Page 70 of Mercenary

I stride back to the pickup. Unlock the doors even before I reach it, then tug mine open, retrieving a baseball cap out of my bag to cover my head. “Open the glove box,” I say, handing Madelyn a small key. Despite her obvious confusion, she silently obeys. Until she sees the small armory I keep stashed inside. Wide-eyed, she turns to me. “What is going on?”

“Hand me the shiny silver gun along with the smaller black one next to it.”

She tenses and simply stares at me. Like she’s seeing me clearly for the first time. Good, baby. Have a long, hard look. “I haven’t got all day. Do it.”

“What are you—?”

I climb over my seat and close the distance between us.

I pin her with my eyes, daring her to say another word before scooping up both weapons in one hand. The rest I lock securely within the glove box.

That’s when I feet it. Diego’s gun. The chill of the barrel is beneath my shirt and pressed up against my stomach. Great. Stomach wounds tend to bleed you out. A long, harsh way to go. Especially with her staring down at me.

“You have an entire arsenal of weapons. For what purpose?” she demands.

And fuck me, but don’t you know that five men dressed in black suits are now exiting the Pitt.

No sign of Kylie.

Five fuckers. I can easily take out two with one gun and another two with the other. The fifth is a problem. The fifth will have time to draw on me. Still I have the advantage in terminating them on the stairs . . .

“I trusted you.”

“Madelyn,” I warn.

“Those men at the truck stop. You killed them, didn’t you? When you said you had blood on your hands, you meant it.”

“Jesus, just do as I say and you won’t get hurt.”

“Why are we in Shelby?” Her words come out in a hoarse whisper.

Fuck. FUCK.

“Are you hunting . . . Kylie?”

“No,” I say. “So either shut up and shoot me or put the gun down.”

Her eyes widen, horrified. But I don’t wait around for her to regret the decision to let me go.

“If you know what’s best for you, you’ll stay put.” I click off the safety on the silver gun. The black one is cocked and ready. Calmly, I step out of the truck and casually stride out in front of the pickup. I assume the gait of a man with nothing but food on his mind, both guns tightly hidden against my sides.

They’re halfway down the steps when they finally notice me. Late. Ain’t life a bitch?

I neatly take out the first two assholes with a bullet from each gun. Before they can draw, I shoot another scumbag in the neck and the fourth guy in the forehead. Head wounds suck. Messy because they bleed like water fountains and cause too much drama afterward. Not my fault, the asshole moved into the shot. A newbie? Recruited to do what? Reestablish Novák’s business in Shelby? Reconnect with Franco’s men?

Except I guess wrong. Turns out, scumbag number five isn’t a newbie. He’s drawn his gun, and it’s aimed at me.

No getting away from this shot.

I brace myself and thumb my gun’s trigger but before I can pull it and despite knowing it’ll be too late, the asshole drops to the ground quicker than a sack of shit.

From a single, silent shot out of fucking nowhere.

I skim my eyes across the parking lot, searching for a familiar face. Diego?

No one comes forward.

Yet . . . I’m still standing.