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ChapterTwenty-One
NYX
I was goingto kill Manuel Rojas.
And his bitch ass nephew.
Wipe his whole bloodline off the collective consciousness of the general public.
It was only a matter of when,notif.
And the answer wassoon.
It didn’t even take a full minute in his presence for Tati’s description of him – petty, vindictive, too smart for his own good – to prove mostly accurate.
I actually felt she wasn’t harsh enough in describing this devious motherfucker.
We’d agreed to meet at what was supposed to be a neutral location, but was reallyRenegadosterritory, a nice restaurant, packed with patrons. We were taken to a private room, tucked away from the unsuspecting guests; a more trusting person would take it as a good sign.
Surely there wouldn’t be too much trouble in a public place.
The thing with that was only certain people were bound by that type of moral constraint.
I wasn’t one of them.
Undoubtedly, there were other shooters in the building, but the guards Manuel kept close weren’tThorns, a good sign, but confusing.
If he was working with Renard, it was idiotic not to take advantage of theThornlevel of security. Less for him meant more for us though, so I wasn’t complaining.
I just didn’t understand the reasoning.
“I was so saddened to hear about what happened to Tatiana,” Manuel said as we took seats around the private table. “Such a beautiful woman like that, so unafraid to flaunt it; it was only a matter of time before someone couldn’t help themselves, no?”
I looked at Blue, because there was no way this motherfucker had just said what I thought I heard.
Right?
He was looking at me too, as if he was making surehehadn’t imagined it.
He hadn’t.
Before I could react, with my hands around Manuel’s throat, Blue was already on his feet.
“I will burn your whole motherfucking life down,” he said, looking Rojas dead in the face as he spoke, paying no mind to the guards who’d stood at the same time. “Keep her name out of your mouth.”
Manuel raised his hands. “I meant no harm, or to suggest anything malicious,” he claimed, stammering over those insincere words as he looked to his guys for assistance that would never happen before I acted. “I—”
“How the fuck,” I interrupted, still seated, “is itnotmalicious to suggest it was some unavoidable reality that she was going to get raped because of how she looks?” I asked, very quietly, trying to keep myself calm.
Under the table, my hand was already going for the blade they’d failed to notice on their little pat down.
One move to grab it.
One move to get my hand up.
And then, just a little flick of the wrist, and he’d be gone.
I visualized it over and over as a soothing mechanism to keep me from actually implementing it as he faltered through some weak explanation about men’s moral failings and some other shit that was true, but not the fucking point.
