Page 21 of Lesson In Forgiveness

More muffled speech, a heartfelt plea.

“Mmmph, mmmph, mmmph,” Tabitha mocked. “You know, there’s one method of punishment I’ve always dreamed about trying. More as an experiment than anything else, but I do wonder what happens to flesh when it’s injected with hydrochloric acid.” She scored a line down his limp cock, the deepest one yet. “Lucky for you, I’m ill-equipped for that little trip down science lane, and our time together is running short.”

When Luca went limp with relief, she smashed the hilt of the knife into his jaw. “Ah-ah-ah, don’t get all excited on me now. Just because I don’t have all my toys at hand doesn’t mean I don’t get to play.”

In actuality, all she needed was her bare hands. Pain or death, she was capable of causing it with just the most basic of weapons. She did love working with her knife, though. Of all her toys, her blade was her favorite, an extension of her body.

Silent, deadly, swift.

Humming under her breath, Tabitha studied the flabby man hanging by his wrists as though he was a carcass ready for butchering. She was skilled enough to do just that; she’d learned the anatomy and physiology of the human body when she was thirteen, could dismember one in under thirty minutes less than a year later.

She broke her personal record at fifteen.

“Would you like to say your last words now, before we begin?” Without waiting for an mmmph in response, Tabitha reached out and ripped the tape off his mouth, slightly unimpressed with the results of the chili gym sock. “Screaming, pleading, begging, and making a complete fool of yourself do not count as final words, by the way. I hear any of that, I cut your tongue out.”

He actually choked on whatever he’d been about to do. Probably not screaming, she mused; it was his storage unit, after all, soundproofed to his specifications. Begging or pleading was her guess, and both bored her.

The subtle buzz of her phone ringing broke her focus. Scowling at the interruption, she tugged it from her pocket far enough to see her brother’s name on the screen, then all the way out. “Excuse me a moment.”

Quiet sobs broke out behind her as she turned her back to Luca, curling her lip in disgust as she answered the call. “I’m busy, Ashford.”

“What the fuck have you done now?” he demanded, obviously not listening to her. “Christ, I’m beginning to think I should have a leash wrapped around your neck.”

“Try it,” Tabitha suggested hotly. “I’m your equal, brother. I suggest you don’t forget that.”

“Equal, my ass.” Frustration stained his voice. “I just flagged a contract with your name on it. Care to tell me how that happened?”

She flipped the knife, hilt to blade and back again, over and over as her temper began to rise. Ignoring the bite of metal against her flesh, she tried really hard not to let his holier than thou attitude get under her skin. “I take on a lot of contracts, Ash, same as you. Which one has your man-panties in a bunch?”

“The one with your fucking name as the hit!”

Huh, now that was interesting. She hadn’t been notified of any new contracts; she kept track of things like that. Humming under her breath, she switched the call to speakerphone, then pulled up the secure app and scoured through it for her name.

Oh, and there it was, loud and proud. Active for just over an hour, but no takers yet. Good, that meant the more experienced among her brethren were shy about taking her on. For most, it was a certain death sentence. One miss, one glancing shot instead of a direct hit… she would rain death and destruction on them like those fist-sized hailstones that plagued Texas a while back.

Being crazy had its benefits.

“Now I’m offended,” she scoffed, reading the price tag on her head in disbelief. “No one’s going to come after me for a paltry fifty thousand. Five hundred thousand might hook some of the bigger fish, but with my rep, they really ought to think about the upper ranges. Four to five million would probably land them a sharpshooter who can drop me from a mile away.”

“Can you not be suicidally stupid for one fucking moment?” Ashford demanded harshly. The rapid click of keyboard keys underscored his frustration. “I wish you’d think things through before you leap into shit, Tabitha. Darius may find it funny to keep saving your ass, but I’m getting tired of it.”

She blinked. Since when did her brothers save her ass? At no point had she ever asked them for help, nor could she remember them doing so of their own volition. Whatever shit she got herself into, she pulled herself out of it with teeth, nails, and sheer fucking grit.

No pun intended.

Temper stirring, Tabitha clenched her jaw, tightening her fingers around the knife still in her hand. She was sick of being the youngest, so goddamn tired of being labelled the little sister as though her skills were inconsequential. “Oh please, don’t trouble yourself on my account. In fact, I’ll make this easy for you.”

She hung up on him before he replied, too angry to listen to his nasty digs at her character. After all, she was what she was; nothing was going to change that now. Her die were cast, and she’d forever be this.

“Please…”

Scowling at the phone when it rang again, Tabitha switched the focus of her ire onto her captive instead. “I apologize, that was incredibly rude of me. Answering personal calls during our meeting.” She turned off the phone and returned it to her pocket. “Now, where were we? Oh, yes, that’s right. Last words for the bad man.”

“I don’t know who you think I am, but you have the wrong guy.”

Her eyebrows shot up. It wasn’t the first time she’d been given that excuse, but as always, it did buy him a few more minutes as she checked her mental records. “Arnaldo Luca, fifty-six. Six-one, two-sixty. Brown on brown—well, you’ve acquired a few silver hairs, I guess. Tattoo of the American flag over your heart—very patriotic of you—and another with the names Lucy, Abigail, and Chloe on your upper right arm.”

Her eyebrow lifted as she stared pointedly at said tattoo. “I don’t make mistakes. I don’t get the wrong guy. Bet you thought the cops would find you first, right? Or maybe you’ve been fucking little girls for so long without getting caught, you believed you were home free. Either way, you’re cooked.”

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