Page 140 of Manacled Hearts

Squatting, I remove the bag off my body, drop my phone inside of it and pull out the knife I got from Maddox, sliding it in my boot. I grab the gun Finnigan gave me for protection, though the silencer I’m currently screwing at the end of it I stole myself from his office. I don’t remember why I did it, maybe some unconscious instinct that ironically will come in handy right now.

Shadows swallow me next to this parapet, and Frankie B and his men can’t spot me, but I can see them clearly. I waited long enough, checking my surroundings, the vicinity, and none of this looks like a trap for The Sanctum. Maybe I was wrong, maybe we were all wrong. But I’m not backing down. They’re maybe fifty yards away from me, enough for clear aim, but the adrenaline coursing through my veins might affect the skills I’ve honed in the last few months. Maddox is not a huge fan of guns, but he taught me well. I’m not half bad, but tonight… I have to be better. Because there’s no way I can stroll down that beach to get to Frankie if his lackeys are still moving.

Ice invades my gut as the realization of my intention hits my rational thoughts—am I about to kill these men intentionally this time around? Frowning, I take a moment to acknowledge my feelings, but the ones I’m looking for never come. I feel no apprehension or remorse because the memories of me held down during my assault are filling me with the only emotions that matter right now.

So I lift the gun, aiming it in their direction, bobbing slowly up and down as I follow their movements. The moment one of the men stops walking I squeeze the trigger.

“Fuck!” I curse under my breath when the bullet whizzes past them and hits the sand.

Through the crashing sounds of the waves, only two of them notice the disturbance, but they don’t look like they understand what it was. Gripping the bottom of the magazine harder, I inhale deep and aim again releasing it slowly at the same time I squeeze the trigger. The muffled pop is drowned by the rumble of the sea, and one of the men staggers back and reaches for his stomach. I shoot once more, aiming higher, and I expect a scream as he crumbles to the ground, squeezing his chest, but confusion is keeping them silent even as they whirl to look around.

The sea would swallow most of their pointless noises anyway.

As guns are drawn and their gazes search for me, the scene changes from calm to alert, but I force my anxiety back down my throat. I aim once more, not for the head since fifty yards is too far away for me to guarantee the accuracy, but for the chest. Only, the bastard moves just as the bullet flies. Slow panic threatens my muscles and focus, and only one of the next three bullets grazes one of them.

“Just stop moving!” The anger does something to me, and before they can spot my location, I squeeze the trigger once more, and the second man falls back on a piercing shriek. “Finally.”

I take my eyes off of them for a moment, searching for the source of that shriek and find the woman Frankie took for a walk, now forcefully trapped in his arms, held away from the gruesome scene.

That brief moment was enough for the third man to spot the general direction the bullets came from, and several shattering pops ripple through the sound waves. I manage to duck before the concrete of the parapet takes the hits. I expected something akin to a boom when they made contact, but it’s surprisingly quiet. I rise to find him moving closer, and more bullets strike concrete, one flying just above my head as I duck down.

“This is not how I plan to die.” Not before I reach Frankie.

I slide down on my knees and forearms, inching to the edge of the parapet as low as I can go, since the bastard is shooting high. I peer past it as another shot hits the concrete—he’s no longer fifty yards away. The sand is slowing him down, but he’s covered half the distance to me. Good. My aim will be more certain. I squeeze the trigger and the bullet rips through his shoulder on a painful bellow, the sound like music to my ears, but he’s not down yet.

“Who the fuck are you?” someone yells from the distance.

That’s Frankie B.

I don’t answer. He’ll find out soon enough.

Pulling the trigger once more, I hit the man’s hip, and he staggers, finally falling to the ground. My legs shake as I rise but the early moonlight hits his features, and for a couple grueling seconds I’m pinned in place, panic striking down my nerves.

“I know you.” I whisper, focusing my pistol at him. The satisfaction at his fury-twisted pain rippling his features breaks through my fear.

He lifts his own weapon, but I shoot him right in that arm before he can aim, and the gun flies out of his hand.

“You fucking bitch!” he roars, screaming in pain he couldn’t possibly hide.

His words don’t touch me. I can hear them, but they mean nothing as they float somewhere in the distant places of my consciousness. This feels like a first step, because this bastard was there.

“You held me down.” I seethe, stepping closer through the soft sand.

I’m only a few feet away, enough to see the pain-steeped rage marring his features. God, it looks so pretty.

What an odd thought.

Warmth fills my belly, satisfaction turning the adrenaline coursing through my veins into a surge of power.

“Evelyn!”

My gaze whips toward the voice, and I pinpoint Frankie’s position—he’s farther away than before, arms wrapped tight around the woman who struggles against him. He seems surprised that it’s me he’s looking at.

“He’ll rip you apart,” the man on the ground spits, “worse than he did the first time. And then he’ll give you to all of us to share and break until all we’re fucking is your empty carcass.”

I look down at the man crumpled to the ground, spit falling between his thin lips as he attempts a seedy grin when I take aim once more. “But you won’t be one of them.”

The bullet hits right next to the bridge of his nose, blood and eye matter splattering all around him, and on me too. Then silence comes. Sweet silence amongst the crash of the surf, and when I look up at Frankie B, the smugness is broken by something else. It looks like fascination, but I think there’s fear in there too.

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