Page 84 of The Wages of Sin

Until the moment I witnessed Kiera desperately fighting for her life in my living room, I had no idea what true rage felt like.

Seeing the blood smeared across her face, her wounded stance, the injured arm hanging limp at her side brought out something dark and feral in me.

Something unstoppable.

There was no time for thought, only action. Like a tidal wave, I surged forward, determined to destroy anything that dared stand in my way.

My fury hit the stranger first, my eyes instantly zeroing in on the holster he was frantically reaching for under his jacket. Before he had a chance to pull the weapon free, I lunged forward, hitting him with enough force to knock the air out of his lungs as we crashed to the ground.

Wide, panicked eyes stared up at me as I straddled his chest.

“Get him off me!” the man screeched, pleading with Sal to save him.

But anyone who knew Sal D’Angelo knew he would never risk his own neck to save someone else.

Deep down, this bastard must have known it too because he reached for his weapon again. But he wasn’t fast enough. I caught his hand before it got anywhere near the holster.

With one quick snap, I thrust the back of his hand against his forearm, shattering his wrist.

His agonized scream reverberated off the glass wall, filling the room as fully as any Puccini aria.

In the background, I heard Kiera gasp in shock.

“Look away, sweetheart,” I called out to her.

She didn’t need to see what came next. Not after everything that she’d been through.

“You must be Special Agent Hollis Murphy,” I said, coldly gazing down into the stranger’s panicked and bloodshot eyes. “Corrupt cop. Wife killer. Tormentor of innocents.”

“Holy shit,” he blubbered. “Don’t kill me, man. Please don’t kill me.”

It was easier than usual to ignore his prayers for mercy. “Do you know who I am?”

His whole body began to shake in terror. “D-Dorian Marchetti.”

“That’s my name,” I told him. “But it’s not who I am. Don’t play dumb. You’re with the FBI. You know what they call me.”

Hollis Murphy’s Adam’s apple bobbed up the length of his throat as he tried to swallow down past his fear. “The Angel of Death.”

“That’s right,” I said, grabbing the sides of his head and lifting it off the ground. “So you know what happens next.”

“No! Please don’t!”

“Say hello to the devil for me.”

All it took was one quick twist, and his neck snapped like a dry twig. The light instantly dimmed in his eyes as his whole body went slack.

One down. One to go.

Standing up, I turned my attention toward Sal, who was doing his best to keep his shoulders straight and his head held high as he shuffled back several steps. Only now that I was looking directly at him did I notice the long slash that cut across both his hands.

The wounds were bloody but superficial, no doubt a gift from the knife Kiera was currently clutching in her left hand.

Damn, she’d been brave taking these two on by herself. She’d done a surprising amount of damage for a lone woman against two skilled attackers. Still, I felt an unbearable amount of guilt for not being here to protect her in the first place.

The only remedy I could think of was making Sal’s end as dark and painful as possible.

My hands balled into fists at my side as I took that first step toward him, my head filled with all the possible ways to kill the bastard.

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