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I holstered my gun, then reached up and heaved myself upwards. Using muscles I hadn’t used in a while, I lunged, slamming against the steel banister with a grunt. Rage drove me over the edge and I tugged on the door and found it open before I slipped inside to a bedroom.
I heard them instantly.
Low murmurs in…what kind of language was that? Was that…Albanian?
I scowled, then moved out into the hall. Cold. That’s all I felt as I pulled my weapon free and made my way down to the first floor.
The sound of a shredder hummed and buzzed, fighting their panicked voices. They didn’t lift their heads as I stepped around the entrance to the room. I counted three, but there could be more. They didn’t even know I was there, until one of them jerked his head up and tensed. Heavy black tattoos reached all the way up a thick, muscled neck, an insignia was that was most definitely Mafia.
They looked like they were cleaning house.
“Going somewhere?” I growled, and lifted the gun.
One of them moved, easing his hand upwards. I swung the muzzle, barely taking aim. Bang! He dropped where he stood, missing half his head. The other two moved fast. One of them came for me, charging low, as the other reached for his gun.
With a guttural roar, the first bastard slammed into me, lifting me from my feet and throwing me backwards. But I was ready…and full of retribution. I swing my fist, connecting with the underside of his jaw. His head snapped back before he stumbled to the side.
“Where the fuck is Riven!” I roared, charging forward. “TELL ME WHERE THE BASTARD IS!”
A roar came from my right, deep and guttural, as another of them charged from what had to be the kitchen…with a goddamn carving knife in his hand.
Instinct took over. I wasn’t the man anymore. I was the killer, the mercenary. The man I’d tried to leave behind. I lifted my gun and squeezed off a shot. But he was fast, only giving me enough time to hit him in the thigh. It didn’t stop him. He lunged forward and lifted the knife high in the air…too high.
Jab.
Jab.
Jab.
I drove all my rage into short, fast punches, right at the edge of his ribs, and heard a crunch. It was all I needed as I grasped his wrist with the knife as we stumbled to the side. With a roar, I drove his hand over his head and hard against the wall.
Hate burned in his eyes.
Hate I knew.
Hate I breathed.
My fingers closed around the thick wooden hilt of the knife before I yanked it free. “Do you know what they did in that place?” I bellowed in his face.
He didn’t know.
He didn’t even care.
With a merciless snarl, I plunged the blade deep into his side and watched his eyes widen.
WHY! Vivienne’s screams resounded in my head as he unleashed a cough, then crumpled to the floor. THEY DID NOTHING, LONDON! THEY. DID. NOTHING!
Movement came behind me, making me swivel around and lift my gun. There was blood on my hand, smeared all over my thumb and dripping to my wrist. I sucked in a hard breath and levelled the muzzle in the middle of the first asshole’s forehead, then swung it over to his friend. “Now, I’m going to ask you once more…then I’m going to kill…and you won’t be the only ones I visit.”
They looked at each other, then back to me.
“Riven…” I glanced around the mess. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know,” one answered, his accent heavy. “He told us to clean, so we clean.”
“You clean,” I repeated, as hate and revulsion filled me. “Did he know?” I met each stare. “Did he know what they were planning?”
The question hung in the air.
