Page 99 of Cruel Love

Chapter 28

Lilah

“Lilah?”

Her voice radiates my spinal column. Myra. The bitch who killed my brother.

“Liiii-laaaah?”

I stay quiet. I force myself not to reply or else I’ll give my position away. I want to see the surprise in her eyes as I slit her throat.

“Come on, Lilah. This is childish.”

I tighten the grip on my knife.

“Okay, well...” She sighs. “If you’re not gonna talk, then you’re gonna listen. I understand why you’re angry, but you must know that none of this is personal. I like you! You’re like a sister to me.”

I grit my teeth, holding back.

“And your brothers are awesome. Or...” She chuckles. “Were, I suppose.”

“Dante’s not dead,” I say, against my better judgment.

“Yet,” she says. “Trust me. There’s only one way this is going to end for you guys and it ain’t good. Good for me, obviously. But not you.”

“We’ll take our chances.”

She scoffs. “If you insist.”

I force my mouth shut as her man walks into the kitchen with his pistol pointed out in front of him. I watch him through the narrow crack in the pantry door, holding my breath as he inspects the room. Wes, I remember. That’s his name.

Or was.

He passes by the pantry door and I jump out, quickly jabbing the knife deep into his heart. His gun discharges, firing a single shot into the refrigerator in the corner. I pull the knife out and stab him again, making him drop to the floor.

“That sounded like a good one!” Myra says in my ear. “Good job.”

I slide the knife out and wipe it along my pant leg. “You’re next, bitch,” I say.

“Doubtful. You see, you have a knife. And I have a machine gun.”

Goddammit.

I drop to the floor as the bullets spray through the walls, breaking everything in their path.

“Sorry, Wes.”

I grab his lifeless body by the collar and roll over with it, using him as a shield to catch the avalanche of broken glass and any stray bullet that ricochets in my direction. My head pounds, ears ringing loudly. I bow my head, staying down until the siege is over.

Finally, her clip empties and Myra’s insane cackle carries over the receiver.

“Did I get ya?” she asks.

I say nothing, slowly sliding out from under Wes and grabbing his pistol.

Myra’s boots echo around the corner. I point the pistol at the wall, following the slow tapping as she makes her way closer to the kitchen doorway.

I aim for eye-level. I just need one to hit. One tiny bullet plugged into her skull and it’ll all be over.

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