Page 88 of Hostile Love
“We need to go…come on,” Carina mutters next to my ear. “I won’t leave you like this.”
She slides her hand around my shoulders and gets me to my feet.
“We stick together. Let them fight it out. Matheus can hold his own.”
People often underestimate me. It’s a common misconception that women aren’t as savage as men. I’m not a sweet little angel in need of a hero.
I’m the controlled breath living in every shadow. The creeping darkness patiently waiting. A dealer of death by my own hand.
I am DanielaBlanco.
A killer.
And I’d burn in hell for Matheus Souza.
“Go…” I straighten, glaring at her. “This isn’t over.”
I angle my torso towards the stairs as the balaclava Matheus has on is roughly dragged off his face. Fists fly and matching blows are followed by animal-like grunts.
“There’s no loyalty between hitmen,” the masked man growls, his Irish accent thick. “And no honor among the Souzas, either.”
I frown at his statement and suddenly it hits me. I know this fucker.
Matheus doesn’t falter. He just keeps fighting as if someone flicked a switch in his brain and he can’t stop.
In one expertly timed sweep kick, he brings his opponent to his knees, maneuvers him into position and locks himself around his body, hooking an arm around his neck from behind.
With his ankles locked around the traitor's thighs, he digs out the switchblade I’d given him earlier from his pants pocket.
I swallow the ache in my throat and inch closer, watching him work. Not caring how brutal he is in the moment when he repeatedly stabs the guy’s chest, or how blood coats his hands and seeps into the fresh white fibers of his expensive shirt.
From here, he’s magnificent—a god of destruction.
Emotion bubbles up from inside me when he mumbles next to the guy's face, “You're wrong. I’m loyal to her, motherfucker!”
The guy jerks, his body reacting to the blood hemorrhaging from his puncture wounds. Still holding him down, Matheus’ lashes flick up and our gazes snare.
The ferocious expression he wears softens a little, and he gently tosses the knife. It skids and drops down the steps, landing within reaching distance.
“Finish him, baby.”
Matheus doesn’t have to try to be the leading man in my life––he simplyis.
The Souza before me thinks we’re equals––yet we’d never be on even footing. Because I’d always be in awe of him. Now––and forever.
I bite my bottom lip as a slow smile curls my lips. Not wasting time, I lower to my knees, wince a little to sweep the switchblade into my strong hand, and climb the stairs.
“Was that an order?” I whisper-croak. Keeping eye contact, I’m certain the man separating us is bleeding out, rendered helpless.
He’ll be dead in a few minutes even if I don’t do anything.
Matheus offers me a grin that dimples his blood-streaked cheek. My heart flutters.
“Cut his throat so I can get you to a doctor.”
I nod, the pull of redemption strong and the smell of coppery death thick in my nostrils. Before I end a life, I want to confirm the identity of the man who wanted us dead.
I tug the balaclava off his face and shake my head.
