Page 132 of Pack of Crooks
“What the fuck?” Tristan shouts. The bed jostles as he stands.
I flip on the light and sit up, watching Tristan’s focus jump between me and Kill. His eyes widen with recognition as he takes in the alpha and surprise flashes across his face, followed by anger.
“Tristan, Tristan, Tristan,” Kill says, tsking. “You’ve been a naughty boy.”
“Hazel? What the?—”
But Ezra is there, a gun to Tristan’s head. “Don’t say my omega’s name,” he snarls so viciously my eyes widen.
Tristan freezes for a second, glances at me, then bursts out laughing. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. You’re withthispack?”
“There’s nothing funny about this,” Maddox says, strolling out of the bathroom and placing his gun at Tristan’s back.
The alpha goes completely still. A trickle of fear working across his face. He glares at Kill. “And what about you?” Tristan asks him. “Are you going to hold me at gun point too?”
Kill pulls out a switchblade. “Nah, I’m just going to stab you.”
“What about me?” I ask.
My pack glances at me as I get off the bed, approaching Tristan. The closer I get, the more my pack growls in warning. Their protective sides send warmth shooting through me from head to toe. God, it feels good to be loved.
I stop a few feet away from Tristan. “Do you know who I am?”
“A slu—” Ezra slams the butt of the gun into his skull. Tristan shouts and staggers, glaring at him. “Fuck, Ezra!”
“You should probably be careful calling me names,” I tell Tristan, turning and holding up my hand for Kill’s knife. Kill’s eyebrows hit his hairline, but he hands it over with a grin. “Thanks, babe.” I turn back to Tristan. “I guess I should rip the Band-Aid off. I’m your daughter.”
“Bullshit,” he snarls.
I shrug. “You can believe whatever you want, but it’s true.” I study the blade. “Not that it matters, though. I’m not going to stop them from killing you.” I slowly lift my gaze to meet his. “You hurt my pack.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
Scoffing, I shake my head. “We both know that’s a lie.” Stepping toward him, Kill close on my heels, I hold the knife to his face, right against his cheek. He makes to jerk away, but Maddox tosses his gun on the bed and holds him in place as the blade digs in just enough to draw some blood. “Like I said, youhurt my pack,” I continue, holding his filthy gaze. “And no one hurts my pack and gets away with it.”
“Hey, sunshine?”
“Yeah?”
“You should probably gag him.”
“Oh, silly me.” I glance at Kill and his smirk is practically feral. He takes out a pool ball from the bag he’d brought with him and a roll of tape. Stepping back, I let him take my place. Tristan fights him, but Kill manages to shove the ball into his mouth and tape it shut.
Kill turns. “Ladies first,” Kill says, bowing slightly.
I fight a laugh at the ridiculousness of him bowing to me while his abuser tries not to choke on a pool ball, but that’s my pack. A little unhinged. A lot cute. And wholly mine.
“Where were we?” I ask, tipping my head as I ease closer to the piece of shit alpha. His eyes are wide, cheeks bulging with the ball inside of his mouth. It has to hurt. Not enough though. Not yet.
“Oh, right.” I lift the blade to his face and flicking my wrist, carve a deep X, right over his left eye. Tristan screams, but barely any sound escapes the brutal gag Kill put him in. The blade cut through his eyelid. I press a little harder, hoping it rips apart his eye, then finish the last slash before moving to the next side.
I make the same cut, leaving behind violent red gashes that weep blood. The pool ball muffles his sounds of agony as I step back to admire my handywork.
“Very Picasso. I like it,” Kill says, running his thumb over my cheek to mark me with his scent. “May I have the knife?”
I hand it to him and step back.
“You know,” he begins, using the flat of the knife to slap Tristan. “I used to wonder what made you do it.”
