Page 1 of Run, Little Rabbit (Blood & Bonds #1)

Chapter One

Echo

T onight, I’m going to kill someone.

Don’t feel sorry for the guy. He totally deserves it. He’s a low-level scumbag who’s been trading secrets with the enemy. He also likes his boys young.

Too young.

So, I’m going to watch the life drain from his eyes as he thrashes beneath me. Watch the fear blossom and bloom like a pretty spring flower as he gasps for breath, and enjoy the way his pupils dilate and his skin turns blotchy as I welcome him to the last six minutes of his life.

That’s all it takes.

Six minutes.

Sometimes less. Never more. I don’t allow it. Anything more than that is sloppy.

I always wonder what they think as they stare up at me, fighting for breath or trying to stem the flow of blood. Do they know it’s the end? Do they cling to hope or just accept it?

Father thinks that because I’m a girl, I’m weak. Incapable of causing harm, and on the surface, that’s what I let him see. I play the dutiful daughter and the pampered princess when the sun is up, but under the light of the moon, the wickedness comes out to play.

It’s the taste of chaos that drives me. The crack of bones and the sight of blood. The violence and the goddamn fucking anarchy. I also love that I’m secretly giving my father the biggest ‘fuck you’ I can muster. That’s probably the sweetest-tasting thing ever.

I might get a tiny bit of enjoyment watching him as he scratches his head, perplexed at the vigilante wandering his streets. Not going to lie, I sit there a bit smugly as the others try to work it out. Not that I get invited to the meetings often.

I still have tits and a vagina, and apparently that’s a flaw when it comes to the family business.

What a load of macho-fucking-bullshit. I’d like to think I’ve given up caring, but I haven’t. It pisses me off every time I think about it. I try to brush it off, but sometimes, I just have to take my anger out on unsuspecting little shits.

Like Bennie Walker. He’s the kind of guy that thinks he’s more valuable than he is and likes to worm his way into conversations.

He collects information and then sells it to the highest bidder.

He’d been doing well for himself until I caught him selling information about us to one of the Volkov boys.

And that just couldn’t stand.

I might not be in the Family Business , but even I knew the Quinns and the Volkovs didn’t mix. So, I decided the asshole had to go.

I don’t just pick anyone. I’m not a complete monster.

I have a code, and I make sure I stick to it.

I do my research, get my evidence, and then take out the trash.

I’m good at it. Better than the twins, at least. They’re just messy, leaving body parts and blood everywhere.

Those two have no finesse, just a penchant and delight for violence.

Sometimes, they scare the crap out of me.

I mean, who enjoys skinning a guy? Way too much fucking effort if you ask me.

Bennie is on my list, but he’s not on my list for tonight. I’m not prepped; I don’t have a plan, but I can totally wing this.

Right?

I make my way through the sweaty bodies, shimmying my ass in time to the beat as I cross the dance floor to get a closer look at Bennie.

Music booms and vibrates through the floor.

It pulses against my eardrums, and my heart lurches in my chest in time to the beat.

My friends think I’m going to grab a round of drinks, which I will do; I just want to make sure Bennie isn’t doing anything squirrely.

He sits in a dark booth chatting away to some guys who look like they’ve walked out of some corny gangster movie.

Blocky power suits and slimy moustaches.

All they are missing are the cigars. Bennie also has his arm around a boy who is probably barely eighteen, and that is me trying to convince myself he isn’t underage.

Jesus, this pig needs to go, and I am going to skewer him tonight.

I take out my phone and text Veon, my long-suffering bodyguard and unwilling helper.

ME:

Can you get the car ready?

VEON:

Why?

ME:

I spotted Bennie.

VEON:

Nope. Don’t do it, Echo

ME:

I just need to get him on his own. I’ll be ten minutes.

VEON:

FFS ??

I snort. The guy personifies the strong and silent type, but it works for me. It means he doesn’t refuse when I drag him along to things like this.

I head to the bar and order a round for me and my friends.

I ask the server to deliver them to the VIP table I reserved for us while I figure out a way to get Bennie on his own.

The girls won’t care I’m not there; they’re too hyped up on dancing, drinking, and potential fucking to notice I’m not with them.

They’re the kind of friends you have if you want a good alibi.

They’re also on the same social standing as me, so we’re expected to be friends.

Honestly, there’s so much pretending in my life I sometimes forget who I really am.

