I shake my head. “Just want to know how much information you have inside that skull of yours. And hires typically don’t have all that much to spill.”
“Yeah, well, I do what I have to do. Not all of us can just marry some fat bitch and become part of The Alliance.”
Some fat bitch.
My fingers tighten around my brass knuckles as visions of my beautiful Valentine fill my mind.
And this man… This man is here, on a mission to kill people close to me, and he just brought up my wife.
My Angel.
Red seeps across my vision.
“Let him go,” I command.
And they do.
All at once, my three men drop their hold on the man and step back.
I wait. Half a heartbeat, I wait.
Then the man lunges at me. But I meet him halfway.
My left arm deflects his wild swing as I twist my hips, throwing my weight into my right fist as it connects with his side.
His ribs flex under the hit.
The man is fit, but I’m stronger, and I weigh more. So when we go down, I’m on top.
His back smashes into the hard floor, stunning him.
I lift myself onto all fours, like I’m crawling over him. My left hand is planted on the concrete next to his head, bracing my weight, and my knees are on either side of his hips, with my right hand pulled back.
He has enough time to widen his eyes and start to lift his hands in defense before my metal-covered fist slams into his chest, hitting where the ribs and sternum meet, right above his heart.
The man without a name grunts and tries to hit me.
But I hit him again, my fist thudding against his chest.
And I hit him again.
The shock of the collision reverberates up my arm. But all I can feel is anger.
Rage.
I punch him again.
Fury.
He’s trying to push me away. But I slam my fist right back down, right into that same spot.
A tendril of panic crawls up my spine. Because this man knows about my wife. He knows about my Valentine.
And no one will ever touch her.
I arch my shoulder back and bring my fist down with all my might, feeling the first crack.
Untamed violence consumes me. And I strike him.
Again and again, I slam my knuckles over his heart, relishing in the crunches that reach my ears.
His knees hit my back. He thrashes. He tries to stop me.
But he can’t. Won’t. Because he’s two hits away from his last breath.
I let the fear of failure fuel my next hit, and his ribs finally snap away from his sternum.
I don’t look anywhere else. I just stare at the man below me.
Then I lift my fist for the final time. And I think of my sweet Angel, think of my need to keep her safe, as I hit him once more—as hard as I can.
The give is instant.
With the ribs no longer connected to the center of his chest, they bend with the hit. The jagged edge where they broke away from his sternum causes the skin stretched across to rip open. But I keep pushing. I keep shoving my fist into his chest. Not stopping until the sharp edges of his ribs pierce into the pumping organ below.
Breathing heavily, I pull my fist away and lean back until I’m kneeling upright over his corpse.
I always wondered if I could do that.
I tip my head to the side and watch as deep red arterial blood pools in the crevice over his heart and the organ squeezes one final time.
The sound of someone vomiting cuts through the silence.
Some of the men make sounds of disapproval as they drag the second man back a step, away from his regurgitated dinner splattered on the floor.
I sigh, and placing my hand below the blood-filled wound, I push myself up and away from the corpse.
I open and close my fist around the soiled brass knuckles, loosening my fingers, as I step up to Living Room Guy. “Guess you’re the one that will do the talking.”
CHAPTER 65
Living Room Guy
Jesus fucking Christ.
Dominic Fucking Gonzalez stares at me with his cold blue eyes.
I try to step back, to flinch away. But these fuckers don’t budge.
Dom steps closer, and I have to fight not to puke again.
He…
I fight off a gag.
He just fucking punched his way through Hendry’s chest.
And he did it without making a fucking sound.
“I’ll tell you!” I cry out before he can come any closer. “Our-our handler is a dude who goes by the name Casey. His number always changes, but he’ll text my phone tomorrow to check in.”
Dom nods once and flexes his hand around the bloody brass knuckles. “I’m assuming there’s some sort of confirmation code so he knows it’s you.”
I keep my eyes on his hand. “Keep me alive, and I’ll type it in myself.”