Page 3 of Betrayal (Corrupt Empire 1)

Self-preservation made me freeze. If I alerted him to my presence, it wouldn’t help anyone. I ignored the voice in my head telling me the real reason I couldn’t move had more to do with how awestruck I was by the gun-wielding stranger.

Thanks, brain. Not!

“Look, can’t we put all of that behind us? It’s been over twenty years,” Dad said.

The angel’s expression didn’t change. Cold, almost calculating. It sent chills running down my spine. Terrifying and beautiful at the same time. A deadly combination.

“No.”

There was no other warning. Two shots fired in quick succession. The sound rang in my ears. My parents collapsed one after the other. I put a hand over my mouth, stifling a scream. He’d shot them right between the eyes. There was no question in my mind. They were dead.

Dead.

The word stuck in my head.

Dead.

Dead.

Blood poured out of the back of their heads, pooling on the wooden floor beneath them. Their chests were still, unmoving. Tears pricked at my eyes.

My parents were dead.

Dead.

I looked at the angel again. He stared right at me. The surprise in his eyes faded after a second. I fell back onto my hands as I tried to scramble away.

“No, please,” I whispered.

He didn’t raise the gun to me. His lip twitched. I backed up right into the counter behind me, putting my hands up.

“Please don’t kill me.”

In five long strides, he stood before me. His very presence made my heart hammer erratically in my chest. I could hear it loud and clear in my ears. Up close, I got a real sense of just how tall and well-built he was, muscles rippled under his suit jacket as he moved.

“I’m not going to kill you,” he said, his voice quiet. “But you and I are going to have a little talk.”

I nodded slowly. I’d just seen him murder my parents. The likelihood of him letting me go was slim to none. I doubted he’d counted on having a witness.

He squatted down until we were eye level. Those grey eyes cold and yet so beautiful.

“You shouldn’t have seen this.”

“Why… why did you kill my parents?” I whispered, almost unable to get the words out.

“They weren’t good people, Avery.”

“How do you know my name?”

He cocked his head to the side.

“Everyone knows who you are.”

He wasn’t wrong. I’d been photographed countless times by the press and had my name plastered all over social media. Still, he didn’t seem like the type of person to browse tabloids.

Why did he know who I was?

Why did he do this?

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