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Chapter Twenty-Five
Alena
Ichange out of the dress the old me would have loved. The expensive material, the confidence it brought. I would have gotten free drinks all night and taken some rando home. Now? All I can think about is how easily it can be stained and how hard it is to move in if I need to run or grab a weapon.
I did look fucking good though, scars and all, and Idris’s reaction made it all worthwhile. But now I’m back to being Bitch, the words carved into my stomach acting as proof. I pop more of the doctor’s pills and down some water. We aren’t stopping or resting until this is done. The adrenaline of getting payback against all those who hurt me and thousands of others spurs me on.
Some of the names we get are crossed off—dead. Spider’s and Max’s work, whoever he is, apparently. We are the clean-up, catching the stragglers and the hard to find ones. And, of course, Nikolic, who we’re saving for last.
Idris grabs his phone, dials someone, and simply grunts before hanging up. “She’s still there, cameras confirm it. She’s booked the entire restaurant. She was meeting with someone, but they’ve left,” he informs me, and the look he gives me is downright terrifying and sexy as hell. With a twist of the wheel, he slams on the gas, racing through the evening traffic.
Hard to think that just last night I was still a captive, a stolen girl, and now I’m the hunter.
The feeling is heady, and when we pull up outside the restaurant, I can’t help the grin I’m wearing or the excitement coursing through my veins. I feel invincible with Idris, untouchable. A girl could get used to this.
There’s a valet in a suit outside, and he frowns when we pull in. “I’m afraid we are closed, sir,” he starts, but Idris just storms past him without a glance.
“Sir,” he snaps, and reaches for his phone. Me? I walk past and bitch-slap him.
“Oops, sorry.” I grin innocently before turning and finding Idris watching me from the doors. His eyes move from the man to me as he grins and draws his gun.
“Be ready for anything, try not to get shot,” is all he says as he turns and rips open the door. I follow after him, Beretta in hand. He begins shooting as soon as he enters, walking through the restaurant like a man would walk through fire. A haze of bullets rains down, as well as shouts and commands from Bessie the cow’s security.
She’s obviously special to Nikolic and the operation. Probably gets the women in, the cunt. It seems apt she will die by the man she thought she tricked. The bitch was too cocky.
I stay behind Idris, using him as a shield. The restaurant is one of those fancy ones with glass windows all around and simple, rustic tables with chandeliers. It’s almost blacked out with low lighting and luxurious gold and black décor. It screams money and elitism. To the right is a glass staircase, and I see two men in suits sneaking down it, so I center myself, aim, and fire. I hit the glass under one, and it shatters, making him fall.
Shit.
“Good shot,” Idris calls, and I just nod like I meant to do that all along. I fire at the other, missing three times before I hit him in the chest and he tumbles down the stairs. Turning back, I duck the swing of another man, and then Idris is there, pistol-whipping him before he flips him over his shoulder and onto a table, and in the same move, Idris stabs down with his gun and shoots before whirling to face the others streaming into the room.
We hear the waiters’ screams as they rush out of the back door into the kitchen. I’m betting Bessie cow is hiding upstairs, stupid woman. Clearly, she can only be tough when her enemies are chained. Idris moves across the room fluidly, firing and taking as many out as he can before dropping his clip and reloading in mere seconds. He swings a shotgun around and fires, each move calculated, purposeful, hitting its intended target.
He moves like fucking water.
I turn and slide across a table like I’ve always seen in the movies, and glide straight into a man reloading his semiautomatic. I knock him to the floor, then I grab his gun, turn, and fire. It recoils, and I fall back to the table, but at least I hit him. Dropping it, I turn with my handgun raised, sticking to what I know.
Idris is engaged in hand-to-hand combat with four men. They dart in and out, kicking and punching, but he holds his own. He throws them into tables. One punches at him, but Idris grabs his arm, twists under it, and snaps it before throwing him into the side of the stairs while he screams.
Shit, that’s hot.
I notice there are no more, so instead, I head for the stairs, intent on proving my worth. “Bitch,” he yells, but he has to concentrate on his fight as I take the steps two at a time, leaping over the broken one I shot.
At the top, I duck and look around.
There are three men in front of a table where I see a scared-looking Bessie hiding. There is a half drank bottle of champagne on her table with empty plates. She’s in a skintight, emerald dress and heels, looking pretty as hell. And terrified. Of me.
Of him.
“Hey there, cow!” I call and then duck as a barrage of bullets heads my way. Laughing, I cup my hands around my mouth. “Moo.” I wait as they keep firing, and then I hear them stop, knowing they have to be reloading. When I look up, I see them doing just that.
My time to shine, baby. I have to move fast.
Straightening, I aim and fire as I walk. I hit one in the shoulder, and he falls back to the table. I hit the other in the leg, and he crumples with a scream. I miss the third altogether, and my gun clicks empty. Shit. I drop it and try to grab a knife, but he’s raising his gun. Suddenly, his head explodes and he falls to the side, and then Idris is there. He looks me over, his eyes narrowed—that tells me I’ll be in trouble later.
I can’t wait.
He moves to the table, and I skip behind him. Picking up one of their guns, I shoot the other two guards in the chest as Idris takes a seat opposite a scared Bessie. But she sits back, faking confidence, playing the long game as I grab the champagne and sip it while I watch her.
