Page 78 of The Devil's Playground

Dumb fucks. They always underestimate me, don’t they?

“I just want to reach in my pocket. Come on, Alfieri. You don’t think I got a piece in here, do you?” I throw my suit jacket away from me just enough to reveal my empty holster while still keeping the gun hidden behind my back concealed. “You were right. I came as quick as I could. I forgot my gun, but I do have this.”

He doesn’t stop me from slipping the fingers of my left hand into my pocket, retrieving one of my coins. I show it to him.

“A coin?” Suddenly amused—and still not thinking I’m capable of doing anything other than rolling a pair of dice—he lowers his piece. Good. “What the fuck do you think you can do with that?”

“Let’s flip it. Heads, you get Nic. Tails? She’s mine, and you never bother her again. We walk out of here and forget this happened,” I lie. “Same as if you win. Come on, Alfieri. I know your kind. A Dragonfly first, yeah? You gonna fuck up Libellula’s truce with the devil of Springfield over some pussy?”

If he won’t, I definitely am.

I hope to fucking hell that Nicolette knows better than to believe anything I’m saying. Alfieri was right. I’m a walking mouth. If I can use words first, I will, but sometimes they’re just not enough.

I raise my eyebrows at the fucker who thought he could take the only woman I’ve ever loved like this.

He shrugs. He’s as much of a liar as I am, but I let him think I’m dumb enough to be fooled as he says, “Sure. Go on. Flip it.”

I do.

The cocky bastard’s eyes trace the arc of my quarter. I know he couldn’t care less which side it lands on. The proof is in how, even as the coin spins, he’s lifting his gun once more, aiming it back at my chest. There’s no way in hell he’ll let me have her.

Fair enough. I don’t plan on letting him have her, either.

Will he shoot me the second the coin hits the ground? Probably. Good thing I start to react before he did.

He’s watching the coin, so sure he has the upper hand that, for a split second, that’s the only thing in this basement that has his attention.

Fucking moron. Alfieri never should’ve taken his eyes off of me. He also never should’ve taken my word that I didn’t have a gun just because my holster was empty.

His gun is still only halfway to position when I reach behind me, yanking my gun out, and aiming right at him.

I’m not a marksman. I don’t have the practice with my Beretta that Link has with his Sig Sauer. When he made an example of Twig Mathewson, shooting him in the cock first, then the head… that was for an audience. Fuck that. Alfieri hurt Nic. Just when I promised her that she was safe, he shattered that illusion, stealing her away from me—and he hurt her.

A Beretta M9 holds fifteen rounds. Despite rarely firing it, I spent the last ten years in guns. An irresponsible gun owner is a dead gun owner. I take care of my shit, and that includes checking how many bullets are in my magazine.

I empty five of them into Alfieri. Right to the chest so that there’s no hope of him surviving. One of the first lessons I learned when I started out in the life was that a sharp mind and fast tongue might get me far, my quick fingers even farther, but if I decide to fire my piece?

I’m no cop. I’m not trying to incapacitate anyone. Sinners shoot to kill.

And that’s exactly what I do.

Blood sprays everywhere when the first bullet tears straight through his chest and out his back, and I’m grateful that Nic is crumpled up on the floor, far enough away from the spatter that it barely hits her. His chest so much fucking Swiss cheese, Alfieri flops upon impact of each bullet. He’s dead with the first hit—a chest shot that hit his heart—but his body takes a few seconds to catch up. The other four bullets are simply a mix of insurance and revenge.

Tough guy thought I was an easy mark. Like so many others, he was wrong.

I don’t often let my rage out of its cage, but I make an exception for the monster who hurt my girl. Shit, I would’ve made him suffer more if I could. If Nic didn’t have her hands over her ears, blocking out the deafening gunfire that echoes around the empty room he kept her captive in, I’d take out the last of my aggression on the worthless corpse sprawled out on his belly.

I spare a quick assessing look over Alfieri, verifying that there’s no surviving the damage my gun did or the blood he’s lost. The quarter, I notice, landed about ten inches away from his shoulder. Tails.

Of course. I needed my right hand to pull my gun. My ‘heads’ quarter was in the other pocket.

Oops. Oh, well.

Now if she didn’t have her hands over her ears… but she does, and despite how loud it is, I can still make out the sound of her sobs over my ringing ears.

Once the threat to her is gone, I go right on autopilot. Stopping only to engage the safety on my gun, holster it, then snatch up my bloody quarter, I’m immediately at Nicolette’s side. Crouching down low, I scoop her up, lifting her onto my lap as the first tremors run through me.

If she struggled, if she made it clear that she didn’t want anything to do with me at this moment, I don’t know how I would’ve reacted. It would be totally understandable, but just like I had to off Alfieri, I need to make sure that Nicolette is okay.

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