Page 88 of Trapped With You

I aimed my gun at his crotch and fired. “That’s for my girl.”

His body jolted, a muted sob escaping him.

Now I aimed for the area between his eyes. “You were a mere pawn, Kian. Not a king. You forgot who runs this side of the city, and it certainly isn’t you. So let me remind you one final time.”

My bullet pierced through his skin with a sound that echoed in the warehouse like the final nail in a coffin.

We both watched him bleed out like an animal in a slaughterhouse.

I felt no remorse for him. He made a grave mistake and he paid the price.

Uncle Vance always taught me that a good boss did his own dirty work. That’s why he trusted me to see this through. If he were here, he’d slow-clap and ask me where he should frame my artwork.

Now that Kian was dead, I took a deep breath, finally feeling relief.

Ella pressed a kiss to my shoulder. “Wanna clean up and get out of here?”

I nodded, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “We have a party to attend, remember?”

One organized by my friends to give us an alibi for tonight. My crew was good like that. Always supportive without asking allthewhys,whos,whats,wheres, andwhens.

“Do we have time to stop by Marnie’s Shack? I want a chocolate milkshake.”

I almost laughed at the absurdity of the situation. Kian’s dead body was barely cold, but Ella had already moved on to food.

Hooking my arm around her neck, I drew her to me for a kiss. “I’ll take you anywhere you want.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

She dotted little kisses all over my face. And dimples too, of course. “Hey, Cade?”

“Yes, Ella?”

“Thank you for my gift. I’m…I’m glad he’s gone.”

Pressing my forehead to hers, I whispered, “You don’t have to thank me, Ella. All your battles, all your demons, all your pain. It’s mine too, baby. You’ll never have to fight on your own. You have me now.”

I repeated the same words she once told me years ago.

She smiled and brushed the tip of her nose against mine. “You and me against the world, right?”

“You and me.” I vowed. “Always.”

Homicide complete, we cleaned up—I had no choice but to burn my clothes and switch into another pair of jeans and T-shirt—and then locked up the warehouse.

In the trunk of Kian’s old Chevy, we found a torn-up duffel back with wads of cash. Remington money, one thousand percent. Since Ella had been such a good sport, I handed her a cut and Josh, who came over to help us dispose of Kian’s dead body, took the rest home for Uncle Vance.

Now Ella coyishly fanned herself with a load of one-hundred-dollar bills, leaning against my motorcycle, while I doused Kian’scar with petrol.

It had to be burned to ensure there was no evidence of tonight.

From my understanding, Kian was an orphan. Nobody’s son, nobody’s brother, nobody’s father. He wouldn’t be missed in our ranks or on this fucking planet. It was a clean job with no loose ends.

Once the car was dripping slick with oil, I pulled out my trusty Zippo and paused when something occurred to me.

I glanced over my shoulder. “Do you want to do the honours, pretty girl?”