Page 10 of Lovely Venom
Crouched down, eyes peeled through metal bars, I aim my Glock right at the rear left tire and pull the trigger. The rubber explodes, the rim grinding against the pavement, but the driver guns it anyway.
“Damn it!” I rush down the steps to take another shot,but land in the path of a guy who swings a knife at me.
The bouncer.Great.
I duck but catch a vicious slice to my arm. Pushing past it, I hook the guy’s legs to take him down to the ground. His knife clangs against the concrete, and I push it away.
Now, he’s wild-eyed and desperate. He swings at me, hitting my jaw a few times.
“Rage. East side of the building,” I yell into my mic. “Where the fuck are you?”
Something’s wrong.
My new enemy’s gaze flicks to my Glock. Screaming, he grabs for it. Sizing him up, I let him get his grimy hands on my gear. But it’s only to get him close enough to drive my knee into his nose.
With him doubled over in pain, I push him down. His knife is thankfully within reach, so I snatch it from the ground.
“See how you like getting stabbed, asshole.” I jam it into his thigh to keep him down.
It’s not a fatal wound, but it should hurt and bleed like hell. Like mine is. I can’t kill this guy, I just need him out of the way.
The guy howls and grabs his leg. “Bitch.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m leaving.” I back away, holding his knife.
Panting, I wipe my brow, feeling a warm smear of blood on my skin.
Rage pulls up in the van, our frightened intern opening the side door. “What the fuck happened?” Rage hollers at me.
“Havok escaped,” I choke out.Again
But he invited me to go with him.
Come to the dark side.
Again, not unusual for cartels to turn DEA agents.
As if I’d join a criminal organization.
“NYPD’s inbound,” Ruin reports in my ear and rounds the building. “We need to wait for Meyers.”
Great. Another mess. Another botched op.
“I have to ditch this knife. I’ll meet you on the corner,” I say, hiding how annoyed I am from my team.
I jog down the alley and hope to spot a dumpster. The knife has my prints and matches the bouncer’s wounds, who can also ID me.
But a figure steps into my path, his familiar voice stopping me cold. “Jesus Christ, Riot. Do you evernotmake a colossal scene?”
My jaw clenches, taking in the angry and unimpressed gaze of Supervisory Special Agent-in-Charge Greg Meyers, who runs my HIDTA unit.
Even without those three bad dates and a shitty fuck, he’s the only person in the world who grates on my nerves and makes me want to punch a wall more than the criminals I hunt.
“Hello to you, too. Do you see I’m bleeding here?”
Meyers crosses his arms, surveying the wreckage behind him and the ravaged state I’m in.
He hisses, “Get in the car. We need to talk.”
