Page 41 of Betting Blind

My eyes scan the area until I catch sight of the man that I am looking for stalking through the stacks of crates with a smoldering cigar between his lips. The black cap he wears is positioned low on his forehead, but I recognize the snake immediately. I watch as he disappears into the building. There aren’t a lot of people milling about today, so I crouch low and twist around the crates, following him into the building. I stick close to the wall, hiding in the shadows of the early evening light.

It’s where I hunt best. I twist the silencer into place and smile slightly. Stories tell you to be afraid of the boogeyman lurking in the dark under your bed, but they never warn you about the silent beauty creeping along the walls, waiting to pounce and drive the soul from your bleeding body.

I stalk forward silently until I’m outside a small office room. Voices float out into the hallway, and I don’t recognize any of them. I lean around the doorframe until I can see into the room. It’s dimly lit and full of smoke, but I can see two menlounging on a small sofa with cracks peeling up the leather. The target is leaning against the table in front of them. His back is to me.

What a perfect set-up. My face splits into a wicked grin, and I step forward into the light with my gun raised. The two on the sofa see me and attempt to jump to their feet, but I fire off two rapid shots, one right after the other. They slump back against the cushions with blood trailing down between their eyes.

My target spins rapidly and the cigar falls from his lips. “The fuck is this?” he shouts, with a thick northern accent. He reaches for the table, most likely for the gun strapped to the bottom.

“I wouldn’t,” I say coldly, and he freezes. I jerk my gun at him, and he puts his hands up. I take a step closer and cock my head to the side, evaluating him. “You don’t look much like a rat,” I muse, toying with my prey like a cat would a mouse.

“I ain’t no fucking rat,” he spits out, his face turning red with anger. His eyes dart back and forth across the room, searching for an escape, and then he focuses on something over my shoulder. He spits at my feet.

I don’t flinch. I don’t move a muscle. “The Russians send their regards,” I state with an icy tone and pull the trigger. Once. Twice. Thrice. Three red circles appear on the chest of his off white shirt and begin to spread. I watch with a sick satisfaction as he drops to his knees and collapses face first onto the concrete. My eyes follow the crimson pool as it grows beneath him, and I can’t help but let out a deep sigh.

Murder is the best way to release my pent-up tension and anxiety, I don’t care what my therapists say.

As I remove my silencer and tuck the weapon back into the holster, something slams into my back between my shoulder blades. The breath is forced from my lungs, and I lurch forward, catching myself on the table to prevent myself from hitting the ground. I like watching the blood pool, but I do not want to roll around in it.

I stand and turn slowly, wincing at the sharp pain in my left shoulder. My fingers reach back, and I feel a hole in my jacket where a knife tried to penetrate it. My eyes narrow at the four men towering in the doorway. “Which one of you put a hole in my jacket?’ I ask dangerously. “Because I’m going to put a hole in your face first.”

I am beyond pissed because this is my favorite jacket. Not to mention that this is a four-on-one and I am not here for these odds. I’d be better off in a low-level district forced to fight for my life. There is a small part of me that regrets not listening to Tobias, but what can you do? I square my shoulders and ball my hands into fists. “Well?” I ask after a moment of silence. “If no one fesses up I’m just going to put a hole in everyone.” I pause. “No?” Jokes on them because I’m going to put a hole in all of them anyway.

They grin at each other before they all lunge at one time. I manage to duck and twist away from the two that reach me first. I pull my knife from my wrist sheath and slash out in a horizontal line. I hear a cry and know that I connect with flesh somewhere. The third man grabs my wrist, but I spin and knee him in the balls with the boot. Steel-toe, still my number one go-to.

“Oi, Bitch!” he shouts and lets go and drops to his knees, but I can’t celebrate the victory because my upper arms are seizedby two pairs of hands, and I’m lifted up until even my toes aren’t on the ground.

I kick my feet for a second before I settle. The hands around my arms squeeze hard. At least with my helmet still on I know they won’t damage the money maker in order to knock me out. I hate it when they do that. “Let’s see who we can draw out with this feisty little cunt,” a thick accent says in my ears.

I feel a pinch at the back of my neck, the only skin visible between my jacket and helmet. “Oh fuck,” I curse and thrash hard, trying to dislodge the needle, but it doesn’t move and a second later my skin burns from the injection. Fucking shit balls. This was not part of my half thought out plan.

They drop me to the ground, and I land with a hard thud, my muscles are already locked up and numb from the sedative. My vision swims in and out as I roll onto my back and look up at the three men looking down at me. To my dulled satisfaction, the fourth one is lying glassy-eyed on the ground beside me, blood still oozing from the gaping gut wound that I gave him in the melee.

“Come on, lass, up you go.” Strong hands lift my limp body and carry me out of the building and into the back of a black SUV. “Call them,” the voice orders. “We’re done here. We have what we need.”

My eyes burn as I fight to keep them open, but it’s a losing battle. Darkness creeps in, along with a feeling of warmth and numbness. I clench my jaw so tightly that I feel a crack in the back of my mouth. My brain starts to turn off, but not before I get one more scathing comment out.

“I fucking hate an Irish accent,” I spit before the world goes black.

Chapter 23

Silas

I stare at my laptop and steeple my fingers in front of my face, watching the lines of code scroll across the screen. Em has a cyber wall larger than the Great Wall of China, and I still can’t find a crack to weasel through. An error pops up and then the screen goes black. Kicked out again. I slam my palms onto the table. “Fucking shit!”

Declan strolls into the kitchen with his phone between his shoulder and his ear. “We’ll be right there,” he clips and slides the phone into his pocket. “Where’s Hayden?”

“Fuck if I know,” I grumble and shut my laptop with more force than necessary. We are running out of time to finish this shit deal, and I know that the Irish will make good on their threats if we don’t deliver something.

Declan pulls out his phone and his thumbs glide across the screen. “We’re meeting O’leary. Hayden will meet us there. Let’s go.” He grabs the keys to the blacked-out Mustang and vanishes into the garage.

“Time to fuck some shit up,” I grumble under my breath and follow him out with my hands balled into fists.

We drive in silence for twenty minutes before the roar of a motorcycle cuts through the air. I glance out the window and roll my eyes as a blue and black motorcycle flashes by doing a wheelie. What an idiot. I bite my lip to hide my grin. But he’s our idiot. My eyes track him as he races forward and pulls into the lot before us.

Three men in black tactical uniforms approach the car as we climb out. One steps forward and looks us up and down. “Boss is in the back room. This way.” He turns on his heels and the three of them lead us into the large brick building.

I cut my eyes to Declan, who shrugs slightly because his accent was surprisingly American. As we walk through the building, I take stock of the broken glass and the boarded-up windows. The large room is mostly empty, except for a few partially torn apart cars sitting on blocks. They lead us through a set of metal double doors and down a dimly lit hallway. We stop in front of a black door with a frosted glass window. The leader of the goon squad knocks three short times and then slams his palm on the glass, causing it to rattle.

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