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“Boss, we…” one of Stephane’s men’s starts.
Fucking douche never gets a chance to finish. I aim at him and shoot. He collapses, holding his leg, and yelling like a pig at the slaughterhouse.
I let my icy gaze roam through Stephane Sinclair and the two other men he still has standing. I’m not fooling myself, all it would take is the press of a button and he’d have an army of goons descending on us. But we have his daughter, which I hope has some meaning for him. And also Stephane knows it would also take very little for our own armies from all four of our families to fucking invade this place.
“Daniel, I don’t think… Maybe we could go to my study and discuss all this. I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding.”
“There’s no fucking misunderstanding, you fucking cum-dump.”
I move even closer and press the mouth of my gun to his fucking forehead.
“You fucking marked her.”
My tone is lethal, and looking into his eyes, I can tell Stephane understands just how crazy I am right now. How all I want is for him to do or say the wrong thing and give me a reason to fucking pull the trigger.
“Just fucking say something.”
He stares at me with wide eyes but doesn’t say a word. when I pull the gun off his skin, I can see an angry darker circle. The gun is still hot from the bullet I shot in his guard’s leg.
“Give me a fucking reason to put a fucking bullet in your head and end your miserable fucking life.”
* * *
ISA
Oh My God!Danni’s pressing a gun on my father’s head, growling in his face like he’s about to lose the sliver of restraint he has left, any second now. My big, tall, scary father doesn’t dare move a muscle. He fucking knows who he’s dealing with. Knows any of these men would end his life as easily as they draw their next breath.
“Danni, please,” I plead.
I watch him crack his powerful neck from side to side then turn my way and nod one single time, before pulling the barrel of his gun from my dad’s face. Then he pockets the firearm and wraps a huge mitt around my father’s neck, squeezing and almost lifting him off the ground!
Stephane Sinclair is not a small man. He’s taller than six feet and heavier than two hundred pounds of muscle. But Danni O’Malley is a motherfucking beast. Only a few inches taller than my dad, but with at least a dozen pounds more of pure muscle. Plus he’s blazing with fury. His eyes seem lit up from the inside. The veins at the back of his hand are popping.
“Not so fun being on the receiving end, huh, dipshit?” He growls again.
His lethal gaze never leaving my father’s face, as if reveling in the expression of agony, the bulging eyes, the frantic hand gestures grasping on his hold. My father’s voice is barely audible, and the faint wheezing sound escaping his lips is but the ghost of his desperate supplications. His feet kick the air. And just when his eyes start rolling back in his head, Danni lets go, and my dad collapses on the floor, taking large gulps of air, a mix of anger, fear, and despair flashing through his eyes. One of his men kneels before him and helps him sit up. Another slides a hand inside his jacket and takes a step in our direction. Danni raises a single eyebrow.
“You fucking pull that piece out. Please. And you see what fucking happens.”
The guy swallows with difficulty, his hesitant gaze sifting from our small group to my father. Dad manages to shake his head.
“Get out,” he rasps out in a croaked voice, face still constricted.
Probably from having the fucking daylights squeezed out of him.
“Get the fuck out of my house, and take this rat bitch with you.”
At his words, I feel the air shift in the space we’re occupying. The already enraged vibe turns feral. Sal shoulders Danni out of his way and advances to go tower over my dad.
“What the fuck did you call her?”
His face closed off in some ridiculous act of bravado, my father lifts his chin and looks away. Pretty stupid when you know who he’s dealing with.Sal leans down and, in a quick and brutal move, shoves the tip of his gun into my father’s mouth. We hear teeth brutally clattering against metal, accompanied by a pained whimper.
“You watch your fucking mouth, old man,” he adds in a guttural tone that makes shivers run down my spine. And they’re not entirely fear-induced…
“Just go, now,” my father mumbles when Sal removes the gun from between his lips, holding his bleeding mouth, the guards frantically hovering over him.
“That’s what I fucking thought,” Sal rumbles.