The Mob Princess

The Six Minute Killer

The party girl.

Six.

Pampered.

Murderer.

Perfect.

Vicious.

Socialite.

On and on the list goes. All those masks for all those different occasions.

I’ve learnt to hide myself well so no one, not even my family, knows how dark and unhinged I really am.

It’s how I like it. That I appear sweet and innocent on the surface, interested only in fashion and good times.

But deep down, I like the violence. My soul craves it, and I have urges and wants that would probably make the twins look like goddamn holy saints.

Bennie whispers something in the boy’s ear, and I watch him flinch. Then Bennie stands and tugs a leash that’s tied around the boy’s neck. Jesus fucking Christ. Seriously? I’m going to collar that asshole and then squeeze the life out of him.

The pair disappear down a corridor, and I take my chance, discreetly following.

They move into the back of the club, oblivious to the terror following in their wake, and enter a side room.

I wait a few moments and then turn the handle on the door.

It opens easily. I’m almost offended. Fucking prick probably thought no one would be stupid enough to disturb him.

I shut the door behind me. There’s a soft click, and the only one who notices is the boy.

He’s on his knees, Bennie’s cock in his mouth, and tears stream down his face.

I put a finger to my lips and stalk across the room.

My hands are steady as I pull the sleek blade from the sheath on my thigh, but my heart beats a staccato rhythm in my chest. The excitement of death causing adrenaline to come alive in my veins.

This is my favourite part. The hunt. The moment just before capture when bloodlust is raging in my mind and my entire body is thrumming.

The room is some kind of back office with a large wooden desk, some shelves with files on them and a black leather sofa that looked like it had seen better days. Unsurprisingly, there are no cameras. No obvious ones, at least.

Bennie doesn’t notice as I step behind, too lost in forcing his pathetic cock in the boy’s mouth.

I stalk behind Bennie, my steps slow and steady, the boy’s eyes wide as he watches my every step. Normally I’d wait a few moments and drink in my target’s obliviousness, but I don’t want the boy to suffer any more. I hold up three fingers and count backwards.

Three.

Two.

One.

The boy lurches backwards.

“Hey!” Bennie yells, but his shout turns to a howl as I snap my foot into the backs of his knees.

He falls forwards, another shout as his knees hit the floor hard.

I thrust my fingers into his greasy hair and press the sharp edge of the blade into his throat.

“The fuck?” Bennie barks and goes for the gun I know sits on his hip.

“Ah-ah,” I croon and press the blade firmer into the meat of his neck. Bennie hisses, and a few drops of blood pool where I’ve nicked his skin. I look at the boy. “Be a dear and grab his gun for me.”

The boy edges forward, his hands trembling as he goes for the gun. His blue eyes are puffy and red, and I can see welts on his pale skin where the collar has dug in.

“Chuck it over there,” I say, and he complies quickly. “Now, grab a pen and take down this number.”

He does as I ask again, writing the number down with hands that struggle to grip the pen.

“What’s your name?” I ask softly.

“Ch-Charlie,” he mumbled.

“Well, Charlie. Ring that number and say Six told you to call. They’ll help you. Off you go now. I’ve got some blood to spill.” I pause as Charlie’s mouth drops open in a little ‘O’. “Unless you want to watch?”

“Are you really going to kill him?” he asks. He reminds me of a little mouse. Chocolate curls, soft features, wide, timid eyes. A pouty mouth just begging to be used.

“Yes.” There’s no hesitation in my voice. Bennie Walker is going to die.

“Don’t you dare,” Bennie seethes as he looks at Charlie.

I dig the knife in deeper and force his head backwards so he can see me out of the corner of his beady little eyes. “Bennie, dear, be quiet. I’m trying to have a conversation.”

His mouth is pinched, nostrils flaring with each breath. He can be as pissed as he wants. He’s still going to die.

Charlie rips the collar from his neck in disgust, throwing it to the floor where Bennie kneels. “I don’t want to watch.” He looks at me, and he seems to have found a spark of fire. “Make it hurt.”

I smile. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

Then the little mouse grabs the paper with the number on it and leaves, the door closing softly behind him.

I really hope he rings that number. Talulla, Veon’s sister, is great at helping victims and lost souls find their way again.

She sure is a firecracker, though. Takes no shit and is full of sass to the tops of her wild red curls.

