Pure Vengeance

Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

Anton

Fire erupts across my shoulder as I’m thrown back against the railing.

“Fuck!” I grab my injured arm.

Vince is already out of the car, running toward the bushes against the building. There’s a shriek then rustling of branches.

Running down the stairs, I forget the pain in my arm and round the bushes, ready to end whoever the fuck just took a shot at me.

“Let me go!” A feminine scream erupts as Vince drags her from behind the bush. Her cheek is bleeding, and her hair is mangled with needles from the bush.

Vince easily pulls her from the brush and pushes her in front of himself. He tosses me a pistol.

It’s still warm from the bullet being fired, and I turn it over in my hands. This thing has to be fifty years old.

“Let me go!” She screams again, yanking against his hold of her arms.

I drop my hand, still holding her gun, to my side and step up to her.

Brown eyes, full of fear and anger, meet mine and pierce into me. As afraid as she is, and she’s fucking terrified, she keeps her chin steady, and her gaze fixated on me.

This woman hates me.

It rolls off of her in thick waves.

I tilt my head, inspecting her further. Blood trickles down her cheek. It’s the same color as the matte lipstick painted on her full lips. Her red hair falls around her face in a haphazard mess from one of those claw clips women use to pin their hair up.

She’s wearing a black pinup dress that hugs her waist with a thick red belt. The cropped sleeves have left her arms exposed to the branches; more scrapes cover her upper arms.

But I come back to her eyes.

Such fierceness covering up all the fear and pain beneath.

“Who are you?” I ask, giving Vince the signal to keep her steady, but don’t let her go just yet.

She’s a runner.

I can tell.

“Let me go,” she orders with a little stomp of her right foot. The ballet flats make no sound against the grass.

“That’s not happening.” I step a little closer, inhaling the vanilla spice scent of her body wash. “Who are you?” I ask again.

She raises her chin and pinches her lips together in a fierce line.

The door to the restaurant flies open and more of my men rush out.

I put my hand up to stop them.

“It’s fine. I got this.” I keep my eyes trained on my little killer here and wave them off. “Go back inside.”

The door slams shut again.

“Now. Who are you?” I ask again, realizing this is the third time I’ve asked. Two more times than I’d give anyone else.

“Go to hell.” She spits at me, hitting me in the cheek.

I huff a laugh, wiping it away. I’ve killed for less of an insult.

Her gaze drops to the pistol when I pull back the hammer and take a small step back.

Bringing it up to her forehead, I push the barrel against her delicate skin. Her nose is covered in freckles.

“I’m not asking again.” I press the barrel harder against her.

She pauses. Tears shimmer in her eyes.

“Fuck. You.” The words are hard, but quiet as they fall from her lips. She’s resigned herself to dying.

I’m not ready for that.

“Who sent you?” I change the question, giving myself a little leeway in how I handle her.

“No one.” Her gaze flickers away for a moment before coming back to mine. “Go ahead and pull the trigger,” she dares me. “Or let me go.”

“You think those are my only two choices?” I chuckle. “Kill you or free you?”

“You’re a monster.” She struggles against Vince again, but he’s got her held tight. She’s going nowhere until I say.

“I’m not the one who shot someone tonight,” I say, glancing down at my arm. The bullet tore through the sleeve of my suit jacket, and my shirt beneath. I won’t know how much of my arm got hit until we get home, and I can look, but I’ve been hit worse.

Her jaw clenches.

“Do you work for the Delaney brothers?” Those Irish pricks have been a thorn in my ass for the last year. I wouldn’t put it past them sending one of their little girls to do something like this.

I’m more insulted by her being the chosen assassin than them finally deciding to go after me full force.

“No.” She swallows, her eyes narrow. “I don’t know them.”

“Boss.” Vince jerks his head to the side. We’re in full view here. No one’s around, but someone can walk out at any second.

I wrap my finger around the trigger. Steadying my hand.

A tear rolls down her cheek when she closes her eyes.

Vince stares at me, ready to do whatever I tell him to. He’ll take over from here if I give him the okay. I can have her taken to our usual spot, where we make our problems disappear. Or I can handle her right here and let him deal with the cleanup.

I release the hammer and pull the gun away from her head.

“Put her in the trunk. I’ll deal with her later.”

Her scream gets muffled as Vince spins her around and throws her over his shoulder. I take her gun to the car with me and climb in the back seat.

There’s a thud as he tosses her inside, another scream that gets squashed when the trunk slams closed. Vince disappears into the bushes again before he comes back to the car.

The car jostles as Vince climbs into the driver seat. He lets out a long breath.

“Something wrong?” I ask, opening the chamber of the gun to inspect the bullets. There’s two more locked and ready.

“Her purse.” He hands it to me. “No wallet. Just some glasses, tissues, and a couple of twenties.”

No identification.

“She’s no professional.” I look through the inside zipper pocket and find it empty. “This pistol is old as hell. Looks like a collector’s piece.”

Vince pulls out of the lot.

Loud thunks come from the trunk. She’s kicking against the back, the vibrations run through my seat.

“She’s a fighter,” Vince says. “Got a good scratch on my arm from her.”

“Hmm.” I toss the gun beside me. “We’ll see how tough she is when she’s locked up and alone.”

Another kick.

I move over and count the kicks.

Each one will cost her.

Dearly.