Page 40 of Angelic Vengeance

I racked the slide of the Glock, having just inserted a loaded magazine. Raising the pistol in my manicured hand, I analyzed its manufacturing and fine, sleek lines. My blood burned with a primal hunger to see Ruiz at the end of the muzzle.

Zane returned from the back, holding what I’d been itching to put my fingers on for the past year. He set the semi-automatic rifle on the cold metal table and I immediately ran my hands over the carbon steel of the sniper gun.

I let out a small whistle. “Now this is what I was talking about…”

“Careful. I know you haven’t even sniffed one of these in a year.”

“Careful,” I shot back, meeting Zane’s cold eyes. “Don’t forget who’s holding the deadly weapon.”

“I’d have you in a headlock on the ground before you pulled off the safety.”

We shared a knowing look before we both chuckled.

Zane and I met way back when I was doubling the CIA. While I was playing dirty cop, Zane had always been his own man. A highly sought-after assassin who everyone wanted on their side – including Cosa Nostra. And althoughthe Familia would have sold half its kidneys to work with him, he rarely helped them out.

Zane Takashi, known only by his code namesSamuraiandPython, was untouchable. He rejected many interested clients and picked his assignments carefully, his main focus being on his legit business, a gym in Midtown. The location rugged enough to spark the curiosity of multimillionaire hippies, yet luxurious enough to be for the higher class.

Zane and I weren’t necessarily friends. But we shared an appreciation for guns, boxing, and revenge being a dish best-served piping hot, like the burning flames of Hell.

“You sure that’s all you need? I got some MAC-11s you can have.”

Picking up my black gym bag stuffed with guns, ammunition and a freshly sharpened machete, I shook my head. “I’ll be fine.”

“Alright,” He said, walking me to the exit of his underground warehouse. He unlocked the door and turned to me one last time, with his big brother voice. “Stay safe. And don’t let them in your head. That’s how they get you.”

That’s how they get you.

I mentally groaned at how easily Zach had been able to get inside my head. I wasn’t going to let it happen again.

I nodded. I didn’t take advice from anybody except probably Zane. He was ten years older, a better fighter, and more experienced hitman – one of the few men I respected because he treated me like his kid sister.

He extended a hand and I took it, leaning in a half-hug. We both patted the other’s back and let go. Walking out into the rain, I heard the door lock behind me.

A year ago, I’d promised myself to leave my old ways behind.

Tonight, I promised myself to leave a bloodbath in my path.

I hid in the shadows, the rain pouring all around me in the darkness. It masked my scent and presence as I waited for my eighth and hopefully last victim. The last seven had been of no use, and now, a week later, I was starting to get impatient.

I needed answers.Now.

The back door slammed against the wall I was leaning against, allowing purple lights from inside the strip club to pour into the alley before it slammed shut. Apart from the distant traffic and occasional siren, silence accompanied darkness in the dirty backstreet.

Unaware of my presence, the man made his way towards the dumpster, his back facing me.

I pushed off the graffitied brick and closed in, the bat swinging freely in my hand as my palms itched for violence.

I waited for the imbecile to throw the trash bags in the dumpster before I started his funeral. I didn’t want to leave even more of a mess behind.

Before he could turn around, I swung the metal bat to his leg – I wasn’t playing fair. A babyish cry ripped through the air as he dropped one knee to the cold ground. Rain and motor oil covered the pavement, reflecting a blueish color.

I swung my bat to his other leg. Another scream. His knees buckled as he fell forward, hands gripping the dirty dumpster in front of him.

I swung the bat over his arms. His sobbing muffled as he face-planted the germ-contaminated plastic. My ears rang and all I could see, hear, feel – focus on – was red.

When I felt as if I could allow myself a break to question the man, I pulled off him and grabbed his collar. I’d beaten him so bad, he was an idiot if he didn’t answer my questions.

“You asked around for me. Here I am.”

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