Mark “Hummer” Kesslar was dead.
For long moments, she stared down into the rugged face she’d stared up at so recently. The face that had followed her through the last four years of assignments and anarchy.
He’d loved her.
He’d never said as much, but she knew.
She’d loved him, too. In her way. In as much as she was capable of it.
“Sweet dreams, Mark,” she whispered, closing his sightless eyes and leaving behind bloody streaks on his eyelids.
Her chest felt tight. Tears burned the back of her nose. But there wasn’t time for grief. There wasn’t room for grief. Not when she was filled with fiery hot fury.
That fucking cunt!
Rising slowly, rubbing her sticky hands on her utility pants, she felt her heart beat with the terrible rhythm of a war drum. Felt the nuclear blast that blazed through her veins and burned away all reason.
Her nostrils flared, filled with the iron scent of Hummer’s blood, as she turned and pinned her hate-filled eyes on the brunette.
Her holster was clipped to the waistband at the small of her back. She had her gun out before she made the conscious decision to move. A second later, the safety was off, and her finger was curved around the trigger.
She would have fired had Kurt not blurted, “Whoa there, Widow. We need her alive for the next check-in. Just in case the Black Knights ask for another proof of life.”
Blood roared in Vivian’s ears. And yet, there was a part of her that heard Kurt and knew he was right.
Her hand shook as she re-holstered her weapon. And when she blew out a slow, harsh breath, her vision expanded to include more than just the square inch of real estate in the center of Sabrina Greenlee’s forehead.
“When the time comes to do her”—she nodded toward their hostage, her jaw working back and forth—“I get the honors.”
Diesel and Kurt didn’t respond. They didn’t need to.
“Resecure her hands.” Her voice was sharp with the cutting edge of her fury. “And don’t feel like you have to be gentle about it.”
Diesel didn’t hesitate. He yanked a zip tie from his pocket and cinched it tight around their hostage’s wrists. Vivian saw the relish in his expression. But the woman didn’t flinch. Didn’t hiss.
She just stared daggers at Vivian.
In another life, in another situation, Vivian might’ve admired her for her courage, her ingenuity.
But it was this life and this situation, and all Vivian felt for the woman was the need to mete out venomous revenge.
She would get her revenge.
And she promised herself it would be sweet.
When Diesel stepped back, Vivian stepped forward, hand up and open. Her palm cracked across the woman’s cheek, and the sound of the slap was loud enough to echo around the cavernous space. Hard enough to have the chair rocking to the side on two legs before once more righting itself.
“Fuckin’-A,” Kurt muttered.
The woman didn’t make a sound as a red handprint bloomed on her cheek, half Hummer’s blood, half burgeoning bruise. And her eyes? They were still fierce. Still defiant. Still burning with that maddening, unbreakable will.
Vivian grabbed her jaw and bent down until their noses nearly touched.
“I’m keeping you alive until the end,” she hissed. “You’ll watch them all die first. Smell their blood. Hear their screams. See their final, rattling breaths.” She squeezed the woman’s cheeks so hard the tendons in her hand ached. “And then I’ll kill you. Slowly.”
Now fear flickered in Sabrina’s eyes. But Vivian didn’t feel vindicated.
She wouldn’t feel anything until this woman screamed like Hummer had. Until she was broken and bloody and struggling to breathe through a crushed windpipe.
