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“Damn it, Gem. That doesn’t leave us with much time.”
I shrug, knowing that’s an understatement. But I have to slow down to take my heels off as Riot crosses the parking lots and road. He turns back, scooping me up and making me squeal as he tosses me over his shoulder, and begins running.
“Ten seconds,” I call out, though it’s only a guess at this point.
He ducks behind the parked van. We peer through the filmy windows as the first blast rocks the vehicle, shattering the glass and raining fragments over us. It’s followed closely by a macabre fireworks display of explosions that make me want to pat myself on the back.
My ears ring as smoke and flames billow out of the top of the warehouse. A few panicked screams ring through the night air. A smug smirk stretches across my lips, and it only grows as my plan completely falls into place.
It’s such a stunning sight to behold.
The nearby buildings catch fire soon after the explosions, following the trails of gasoline like tiny dancing fairies. And the industrial park begins to stink of burning wood, scorching metal, and melting flesh.
I hope death finds everyone inside that beautifully deranged exhibition of pain.
Riot drags me away, though I continue to peek behind us. It’s difficult to not appreciate my work.
We travel by foot for about a mile before we come to the stashed bike with a leather bag sitting on the seat. He unzips it, throwing clothes my way as he rips through the buttons on his shirt.
“Change.”
Yeah. I probably should have thought of clothes, but that’s why I enjoy working with Riot. He always thinks about the small things.
I shimmy out of my gown and into the jeans and tank top, then turn back once more, absently shoving my discarded garments into the bag.
The center of the industrial park is ablaze, lighting up the entire area. Sirens blare in the distance. I’ve just killed dozens of people, but I harbor zero regrets.
I should, but I never do.
They were scum. Crimson Bay will be better without them.
Only time will tell if I took out Estrada as well.
I quietly laugh to myself as I climb onto the back of Riot’s cruiser. It’s not his usual obnoxiously loud Harley; this one is much quieter.
As he puts on his helmet, I swear I hear him mutter to himself, “If I didn’t love you so much, I’d be terrified right now.”
Loving me should terrify you.
It’s a death sentence.
Even if I get that laptop back with the files intact.
I think it, but I don’t voice it aloud.
The difference between being with Riot and Kane is daylight and dark.
They both freak out about the same things when it comes to me, but they’re polar opposites in looks and the personality department. It’s still difficult for me to acknowledge that they got along when we were younger. I can’t picture them ever getting along as adults; they’d be like mixing oil and water.
Riot is mesmerizing ocean blue eyes, blonde hair, and a depraved background riddled with death and mind games. Kane has chestnut brown hair with bright green eyes and a promising career in politics.
They couldn’t be more different if they tried. Though they were friends when we were all in school together.
That was nearly a decade ago.
It’s also why Rule #1 is no names. We don’t talk about our not relationships with anyone else. No one can know that we have our flings or we’re all dead.
And just like I knew with Riot…
