Series: Penny Dee
Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 97669 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97669 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
But anything goes when you knock out my best friend, my voice says in an unhinged singsong voice.
My gaze drops to his waistband, and a smile blossoms within me when I see the gun. “No, thank you. I have this under control.”
“Silas, I didn’t know—” the man begins spluttering. There’s a second of logic that reminds me I don’t know whose crew this man is from, or how it might implicate things for me—quickly squashed by the lethal edge and need to protect Nessa. No man hurts what I love and gets away with it. Not now. Not ever. Not anymore.
My hand touches his shirt, just above his waistband, where his gun is. He raises a perfect brow, and before he can stop me, I remove the gun from his body and turn around to aim it at the fucker still smoking and trying to blubber excuses as if Silas is the one to be feared.
He doesn’t even acknowledge me until his gaze drops to the gun, and he smiles, as if I’m joking.
Because I’m a woman, not to be taken seriously.
That he should be allowed to do as he wants with a woman, because he feels so fucking entitled.
I pull the trigger.
The bullet slams into his thigh, and his scream echoes through the room. People gather behind me, but I ignore them and walk up to the asshole bleeding all over the club’s luxurious black carpet.
I’m going to shoot him again.
Maybe in the knee.
Maybe in both.
Or maybe I’ll do the world a favor and shoot him in his ugly, smug face.
That’s the funny thing about not being taken seriously. They don’t think you have it in you until they push you over the edge. And unfortunately for him, my being over the edge doesn’t work in his favor. Because I relish in his fucking screams and the way the fear grows in his eyes. That he’s finally acknowledged the Grim Reaper we have in all of us. Some of us just hide it better.
As I take aim, a big hand wraps around my wrist.
“Give it to me, now,” Silas says. A cold chill drips over me.
“I don’t do well being told what to do,” I growl, wondering if I should turn the gun on him as well. It’d solve one of my problems.
“You have an audience. It’ll be harder to get away with this if he’s dead by your hands in such a public execution. Think of Nessa and Larissa.”
I grow colder, hating the fact that he knows my weakness so clearly. That I would do anything for them. But it works, and I lower the gun.
Without looking at him, I hand the gun back to Silas, then bend down to pick up the burning cigarette. The asshole is crying and clutching his leg, too weakened and distracted by pain to predict my next move. Just because I don’t have a gun doesn’t mean I can’t still make my point.
Grabbing his leg, I dig the cigarette into his skin, directly above the bullet wound, grinding it in deep. He screams and lashes out at me, attempting to slap me across the cheek.
“Do not lay a fucking hand on her, or I will take your head,” Silas’s dark voice growls behind me.
The wounded man seems to understand the warning and stops.
He grits his teeth together. “The bitch shot me.”
“You behave like an asshole, then you get punished like an asshole,” Silas says matter-of-factly.
“You need to learn how to treat a woman,” I add. “Consider that lesson number one.”
“You fucking whore…” he snarls, saliva running down his chin as he groans in pain. The hot blood running through my veins doesn’t lose its edge, but because of Silas’s words, I’m brought back to a more controlled version of myself. Or maybe it has to do with how pathetically this man grovels on the floor.
I swing my attention back to Silas. “Are these the type of men you associate with, ones who hurt women?”
“No.”
“No?” I cross my arms over my chest. Because I certainly imagine this is one of his men. He might act like a gentleman, but it would appear that the men who work for him are still just pigs.
A smile seems to dance on Silas’s lips as he says, “You’re a woman who trusts actions more than words.”
“I don’t trust any word from a man’s mouth.” I learned that the hard way.
“Then you’re a smart woman.” He winks, then lifts his gun, and while dark eyes remain on me, he shoots the man. The blubbering stops. I arch an eyebrow, surprised and equally impressed. Silas is a man of deliberate action. Without hesitation, he just killed one of his own men.
“Guess you best get back to work,” he says. “Looks like you’ll have a body coming in soon.”
It goes without saying that he also just covered my ass because I don’t have the sway that he does over this city. If I’d killed him so publicly, while losing it, I’d be fucked. But those rules are applied differently to these men.