Page 5 of Unchained
CHAPTER THREE
“Get in the fucking car!”
I looked at the woman and then back at the four men exiting the club into the alley. “Give me your fucking gun first.” I reached through the window and held out my hand as the first bullet whizzed by my ear. “Come on, I know you have one!” A bullet grazed my shoulder, nipping the gray suit I had purchased yesterday to celebrate my last day at work.
“Fuck it, here.” She pulled a 9mm from her purse and slipped it into my hand. The car was sitting at an angle and gave me just enough cover unless I took one directly to the noggin. “Don’t scratch the paint!”
“Right!” I ducked when the next series of shots were fired, and then quickly stood, firing a total of six rounds, instantly killing three of the four men, wounding one. The one managed to move to his elbows, his right hand trying to cover the hole in his side. Shoot at me, and I’m going to shoot back. The difference is, I will hit my target.
The woman looked back at the men lying in the alley. She didn’t seem to be surprised at all. “Nice shooting. Now can I have my gun back so I can reload?”
I tossed the gun onto the passenger seat. “I’m actually more impressed you have ammo to reload than I was with the fact you had a gun in the first place.” If I had to tell the truth, I loved a strong woman, and a woman carrying a gun who knew how to use it was fucking hot as hell. She didn’t need to know that just yet. I adjusted my tie and then approached the wounded asshole who had been shooting at me first. A modest amount of blood pooled next to him on the pavement.
“You know what happened to Suzanne?”
“The fuck are you talking about?” His eyes glazed over a bit, and he moved his hands over the bullet hole. “Who the fuck is Suzanne?”
“Why the hell were you four assholes following me?”
He looked back at his three dead friends. “Streeter sent us. Told us to scare you and maybe rough you up.”
“For what?”
“Isabella Cotour.”
“Fuck, you’ve got to be kidding? All this over a piece of pussy?” I knelt next to the man. The bullet wound to his side wasn’t fatal, something I’d done intentionally. “You tell that asshole if he comes at me again, I will show up at his fucking mansion and put a bullet in his head myself.” I grabbed the gun lying next to the man and shoved the end of the barrel into his bullet wound. He screamed like a little bitch, and then I walked away.
Carlie came out into the alley and screamed when she saw the four men lying on the pavement. She raced back inside. I was fucking dead if I hung around. Everything had changed at that moment. I’d killed three men and wounded one, Carlie seeing me torture the guy I hurt.
“That’s some brutal shit,” the woman said. She was standing next to her open car door. “You have a name?”
“Deacon O’Neil and I’m in a world of shit now.” The D.A.’s office wouldn’t be saving me anytime soon. I’d just become precisely what they were fighting against—violence on Miami streets.
She laughed and rested her arms on the hood of the car. “Your parents give you that name? Must have been church people.”
“Actually, my father was an asshole in a motorcycle club. Thought I’d grow up to be a badass just like him if he gave me a badass name.”
“So, he named you Deacon?” She smiled and moved her hair back behind her ears. I didn’t need to ask to know her name. Both her first and last were Trouble.
I motioned at the three dead guys and the little bitch squirming on the ground. “What do you think? Deacon looks like a badass to me.” Sirens in the distance drew my attention to the end of the alley. “You driving, or am I?”
“Just because I saved your ass doesn’t mean I’m letting you drive my car.” She scoffed and then climbed into the driver’s seat. I opened the passenger door and got in. My first mistake of the night was going into the club without a gun. My second mistake was getting into her car.
“You didn’t save shit.” I closed the door, and she peeled out of the alley, almost slamming into the police cruiser coming from the opposite direction. The cruiser hit a parked car on the side of the road, spun sideways, and hit another vehicle across the street. The cop got out and flipped us off. My life instantly changed.
“Are you sure about that?” She took the next left and slowed to a reasonable person’s speed and then nodded at my shoulder. “You got something on your suit.” She was quite the comedian. I brushed away the mark the bullet had left. “So, who were you screwing?”
My phone buzzed, and I pulled the annoying thing from inside my suit pocket. Streeter’s number appeared. “What’s up, asshole?” I asked. I had Streeter’s name in my contacts because Streeter’s thugs always appeared in court. The asshole would call me regularly, trying to work out deals for his men.
“You killed three of my men.” Despite not being Italian, he sounded like Don Corleone. “I’m going to hunt you down and have my men remove your intestines and then hang you with them from a tree in South Beach. I will instruct the authorities to leave you hanging there for hours after they find you.”
“Fuck you, Streeter.” I glanced at the woman and finally noticed her tight leather pants and blouse that allowed me to see a good portion of her breasts. Her blonde hair, parted on one side, hung just past her shoulders. From the corner of my eye, I could see she had a nice round ass. I was starting to lose it.
“You have both me and the authorities hunting you, Deacon. You’re as good as fucking dead. One of the men you killed just happens to be the police chief’s son.”
“How do you know I’m not hunting you, Streeter? I could be in your fucking backyard right now, watching you.” He went silent for a moment, and a smile crossed my face. The asshole was probably looking out his back window. “Be afraid.”
I ended the call and shoved the phone back into my suit pocket, not in the mood to be lectured by the man who ran the darker side of Miami, though if he’d been telling the truth about the man I killed, I would be shot on sight by the authorities.
