Page 139 of Savior

Brynne stands over a dark lump on the floor as Dante clicks the kitchen light on.

“Sixteen men are down inside, another ten outside,” Dante relays to Slate.

Slate crouches down, feeling Matteo’s lifeless body for a pulse.

He turns and looks up at me, shaking his head, confirming the death.

“Sloane,” I call as I turn and find her soulless eyes.

I step out of her way, allowing her berth so she can see what everyone’s looking at.

“He’s dead,” Slate tells her.

My heart nearly claws its way out of my body when she drops over his body, straddling him in the silk shorts she’s in.

She leans over him, looking down into his lifeless eyes as they’re pinned to the ceiling above.

She puts a hand out to her left, where Brynne and Slate stand.

Slate looks confused, flicking his eyes toward me in question.

I shrug.

Brynne, however, seems to know just what Sloane needs.

She bends down, unsheathing her knife from the inside of her boot, and hands it over.

Slate opens his mouth to question the move, but Brynne shakes her head at him.

We all stand around where Sloane straddles the dead man solemnly, waiting for what she’ll do next. Slate’s shifting on his feet. He knew we’d need to get out of here quickly after we got her; he told us as much. But he also knows whatever she’s doing, she needs to.

Respect makes my chest ache at the way this group of people wait for Sloane’s cue, as if she is, for the moment, their Don, their leader.

“Fuck you!” Sloane screams, lifting the blade with both hands on the hilt and slamming it home between Matteo’s eyes. “Rot in fucking hell!”

It unleashes something in her.

Sobs tear out of her petite frame like the shriek of the fabled banshee as she stabs and slashes Matteo Barone until he’s unrecognizable.

When she finally stops and lets the blade skitter to the floor, where Brynne picks it up and wipes it on her pants before placing it back in her boot, she seems defeated.

Slate moves to help her stand, but I step forward, shaking my head.

The way she shrank away from me in the closet means she’s not ready for that yet.

Brynne takes up in front of her husband, grabbing under Sloane’s arms to heft her up.

“Come on, we need to go,” she tells her. “You’re safe now.”

Sloane is shivering, the after-effects of emotion and fear leaving her, adrenaline still in overdrive.

We all file out of the safe house, leaving behind two men to clean up what they can and stage it to look a certain way.

Dante is shoving a small female into the back of an SUV behind where Brynne is helping Sloane and my brows furrow.

Walking over, I ask, “Who is that?”

“Hannah, or so she says. She cared for Sloane, but Slate told us to leave her alive. It’s likely Barone kidnapped her, too. We will try to get her back home where she belongs.”

---