AllFreeNovel
Share Us
And without a word, Gabe lowered himself down onto the dirty, orange floor.
Chapter Forty-Two
Greta
Every asshole in this room was going to pay for this if it was the last thing I ever did.
I could feel all of their eyes on me. Domínguez’s men were getting off on this just as much as Domínguez. All of them but Mateo. I could feel him close by; the conflicted energy that radiated from him was palpable.
But there was nothing he could do, not this time.
I rested my finger against the trigger and took one last deep breath. I could barely see Gabe, thanks to the tears that blurred my vision.
The room was silent. I don’t think anyone was even breathing. They were waiting. I couldn’t see Domínguez, but I could picture his face, his eyes bright, his face exultant. I betthiswas the kind of “entertainment” he lived for.
At least… it was until the room erupted in sound.
In black-clad men.
In gunfire and shouting.
In screams.
Men (and a woman) poured in through the doorways and windows.
Nico, Caio, and Raven.SignorLuciano and Aurelio. Men wearing Old Dog cuts, but I didn’t recognize them. So many, so fast, I couldn’t keep up. A dozen more? Maybe two?
Gabe hadn’t wasted a second. He had the man who’d been behind him on the ground, knife to his throat, and with one slash, the asshole was dead.
I spun to find Brute, but he was already heading in my direction, his body drawn up to its full height, his blue eyes lit up with wrath and vengeance, his hands curled into fists. It was the most terrifying, most wonderful sight I’d ever seen.
And I had no doubt about where he was heading.
I dove for Mateo and got us the hell out of the way.
From the floor, I watched as Brute grabbed hold of Domínguez—who had no weapon. He’d given it to me.
He had no time to run, no time to hide. Domínguez was in the air so fast, it was like he’d taken flight. But he hadn’t. Brute lifted him up high, slamming his head against the ceiling before dropping him to the ground.
Domínguez’s knees couldn’t catch him; he crumpled to the floor. But Brute had him back on his feet in a flash, lifting him with one hand around the asshole’s throat.
I wanted in on the action—payback was my kind of bitch—but all I could do was stare in fascination as Brute held him there, suspended with his feet off the ground, while Domínguez flailed like a fish on a hook.
“You died the day you laid a hand on Greta, asshole,” Brute seethed. “Your body just didn’t know it yet. I’ll help you with that now.”
He strode across the room until Domínguez’s back slammed into the shitty wallpapered wall. I could hear the crunch and crack of the plaster behind him. Or maybe that was his skull.
Domínguez’s eyes rolled back in his head for one brief moment, but then he was back, flailing while his chest worked to draw breath that wouldn’t come.
His face had turned red and the blood vessels in his eyes ruptured so that he looked like something that really had spawned from the depths of hell.
There was no humor in his eyes now. No jubilance. Just fear. Cold, stark fear as Brute stared back at him, watching in satisfaction until Domínguez’s face turned purple and he went limp. No more fighting. No more breathing.
The twisted son of a bitch was finally dead.
And looking around, so was everyone else. Well, Domínguez’s men, anyway. It looked like all of ours were still standing.
I stood up, feeling a bit disoriented, partly from the quick change of events and partly from having sat by and watched from the sidelines. Definitely a strange feeling.
