Page 21 of High Stakes

She leans across the counter and looks down into my mug with a sneer. “No wonder you can drink that. Black coffee is the worst.”

“Not everyone likes drinking creamer with a splash of coffee, Angel.” I watch her as she rummages around for her own mug and pours herself some coffee. “What are you doing here so early?”

“I was just heading out to work and thought I would stop by. I haven’t seen you two in a few days.” She shrugs nonchalantly and takes a sip of her much sweeter creamer/coffee mixture.

“Do you miss us?” I tease and a smile stretches across my face as a blush stains her cheeks. She doesn’t speak so I continue. “Hasn’t your sweet Hector been keeping you busy?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she snaps but her blush deepens.

So the fucker did finally grow a pair and make a move. I was beginning to think he was nothing but a masochist, settling for torturing himself for the rest of his life.

“Oh, we would both love to know, Sweetheart,” Declan says, and emerges from the hallway. His mouth is pressed into a hard line but his eyes spark with desire. “But we have to get going. Work never ends.”

I glare at him from across the island and down the rest of my coffee. Declan goes from being the best wingman to the worst fucking cockblock in about two-point-five seconds. Emelia places her hand on my forearm and squeezes. “Try not to murder him this morning.”

“No promises,” I grumble and follow Declan into the garage. I watch as Emelia slides her helmet over her head and kicks her bike into gear. Good God, she is so fucking hot on that bike. “Do we really need to go right this second? I can make it quick,” I call over to Declan, who is also mounting his bike with his helmet on.

His visor is up so I can see the eyeroll he gives me. “No. We’re leaving now.”

Emelia’s engine echoes through the garage as she spins her tires and disappears in a blur of black. I stare after her long after she’s gone. “I fucking hate you, Dec.”

“Whatever, man. Let’s go.” He surges forward on his bike, cutting a path down the driveway and onto the main road.

I connect my bluetooth and kick my bike into gear. The machine rumbles between my thighs as I hit the gas. My front tire comes off the concrete as I shoot forward and follow Declan. “Where the hell are we going so early?” I ask when I catch up to him.

He slows slightly so that we’re cruising side by side. His visor is still open so I can see the wicked glint in his eyes when he looks over at me. “To an execution.” He flips his visor down and rockets forward. The roar of his engine is deafening.

“Fuck yes! My favorite.” I grin and flip my own visor down and hit the gas, sending my front tire into another wheelie as I speed to catch up to him.

We park the bikes in a nearby alleyway and use the fire escape to climb to the roof of a tall brick building. The sun is scorching on the back of my neck as I survey the rooftop. “Why’sit so fucking hot in October?” I mutter and shrug out of my riding jacket.

“Global warming,” Declan quips and crouches down behind the waist-high ledge. He scans the building next to us for a long moment. “There,” he says and points to the eighth-floor windows. He tosses a bag at me as I walk toward him. “Get set up while I plan this out.”

“Plan what out?” I ask and unzip the bag. My heart stutters when I see my favorite sniper rifle nestled safely in a foam insert. My eyes cut to Declan for an answer, but he’s silent as he paces back and forth with his hands clasped behind his back.

The man with the plan.

He never does a thing without a fucking plan.

Meanwhile, I just show up, pull the trigger, and drive away into the sunset like a happy little harbinger of death. Who really needs a plan anyway?

“I got intel that our Irish friends were taking a meeting here,” he says and pulls out his cell phone. His fingers move across the screen effortlessly as he types away. “Twelfth floor, east conference room.”

I scowl and lean to the left so that I can look around his large frame. Twelfth floor, eighth floor. Same difference. “Perfect,” I mutter and click the pieces of my rifle into place. “They owe me some souls.” I made a list the night Silas died and Emelia nearly bled out on our sofa. For every scar they gave her, I plan on taking a life. Not to mention the debt they owe me for Silas. That’s at least five men, if not all of them.

Declan nods in agreement and crouches down behind the wall again. “Meeting’s in five minutes. Are you ready?” His eyes flick to the rifle in my hands and then up to my face.

I set my jaw and drop into position. “Let’s do some reaping.”

He rolls his eyes and snorts. “You have really taken this Hades thing too seriously,” he mumbles and slides to the left so I have more room.

“Shut up and let me concentrate on my breathing,” I snap back and close my eyes as I inhale deeply.

“You better not fucking miss,” he grumbles just as I exhale my breath.

“Go stand over there! You’re distracting me!” I point to the other corner of the roof and glare at him.

Declan holds up his hands but relents. He stands and moves away. Probably to avoid having his eardrums ruptured by the gunfire, and not because I asked him so nicely. I drop my chin into the holder and press my eye into the scope, moving my sight and shifting my weight until the crosshairs are positioned on the back of the desk chair. I take another deep breath and settle myself, relaxing my muscles into the hard concrete. My finger traces over the trigger, ready to pull.

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