Page 85 of King of Cruelty

Merciless killers or not, it was just common sense not to leave a psychotic killer free to get right up and try again. And this psychotic killer really took the cake.

Debra was insane with revenge. She wanted to kill a six-year-old child just to eliminate the chance she might grow up to be as insane with revenge as her. She had a school, a church, and a charity burned to the ground with innocent people inside. She sat back and let Luca prey on innocent women and children, just because his business would be handy for the day they laid a trap against the Merchants.

She was evil to her core. Any goodness or humanity in her rotted away and died out long ago.

I have to kill her, I thought, taking a step. And then another.She’s obviously the leader of these nutbags. Without her, they’ll scramble, and that confusion will give my guys the edge.

She tried to kill me without a second thought.I stood over her, gazing blankly into her fluttering eyes.If I’m going to be a Merchant, I can’t just think like a criminal mastermind—

“N-no...” she croaked. “Don’t— P-please... don’t...”

—I have to act like one too.

“But I’m not a Merchant,” I whispered, knife dropping to my side. “I’m just Makenzie Blaine... and that’s more than enough.” I smiled coldly into her bloodstained eyes. “I don’t need to kill you to stop you, Debra Dumbass.

“You’re going to lose because you’re a failure. All you’ve ever done since the day you were born till this morning when you woke up curling your mustache, muhahaha-ing over your dastardly plan finally coming together—is fail.

“You’re stupid, arrogant, and pathetic,” I said to her flashing eyes and quivering lips, “and today, all that hate in your heart is finally going to bring you down like a tranquilized elephant. So buckle up, Deb-Deb”—I snatched her phone out of her pocket, undeterred by her weak attempt to slap me away—“the fuck toy is about to make you her bitch.”

“Give that... back—”

I forced her flapping hand onto the screen, opening the phone with her thumb.

“Stop—”

Thud!

“—nice digs.” A group of four guys and three women strolled right into the lobby, entering through the back door. “I could get used to living like a Merchant.”

“No, living like a brother,” one of the women corrected. “All of this is ours—”

I shoved the phone in my pocket and bolted up when they came into view—our eyes connecting in an instant.

“—now.” A youngish woman with a bald head covered in tattoos blinked at me. “Uh-oh, what’s this we have—?”

“Kill her,” Debra screeched.

I flung the knife at them.

“Agh!” they cried, throwing their hands up and scattering like bowling pins.

I bolted for the servants’ entrance.

“Stop her!”

“Kill her!”

“Shoot her!”

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

Bullets rained down around me, blowing out the door’s window. I fell against it in a shower of glass and pain—my injured arms screaming at me. The stab wounds weren’t deep, or even bleeding that much, but they hurt like a Debra. All I wanted was to jump into a tub of ice and not get out until I was pleasantly numb.

And that’s just exactly what I’m going to do when my baby is in my arms, my guys are all around me, and our home is vermin-free.

I burst through the door and locked it behind me. It was as low-tech as low-tech security came, but right then, I was very glad that no one could take old-fashioned steel and brass offline.

My attention lit on the fire alarm. I fell on the thing, jamming it down as hard as I could—