Page 87 of Dragonfly

I won’t fail this time.

I got close, though. Even Damien will admit that. I got close, and all because I went with the first impulsive idea that popped into my brain.

And right now? I’ve got one even more impulsive than the last.

Clutching my stiletto, I climb up from the passenger seat. Flinging my body into the driver’s side, I’m so glad that Vin left the engine running. He told me if things went south that I needed to be able to take off, get home, make sure Genny was safe. I lied and told him I would, knowing that nothing would stop me from getting to Damien.

Looks like I’m going to prove it.

The car’s on. I pause only to throw on my seatbelt because God knows I’m gonna need it, then put the car into reverse. The street’s empty, all the unhoused and down-on-their-luck people who flock to this neighborhood either hiding out until dark or tucked away in their hidey-holes. Right now, it’s just me and whoever is in that store… and I’m about to say ‘hi’.

Once I’ve backed up enough to give me room, I lean forward in my seat as far as the seatbelt will allow. Then, staring unblinkingly at my newest target, I focus on the store. I won’t take my eyes off of it. Even as I put the car back into drive, slam my foot down on the gas pedal, and go, I never once look away.

When I take a wide turn, crossing into the other lane before turning sharply, hopping the curb, and smashing through the glass windows of the shop?

Oh, yeah. I close my eyes then.

Not for long. Just upon the first impact because I’m not sure how the windshield on one of Damien’s flashy cars will hold. At the speed I was going, I was hoping to smash the window and make a distraction, but I really didn’t like the idea of the windshield cutting me to ribbons when I did.

Luckily, the windshield held. The glass windows of the store shatter, but they didn’t really stop the car at all. I’m still pressing down on the gas pedal which means that, even after the windows break, the car keeps going.

At the first sound of gunfire, I duck—but I’m still going, baby. My hand is still on the wheel, my eyes opening just in time to jerk it so that I don’t hit the chair that’s holding my husband.

I do, however, send a bald man flying one way, see a Black man land on the windshield—and that does crack the glass, though it doens’t break—before he rolls off, hitting the floor hard. But, best of all, I keep going until I crash into a wall, pinning some freaky looking dude all in white. White suit. White hair. White teeth bared as he howls in agony.

I’m still on survivor mode. The two guys I hit are down. Dead? Dunno. Maybe. I didn’t roll over anything so I’d like to think I missed Vin, wherever he is; Damien is sitting in his chair, mouth open, beautiful face destroyed.

What did they do to my husband?

I don’t think. My brain flew out the window when I thought it was a good idea to drive a car through a store full of bad guys, including Damien. I’m running on instinct, and one of the lessons Damein drilled into my head during our training sessions was: if you have a weapon, don’t lose your weapon. If someone is dumb enough to lose their weapon, take it and now you have two.

That was a memorable sparring session. That night, he got my knife from me and instead of my panties being cut off, he sliced one of my favorites bras off my chest, making my nipples hard when he lay the cool side of the knife on them before his hot mouth warmed them up.

Of course, I got a bag full of new panties, bras, and lingerie in his favorite style the next morning to make up for it, but I learned quite a few lessons that night.

Damien can be generous, I’m way more into knife play than I’d ever though I’d be, and if someone loses their weapon, it’s not gonna be me.

That’s why, as the white-haired weirdo tries desperately to get out from where I pinned him, I throw open the car door and dive. I saw his gun fall out of his hand a second before impact. It had to have skittered among the glass that’s everywhere, but I could give a shit if I get cut off now.

I need that gun.

Where’s that gun.

Yes!

I don’t even know if it’s his. I’m sure the other two guys were armed, so it could be one of theirs. Doesn’t matter. I grab the gun, hope like hell it’s loaded, then start shooting wildly.

The Black man? Two bullets, and one of them gets him in the head. The bald guy? He’s groaning, but I shoot two in his chest, and he stops. All that’s left if the guy against the wall. He’s cursing at me, but I’m not listening. I don’t hear anything but the noise in my head, and it’s saying: Kill.

And that’s exactly what I do.

It’s not pretty, but it’s effective. I get him in the cheek and the forehead, blood staining his white hair red, as his body stays up against the wall, thanks to the car.

I whirl around, looking for another target. It was hard to tell how many people were in here when we drove by before so maybe I got them all.

I better have gotten them all.

“Savannah… oh, sweet Savannah…. Ranga mia, cara mia, my love…”

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