Page 25 of Cassio (Belles & Mobsters 3)

I glanced over at Margaret. She was on her knees too and we shared a fleeting look. We’ve been doing this together for years now. Benito and Marco King were clueless that a pair of women were slowly disassembling their corrupted little empire. Nobody knew it but a selected few. Benito was dead and his sons would be next.

The name King would cease to exist, if it was the last thing I did. They’d pay for killing my father and hurting so many innocents.

Okay, so this wasn’t my normal job. I worked as an architect at HC Architecture. This was just my side gig. We all needed hobbies. Well, this one was mine. I fucking loved bringing down bad guys.

A snicker came from the men behind us, focusing me on the current situation. My eyes flickered to Margaret who rolled her eyes annoyed. She would have preferred we just bombed the place, but we had to ensure the women they kept in here were taken out of the warehouse before we did that. If they weren’t here, I’d be all on board bombing this place to dust.

Pushing myself up, I surveyed the room. There were four men behind us and four in front of us. We could easily take them out. They were so stupid and conceited; they never even thought to search us. I had a gun and knife strapped to my upper thigh, concealed by my dress. Margaret had a gun. She didn’t like knives.

My lips curled into a smile. I couldn’t help it. Every time she saw a knife, she screeched like she saw a snake; it was comical.

“What’s so funny?” one of the men asked. He seemed to be their “leader.” I scoffed at that. He was some pathetic loser, a low ranking criminal. “You won’t be laughing when Marco King breaks you in,” he drawled in a way that made my skin prickle with disgust. “I heard he loves redheads.”

A nasty grin spread across his face, but I kept my features schooled. I wouldn’t let him see how much I hated the thought of any member of the King family around me. They were disgusting and cruel, true psychopaths. I wouldn’t rest until every single one of them was dead. Starting with Marco King, since dear old daddy was killed by someone else. The rumor was that one of his illegitimate sons killed him - Cassio or Luca King.

It was odd really. Benito and Marco King’s information and pictures were easy to obtain. It was all at our fingertips. But information on Cassio and Luca King was elusive. Not a single picture. Not a single record. Not even a date of birth. Nothing. Just their names. It made me wonder why that was. It was clear that both Benito and Marco enjoyed the spotlight. Probably something empowering about it to those sick assholes. The knowledge that the entire world knew those two were criminals, yet they were so elusive.

Not so elusive anymore. Benito King was dead. Marco would soon follow. The illegitimate sons too - if I could only get my hands on their information. Their names alone didn’t help me in tracking them down.

In my mind, psychopath equaled the Kings. Those two were synonyms. I couldn’t think of one without the other. Though I did come to a conclusion over the years. Psychopaths had many different faces. Race, gender, ethnicity, rich or poor - none of it mattered. Some people would probably call me a psychopath too. I didn’t really give a shit. I killed men that committed unimaginable crimes. That caused suffering to innocent little girls and women. And I fucking loved it. There was a sense of justice to it.

It was time to kill these men.

I scoffed at the stinky, dirty little man that kept leering at me.

“I don’t give a shit what Marco King likes.” I locked my eyes on the lowlife who thought he could add two more women to his collection for Marco King. He preyed on the innocent, helpless women. “But I’ll be sure to let him know you tried your best to deliver us,” I sneered. “Right before I kill him.”

And with that, both Margaret and I sprang into action. Reaching underneath our dresses, the men were more concerned to see a glimpse of our thighs than what we kept underneath it all. Taking a deep breath, the scene that unfolded was a blur. Margaret had her gun and fired shots at the men behind us, hailing bullets on those assholes. I aimed in front of me. Tightening my grip on the handgun, I flicked off the safety and leaped forward. I fired rounds of bullets in quick succession and watched as bodies flew backwards.

A grim satisfaction swam through my veins. These men were the rot of this earth. They deserved to die for all the harm they caused to women and families they have broken. The sounds of Margaret’s and my breathing was the only thing I heard in the hollow of the empty warehouse, bodies of men sprawled over the dirty floor.

Through the years, Margaret and I learned to be in tune. To fight, but still be aware of each other. To keep each other alive.

Another man came up to me, but before he could put his hands on me, I shoved my knee between his legs with all my strength. He hunched over, I grabbed his head with both my hands, then snapped his neck with the loud crack of his bones. No matter how many times I’ve heard it, it still sent chills and creeps crawling down my spine. But also a sense of thrill. Knowing that he’d never hurt another woman felt incredibly good.

A whimper sounded and I followed the sound. The leader of the group tried to crawl away, desperate to save himself. Dropping the dead body onto the ground, I strode barefoot to him with quick steps. Then kneeling down next to him, I studied him. He was gurgling on his blood, his eyes frantic and full of disbelief on me.

“Women?” One word, no need to waste my breath. He knew what I wanted to know.

“Locked,” he whimpered. “Back of the warehouse. Help me.”

I’d much rather gut him and watch him suffer slowly than help him.

“Give me the key,” I demanded. He was insane if he thought I’d help him. He never even attempted to help the women that were locked up. His face was a bloody mess, blood trickling from the side of his mouth.

“Left pocket,” he gurgled.

I rifled through his left pocket and found it. Yanking the keys out, I stood up. Raising my head, I spotted Margaret walking towards me. She held her own against the men in the back, and they all laid dead on the dirty warehouse floor. I was so damn proud of her.

She flicked a glance at the man dying at my feet, his eyes frantically darting between the two of us. The dimmed lights throughout the warehouse made the dead bodies seem ominous, but it would be worse with innocent women’s deaths.

Pointing the muzzle at him, Margaret smiled mockingly. “Any last words?”

She liked to taunt.Must be the Irish in her, I mused.

His eyes came to me, panic in them. “You said you were going to help me,” he muttered.

I shrugged. “No, I didn’t. I asked for the keys.”

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