Page 88 of Bitter Arrangement

“I know.” He reaches into his jacket and pulls a gun from a concealed holster. “But I’ll handle it.” He lets me go and turns to the alley.

I follow him. I know I shouldn’t. This isn’t something I should see, but I have to know Brenden’s okay. He gestures for me to wait further back, but I don’t listen as he stalks down the narrow gap between buildings, his expensive loafers sloshing through stagnant, dirty water.

There are figures down near the dumpsters. Dread fills me, cold and biting. Alexan doesn’t slow as one person turns away and comes toward him.

The man is short. He’s maybe my height, but stocky, with dark buzzed hair and an ugly scar near his chin. “Who the fuck are you?” he demands.

Beyond him, two more men are kicking something. It looks like a burlap sack. But then the sack moves, and I realize it’s Brenden, bloody and battered, curled up in a little stretch of mud.

Alexan doesn’t answer. He darts forward, blindingly fast, and bashes the scarred man in the mouth. The scarred man staggers back, blood spilling from his lips, as Alexan drops to one knee and raises his gun.

He blows the skull off one of Brenden’s attackers. I cover my mouth to keep from screaming. Blood splatters all over the dumpster in a spray of gore and red. The body slumps sideways and falls as the other attacker turns, pulling his own gun, looking terrified.

Alexan moves. He’s sleek and powerful. I’m in awe as he easily shoots the scarred man in the gut, grabs him by the neck, and jerks his head to the side. His spine cracks with an audible snap. Alexan uses the scarred man’s corpse as a shield, shoving it forward.

The last attacker staggers backward to keep the body from landing on him. That leaves Alexan enough time to cover the distance between them. The attacker tries to raise his gun, but Alexan knocks it sideways, knees him in the stomach, elbows him in the throat, and puts his gun against the man’s temple.

“Who do you work for?” Alexan asks.

The man curses at him in rapid Spanish.

“Try again.” Alexan lowers the gun and shoots him in the foot.

The man screams and falls to the ground. Alexan kneels on his throat and rips the gun from his hand. He tosses it aside.

“Who do you work for?” he asks.

“Los Sombras,” the man says, whimpering, tears rolling down his face as his face turns red. “Los Sombras, Los Sombras, por favor, no me mates.”

Alexan leans harder on his neck, making him gag. He stays there for what feels like a very long time until the last Los Sombras attacker fades and slowly dies.

I can’t move. It happened so fast. There were three of them, and now there are none. All dead under Alexan’s vicious and ruthless onslaught. My husband slowly stands, and I see him for what he is.

Magnificent. Brutal. Deadly. Beautiful.

I’ve never wanted him more in my life.

He glances back at me, his gaze dark and hooded.

“Riley?” My brother’s voice snaps me out of it. “Alexan? What the fuck?”

I run to him. Brenden’s covered in filth and blood. One eye is swollen shut, and he’s missing at least one tooth. He spits more blood and groans, hand pressed against his side as he struggles to sit up.

“I got you,” I say, helping him. “Oh, god, Brenden. They were going to kill you.”

“Probably,” he says, his face twisted in agony. “How did you find me?”

“Ricky told us you were back here.” I try to wipe some of the dirt from his face, but I only manage to smear the bloody mud around. “We’ll get you help. The hospital?—”

“No,” Brenden says sharply. “No hospital.”

I look at Alexan, panicking. “We have to do something.”

“We’ll go back to our place,” Alexan says. He goes to Brenden’s other side and takes some of his weight. “We need to hurry, though. Someone heard those gunshots.”

“Fuck,” Brenden whispers as we move. He’s clearly in a lot of pain. “You killed them. They were Los Sombras.”

“And now they’re all dead,” Alexan says. “They can’t talk, and you shouldn’t either.”

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