Page 180 of The Pucking Wrong Man

Michael grinned, and it felt like the mask had fallen. Like his demonic inside had finally leaked out to his face.

“You should leave,” I told him, as usual hating the tremble in my voice.

“But little bunny, you would miss me too much,” he mocked.

“What’s the end game here?” I asked. “You grab me…and then what?”

“End game?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. I wanted to reach out and rip off that eyebrow, mark that face up. “You know what the end game is, little bunny. You know what the end game was always going to be. Ever since I saw you walking home that first day.”

Michael held out his hand, like he expected me to take it and walk out of here with him.

I scoffed, straightening off the fence and holding my chin high, trying to hold onto all the bravery Camden had been instilling me with since I’d met him.

“Ana…I’ve got a special little cage set up for you. So you can be my bunny forever and ever. Won’t you like that? I’ve got a place on my own again. So I'm the only one who can hear your pretty little cries. I’ve prepared it just for you. You’re going to love it.” There was a sing-song lilt to his voice, and my eyes widened in horror as he pulled a long, serrated knife out of his coat. “Come here, little bunny.”

He was six feet away when, apparently, Camden decided that was close enough.

Camden appeared at the entrance of the alleyway behind Michael, a small cooler in his hand.

“Hello, Michael,” he taunted, and a little part of me unclenched as I watched fear seep into Michael’s eyes for the first time before he jerked toward him in surprise.

Camden

Michael blinked several times, staring at the cooler as he recovered from the shock of seeing me.

“You planned this,” he growled, like we were the ones in the wrong here.

“Yeah, well obviously,” I said with a grin that hopefully Anastasia would forget, because I was sure it was incredibly sadistic.

“What’s your plan then, Hero?” he sneered, showing that he’d been looking into me as well. “Did you bring me lunch?” Michael gestured at the cooler.

I chuckled before I used my free hand to pull out the gun from inside my jacket, aiming it at his chest.

His eyes flashed, a chuckle escaping his lips. “This is hilarious,” he taunted Anastasia who was still plastered against the fence, her attention rapt on the gun in my hand.

Without hesitation, I pulled the trigger, and Michael flinched, his mouth dropping as the gun released a stream of water that soaked his shirt and the front of his pants. I squirted some on his face for good measure.

“What the hell?” he muttered, as he looked down at himself, confusion and shock contorting his features, his hands shaking as he touched the wet stain.

I couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at my lips. “Oops, I must've grabbed the wrong gun,” I said lightly.

I’d actually struck him dumb. That seemed like an accomplishment for how much the guy liked to talk.

“I actually meant to do this.” Opening the cooler, I reached in with a gloved hand and started throwing chunks of meat at Michael as I stalked closer to him. He was so surprised by the meat suddenly hitting his chest, that he didn’t really react to my movements until I was just a few feet away. Ana slowly inched to the side—knowing what was going to happen next.

I lunged forward and punched him in the face, enjoying the way he crumbled to the ground. For good measure, I dumped the entire contents of the cooler over his head, the bloody mixture coating his face and hair like a horror movie.

“Motherfucker,” he growled, fumbling with his knife, the blade now streaked with blood.

“Forgot one more thing,” I said, holding up a hand as Anastasia tossed me the wire cutters she’d been hiding. Ripping off the glove, I threw it at Michael, and snapped the wire that had been holding up part of the fence. I whistled, and a few seconds later, Fluffy and Midas bounded into the alley through the hole. Their usual friendly demeanor had vanished, replaced by a fierce hunger as they zeroed in on Michael.

Geraldine had wanted to be part of the plan when I’d asked to borrow the dogs again—after winking at me and telling me she’d keep my first outing with the dogs “on the down low.”

She’d had them in their kennels on the other side of the fence.

Michael’s bravado crumbled in an instant. “What the?—”

Before he could react, the dogs were on him. Midas latched onto his arm, growling and shaking his head. Fluffy, the giant poodle, went for his legs, his powerful jaws clamping down hard. Michael screamed, a high-pitched, panicked sound that echoed throughout the alley, and his knife fell to the ground as he tried to scramble away from the animals.

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