Page 31 of Veiled Vengeance (The Devils of New York #3)

SPENCER

I ’m familiar with the sounds of gunfire—I’ll never forget what it’s like to have bullets flying all around me.

This time around is just as bad as the first.

The pop, pop, pop of rapid gunfire echoes all around the room.

The suffocating vice of fear is not so easy to disregard, but I won’t let it keep me from finishing this.

Asher covers my body with his own, but I’m still able to lift my head. When I do, I spot Anthony walking backwards toward the stairs and wildly firing his gun.

He can’t get away again.

Ramming my elbow into Asher’s gut three times in rapid succession, I roll him off me. His groan meets my ears, but only a smidge of guilt drops on my shoulders. I push up from my stomach and chase after Anthony. As I run by a dead body, I snatch the gun from his still hand.

“Spencer! Don’t you dare!”

Asher’s threat is empty, and I don’t falter as I race up a set of metal stairs. Heavy footsteps follow me, but I don’t need to check to know it’s Asher.

The door at the top is open a sliver, but that’s all I need.

Using the barrel of my gun, I slowly push open the door and hold my breath.

“I think the fuck not, Princess,” Asher harshly whispers behind me. “I go in first.” He easily moves me aside and takes my place at the entry of the door.

Asher slowly opens the door, but the door blocks our view of the rest of the room. We haven’t even stepped into the room when bullets break through the door.

“Fuck!” Asher swears as he moves us back onto the stairs. He takes a deep breath, kicks the door open the rest of the way, and dives into the room. He takes cover behind a bar cart littered with expensive alcohol, and I keep my spot behind the open door.

“Asher!” My heart stops as I hear more discharged bullets hit the wall and floor in our direction.

Peeking around the door, I memorize everything I see and fire my gun two times. A large mahogany desk sits in the middle of the room. A black leather couch is situated against the wall, and two black leather chairs are placed in front of the desk.

One more peek.

More bullets.

One wall is a large window that looks down on the main floor of Euphoria. There’s a large metal door at the opposite end of the room.

Glass and wood splinters rain down on us as Asher and I take turns firing our guns in Anthony’s direction.

During a pause, Anthony shouts, “If you come with me now, Spencer, I will walk away, and I won’t kill your little playthings.”

Anthony’s offer appeals to a part of me that feels helpless.

This side of myself is tired. She’s done fighting for every happy moment and every positive thought. She wants to give up and give in. If I agree to go, then everyone I love will be safe.

But the side that has gotten louder over the last several weeks protests loudly. She reminds me of the happiness and security I’ve felt with my men. She isn’t willing to give into the demands of someone so entitled that they take whenever they want without thinking of the consequences.

“When hell freezes over!” I answer and resume shooting. Asher joins back in, and Anthony takes his turn as well.

After only a couple of minutes, all our guns click. Our magazines are empty.

Fucking hell.

Asher’s head pops up from behind the cart, I peer around the door, and Anthony pokes his head up from behind the solid desk.

Anthony sees me and smirks.

My breaths billow through my teeth, and my face turns crimson.

That asshole just shot at me and my boyfriend.

Vengeance isn’t some abstract idea—it isn’t some unattainable dream. Vengeance is right here in front of me, and it’s mine to take.

Asher reads me like an open book. “No, Princess.”

I lock my jaw and move my head from side to side. Not waiting for another protest from Asher, I bolt straight to the desk where Anthony stands, waiting for me.

Anthony opens his mouth to speak, but I don’t let him get a word in. I crawl on top of the desk, and when he opens his mouth, I punch him right in the throat. He chokes and grabs at his neck, falling back into the office chair behind him.

“You don’t get to say anything!” I scream. “You took too much from me!”

Hands grab at my shoulders and arms from behind me.

“Angel, just back away.”

“Let us help, Mama.”

“We can take care of this for you, Princess.”

Pulling away, I jump on top of Anthony and allow my fists to rain down on his face. I feel the presence of my men come up behind me, but this time they don’t interfere.

Blood pours from Anthony’s nose, and the skin on his cheek breaks. When he finally makes an effort to fight back, Asher, Rio, and Zane grab Anthony’s arms and legs, holding them in place.

Punch. Jab.

Packing my car and fleeing Houston.

Punch. Jab.

Starting my life in a new place and making my own family.

Punch. Jab.

Meeting three amazing men who helped me live again.

“Spencer. Angel.”

Punch. Jab.

“Princess.”

“Mama.”

Punch. Jab.

I’m lifted off Anthony, and I flail my limbs wildly. “Let me go! Let me go!”

“That’s enough. You’re hurting yourself more than him at this point.” Asher’s inked, strong arms remain wrapped around my middle.

Taking in a breath, I calm my pounding heart and examine my now-aching fists. They’re covered in the same amount of blood that covers Anthony’s face.

So much red.

“I’m okay,” I reassure everyone. “I’m okay.”

Asher sets me back on my feet while Zane and Rio stand guard over Anthony. His eyes are so swollen that I’m sure he can barely see the room anymore. Bruises are scattered all over his face. He groans and his head droops forward.

“What do you want to do next?” Rio inquires.

I give him a confused look. “What do you mean?”

Zane answers me. “It’s your choice what we do with him. We can turn him over to the police, or . . .”

“Or?”

Asher rests his hands on my shoulder in support. “Or you can end it all yourself. Right here, right now.”

Zane hands over his gun, placing it in my hands. I stare down at the complex, small machine.

Am I ready to live with someone’s death on my hands?

The simple answer is yes, I am more than ready and willing to take on the burden. Although, for someone like Anthony, it’s more like a public service.

I wrap my hand around the cool metal of the grip, feeling the weight of the whole thing in my palm. Looking up, I nod to Zane and Rio. They push Anthony onto the floor on his knees.

“Are you really going to kill me, Flower?” Anthony’s question is slurred, and he spits out a glob of blood at my feet.

“Yes,” I state coldly. “You have too many people in office under your thumb. You’d either escape prison, or you’d live it up on the inside. So, I am more than happy to take on the responsibility of being your judge, jury, and executioner.”

Anthony scoffs while my men remain stoic and firm.

“Anthony Cole, you are a murderer, a rapist, and a human trafficker. You have purchased hundreds of women and girls, including myself.”

He remains kneeling and begins to chuckle.

Grabbing his hair at the top of his head, I pull back so he’s looking up at me. “Laugh it up all you want; you’re not leaving this room alive.”

His smile is wide and bloody. “You don’t have the balls.”

Leveling the barrel so it points right between his eyes, I breathe. “Try me.” I place my finger over the trigger and squeeze. The gun goes off, and brain matter exits the back of Anthony’s head. Zane and Rio release their hold on Anthony as he slumps forward and falls onto the carpet.

Am I supposed to feel different right now? Am I supposed to feel guilty? All I feel is relief.

It’s over.

All the fight drains from my body at once. Asher removes the gun from my hand and sets it on the desk, and my three men surround me, helping me stand up right when I’m ready to collapse and sleep for the next decade.

“You did good, Angel. You did good.”