“How did it go?” I ask, keeping a blasé tone.
“Will you spend time with me so I can tell you?”
“It’s a simple question that doesn’t need spending time.”
She sighs, her narrow shoulders sinking. We start back toward the limousine when I sense the shift in the air. My immediate inclination is to grab hold of Nevaeh and push her behind me. Before I even know what it is and what’s happening.
What has caused such a sudden change in the atmosphere?
A second later, violence erupts.
The heavy spray of bullets. The detonation of panic and adrenaline.
Somebody’s shooting up the sidewalk where Nevaeh and I stand.
FOURTEEN
Caelian
IyankNevaeh down so fast, I almost rip her arm out of their sockets.
But it’s most important to get her the hell out of the way. Bullets fly in every direction. The city street goes from the usual buzz of afternoon traffic to the crackling storm of gunfire. A well-planned assassination is underway.
Somebody’s picked this moment to take me out. They’ve thought carefully about things like the when, where, and how. They’ve picked right now because it’s supposed to be a throwaway moment. A simple pick up of my wife from the doctor.
I’m supposed to escort Nevaeh back into the car so we can begin making our way to my estate.
Attacking now guarantees I’ll be knocked off my game. I’ll be in savior mode, desperately trying to keep Nevaeh out of harm’s way while they do damage.
But they’ve underestimated my taste for violence.
As they spray the area, hanging halfway out the windows of a pair of Cadillacs, I’m quick on the uptake. My men react as promptly as I do.
We take cover, then we rush to retaliate.
It’s only a couple seconds later that I’m taking aim at the vehicles and clenching the trigger of my Beretta PX4. The surrounding air hazes with thick plumes of gun smoke. Neither side is backing down as the seconds play out in deadly fashion.
One of my enforcer’s is struck in the neck. Another in the arm. We take out their driver. He slumps against the wheel, and the car jerks into oncoming traffic.
Chaos unleashes itself in every direction.
The scene’s nothing but hazy air and a cacophony of brutal sounds. Metal crashing against metal joins the crackling bullets. Then horrified screams and shattered glass and rubber tires screeching against pavement. The familiar wail of sirens in the distance playsa in the background.
But what’s loudest is the adrenaline rushing through me, pounding in my ears. I’m like a machine the way I’ve thrown Nevaeh to the ground while whipping out my Beretta and taking out some of the men from the street. As the second car collides with oncoming traffic and pedestrians on the street scream in hysterics, I’m hurling myself toward the commotion. I leap over the rear end of the limo and shove several people out of the way.
The Cadillac’s been smashed into a crinkled hunk of metal that lies in the middle of the street. The car it collided with has fared slightly better. The driver has stumbled out of their car with blood speckled on their eyeglasses.
That’s more than can be said for the men inside the second Cadillac. The airbag has deployed and smoke chokes the air from the collision. I wrench open the dented-in door, almost ripping it off its hinges, and I toss the driver onto the ground.
Onlookers gasp, but it’s none of their fucking business.
If they’ve got a problem to take up with me, they’ll wind up knocked out beside the men who have launched this attack.
I shove the barrel of my Beretta into the guy’s mouth without a care who sees. Let the whole world see me blow this motherfucker’s brains out. He and his associates have attempted to gun down me and my wife.
Outside a fucking women’s clinic.
They deserve much worse fate than swallowing a bullet.
