Page 10 of One Kill

“You’re new here, so I’ll allow you this fuck up, but don’t do it again. You can deal with J. She speaks for me when it comes to you, Mr. Galanos.”

The phone goes dead as Marco hangs up, not wasting time with pleasantries, and now it’s my turn to be smug as Zavier places my cell on the huge board table everyone is seated around. His almost-black hair is slicked back, and paired with his clean-shaven jaw that could cut glass and his hazel eyes still boring into mine, I could easily imagine what kind of orgasms this man gives. Shame he’s a sly and sneaky bastard, really, but maybe I’ll be able to have a little fun at some point. It seems this is going to be an ongoing situation for the Reapers to keep an eye on.

“Tonight is opening night. Would you like me to get someone to show you around, Shadow?” His scoff when he says my name makes me want to slice his balls off, but I remain stoic, calm, not needing to even use words to express that his idea is bullshit.

“I’m here for the meeting.” I move to the corner of the room where there are a few spare chairs stacked up and grab one, carrying it back over to the rectangular table. There are eleven men seated at even intervals, Zavier at the head, leaving the opposite end free for me. That was nice of them.

Once I’m sitting down, keeping my back straight so I don’t accidentally stab myself with my in-bra dagger, Galanos follows suit and also sits down, tipping his head toward me in some kind of smug acceptance. Not that he had a fucking choice.

“Why are we letting a woman interfere and listen in on this meeting, Mr. Galanos? We are dealing with matters for men. The only use in a casino for a woman that looks like that is to serve our dri—“

I’m out of my chair before the prick in a deep-blue suit sitting to my left finishes speaking and I don’t think twice about forcing the ballpoint pen from the table in front of him into his eye socket. It won’t kill him if he gets help in time, but he’ll definitely be half blind for the rest of his life. Fucker’s lucky I didn’t just slice his tongue out.

There’s a sickening crunchy pop as the pen pierces through his eyeball. Blood squirts out over the table and several of the men move back in shock. Four of them pull their guns and move to aim them in my direction, but not before I’ve picked up one of the whiskey glasses and thrown it at one of them. It hits him square on the head and knocks him clean out. At the same time, I lift my dress and grab two of my daggers. They fly through the air easily, one of them sticks into a guy’s shoulder, forcing him to drop his gun, the other pierces another guy’s middle finger, also making him drop his gun. While the knives are flying, so am I, leaping over the table and grabbing another knife from my thigh to hold against the last gun wielder’s throat before he can get a shot off.

Yells and shouts echo around the room as more of them move to pull out their weapons—because men like this don’t turn up to meetings like this without being armed—and as I lightly scrape my knife over the guy’s throat, Zavier yells louder than everyone else.

“Stop! Put your weapons away or I’ll kill you all myself.” He has a gun in each hand, one pointed in my direction, the other is aimed at the guy beside him. His breathing is short and fast, the anger and control he so desperately tries to keep under wraps is struggling to stay hidden and it’s kinda sexy. Especially as he looks over to me, his eyes seeking an explanation.

“He was disrespectful.” I shrug, my own breathing still calm as I raise my hands and head back toward my seat.

“You might be the don’s bitch, but this is still my turf. Nobody dies in my casino unless I say so.” Zavier’s words are cutting and I take a mental note of him calling me a bitch, because… just no.

“I don’t see any dead bodies, Galanos, so I’m not breaking any rules. Are we going to have this meeting or not? I’m bored and have better things to do than sit in a room full of stuffy men with small dicks.” I lean back in my chair and shrug again, hoping they really do just get on with it. Jumping over tables and shit with these heels on wasn’t quite as fun as when I’m wearing my boots and I really am looking forward to taking them and this fucking dress off.

Zavier scoffs again, like it’s the only thing he’s able to do when confronted with someone who doesn’t give a shit about his reputation. The other inconsequential men in the room—the uninjured ones—all take their seats while the others lay where they fell until the security dude that led me in here arrives with reinforcements and starts removing them, politely leaving my knives on the table beside Zavier.

“If you’re going to insist on being here, please show some respect.” As Zavier speaks, the guy in a deep-gray suit near the center of the table looks to me with his snooty nose in the air as if he’s just got one over on me. “That goes forallof you.”

Snooty nose guy sharply turns his head back around to face Zavier, which makes me smile internally, because I won’t let these fucks see my emotions.

“Now then, we were discussing the back-room rules and stipulations. Casinos are so new to New York, we need to be careful. If you know of someone who would like an invite, they can go through me first. Understood?”

Various nods and murmurs of agreement flow through the room and I raise a brow, because Galanos is flying close to the knife with this shady bullshit. For Marco to get his cut of this place, we’re going to need to keep a close eye on what’s going on.

Which I know is gonna fall to me and my Reapers.

I guess I’ll be sharpening my poker skills sooner rather than later.

Chapter Six

J

Violenceturnsmeon.

I’m aware that it sounds psychotic, but my life has been a series of fucked up events lined up at the front door of my existence like caffeine addicts at the coffee shop on Monday mornings. It shouldn’t surprise me that Galanos’s attitude combined with the blood I shed made me wetter than Niagara Falls in the spring.

This explains why a solid hour after leaving the casino, I’m still worked up and craving something that goes beyond my impressive collection of toys. Self-care is important and nothing says “I love me” better than a closet full of vibrators and dildos of all shapes and sizes.

I should be in my bed, enjoying a good night’s sleep after an orgasm or two, but as soon as I left the casino, I checked my calls and had a mild panic attack at the sheer number of phone calls with no message from Hallie.

In my world, it means only one thing. She’s in trouble. It’s a feeling completely foreign to me; the instant rush of anxiety and adrenaline straight to my heart. The number of times I’ve scoffed at people who make irrational decisions based solely on emotions and here I am, pulling up to my ex-boyfriend’s quaint little house in Newark. Or is he my baby-daddy now? Shaking my head to clear it of that errant thought, my eyes scan the neighborhood, the narrow street with family-size cars and tree-lined sidewalks, then I survey the shadows between the rows of homes. They are the typical nineteen-twenties homes that make up the suburban areas of New York and New Jersey. Each one has its own story to tell; immigrant families building their new futures by the sweat of their brows and the will of their hearts. An entire existence before the cookie-cutter homes invaded our states.

The area seems quiet and safe. Porch lights blink in the dead of night as a reminder that fragile lives reside inside.

Except safety is an illusion and quiet is for the deaf. There’s no such thing in this world.

Pulling off my helmet, I jump off my bike and rest it on my tank. My brain knows that it’s cold as fuck out but my body is pumping with fear, making me sweat beneath my leathers. I’ve only just met her. I can’t lose her now, right? That would make the universe a colossal cunt.

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