Great to have in your corner, but I certainly wouldn’t want to piss her off.

“You won’t get away with this.”

I laugh. “Oh, Bennie. You have no idea who I am, do you?”

If he did, he wouldn’t be so brazen.

“Some trumped-up little whore who’s going to meet a sticky end.”

Keeping my hand twisted in the strands of his hair, I walk around him into his line of sight.

“Echo Fucking Nolan.” A sneer curls his lips as he drinks in my face. “Or should that be Echo Fucking Quinn?”

“Hey Bennie, how ya doin’?” I say cheerfully, despite the fact that this fucker knows my real name. I’m moderately impressed, but I know Bennie is good at collecting information. Wonder who he made a deal with to find out my real name?

“When your father hears about this—”

I twist the strands of his hair between my fingers, and he yelps. “He’ll be thanking me. Do you know why?”

Bennie stays silent. Wise move.

“Because I know your dirty little secret. Poor Charlie was the tip of the fucking iceberg. Shouldn’t have made money off secrets that didn’t belong to you.”

He takes a deep breath and looks me dead in the eye. “What do you want?”

I laugh. “There’s nothing you could give me that I could possibly want. Killing you is all the payment I need.”

“I can pay you.”

Ah, the pleas of the desperate. What sweet sounds they mutter.

“Don’t need money, Bennie.” I pat his cheek. “Can’t buy your way out of this one.”

I like seeing them flounder and beg as the inevitable moment falls upon them. It brings such a rush, that feeling of power. Knowing that their last breath will belong to me.

“I can give you anything… tell you anything about anyone…”

I zone out while he spews out a tirade of shit that I have no intention of taking him up on. I give him thirty seconds, but then I’m bored.

I slam my fist into his hyoid, delighting in the dull crack that follows. He gasps and splutters, clutching at his throat. In quick succession, I thrust my knife between his ribs on both sides of his chest, puncturing his lungs.

It’s a painful way to go, but nothing less than the monster deserves.

I step back, keeping away from the blood.

I’m not afraid of it. Quite the opposite, in fact.

I know if it touches my skin, I’ll want to fucking bathe in it.

Just watching it as it seeps into the carpet beneath him has my entire body humming.

Electricity fires through my synapses and tingles in my core.

It’s not a normal reaction. I know this.

But I can’t stop the sheer delight that erupts in my veins as I see that dark red substance drip onto the floor.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

I squat to watch Bennie. He’s given up now. Realisation and defeat sink into his bones. His breaths are fast and shallow.

His beady little eyes start to glaze over, and I scoot forward, ready to claim that last breath. It’s mine. I fucking own it .

“You’re nearly there, Bennie,” I say as I watch him struggle. “Only another minute at most.”

He tries to say something, but it comes out as a wet, bloody gargle.

Bubbles form in the blood by his mouth as he tries to catch a breath, and I resist the urge to swipe my finger through them.

Another few seconds pass, and Bennie’s last breath passes his lips. It’s a euphoric moment, and I take that breath deep into my lungs like an addict. It’s my drug of choice, the poison in my veins.

And I live for it.

That final moment. That last breath. That moment when life vacates a soul.

It sets my body on fire.

My skin tingles, and I fucking bask in it.

“Bye, Bennie. Been nice knowing you.” I give his cheek a careless pat and then leave my calling card pinned to his jacket.

A number ‘6’ made up of bullet holes and flowers.

I like the name. The papers christened me with it, and I kind of ran with it.

I take a pen off the desk and add a time stamp of—I check my watch—3:42. That’s how long Bennie took to die.

Then I dip my finger into his blood and write the word ‘RAT’ across his forehead.

I wipe my finger on the guy’s jacket and feel his phone in an inside pocket.

Ooh, that could be handy. I reach in and grab it, and ah, shit.

Passcode protected. No thumbprint or face recognition, but I slide it into my little handbag to deal with later.

Knowing Bennie, it’ll probably have some high-level security encoding on it, but I bet Veon can get around it.

Or if he can’t, I know someone who definitely could.

I take a last look at my handiwork, and I really hope one of the Volkov boys finds him. Man, I wish I could watch the discovery, to see their faces as they realise their man on the inside is dead, but alas, if I want to keep my identity a secret, I need to stay undiscovered.

Then I leave the room, my head held high and a tune whistling between my lips.