Page 18 of Deadly Wrath

Roman.

He’s running like a fucking coward. And nothing pisses me off more, he’s just begging for a bullet.

The only thing worse than a thief is a spineless prick who can’t face his consequences like a real man. As I chase Roman down, the flash of a fiery redhead comes to mind, and a sharp, phantom pain flares in my groin where she landed her kick.

That littleSirena—she’s next on my list of scores to settle, but Roman comes first.

My boots slamming against concrete thud through the warehouse as I close in. His ragged breaths and stumbling steps tell me everything I need to know. He’s already exhausted. When I finally reach him, my rage snaps, and I let loose. My fist crashes into his face, the impact sending him reeling.

Another punch, harder than the first. His head snaps back, blood splattering as my knuckles connect. Roman doesn’t even try to fight back, fucking pussy.

His arms barely come up to shield himself before they go limp at his sides, his body slumping under the weight of my hits. I should stop, but I don’t. Not until he learns exactly what it costs to fuck with me.

Roman collapses, his body crumpling under me, growing less responsive with every hit. I drop onto him, straddling his chest, fists still flying, landing blow after blow. The bastard isn’t even reacting anymore, his head snapping back with every hit, his glassy eyes flinching but unfocused.

It’s almost disappointing. Weak men don’t deserve mercy. But they also don’t deserve my time.

My final punch lands with a sickening thud. Roman’s eyes stay open, vacant, but he’s still breathing.

Pissed, I stand and yank my gun from its holster. He’s making this too damn easy.

One, two, three shots, then I just keep going, round after round.

The gun kicks in my grip, each shot tearing through what’s left of him, making sure there’s nothing left to salvage.

“I think he’s dead, man,” Kota calls over the ringing in my ears. But I don’t take my eyes off Roman’s lifeless body.

“Just making sure,” I mutter, pulling the trigger one last time, just for good measure.

Kota exhales, scanning the bloodbath in front of us. “Clean-up crew is here.”

I rack the slide, clearing the last round from the chamber. The metallic click echoes in the empty space, followed by the clink of the shell casing hitting the concrete. Sliding the safety back on, I holster my gun and turn to Kota.

“Now that this is taken care of, call Nathan. Find out where my stalker is.” I roll my shoulders, shaking out the adrenaline that’s still buzzing in me. Shootouts have that effect on me. “We need to wrap this upand get the hell out of here.”

I pick the lock and slip into her apartment through the front door, letting the door close behind me without a sound. Inside, it’s stale and dusty, like she barely exists here at all. This place is a joke.

The furniture is bare minimum, a beat-up couch shoved in the corner, facing a small TV that looks like it hasn’t been touched in weeks. The space feels cold, not from the temperature but from the complete lack of life. It’s not a home. It’s a safehouse, a place to hide.

My boots barely make a sound as I move across the worn hardwood, heading toward her bedroom. It’s even more depressing. A full-size bed with wrinkled sheets is shoved against one wall like an afterthought, and a single nightstand holds a half-empty glass of water. There’s a wooden chair in the corner that looks more decorative than functional. It’s tiny and looks stiff and uncomfortable.

Alonzo lurks around the old woman’s place while Kota stands guard outside Olivia’s. They’re posted in the hallway, with eyes on both doors but out of sight, so Olivia won’t notice them when she comes back here. Once my stalker gets home, Kota will make sure no one gets in or out of her place without my say.

Meanwhile, I’m here, surrounded by her pitiful excuse for a life she’s built. She thinks she’s clever and can stayone step ahead of me. The thought makes my blood boil. My fists curl at my sides, my nails biting into my palms.

I pace the tiny-ass room, my eyes scan her things, what little there is. It’s like she’s already halfway out the door, prepared to disappear forever. But she’s not leaving until I get what I came for. The idea of her running from me makes me want to rip this place apart, but there isn’t much to destroy, even if I did. She’s mine to deal with.

Olivia Morano has a lot to explain, and I’ll make sure she does. One way or another.

I sink into the only chair in the place, the damn thing creaking under my weight and already hurts my ass to sit in. The apartment is silent, except for the faint hum outside, mainly because the window is cracked, making this place not soundproof and definitely not secure.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, pulling my attention from the broken window. I pull out my phone and glance at the message.

Alonzo:She bolted out and is coming your way. Looks like she’s running from something.

I smirk, my fingers typing out a quick reply.

Me:Probably me. She should be afraid.

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