Page 99 of Tempest

Tempest

Today is notthe day to fuck with me.

Our assignment was going perfectly. Rio secured our targets by injecting top-level ketamine into their necks and transferred them to us in his Sprinter van. It took a day or two, given where they were located. Hunter assisted in propping them up in their assigned seats underneath Anderton Cottage, and I got to work.

What I do not expect, want, or need is to have my phone go off mid-garroting on CFO Steven Charles, alerting me to motion upstairs.

Unwinding the garrote from his neck, I step back and pull the phone out of my pocket. Imagine my annoyance when I witness two bobbing flashlights through our camera’s night vision mode and the shadowy outlines of the figures behind them.

They were women, easily. The long, dark hair was quickly attributed to my wonderful, hare-brained sister.

The second body could only belong to one girl.

“Fuck.”

“What is it? Why’d you stop?” Hunter pouts nearby, put out that I didn’t allow him his full, fucked-up ritual killing.

“We’ve got ourselves some visitors.”

“The hell?” Rio straightens from his recline on a spare chair. “I thought we made sure no one would come by these next few days.”

“Yes, well, people are anything if not stupid.”

“Who are they?” he asks.

It pains me to admit, “My sister and her friend.”

“Friend?” Hunter pops a brow. “As in…”

“Don’t fucking say her name,” I warn. “I’ll take care of it.”

“You’d better,” Hunter says. “Bossman won’t be too impressed to know your kid sister’s at it again.”

“We’ll hold it down here.” Rio straightens and grabs the roll of duct tape sitting on the apothecary cabinet.

The man in front of me tips back in his chair, of the school of thought that simply by reeling back, he could avoid further torture. The woman beside him—Marnie Charles—screeches and pleads, her shirt torn at the shoulder and bright red ribbons of blood dripping from her neck. I’d used the tip of my knife on her throat to draw out information from her husband.

“Or hey,” Hunter says, “bring her down here. We have an extra chair, and I’d love to see Clover Callahan in all her raven-haired glory….”

“Keep going, and I’ll cut out your tongue.” I say it offhandedly, overly used to the ways Hunter enjoys riling me up.

“Only if I can suck on hers first.”

My exhale calls for calm. My fists thrum for revenge. Rio clasps my shoulder, muttering, “Deal with the important shit. I’ll handle him.”

Nodding, I sprint up the stairs, leaving Rio to use his finesse in reining in the loose cannon that is our capo’s nephew, who I can’t very well kill on the spot, as much as I’d love to.

I deal with Clover as expeditiously as she allows, which means a fuck-load of frustration and insults. I’m all too aware of the missing body in the room. I’m able to sense Ardyn’s presence within seconds, her scent like a caress that ties a loose knot around the organ that is my heart. I don’t have that tug now.

After wasted minutes of threatening Clo, she eventually tells me Ardyn was the first to race out of the house as soon as Sarah Anderton came calling—whatever the fuck that means.

Raising my eyes skyward, I shove the door shut on my dear sister’s face and return to the main room, where I pull back a framed painting of a map of Titan Falls in the 1600s, enter a code on the keypad behind it, and watch with impatience as a seam cuts through the wall of books and the hidden door swings open.

I’ll deal with the two Nancy Drews later. Right now, I have to complete this goddamned assignment.

I’m relieved to see everyone in their proper positions when I get to the bottom of the stairs. No rebellion from Hunter’s part means we might just be getting him on our side, or at least blinding him enough so that he’s not suspicious.

He hasn’t questioned our reasons for kidnapping and interrogating this couple, too in the throes of torture, and I plan to keep it that way.

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