Page 3 of Vicious Savage

Sisely foldedthe money and tucked it into her purse, before turning to her left to make her way to her parked car. She’d barely taken two steps when four masked men burst through the doors of the bank and onto the pavement, waving about shotguns. Bystanders scattered like dust, screaming as they ran in opposite directions and across the road when they realized the drama unfolding before their eyes wasn’t part of a movie shoot.

But Sisely stopped short, a hand going to her chest in surprise and horror. She was absolutely still, frozen on the screen. One of the men who limped out of the bank removed his mask, and as he did, he spotted Sisely standing watching him. They made eye contact; something flickered in his eyes, but it was minute, before he lifted his shotgun, aimed it at her chest, and sent a shot blasting through her with such fury that she flew back like a stretched rubber band and landed on her back. The man was dragged away by the arm by another, and they climbed into a waiting blue van and sped off with a screech.

Sisely lay perfectly still on the pavement. Not even a twitch. The one concession to come out of that horrendous ordeal was that she died quickly.

3

LUNA

Iknow I’m being followed. It’s too much of a coincidence otherwise. The same man that was acting all weird on me in the supermarket a couple of months ago is sitting with another man in a car outside the cafe, trying to look inconspicuous. But I can see the underhanded glances they keep throwing my way. They may not know it, but I have eyes everywhere. Even when it seems I’m not looking your way, my side eye is working its magic. What not many people notice about me is the way my eyes slant slightly, which gives me a 360 degree view of all that’s around me. So I could be looking straight ahead, but you’d better believe I can see you from the corner of my eye without much effort.

It was the same way I caught him the night he followed me into the supermarket. He tried his hardest to appear like he was just some random guy off the street, but he failed terribly. Firstly, because I shopped at that supermarket at a particular time on a specific day of the week, which means I literally saw the same people over and over again. Which was only a handful — not many people choose to shop at their local supermarket at eleven pm on a Friday night. But I do. That was the first red flag. The second red flag was the way he kept throwing surreptitious glances my way when he thought I wasn’t looking. Again — side eye.

I didn’t know who he was. Police? Cartel? Axe murderer? I’d had my share of stalkers over the years, but this one gave me an odd vibe. So I approached him.I. Approached. Him.I’m nothing if not courageous. Some would say stupidly so.

I’d pretended I couldn’t reach something on the top shelf and required assistance, since he was big, built like a beast. He graciously helped and I struck up a conversation with him. The look of surprise on his face told me it was the last thing he expected of me, but that’s what I did. I took control of the situation before he could. And I steered the conversation the wayIwanted, so I would only give him what I wanted him to have.

My engineering the whole encounter worked in my favor in many ways. The first being, I noticed the bulge in the back of his waistband when he reached for the jar I was after. A gun. A man with a gun. That was never a good thing in my case. Hot, maybe, but still never good.

And then as he stood in the checkout behind me and we made small talk, I passed through the cashier and walked rapidly toward the exit with a wave of my hand, making a quick get away before he could catch up with me. That was the last time I saw him. Until today. Sitting in that car across the road watching me through the glass window of the cafe. I’d made a quick exit through the kitchen when they weren’t looking. What these men don’t know won’t hurt them; I never go anywhere without an exit plan.

The taxi driver looks at me in the rear view mirror, smarting because we haven’t moved in fifteen minutes. Like he has anywhere else to be.

“Lady, we going to sit here all day?” he asks, throwing up his hands like a child having a tantrum. Any louder and he’ll attract the wrong kind of attention towards us, so I give him a furious look and put my phone down.

“The meter’s running, isn’t it? You could sit here all day and you’d still get paid, so why are you complaining?”

It seems to be the reminder he needs, because he sighs quietly and settles back into his seat. I look back toward the cafe as the two men emerge, and I can almost see fire coming out of their nostrils. The one who tailed me previously has donned a neutral expression, but the handsome newcomer with the scruff of light hair lining his strong jaw is fuming. He doesn’t need to say anything or act in any particular way to show his anger; the hard set of his eyes says it all. He mutters something to his companion as they near the car, who just smirks and gets behind the steering wheel.

“There,” I say, catching the driver’s eye in the rear view mirror. “Follow that car, but at a distance.”

The driver emerges from four cars behind the men’s parked car and leaves a healthy distance between us as we follow them down the road then hit the freeway. It looks like he’s done this before, because he weaves expertly through the traffic and hits the road with a few cars between us. I’m like a proud mother hen at his expert handling of the car as the assailed becomes the assailant.

We follow the car across the city, a leisurely pace behind them, and they seem none the wiser as we cross into the other side of town and they pull into a motel carpark.

“What now?” The driver asks me as we glide to a stop outside the motel.

From my vantage point, I watch the two men walk up to a first floor room they enter with a key. It looks like they’re familiar with the place and they know their way around, so I assume this is where they’re staying.

“Now, you wait; I won’t be long.”

“You sure you know what you’re doing, lady?”

I have one had on the door handle and my eyes focused on the driver in the rear view mirror. I shoot him a cocky smile. He’s not going anywhere if I don’t pay him; he’ll wait.

“As long as you wait, I’m good.”

He gives me a short nod and looks like he’s about to settle in for a nap as I open the door and make my way into the motel.

4

ATTILA

There’s a reason why they call me Attila the Hunter.

I have a sixth sense that could inspire bloodhounds. And if I fixate on something, I don’t stop until I achieve the outcome I’m after.

That’s why Caleph Rojas, my best friend since we fell into our teens, made me his right hand man. And put me in charge of hunting down Coyin Castillo, a task he couldn’t entrust to anyone else. Having said that, I still don’t have a handle on the ruthless cartel leader.

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