Page 51 of Dagger

“Another one’s comin’,” I warned, and hit him again. And again. And again. And again. I beat that little fucking weasel until he fell to his knees.

“Motherfucker!” Before I could register the danger, a hard blow struck me from behind and I stumbled forward. “You’re dead,” the same voice shouted.

I rolled out of the way even though I didn’t know where the blow would come from. The concrete was hard and cold against my back, the abruptness of the move knocking the wind out of me for a moment. “Try harder, asshole.” I got to my feet quickly and rushed at him, letting all the anger and frustration I felt seep out through my fists.

The sounds of my brothers holding their own put a smile on my face as I pummeled that asshole. He landed a blow to my ribcage. Three blows and I bit back the pain that tore through me and struck him again in the nose.

That cry of pain he released was so fucking satisfying, I could’ve hit him all day long. But the telltale sound of a switchblade slice through the air a second before he sliced it down my forearm.

“Bitch!” I punched him again, and he sliced at me, but the knife barely broke the skin. Instead of another punch, I reached for his wrist and smacked it against the concrete time and time again until the blade fell from his grip. “You wanna kill me, kid, you’ll have to try a fuck of a lot harder than that.”

His bloody smile flashed as we battled for control of the blade. I was determined and I was angry, and after what felt like an hour, the blade handle was in my hand and the blade sliced through his belly beautifully.

It wasn’t the first time I’d had to stab a man, and it wouldn’t be the last. His gaze met mine and I pulled back, getting to my feet before I grabbed him by the collar.

“Now are you in the mood to answer a few fucking questions?”

“Fuck. You.” That asshole smiled through the words, at least he did until I twisted the knife.

“Fine,” one of the others shouted. “Fine. Ask your goddamn questions!”

“Did you bust up the shop just to fuck with us?”

“What?” One of them laughed, but I didn’t know who because I kept my gaze on the man with a blade in his side. “We don’t vandalize shit for fun, we ain’t fuckin’ teenagers.”

“Not for fun,” Diesel repeated. “But for profit?”

“Now you’re gettin’ it.” He clapped his hands and then I heard the spark of a lighter followed by a long pull on a cigarette or a joint. “Some asshole paid us a few grand to fuck with you at the shop, so we had a little fun and made a few bucks.”

“You weren’t worried about making an enemy?” Gio asked.

“Didn’t think you’d figure it out, honestly.” He inhaled again and laughed. “Guess we should’ve.”

“Who?” I asked the question that needed answered. “Who hired you to do that?”

“Now that’s a funny story,” he said, and took another hit from the cigarette. “Some dude called Nick. Don’t know him and never seen him before. He ain’t from around here, that’s for sure, but whoa boy does he really hate your fucking guts.”

I looked up, and sure as shit, he was staring at me. “Me?”

“Yep. Don’t know your name, but he knew you worked at the tattoo shop and that you have a kid going to the elementary school. Didn’t take much diggin’ to figure out the rest.”

So maybe it was about me and not Sinclair? “Did he say anything else?” Slowly, I pulled my knife from his buddy’s side and wiped the blood on his pants.

“Just that bitch is gonna get what she’s got coming. He repeated that shit over and over.”

Shit.

“He wasn’t even talking to us either,” another said. “It’s like he was just mumbling it to himself like a crazy person.”

This was worse than I thought. How was this connected to Sinclair? My gaze locked with Diesel’s and he gave the smallest nod, which gave me the permission I needed to rush back home to get answers.

***

The house was quiet when I entered because it was the middle of the fucking night, but it wasn’t as quiet as it should’ve been. I kicked off my boots and headed to the stairway, but a noise in the kitchen stopped me. With my hand on my piece, I crept to the kitchen, where I found just the woman I was looking for with a glass of lemonade in her hand.

“Dagger, you’re home.”

I couldn’t tell if she was relieved or happy or annoyed. Given the blood on my shirt, most probably the latter. “I am. One piece, as promised.”

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