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“Fuck off,” he growls, pulling the trigger with ease as he holds the car steady. This sure as hell isn’t his first rodeo. Rayne lives for this shit.
The guards at the gate don’t seem to be expecting us to start shooting so soon, their bodies hitting the ground long before we reach them, even with the considerable speed we’re going.
“Uh, Rayne, no one’s in the guard house to open the gate,” I remind him when he gives no signs of slowing down.
“I know.”
The gate speeds toward us and the moment the car makes contact with the wrought iron, my entire body absorbs the impact painfully. I may have reenforced the car to withstand a lot, but I don’t expect the gate to buckle beneath the pressure of the Aston Martin.
Rayne doesn’t miss a beat, his foot pressing down on the accelerator as we gun toward the house and our women. “We needed a new gate anyway.” He shrugs.
65
Wynter
“What do you have there, Wynter?” Elijah smirks. His eyes lock with the barrel of the gun, and where most men would be scared, his look almost amused.
“I think you should both leave,” I say, ignoring his question altogether. I’m not going to dignify it with an answer, because he’s only trying to get a rise out of me. He wants to throw me off balance, but that’s not going to happen.
“I think we have the answer to where your cousin’s loyalties lay,” Charles tells him from his post by the window.
“As I suspected.” Elijah shakes his head. “I’ve told my uncles so many times he can’t be trusted, but what would I know? I’m the only one in the fucking family with any brains.”
“Well, they’ll be dead after tonight, so you won’t have to deal with them for much longer.” Storm smirks and I can’t help but laugh. The poetic irony of the situation is too good not to get some joy from, even if it is short-lived.
Elijah’s eyes flash with anger, his hand slipping into his pocket and retrieving his phone. He taps on the screen a couple of times before holding it to his ear.
I hold my breath as I listen for voices on the other end of the line. The commotion outside has died down to only tires on the gravel, and I can only assume Rayne and Everett will be here any moment, but I want to know if the Russos are dead.
“Fuck,” he mutters as he dials another number and returns the phone to his ear. Each moment that passes, the rage etched into his features grows more prominent. He’s realizing he could be alone in this, and that’s the last thing you want to be in this business.
“Untie me and give me the gun,” Storm whispers so softly I barely hear the words.
“No.”
His eyes flare with annoyance, but I’m not backing down. I want to finish this. Craig hurt me all those years ago, and I never got my revenge. Storm killed him long before I had the chance to regather my strength and get the closure I needed. But now Charles is here, spewing the same shit his brother did, and it’s my turn. For once, I don’t want to be the weak little girl they’ve always believed me to be. I want to be the queen I was born to be.
The front door flings open, drawing everyone’s attention to the doorway, giving me the opportunity to move around the back of Storm’s chair and step closer to my target. I would have hit him from where I was, but I didn’t want to take any chances. I’ve never actually shot a human being before and something tells me it’s a little different from the paper outline at the shooting range, so I want my room for error to be minimal at most.
Elijah draws his gun and aims it at the doorway and my heart stops for just a moment. Any moment now, the man I love or my brother could be shot, and that’s not something I’m willing to risk.
“Drop it,” I say calmly.
“Or what, princess? You going to shoot me?” He’s mocking me. He doesn’t believe I’m strong enough to pull the trigger, but that’s where he’s fucking wrong.
I hold the gun steady and aim at his shoulder before squeezing the trigger as I breathe out. The power of the shot radiates up my arms, but I don’t move from my position despite the searing agony in my wrists.
“Fuck,” Elijah shouts, his gun hitting the floor in a loud clatter. “You fucking bitch.”
“I’d watch how you’re speaking to me unless you want a matching pair,” I growl, taking calculated steps toward where the gun is laying.
Footsteps in the hall pull my attention away from where I’m stepping for a moment, and I look up just in time to see Everett appear in the doorway. His own gun is drawn, blood soaking through his T-shirt. Rayne is a couple of steps behind him, not a scratch on him. I swear my brother never comes home wounded, probably for the best given how much Emerson worries about him.
I allow the breath I’ve been holding for what feels like hours to release and drop my attention back to the gun, but when my eyes lock with the spot it was a few moments ago, the floor is clear.
“Everyone drop your weapons or little miss bitch here is getting a bullet through the brain.” Charles grabs me around the neck and panic threatens at the edge of my mind. My breath hitches in my throat, the relief I felt just a few moments ago is long gone.
Everett’s face fills with rage, the fury in his eyes almost enough to knock me off kilter, but I stand strong. The gun in my own hand is still expended in front of me. I’m not ready to drop it yet. I’m not ready to give up the power it allows me.
