The fucker is right, and I have to swallow it.
My hands aren’t as tight anymore. The urge to kill is still there, but it’s settled. Soon, it’ll get its turn.
I did as Wes suggested.I geared up to bury the blood and the noise in my head. I grabbed that fucker’s skull, jammed it intothe helmet bag like the useless piece of shit it was, and casually walked out of his disgusting place.
I don’t have much time until they realize their big boss is long gone.
But as soon as we rode off, his men came after us. Predictable. Cute, even. I thought I had some time for a head start, but I was wrong.Dare it is.
Being a former assassin has its perks, because I know this city like my own pulse. Every tight turn, every dead alley, every stretch of road nobody sane would take.
I’m sure there’s already a bounty out on us.
I’m already bored.
When we arrived back at Calvano’s, it all went down exactly like Wes said it would. No resistance or questions. They waved us straight through the door like obedient fucking dogs. Hell, they were waiting for us. Waiting for that filthy stack of cash Anderson had shoved into our hands.
I bet this is the money he thought could buy Isabella. My girl. My fucking girl.
And Calvano—that bloated, worthless fucking corpse pretending to breathe—is ready to take it. Ready to sell his own daughter and slobber over the bills like a pig at a trough. For what? Power? Safety? Another useless day on this planet?
It doesn’t matter. He’s dead either way.
Fuck, my head won’t stop screaming about it. My hands shake because they want his throat.
I try to stay composed and barely manage it as I enter the mansion in full gear. My helmet is still on, and I’m carrying this filthy fucker’s head while moving straight toward Calvano’s office.
No one pays attention to me. Not a glance or a reaction. They’re trained for this kind of silence. Trained to look through things, to ignore what matters. They do the same to Isabellaevery day, so this comes easy to them. It’s fucking routine, and somehow, that makes my head buzz even louder.
Colton stands outside his office. Ah, Isabella likes that asshole, but frankly, I don’t give a shit.
“Mitch?” he asks, his hand ready on the gun on his waistband.
I don’t answer him, fury boiling inside me again. I storm straight toward him, and before his hand even clears the holster, I slam my helmeted head into his skull.
I kick the office’s door open. Both Calvano’s and his bitch Boris’s eyes snap right at me. Boris reaches for his gun. I draw mine without thinking and put a round through his head.
Calvano stays quiet, just sitting there, and I can’t tell if that’s confidence or stupidity.
The head slips out of my hand. I take my gear off slowly, savoring the thought of him still clueless about what I’m hiding underneath.
Blood-soaked fabric comes into view. My breathing kicks up the closer I get to his end. I cling to the image of him screaming, choking on pleas, realizing too late that mercy isn’t coming.
I rip the helmet off and toss it to the floor, exposing my blood-smeared face.
“I’ve got a package for you,” I breathe, smiling widely. I bend down, pick up the head, and kick it. It skids and stops at his feet.
“Weren’t you the one who wanted to keep heads as trophies on the shelf?” I hiss, almost breathless.
His face scrunches with disgust at the sight of that fucker’s head lying next to his feet.
“You fool!” he seethes. “What have you done?”
For the first time, boredom slips from his face and panic snaps into place. Absolute and delicious panic, enough to make the sickness inside me kick and writhe.
I spread my arms. “Nothing more than what a caring father would do once he learned what that fucker was planning for his precious princess.” I scratch my temple with the muzzle. “Oh, wait.Youwere supposed to do that.”
“You waged a fucking war between me and Anderson’s men, you fucking moron!” he yells, turning all red. “There’s a reason I wanted him out of my way and closer to me.”
