Page 27 of Sins He Taught Me (Bratva Crime Syndicate 3)

Dad hasn’t been shot. The man holding me coughs once and stumbles, his hand with the gun shaking suddenly. His grip on me loosens and I lunge towards Dad, throwing myself in his arms.

The Hulk is halfway through the act of spitting up blood when a second shot hits him.

I whirl around to see who’s shooting. Standing in the open doorway is a man dressed in black from head to toe, wearing a ski mask to conceal his identity, and dark sunglasses on top of that.

It’s the other creep from the grocery store.

Terrified, I cower further into Dad’s arms, watching as the Morozov enforcer collapses on the kitchen floor. There’s an awful silence for a few long seconds. The echo of gunshots rings in my ears.

“Who the fuck are you?” Dad demands of the masked man.

He says nothing at all. Barely even glances in our direction.

Instead, he walks over to the dead man in our kitchen and draws something in the blood seeping from the man’s body.

It’s a set of scales.

Immediate recognition hits me like a train.

“The Justice Killer,” I whisper.

When he’s finished, the vigilante I’ve heard so much about puts his gun away and takes off through the back door, disappearing as quickly as he showed up.

I don’t realize how hard I’m shaking until we’re left alone in the kitchen. I immediately dive for the phone.

“What are you doing?” Dad asks.

“Calling the police! Two nutcases just broke into our house.”

“Let’s think about this, Vic. This guy is one of Morozov’s men.”

“No, Dad!” I snap harshly. “I don’t care. There’s a dead guy on our kitchen floor. I have to call the police.”

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