Page 81 of Mercenary
Madelyn’s back is to me. Her long blond hair is wrapped around the asshole’s fingers, which he’s pulled high, forcing her up on her toes. The other is fisted and drawn high, set to punch her silly. Murder is in his eyes.
It’s nothing compared to the bloodlust that’s got my heart pounding out a death march.
His gaze lifts past her and onto me.
Too late, fucknut.
I pull the trigger. A clean shot between the eyes. Just like Kylie’d done to the goon in the other room.
Still, head wounds bleed like a bitch. His is no exception. Blood splatters everywhere.
A low whimper comes from Madelyn’s direction. She takes a large step backward, then another. Away from the asshole and closer to me. Shock’s setting in. Her focus is fixed on the scumbag, her mind racing around like miniature go-carts, crashing into every possibility as to what has just happened. What the in-house psychologist says is a normal reaction for someone unaccustomed to death. Another step backward, until she backs right up into my chest.
Quick as a whip, I snatch her into my arms before she can get away.
She turns her head and looks up at me. Her brilliant blue eyes are bright like a summer sky. And I’m the good-for-nothing-but-killing storm that’s come barreling in to cloud them over with fear.
“Declan,” she whispers.
“Let’s go.”
She jumps, forcing me to tighten my grip on her forearm as I drag her along into the main room. Not giving her a chance to think. She’s got one choice. Me.
“Don’t touch me,” she says, jerking her arm. She’s stopped and I contemplate scooping her up and physically carrying her out of here. Instead, I release her. Without pause, she crouches down and retrieves her weapon. Then stands and stares at it.
Good girl. With strong survivor instincts. And a fast learner . . . roofies, guns. Fuck knows, she’ll be needing them. I retrieve her duffel bag from the chair by the wall, feeling the weight of her mama’s afghan inside as I slide the handle over my arm. I pause and turn back to study the scumbag on the floor. Something isn’t quite right with the scenario playing out in my head.
“Who shot him?” I gesture to the man.
Her eyes flash wide, then fill with guilt.
“Kylie teach you to do that?”
“Do what? Kill a man?”
“Shoot him between the eyes?”
Another of Hayden’s signature calling-card moves. Just like the slice-and-dice party mistakenly done to her friend. A silent message to our enemies that someone is watching them. Hayden has an eye-for-an-eye way of getting things done. Just visit Freedom’s Bluff, our training facility. Dummies with bullets between the eyes decorate the grounds like lawn ornaments.
Madelyn swallows hard. “They came charging into the room. Kylie shot two of them, each in the leg. I raised my gun toward this man’s chest, wanting to stop him and thinking my chances of hitting him would be better. It’s Kylie who told me to raise the gun higher . . . oh my God . . . to make sure I killed him, right?”
I nod, suspecting that Kylie hasn’t totally given us away. Though regrettably, Madelyn is no longer green around the ears. No longer naive. Unaware of the dangerous company she keeps. Damn, how she makes me regret things I have no business regretting.
“One of them hit her over the head with the gun. They dragged her out of the room as the other man . . .” She stares at me, anguish filling her bright blue eyes, then tries to rush by me. “She’s gone, isn’t she?”
I block her exit.
She kicks at my shin. “Get out of my way.”
“They won’t kill her.” Not yet, anyway. Not before they torture her for information. For secrets she’s already told . . . or not?
My eyebrows arch as Madelyn points her gun at me. “Move it.”
“No.”
She sucks in a breath. “I will shoot you.”
I stare at her. Her lips pulled tight. Her body rigid, yet the gun shaking within her quivering hand. I did this to her. I drove her to this.
