Page 41 of Angelic Vengeance

His eyes bulged with realization. The man stared at my face, yet only my eyes were visible under the balaclava. He stared but didn’t answer, so I lifted his body up by the collar and slammed his head into the cement. The motherfucker knew exactly what I was talking about.

“I was just fo– following orders,” he managed to cough out, blood spilling from his mouth.

“Who’s orders?”

He squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to answer, so I was left with no alternative option than to inflict more pain.

“Who?”

His chest jolted up frantically as he choked on his own blood. “Juan Mendoza.”

“Where do I find him?”

“Corner bodega… On thirty-sixth.”

I stood when he began sobbing.

“She’s going to kill me…”

She.

Fucking Ruiz. I knew it.

His face was too mutilated to see me roll the silencer onto the gun. But he felt the cold barrel as I pressed it against his mouth.

“No–”

I used the opportunity to push the gun down his throat. His cries shook around it and the vile smell of pissfilled the alley. Muffled pleas echoed as my finger pulled off the safety. A sharp click later, the man laid on the ground with a hole in the back of his head.

An hour later, the bodega’s fluorescent lights flickered and buzzed across the street; the image mirrored in the sidewalk puddles. The rain hadn’t stopped, and mist fell from a dark, starless sky.

My face was hidden beneath the hood of my jacket as I remained standing in the shadows. I inhaled, smelling nothing but gasoline, and listening to the tire noise of Bronx traffic.

I cracked my neck and knuckles before crossing the street. The sign flickered above my head and a bell chimed as I entered the harshly lit store with dirty, peeling laminate.

The cashier sat behind the counter smoking a blunt and looking at an oldPlayboycenterfold. He was in his early thirties, already with a balding head yet trying to hide it with a buzz cut. His hands were clean but I could still see the dried blood under his dirty fingernails.

When I remained unmoved in the middle of the store, he flicked his gaze up and put the joint out. “You alright?”

“I’m looking for Juan.” I advanced and removed my damp hood.

“Speaking.”

That was all I needed to know before my hand darted out and locked around the back of his head. Without warning, I smashed his face against the counter as hard as I could. Blood splattered everywhere. Juan’s face twisted with pain and anger. Before he could attack me, I grabbed his collar and my fist connected with his face repeatedly – until his head was bobbing back and forth.

Breathing hard, I used both hands to hold him up by the collar, over the counter. Juan raised his red swollen eyes. They met mine with resistance before widening with understanding. A corner of his busted lips lifted in amusement before he tried to spit in my face. Instead, the bloody saliva spilled past his chapped lips and down his chin.Pathetic.

I smashed his head again on the newly red counter and spit in his face, showing him how it’s done.

My hand went to the back of my jeans and pulled the gun out of my waistband. Using the barrel, I pushed his chin up. “Don’t fucking try me.”

But his chest jolted up frantically with an attempted laugh. More blood spilled past the corners of his mouth and as his eyes widened abnormally, his whisper sent a chill down my spine. “You’re dead,Ángel.”

The door leading to the back busted open and a group of large men stormed in. Without letting go of Juan or moving my head, I peeked at the group – only to see a familiar pair of ebony eyes already looking dead straight at me.

And pointing a fucking gun at me.

Ah,shit–