Page 176 of Desperate Actions

A flood of gunfire rains down like a storm. Bullets tear through the air, shattering bodies, furniture, glass—everything.

I should be looking for my father, my uncles—the men tearing through Santos’ ranks like angels of death.

But I don’t.

Because I see him.

Sammy.

And he is a monster.

Not the man I wake up next to. Not the lover who worships me in the dead of night.

No. This is something else. Something ruthless. Something built from blood and war.

And he is mine. All mine. The realization sends emotion unfurling through me.

His eyes lock onto Santos, his steps unyielding.

Santos sees him, too. Sees death coming for him.

“Come at me, Sammy! Come on!” he snarls, lifting his gun, steadying his grip.

I scream as he fires.

Sammy jerks to the side, the bullet tearing into his shoulder—but he doesn’t stop.

Santos fires again.

The second bullet sinks into his leg, a burst of red spreading across his dark pants.

But he keeps coming.

Sammy never even hesitates.

His lips curl back in something almost like a smile, but there’s nothing human about it.

His body moves like a shadow, like a blade slipping through the cracks of light.

Santos isn’t fast enough. No one is.

Three swipes.

That’s all it takes.

Three precise, brutal slashes from the knife in Sammy’s hand—across Santos’ right thigh, his gut, and then deep—so deep—into his throat.

Santos staggers back, hands clutching his neck, choking, drowning in his own blood.

His eyes widen, wild, unseeing.

It’s over before his brain even catches up.

His body crumples to the floor, twitching.

Already dead.

Sammy doesn’t even watch him die.

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