Page 48 of Vendetta
Ryder’s posture shifted just slightly.“Nope,” he said, on high alert now.
Deva was already moving toward the back hallway, hand going to the pistol tucked at her hip.Margot stood, eyes narrowing toward the front windows.“Could be nothing,” she said.“It could be someone checking gates.But let’s check it out.”
Ryder nodded to one of the Hounds.“You and Hopper take a walk.Eyes open.Don’t engage unless they do.”
Dylan stood near the hallway, arms crossed, trying to quiet the nervous drum in her chest.The quiet around her felt… wrong.It was too still.
And then she heard it.Just the faintest sound, like a floorboard giving beneath cautious weight.A whisper of movement from the side of the house.She turned, pulse spiking, and stepped back into the living room.
Margot glanced up, sharp.“What?”
Dylan didn’t speak.Just pointed a finger toward the hallway.
That was enough.Margot was up in an instant, gun in hand, her gaze darting toward the shadows.Deva followed suit, silent but focused.Jade set her phone down carefully, motioning Dylan to walk in her direction.
A man burst from the hallway, fast and terrifying like a vision from a nightmare.She recognized him fromNed’s as one of his uncle’s men.He had a footlong blade in his hand.His hard, dark eyes were onher.Of course.Eli had sent men to kill her.
Jade grabbed Dylan by the arm, hauling her in the direction of the kitchen.
Behind them, Margot fired.The shot rang through the house.Dylan whipped around to watch the injured biker stumble, gripping his bleeding side.But he didn’t go down.
A second crash had Dylan jumping where she stood.She was close enough to the kitchen to see the back door explode inward and a larger biker, who she also recognized from her uncle’s MC, roared in.Fear rooted Dylan to the spot until Ryder slammed into the man mid-charge, the two men crashing into the counter hard.A bottle shattered as Ryder drew his knife.The brawl exploded into fists and fury, flashes of silver.
“Deva!”Margot shouted, but it was already too late.The man bleeding all over the floor slammed into Deva hard as she tried to block him.The impact sent her crashing into the pool table, hitting the floor so loudly Dylan winced.
“Dylan -- the drawer!”Margot barked, snapping off another shot that grazed the biker’s shoulder but didn’t stop him.
Dylan yanked open the drawer at the side of the pool table, and there it was.Margot’s backup Glock, just where she said it would be earlier.Gripping it with both hands, Dylan aimed it at the man’s head.Her heart was racing, her arms trembling, but she held it steady.Her gaze locked with his, just as she’d seen her uncle do a hundred times.
The biker scoffed from where he’d landed on the floor.“Safety’s on,” he said as he started pulling himself up from the floor.
“There’s no safety on that gun,” Margot told her calmly, her own firearm trained on him.
He made it to his feet, staggered toward her.Blood seeped through his shirt, fury burning in his eyes.
Dylan aimed the gun at his face, not moving otherwise.Fear battled with the anger swelling with her, and fear was losing.Her fucking uncle had tried to traffic her, and when that hadn’t worked out for him, he’d sent these men to kill her.
“Don’t,” Dylan said, voice low and even.
He stood on unsteady feet, losing a lot of blood.His gaze still locked with hers before flicking to the Glock in her hands and back.
The fight wasn’t this random Cottonmouth’s anymore.It never had been.
Dylan’s hands tightened on the grip, the adrenaline burning off just enough for her fury to rise.“He sent you to killme?”she asked, her voice trembling, but not from fear.
The biker didn’t answer at first.His lips parted like he was thinking about denying it, might spin some story.Slowly, he sneered instead.“You ratted him out,” he spat.“You ran to the wrong side.”His breath was ragged.“That delivery guy.What the hell did you thinkhewas gonna do?Save you?What’d youthinkwould happen?”
Margot stepped in behind him, her gun raised.“You’re about two seconds from finding out what happens when you threaten someone in Mercy.”
“He was one ofyou,” Dylan snapped.“You called him Tank.”
The biker hadn’t expected that.The name stunned him, halted the bravado in his eyes for just a second.
“My uncle betrayed him,” she went on, every word deliberate.“Hung him in the woods for daring to speak out.Left him to die.”
“That’s not…” he started, shaking his head.“That’s not what happened.I heard that shit.Tank ran off like a fucking coward.”
“No,” Dylan said, her voice low but unwavering.“He didn’t go anywhere.He crawled out of his grave, still wearing the scar the rope gave him.He took a new name.He’s Vendetta now.”
