Page 58 of Dangerous Deceit

The fake smile falls from my expression, replaced by darkness. He wants a chance.A fucking chance.I grit my teeth and stare down at Patrick, and finally, his pupils narrow. He knows he’s in danger, but it’s too late now. My hand is already on the gun.

“You lost your chance when you laid your hands on my wife,” I say.

Before he can open his mouth, I hammer him to the ground. I press my shoe to his throat, crushing his windpipe while he chokes, sputtering over my shoe’s leather. He grabs at the sole, and I use my knife to pin his hand to the ground, nailing him to the cracked asphalt. He wails like an animal, and I chuckle. For the hell of it, I knock the back of my gun into his forehead. The contact point swells like a horn. He whimpers, and my chest expands with power.

“Tell me,” I say. “Who are you working for?”

“What the fuck?” he manages to say. “I-I-I just want to sell, man.”

I should interrogate him more. Torture him. Get him to spill his guts. But I take another knife and stab it into his stomach, twisting it around like his guts are soup. He gurgles like a fucking baby choking on its own spit, and rage flares through every single nerve inside of me. He sucks in a breath, wheezing desperately, and I don’t know why I didn’t kill him as soon as I laid my eyes on him tonight. There’s no joy in this murder. He’s a fucking insect, and every heartbeat in my body wants to crush him. All I want is to see his life flutter from his eyes. I don’t even care if I enjoy it. I want to kill him. Right. Fucking. Now.

Nice.Vi told me to be nice. I can be nice.

I press the gun’s muzzle to his forehead.

“P-please,” he stammers.

“This is for Vivian,” I murmur.

I shoot him in the forehead. The shot echoes faintly, dulled by the silencer, and a splatter of blood strikes my cheeks. My blood vessels widen, letting that comforting heat simmer through me.

I look down at the piece of shit lying on the floor. Lifeless blond hair. Blood streaming down his temples. Reflective white teeth. He’s a useless corpse now, just like when he was living.

I store my gun in my holster. Vi is going to be pissed at me for killing her cousin, but this is worth it. Fuckers like him don’t deserve to live. And when I took her as my wife, I made an oath to protect what’s mine. As much as I wanted to make him scream and beg for fucking mercy, I made a choice to honor my wife. And if she wants me to be nice? So fucking be it.

Nice is giving him an easy death.

CHAPTER 26

VI

It’s almost midnight.Caffeine pumps in my veins, each twitch of energy like another volt of electricity. My thoughts are wild. Apparently, our client didn’t want anything to do with Legendary Analysis, so Uncle Jay is making me hunt for better information.

But the office is locked, which means I’m searching in places Iknowdon’t have any answers.

I poke through dresser drawers. Go through pockets. Open nightstands. Peek under the mattresses. Even go through his boxes of clothes and whisky. But there’snothing,and in the back of my mind, I’m starting to wonder if Kenzo is right, that Patrick really did rape me. And if so, what does that say about Uncle Jay? The more I think about it, the better it seems to keep Golden Honor Firearms a secret. Kenzo is supposed to be in a meeting with them right now, and by withholding the information from Uncle Jay, I have control. If I decide to go against Kenzo, then maybe I’ll tell our client myself. Make an independent deal without them, so Patrick and Uncle Jay will have to askmefor help.

I adjust the phone against my ear.

“How does the financial controller of the mafia havenothingof value in his apartment?” Uncle Jay asks, his voice crackling over the speaker.

“Look,” I snap. “His office is locked. I tried lock-picking it, but it’s digital?—”

“Digital? Have Patrick look at it.”

I tap my fingers on the phone in irritation. I don’t like being with Patrick by myself; Uncle Jay knows that. And now that I’m married, I doubt my husband would like that either.

“You have to bring him,” I say.

“I’m not his babysitter?—”

“No, you’re his father!” I interrupt. “You need to?—”

The door at the front of the penthouse beeps; someone is coming inside.

“Gotta go.” I hang up as the door slams open. It’s Kenzo, but this time, there’s no singing. It’s just the clicks of his shoes and the hum of his breath. He fixes himself a drink in complete silence.

My stomach clenches. I’ve seen Kenzo’s switch to calculated silence a few times before, but I don’t know what it means right now.

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