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Ruin the part that was going to ruin me. Bleed and die for all the pain he had caused to his victims in the worst way a man could imagine.
The Devils were good shots—especially Jameson, the former Texas Ranger—but none of them were trained like Vane. Or Jameson, for that matter.
The rest of them? They got by on the skin of their teeth. They were street-smart bastards born from shitty homes, broken families, and found families. Bruises and blood were currency for them—but after battling against my father’s Wolverines for years, they had no desire to spend any more.
The Devil’s Luck survived shit no one else should. That made them dangerous.
But even with that grit, Vane was something else. He was a monster from the bottomless pit of hell.
As predicted, Vane targeted me first.
He unsheathed a knife in each hand, roaring like a charging bull—and moving just as fast.
I wasn’t the best shot. No way I could kill him in the heat of the moment.
But I wasn’t the worst. I learned to handle a gun at twelve years old. Maybe I could just slow him down.
I aimed.
Fuck you, bastard.
Brody shouted, “No!”
I pulled the fucking trigger.
The bullet grazed Vane’s bare arm enough to make him jerk and stagger, spraying blood, but not stopping him. It just made him angrier.
Now my ears were ringing, and he was going to kill me.
Caroline, you stupid bitch.
But I kept shooting.
Bang!
Bang!
Ba—
Brody shoulder-checked my body out of the way. If he hadn’t, Vane would have slammed right into me.
None of my shots hit vital areas. They all slammed harmlessly into his body armor.
Brody was the first to engage Vane. Guns, knives, and fists clashed and collided.
Mason was barking orders at Abel, Grant, and Jameson, a new plan to override the initial one. They couldn’t start shooting at Vane lest they hit Brody.
But Brody was too engaged in the vicious fight to hear the commands. Vane knocked Brody’s gun arm up, firing it into the air.
I was used to gunshots. The ringing in my ears didn’t bother me—it was just another day at the office. That wasn’t what made me flinch. That wasn’t why my finger almost twitched on the trigger again.
Groomed to be my father’s puppet, his shadow, his Wolverine kit, I’d been surrounded by his men my whole life. Violence didn’t faze me; I’d watched bodies drop without blinking damn near monthly.
Those men were nothing more than tools—fucked-up coworkers in a blood-soaked business. If they died, I lost nothing.
I had liked being heartless.
But Knox made me care. And that ruined everything.