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After I pull away—and wipe my blood from his face—I reach down and take the gun from his hand. “You know I had him, right?” I try for a joke, but it falls flat.
Damon nods but looks down at Fallon’s body. “I didn’t want to risk it.” He takes a shuddering breath, running a shaky hand over his braids. “I’m not even sure how I managed to shoot him. I’ve never shot a gun before.”
I pull him in, hugging him hard. “You did good, baby.”
Damon starts to reply, but we both freeze when we hear the door open and a shout down the hallway. “This is a lot of shit, Dad.”
Hurriedly, I wipe my face with my shirt, pushing Damon behind me. This is the one that Damon told me beat him and made him go out places with him so he could be humiliated.
He’s mine.
When Conrad steps into the office, he freezes, eyes landing on his brother, then his father’s body behind us. His face morphs into anger and he tosses the bags haphazardly down the hallway. Lifting his shirt, he reaches behind him to the small of his back and pulls out a blade similar to the one Mamba had.
I roll my eyes, figuring it would be too much to ask for someone not to have a blade on them. I absolutely hate blades.
“Damon, hold this, but don’t shoot him,” I say, passing the gun to him without taking my eyes off Conrad. “He is mine. Do you understand? When he moves from the door, go to your room. I’ll come get you when this is done.”
“But—” he starts, but Conrad cuts him off.
He points at each one of us in turn with the end of his knife. “I’m going to kill you, then I’m going to kill you.”
I give Damon a little push towards the doorway. “To your room, understand?” I see him nod from the corner of my eye.
Conrad looks back and forth between us and, like I think he will, he moves to me. He probably thinks he can get rid of me first then come back for Damon.
Not fucking likely.
I take several steps to the side and he follows, glancing over at Damon as he slides out of the room. Hopefully he’ll do what I say and lets me handle this one.
Two out of three ain’t bad.
I could have just shot him and be done with it, but I want to beat his ass first, for all the times he’s put his hands on Damon.
Conrad is wilder and more reckless than his brother. Having the knife in his hands gives him more courage than if he was fighting me unarmed.
He swipes wildly, and I feel the air breeze past my face. Since I’ve been in two separate fights this evening, my reflexes are slower, and I take a long gash across my forearm when I try to disarm him. I hiss, but don’t reach to stem the bleeding.
With one more wild swipe at me, I catch his arm by the elbow, jut my hip out, and flip him. He lands on the coffee table, and it breaks under his weight, the knife flying from his hand. I bring my foot down on his face, stunning him. Then I kick him in the ribs a couple times before he gets his bearings and rolls away.
“You’re so used to beating on men smaller than you, you can’t even fight a man your size without a weapon, huh?” I ask in a taunting voice, watching as he tries to discreetly locate his blade.
He snarls, standing upright, but stumbling. His hand goes to his head, shaking himself. “You’ll pay for what you did.”
“You’re paying for it now,” I tell him as he rushes at me. Unlike his brother, I don’t let him throw wild punches. I duck and dodge, then hit him with several body shots, then an uppercut to the chin. Grabbing his shirt so he doesn’t fall down or move from my punches, I hold him and hammer his face with my right hand—the same arm with the long gash from his serrated blade.
His knees go out, but I don’t let him go. I follow him down to the floor, punching him until my arm gets tired. Conrad is taking gurgling breaths, but I don’t give a fuck. He dies today.
A gleam flashes in the corner of my vision and I see his knife under the mess of the table. Since I know he’s not going anywhere, I drop him and make my way over to it, grasping it in my aching hand.
I turn back around and see he’s trying to move away from me, dragging his body a few feet away. “Aw, don’t leave. We were just getting to the fun part.”
He starts to stammer, but his swollen lips won’t allow him to speak. I don’t want to hear anything he has to say.
Dropping to my knee beside him, I raise the blade high in the air and bury it in his chest. I push it in as far as it will go and twist. He’s dead before I pull it free.
Falling back on my butt, I look around at the carnage. The office is a mess, blood everywhere, furniture knocked over or broken, and three bodies in three different death positions.
Make that two.
