Page 113 of Ruthless Vengeance
When I’m thoroughly spent and satisfied he has learned his lesson, I take out my gun and fire one last bullet straight through his skull.
The kitchen falls silent, the only sound is my own heartbeat thundering in my ears, as I look down at Cillian’s lifeless body.
Claps sound from behind me. “Fucking finally.”
My head snaps around to see Bruno entering the kitchen, nodding his head.
“Get your guys to clean this up.” I climb to my feet.
Carlos appears beside his brother, his arms crossed over his chest and blood splattered over his face.
“What about the rest of his network?” He looks down at Cillian’s lifeless body. “He surely wasn’t working alone.”
“No, but now that he’s taken care of, his empire will easily start to crumble. So, we’ll take it apart, piece by piece.”
As the brothers fall into a muffled discussion, I pull my phone out of my pocket.
I need to send an update to Andre, letting him know that Cillian has been taken care of.
As I go to open the message app, the screen lights up.
I have half a dozen missed calls and a few texts from my brother asking me where the hell I am.
And I almost drop the damn thing when a voicemail from Clara comes through.
“Shit.”
I told her to only contact me in case of an emergency because I didn’t want to risk Cillian learning about her location.
I press play on the voicemail and hold it up to my ear, but all I can hear is muffled voices in the background. I can’t make any sense of it, which only adds to my concern.
Carlos must notice the shift in my expression as he stalks toward me. “What is it?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“That from your girl?” He glances at my phone as I put it on speaker and play it again for him to hear.
“Something’s wrong.”
He claps me on the shoulder. “Go. Bruno and I will organize the cleanup, and we’ll be right behind you. It looks like the fight isn’t over yet.”
I nod, shoving my phone back into my pocket as I sprint for the door.
If something’s happened to Clara…
I don’t even finish the thought. I can’t.
I just get in my car and drive like hell.
Every secondI spend behind the wheel, visions of what might be wrong play through my mind like a horror movie.
Please God, let them be okay.
My knuckles are slowly turning purple with bruises from knocking out Cillian, but I barely feel the pain as I grip the wheel tighter.
With my foot to the floor, I can make it to the safehouse in less than fifteen minutes.
But I may already be too late.
