Page 156 of Vicious Games

“Come. Let me get you some ointment for that,” he says, turning toward the plane.

“I’m not going anywhere. Not until I know my friend is okay.”

“Your friend?” he repeats, raising an eyebrow. Then he swivels his gaze to his men, cold and precise. “What is she talking about?”

“We trailed her, just like you said, Boss,” Lev answers. “But she was in the car with the Romano bitch.”

His jaw tightens and I almost feel the air around us grow colder.

“Where is she now?”

“In the trunk, Boss,” the other goon offers, clearly unaware of the mood his boss is in.

“Show me.”

He strides to the back of the car, my gaze following him, as tension knots my stomach. When the trunk pops open and Stella doesn’t immediately jump out in attack, something inside me breaks.

“Is she okay? Is my friend alright?” I ask anxiously, only to be met with silence

“We got her good,” the man beside him says with pride, practically admiring the damage he caused.

The boss doesn’t respond, just stares into the trunk.

“Who shot her?” he finally asks.

“I did, Boss,” the man says, puffing up with self-satisfaction.

“I see.”

And before I can even blink, the boss draws his gun and fires, point-blank into the man’s head.

Blood sprays as his body drops like a puppet with its strings cut off.

I don’t scream.

I don’t even move.

Because in that moment, I understand exactly what kind of man I’m dealing with.

If he doesn’t bat an eye about killing his own men, what will he do to me?

I watch on pins and needles as the boss bends down and, with surprising tenderness, lifts Stella from the trunk.

“Clean this mess up, Lev,” he snaps to the only man left standing.

“Yes, Boss.”

“Kira, come with me,” he orders and starts walking toward the stairs of the jet, Stella limp in his arms.

I don’t have the strength or courage to correct him and tell him that my name is Frances, not Kira.

It wouldn’t matter anyway. Wherever he’s taking Stella, I’m going too.

But just as we near the stairs, headlights cut through the darkness, a familiar SUV barreling toward us.

Lucky.

“Deal with that,” the dark-haired man commands.

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