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Her kids, her husbands, and her family were off-limits. That would make her a killer.
Easily.
Elizabeth paused, turned around, and unlocked the cage. Then, she crouched down in front of Artemis.
“Did you just threaten my child?” she asked.
She smiled.
“I already got the intel,” she said. “I already have the information on all of your children. It’s too late.”
Well, fuck.
Only, this woman wasn’t leaving.
The funny thing was, Artemis stopped smiling when she felt the bullet tear into her belly.
“No one threatens my children, Artemis. See, you can’t make a killer,” she said as the woman stared down at the blood coming from her belly. “But you can come face-to-face with them, and sometimes, Artie,” she said, pulling her hair back to stare into her shocked eyes, “those people are only held back by a badge—temporarily. No one threatens my children and lives. No one.”
And then, with that, she slammed her hand into her throat, closing off her airway and leaving her to suffocate for the next three minutes.
Alone.
In pain.
And afraid.
Elizabeth was good with Remmy being the judge, The Hunters being the jury, and her being the executioner.
Sometimes, you had to break the rules and put evil away any way you could.
And with New Orleans and what went on here…
It was do the best that you could.
To survive.
Epilogue
One Hour Later
On The Jet
Tuesday Night
T here was no place like home, and she was not far from dropping off an elderly woman, and then skedaddling it back to The Fort. She’d be there by morning, and that was good. What she needed was to be refocused.
She missed her husbands, and she really missed her kids. What she needed was to hold them.
What Artemis said, did rattle her.
How could it not?
Was there intel out there about her children? Had Artemis really gotten it from Bob, the asshole who HAD run the CIA?
She wasn’t sure.
And he wasn’t talking.
