Page 19 of Devour
Does she think I can’t protect her? No one touches her but me. And I’ll be damned if I let anyone else hurt her. “Stay here until I get back. Don’t leave this room. Understood?”
She nods quickly. Her luscious brown hair is a tousled mess like she just rolled out of bed after a thorough fucking, which isn’t far from the truth.
A strand falls across her face, and I have to resist the urge to tuck it behind her ear. The haze of orgasm is gone from her eyes, replaced by fear. I give her one last hard look to make sure she understands.
Then I stride across the room to open the door. From the hallway, chaos slams into me—panicked screams, the pounding of feet, glass shattering somewhere down the corridor.
Over it all, someone’s shouting, trying to restore control, but the fear is thick in the air. I reach down, yank my Glock 43from the Velcro holster at my ankle, and step into the hallway, weapon raised and ready.
“What the fuck is going on?” I growl, pushing forward. Workers rush past me in blind panic, ducking and weaving.
Some are crying. Others are bleeding. Smoke lingers like a bitter fog. The metallic scent of blood mixes with gunpowder and burnt upholstery.
Axel crouched near the doorway, half-covered behind an overturned table, pistol drawn. His face is tight, jaw clenched.
“They came from the street,” he says quickly. “Didn’t even slow down. Just opened fire and vanished.”
“Anyone hit?” I ask, eyes scanning the mess.
“Couple of staff near the entrance. Dominic too—took one to the arm. Five of our men took a hit, one dead.”
“Fuck.”
I glance to the side. Dominic slumped against the wall, blood soaking through his sleeve. A blonde woman, one of the workers, by the look of it, is pressing down on his wound. His face is pale but steady. He gives me a tight nod. He’s hurt, but still standing.
He’s already trying to get up, but the blonde tries to stop him. Tough bastard—if he’s not dead, he doesn’t stay down for long.
“Who did this?” I growl, though I already have a damn good idea.
“It was the fucking Italians,” Dominic grits out. “I recognized one of the shooters—Finn Gallagher. That cocky half breed second in command of theirs.”
Fuck. I didn’t think they’d back up their warning with this kind of heat so soon. I underestimated them. Vito. This has his name written all over it. Axel appears beside me, eyes burning.
“I’ll gather the boys. We’ll hit them back. Hard.”
“No… we’ll hit them where it fucking burns,” I say, voice silted with rage. “We’ll intercept their shipment.” “I need Alessio?”
“I’ll call him,” Dominic says, reaching for his phone with his good arm.
I glance down at him. “Ask about the Italian, when’s their next shipment?” A beat passes before Dominic speaks again.
“He says a big one’s arriving in three weeks.”
“Good. That’s where we start. We’ll hijack the shipment. If they still want war, we shut everything down—ports, borders, incoming flights, scheduled cargo. No product in, no money out. We squeeze them until they choke.”
I pause, voice low and sharp. “By the time their money starts to dry up, they’ll be more open to negotiation.” For now, we lie low. Stay quiet. And when they start thinking we’ve gone soft—”
I grit my teeth, fury pulsing behind my calm. “—we hit them where it hurts the most.” Axel’s already moving, barking orders to the men.
“Clean this place up. No blood, no shells, no goddamn prints. Sweep it top to bottom before the cops get here. And someone gets the damn footage scrubbed.”
“Don,” Axel says sharply. “You can’t be here when the uniforms roll in. You’ve got too much to lose now. Let us handle it.”
He’s right. I can’t afford to be caught here. I’ve built too many business fronts, clean books, appearances. I look at both my men. Bloodied, but loyal. Already moving like clockwork.
“You run it,” I tell Dominic. “This is yours until I get back. Keep everyone quiet. If one name leaks, I’ll burn the snitch myself.”
“You got it, boss,” he says, already pulling his phone. “We’ll send a message before sunrise.”
