behind?” He chuckles. “I’ve seen the photographs. Bloodbath isn’t quite an accurate enough term.”

“You weren’t impressed?”

“I’m not sure impressed is the word my employer would use.”

I’m within touching distance. Close enough to gouge his fucking eyes out with my fingernails. The distraction worked—dangling the truth in front of him like a tasty morsel to be devoured.

“Perhaps I was wrong about you, 768.”

My mouth stretches in a wild, savage smile. “You know, I really enjoy when people underestimate me.”

He’s prepared for a strike. In this scenario, who wouldn’t be? But the blow never comes. Instead, I bend at the knees to sweep his legs out from underneath him, sending poor Joe flailing onto his back.

The fall causes his jacket to gape open. Inside, he has one of our stolen guns. With a well-placed kick to the head, Joe starfishes on the floor, granting me a window to swipe the weapon and take aim.

“Hy!” I scream. “Get to the others!”