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VICTOR
“Fuck,” I grit out as Luxury sprints toward the fifth assassin. I’m running at top speed, but the girl has a head start. The bloke is on the other side of the bridge. As he unzips a puffer jacket, timid light glimmers over something metallic concealed in his hands.
Soulless eyes track Luxury then flicker in my direction. Recognition dawns on thewanka.
Shewashis target.
I am now.
Each of these tossers had Luxury in their crosshairs.
A menacing smile flashes on his face. He removes the jacket, revealing a row of jagged, throwing knives holstered to his chest. He snatches one out. I gesture to the gun in my hand, then slip it into the back of my pants. If I come upon some bloody bullets, I’ll use it later. If not, I’ll dispose of it.
Aware he’s caught me unarmed, theblokelooks at me like I’ve made the worst bloody cock-upof my entire life. He flicks his wrist. The first dagger zips in my direction. I stand my ground, shrugging a shoulder when the bladeswooshespast my ear.
The next bites into my bicep muscle.
“Needed that, mate.” Adrenaline hurtles through me. I snatch out the blade I’d positioned myself to apprehend and flick my wrist.
Plasma arches as the knife nicks the side of his neck.
Alright, playtime’s over.
I sprint toward him, full force. Intimidated, he starts for another switchblade from his holster. My left hook meets his chin, and the knife clatters to the ground. The cunt’s sloppy hook is blocked by my forearm.
No bloody power.
My brute strength isn’t lost on him. The chap tosses his forehead in my direction. Athwackthat could’ve reconstructed my fucking nose sails over my head, and my shoulder pounds into his chest.
His legs shuffle backward as he attempts to grab another throwing knife. We grapple, and I hold his arms away from his body. From my peripheral, Luxury’s scampering up the slope toward the street.Good girl.
While gaining her balance, she looks back. Torture mars her gorgeous features. Then she’s gone.
I duck beneath the next throwing knife, gripped in the man’s hand, pitching him over my shoulder.
“No more knives for you, cunt,” I hiss, clobbering my knee into his spleen as he crawls away. Every muscle in his body fails him. He lays face down. Capturing his skull in my hands, I bash the man’s head into the asphalt. One thud. Two. A jerk to finish him off.
In the backseat of a cab, I ring Bobby George Inc. and am auto dispatched to Milton, the bloke on duty. Milton advises Luxury arrived by Uber moments ago, and I order him to get backup.Next, I dial Burt, and in a subdued voice, I give him a code of where to find the bodies, which I’d dragged beneath the bridge.
“Stop here,” I order the cab driver, a block away from the Whitsons’ flat. As I get out, my mobile pings in my palm. A gelid gust whispers along the nape of my neck as I read Luxury’s message:Never. Call. Again.
That’s bloody absurd.
I find myself one with the night, melding into the darkness and avoiding the streetlamps. Neither Milton nor the backup he promised are in the vicinity when I silently allow myself in the front door. Milton and his consorts have probably fallen prey to my bloody opposition. Instead of rounding up Luxury and her father, the chit’stext lures me.
What the bloody fuck?
Luxury’s molded me into an emotional wreck.
I’ve dispensed passion beyond her wildest dreams, and my only request is her absolute devotion. A worthy barter as far as I’m concerned.
Oh, my sweet Luxury,I mutter, switching off all the lights but one in her room as the sound of her shower drones in the background. I’m in a bloody dark space here. She created this. I scorned Burt’s pitch that I marry Princess Noor. I couldn’t fathom the extra baggage in my life. Only Maddy, because our individual lives could continue per the norm. But here I am, attending to my impudent Little One.
“Bullocks, Luxury,” I say upon setting my eyes on the lovely chit. Fog slithers from the lavatory, whisps caressing everywhere my hands requisitioned. “Everything wentballs up.It’s not what it seems.”
“What part of us screwing in Central Park, less than an hour ago, followed by you murdering random strangers isnot what it seems! I texted you—”
An exorbitant amount of venom backs my tone as I snarl, “Never to call?” I collect myself, trying again. “You’re in shock. That’s to be expected—”
