Page 38 of Poisonous Savage

"Okay, okay!" he spat out, voice cracking like the bone in his wife's hand. "Theboat moor... old fisher's hut... cellar underneath."

Mygrip on him slackened; it was allIneeded.Istepped back and watched him sag against the wall, his wife sobbing beside him, their pain a sick melody playing just for me.Fora moment, the image ofRosalindflashed before my eyes—her laughter, her warmth.We’recoming, sunshine.

Iturned my back on the pair of them, their wails filling the space asIwalked away.Wecan clean up later.Ihaven’t quite decided ifIwanna let them go or bury them in the back.

"Let'smove,"Igrunted toHunter.

Henodded before gutting the fucker, leaving his wife screaming in agony.Guesshe was saving the poison for someone a little more… special.

Thedarkness swallowed us as we moved through the corridors, up the stairs, and towards the war room.Hunterwas already on the phone, barking orders, telling the men to suit up.Comehell of high water, we’d get her back.

Therejust wasn’t another option.

HUNTER

Theair in the armory was laced with anticipation.Myboys shuffled around me, loud clicks and snaps as magazines slid home.Wewere gearing up for hell, each man arming himself to the teeth.Ichecked my own piece, aGlockthat had seen more bloodshed than most soldiers.Thecold kiss of the barrel reminded me why we were doing this.Revenge.Retribution.Redemption—nah, fuck redemption.Thiswas about making the bastards pay.

"Strapup tight, boys,"Igrunted, slipping theKevlarover my head.Iwatched them mirror my movements; they were loyal, ruthless fucks, reflections of the darknessIcommanded.OnceIgot my hands aroundAngelo’sneck… he’d be begging me to end it quickly.

Iclipped the final magazine into place, the satisfying clack resonating deep in my gut.Tonightwasn't about patience or respect—Angelocould shove that shit.Thiswas about power, about showing these cockroaches that you don’t fuck with us.Takefrom us.

Anod from me, and we moved out, our boots thudding against the concrete.Thenight swallowed us as we piled into theSUVs.Itook the driver's seat, gripping the wheel.Theengine roared to life under my touch, a beast hungry for the hunt.Marcosat beside me asIwatched the otherSUVsfill.

"Let’sget her back,"Islammed the pedal down.Tiresbit into the dirt as we picked up speed.Theconvoy tore through the night, eager to spill someBlackHandblood.

Themoor was waiting.Likelya trap, but we were armed.Wewere ready.Letthem cower; let them pray.Nogod would save them from what was coming.

Wemade it in record time.Flickeringlights danced in the distance, enemy shadows skittering like roaches across the barren landscape.Mygrip tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles white as bone.Everymuscle coiled, ready to spring—eager for the slaughter.

"Getready, boys,"Igrowled into the walkie.TheSUVsslowed, creeping towards the guarded expanse where those motherfuckers thought they were safe.Isnortedat the thought, venom coursing through my veins.Notsafe—not from me.Notfrom theCinderCrew.

Wehalted just shy of their perimeter, the vehicles idling as we went through the last visuals.Mymen mirrored me asIcut the engine.Ichecked my piece, and the cold metal familiar was against my palm.

"Moveout,"Ihissed, flinging the door open with a metallic clank that shattered the silence.Bootshit the ground, crunching the frost-bitten grass beneath our weight.Wecrept forward, shadows among shadows, closing in on the enemy camp.

Then, without warning or mercy, we struck.Thenight descended into hell—gunfire drowning out all else.Theycame out of the woodwork like rats.Therewas no rhythm, just undetermined chaos.TheBlackHandswere everywhere and nowhere.Easypickings.

"Fuck'em up!"Ispat, my voice lost in the violence.Leadflew, tearing through flesh and bone.Bloodsprayed.Knivesembedded into guts and bullets spraying bodies.Menscreamed their cries, music to my ears.Bitchesdidn't stand a chance.

Theworld narrowed to the barrel of my gun, the recoil jolting through me.Thiswas it—power, dominance.Itwas intoxicating, better than any drug.Witheach round fired,Icarved our name into the night.Wemoved forwardtowards the hut, taking down the idiots who dared try to stand up to us.

Thecellar door groaned open, its creaks cutting through the gunfire.Angeloshoved out, a blade glinting atRosalind'sthroat.Mygut twisted, bile rising.Thereshe was—battered and bruised, a rag doll in the grip of that bastard.Shelooked fucking skeletal.Whatthe hell did this motherfucker do to my bride?

"Rosalind,"Igrowled under my breath, fists clenching till knuckles whitened.Hereyes met mine, pools of night drowning in fear.Goddamnit.Ifucking cursed how long it took me to find her.

Angelo'ssneer split the darkness, his knife pressing into her skin.Adrop of blood welled up, a rivulet dropping down and splashing against her collarbone.Mypulse hammered, rage boiling over.Fuckpatience, fuck caution.They'dpay for every mark on her.

"Dropit,Desmond,"Angelospat, his voice slicing through the tension.

"Touchher again, andI'llfucking destroy you,"Ithrew back, muscles tensed, ready to spring.Thestandoff stretched, seconds stretching into hours, or so it felt.

"Lether go, orI'llpaint this shithole with your insides,"Isnarled, shifting weight onto the balls of my feet.Readyto move, to kill, to claim what was mine.Angelo'sgrip onRosalindtightened, his knife drawing another bead of her precious blood.

"Tryme," he dared, eyes locked on mine. “Nowthat you’re here.I’vegot your wife; you’ve got somethingIwant.Iwant you to give yourself to me in exchange for her.”

“Oh, fuck right off, you rat bastard.”

“Then… she’s going to die.Isit worth it,Hunter?IsCinderCrewreally worth her life?Man, your daddy did a number on you to make you this fucking dead inside.”

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