Page 17 of The Beautiful Dead

Using my knowledge of the backstreets, I led the Gallo soldier straight into my web. He thought he was the one hunting. He had no idea.

The alley stretched before me, dark and silent. Walls slick with rain. The hum of the city barely reached this place—a dead zone. Forgotten.

Perfect.

Taking measured steps, hands loose at my sides, I moved deeper into the shadows. Every movement deliberate and controlled. Baiting my prey until he was exactly where I wanted him.

I wasn’t in a rush. I enjoyed this. Almost as much as I enjoyed watching the light leave their eyes. The trick was letting him believe he had the upper hand.

I felt him before I heard him. The shift in the air as he lurked behind me, the tremor in his breath as he fought to control it. People never realized how loud fear made them. The harder they tried to be quiet, the louder they became.

A two-story wall rose in front of me, halting my progress. I tilted my head back slightly, just enough. Hesitation. An act. The idiot took the bait.

Footsteps. Fast. Confident. Stupid. His voice, thick with arrogance. “You should be afraid.”

A sigh slipped from my lips—more disappointment than anything. Slowly, I turned to face him. Hands still loose at my sides, posture relaxed. But inside? A tightly coiled spring.

Watching.

Measuring.

Calculating.

Every breath he took. The weight shifts in his stance. The slight tremble in his fingers. He was telegraphing his next move before his brain had even made the decision. The Gallo soldier stood there, gun in hand, smirking like a man who thought he was in control.

He wasn’t.

I took him in, my expression unreadable.

The twitch in his trigger finger. His stance—too stiff, too rigid. Muscles locked up with tension. He wasn’t a killer. He was a thug playing pretend.

My hollow laugh echoed around us, empty and cold.

A flinch racked through his body, forcing him to shift unevenly on his feet.

“I wouldn’t be afraid,” I murmured, voice like a blade sliding free of its sheath. “Even if there were ten of you.”

His smirk faltered. Tension crept in, curling at the corners of his eyes. His tongue darted out, wetting his lips. Fear. Just a flicker. Just enough. He fought to school his features, to keep his mask in place. But that’s all it was. A mask.

A child, standing before a lone wolf. And he knew it. Not enough to make him back down. But enough to make him realize that something was very, very wrong.

I took a step forward, anticipation thrumming through my veins.

“Why are you here?” My voice was calm. Measured.

A hunter in its element. As I closed the distance between us, the last vestiges of his bravado cracked.

The real fear began to set in.

The soldier rolled his shoulders, masking his discomfort with bravado. “Maybe we got tired of your family thinking they own this ci?—”

He never got to finish. My fist collided with his nose before the last word left his mouth. The satisfying crunch of cartilage beneath my knuckles sent a sharp thrill through me.

The idiot stumbled back, clutching his face, blood seeping between his fingers. His eyes widened in pain and shock. As if he hadn’t expected me to strike first.

Rookie mistake.

Never underestimate your opponent.

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