Page 8 of Cruel Savior

An ugly feeling rose inside me as he practically spat my undercover alias in my face. But it was the contempt he delivered with a smile that sealed the deal. "This is your last warning. Leave, or I will make you leave in an ambulance."

He held out his arms and all but dared me to shoot him. As my finger itched at the trigger, he had no idea how close he was to getting exactly what he dared from me. I wanted to pull the trigger almost as much as I didn't. Logic when it came to him was nonexistent, and if there was anything I needed right now, it was logic.

"That's what I thought," he said, dropping his arms. "You shouldn't play with guns if you aren't going to take them seriously."

I looked down the sight of the gun and squeezed the trigger, my body absorbing the blowback, so I could keep the gun level and in place for another shot if necessary.

Axel grabbed his ear. "Jesus fucking Christ. You crazy bitch." He pulled his hand back with a spot of blood where the bullet had scratched him. "You almost fucking killed me."

"If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead." My heart beat slow and steady as he freaked out. He had no idea that there wasn't anyone currently in the CIA who was a better shot. How could he? I'd been recruited for covert operations. Hell, technically, I didn’t need this gun to kill him. There were dozens of ways to get the job done without an official weapon.

“What if I’d fucking moved? A few inches, and that bullet would have landed in my skull. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

That was a good question. However, I did relent and lower my weapon. I'd proven my point. I would shoot him if I had to. That's simply who I was now and he'd better get used to it.

Chapter Five

Axel

This bitch was crazy.I'd seen that look in more than one person's eyes over the years and—what was that old song? —oh yeah—her give a damn was busted.

I had half a mind to give her what she wanted and leave. Anger seethed through me that she'd almost killedme. If nothing else, it cemented how little she thought of me. Not that her feelings had been in question.

Her message ten years ago had been delivered with a precision that I wasn't ever going to forget. I would, however, put it back behind me where it had been safely tucked for a very long time.

"Look. I don't know what kind of bullshit is going through that head of yours right now, and I really don't care. However, my club has made a commitment to your father and this case, and I will see that through, because that's what I do. I honor my commitments.

I let that insult land. She was a smart girl. She knew what I meant. Although girl was not the word any normal human being would use to describe Amanda Turner. In ten years she'd changed in more ways than one, and the girl had been replaced by a woman. As a teenager, she'd been the prettiest girl in school hands down, but now—

It didn't seem possible that someone this beautiful on the outside could be so ugly on the inside. Unfortunately, that was exactly what made her so dangerous.

Everything about her seemed designed to mislead. From the long blonde hair currently caught up in some kind of sexy messy bun on the top of her head to the curves of her body that refused to be hidden in her fucking Lulu Lemons and a ragged-looking Jason Aldean t-shirt. Guess she also still had a thing for country music.

Not that it. Fucking.Mattered.

It pissed him off further that he kept having to remind himself of that. She wasn't the point. Finding a killer—that was the point.

"You're not going to go away unless my father says so, are you?"

I shook my head.

"And if I don't cooperate with you, you are going to get in my way every step of the way, aren't you?"

I decided to humor this train of thought she had going if it ended where I thought it might. I'd rather her agree to cooperate with me rather than me looking over my shoulder for her and that gun.

"Probably," I answered. "Although keeping you alive isn't normally considered getting in the way."

She snorted at him. It was such a loud, un-lady-like sound, I almost cracked a smile.

"I don't need you, or anyone else, to keep me alive. I can take care of myself."

I was beginning to understand that quite well, but I was never going to admit it. I was having a hard time seeing beyond the memory of the sixteen-year-old cheerleader. What exactly had happened to her?

I shook my head. Again. It. Didn’t. Fucking.Matter.

I was going to have to keep that mantra on a continual loop in my head until it got through to my stubborn brain. I would not be fooled again by a beautiful face, or eyes that looked sad. As far as I was concerned, she’d made her bed, and it was time to lie in it.

God, I hated that fucking saying. How many times had my father uttered those words in a drunken slur?

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