Page 111 of Ruthless Vengeance
We've gone over the plan twice, so there should be no surprises, and definitely no mistakes.
We have one shot at this, and I don’t plan on wasting it.
What I can’t understand is why Cillian ishere.
He doesn’t hide in places like this unless he’s either running from something or baiting a trap.
And Cillian Moore doesn’t run.
I slide out of the driver’s seat and pull my gun from my waistband. The weight of it in my hands familiar and grounding. My boots hit the gravel, and I stalk forward, nodding at Vince who’s watching the back entrance through a sniper’s scope.
The minute he gives me the all-clear, we move.
Glass shatters and doors fly off their hinges as gunfire cracks through the still night air like a whip.
But I barely notice the noise.
I shove my way through the house, firing on instinct as Cillian’s men come at me.
Bodies drop left, right, and center, some from my own bullets and some from Enzo and Jax’s who flank me.
The hallway narrows, and one of Cillian’s men appears in the doorway at the end.
Before he can even aim his weapon, Enzo fires a shot through his eye, and he crumbles to the ground.
Just as quickly as the fight started, the gunshots turn into echoes ringing in my ears, and the house falls silent.
I turn to Jax. “Remember your orders.”
He nods, rolling his eyes. “Don’t shoot the Irish bastard.”
I huff a quick laugh before turning dead serious.
“He’s mine.”
We stalk down the hallway, glancing in every room we pass to make sure no more of Cillian’s men are hiding.
The house smells of mold and stale cigarettes. Broken furniture and old food containers litter the floor, no doubt left over from squatters. The place is a fucking shithole, which is exactly why Cillian chose it.
No one would ever think to look for someone as wealthy and powerful as him in a place like this.
But I know better.
At the end of the hall is the kitchen, and sitting at an old, red-topped diner style table with a cigarette dangling from his mouth, like we’re all just here for a fucking tea party, is Cillian.
He looks up at the sound of my footsteps and a smirk tugs at his cracked lips.
“Well, well.” He flicks ash onto the floor. “Didn’t expect a welcoming committee.”
“Get up.” My gun is aimed straight at his face.
He doesn’t move.
Instead, he leans back in his chair and takes a long drag on his cigarette, his eyes flicking over me.
“This is a bold move, De Luca.Yesureye’vethought it through?”
He doesn’t look particularly annoyed or surprised by my sudden appearance or the fact that I took out at least a dozen of his men. If anything, the fucker looks amused.
