Page 37 of Unforgiving Queen

The bullet hit his neck, piercing a hole through it. Mr. Leone’s body twitched on the pristine white tile of the kitchen, his fingers trying to staunch the bloody wound at his neck.

A terrible gurgling noise sounded from his throat, blood leaking from his lips.

Until all life vanished from his eyes, leaving them blank and empty.

Just like me.

13

AMON

We arrived at the port thirty minutes before my shipment from DiMauro was scheduled to hit the dock.

Empty containers sat around, waiting for the product that was due to arrive soon. Everything was already in place.

The chilly breeze whipped at my face and gray clouds thickened above our heads, signaling an impending storm.

Everything seemed to be in order, yet nothing felt right. The maze of containers. Dante arguing with Cesar about some shit they watched on TV yesterday. Like two fucking children! Cesar was a decade older than Dante, which made him look even worse. But he was a good fighter.

Kingston—better known as Ghost—kept his focus on the horizon with narrowed eyes. He wasn’t overly social or personable, but there was no one better than him when it came to torture and tracking. He was an excellent fighter and an even better strategist.

I was making my way over to the dock, checking on my men positioned further in the warehouse, when a movement behind me caught my attention. I spun around and saw the hem of a coat before it disappeared behind a container.

I tapped my earpiece. “Eyes open, boys. We have visitors.”

No sooner than I uttered those words, someone opened fire. A stream of bullets erupted, the sound deafening.

“A fucking machine gun.” Kingston’s voice filtered through.

Thankfully, I ducked just in time to avoid a bullet. Behind the container, I let my eyes scan the area to get a read on the situation.

“Three men, ten o’clock,” I hissed in my earpiece. “Two at two o’clock.”

“Five at eleven,” Dante barked.

Good, at least we weren’t surrounded. Not yet anyhow.

“Don’t let them get behind us,” I said as I aimed and eliminated the first man, then shot the next in the head. I could hear voices speaking in Portuguese. Narrowing my eyes, I surveyed the men, and it didn’t take long to spot the man in charge. “The ugly one at eleven o’clock. Keep him alive.”

“They’re all ugly,” Dante grumbled. “Can you be more specific?”

I gritted my teeth. Dante could be funny as fuck and annoying enough to kill at the same time.

“The one with dark hair and a gash on his face.” Kingston’s eerily calm voice came through. “Is that specific enough?”

“Yes.” By Dante’s snicker, I knew it wasn’t the last of his words. “I don’t want to accidentally shoot the ugly fuckers on our side.”

“There’s only the four of us and three other men,” I deadpanned.

“Exactly.” I was certain he insulted us somewhere in that statement. Dante laughed like a maniac—yes, he was back to his usual self—as he killed everyone in his path, their blood splattering all around him.

Running between the containers, the four of us closed in on the enemy, taking them down systematically. I missed a few times to ensure the main fucker remained alive. I barely missed being shot myself, but I was trained for this; I had more to lose. The thought of my brother on the other side of a bullet spurred the adrenaline out of me.

A car appeared out of nowhere. “Not ours,” Kingston said, confirming my suspicion.

The vehicle revved, spiraling out of control. I watched the head guy climb to the top of the container and then jump onto the trunk.

“Fuck this live capture. Kill the bastard.” Aiming for him, I took a shot but only grazed him. “Fuck!”