Page 138 of Painted Scars
He told the whole city he loves me in his jagged way. Instead of reinforcing that I’m prey trapped in a cage, it lights a dangerous fuse in me. Hope. Not the fragile kind that shatters. The brutal, blade-sharp kind that whispers,“You’re not a powerless pawn. You’re the queen, and this chessboard’s about to bleed.”
The message cuts. Silence hums like the buzzing over my skin.
Blackthorn huffs a laugh and pockets his phone. “You think I’m scared of this bitch? What’s one man to an army?”
Big words. He’s scared. I can tell by the tension in his shoulders and the twitch in his jaw. August shone a stage light on the Romans and good luck covering that up with PR and politics.
I meet his eyes, daring him to see the power burning through me now.
Blackthorn’s smile curdles. “How about we call your lover?”
I force my gaze to remain steady even though every nerve in me screams to recoil. I will not give him what he wants, the fear he feeds on.
He holds out a palm, and the closest goon slaps a burner phone into his hand. Smug bastard dials a number with leisurely cruelty, savoring the setup.
“Who the fuck is this?” a voice answers.
Blackthorn’s grin widens as he taps the button for speakerphone. “Hello, Officer Kelly. How about Kate and I get reacquainted?”
My stomach ignites with fury. He wants August to hear me broken after he saw me shattered the first time. Primal heat sears through me. I’m done being anyone’s prey.
Blackthorn crouches so close I can see the network of veins in his eyes. “I’ve forgotten how good you taste.” The back of his hand drags down my arm. “There’s more of you now.”
Not happening, asshole.
I drive the clip into his throat. He howls and jerks back, blood welling at the plastic teeth sticking out of his flesh.
“Does love feel like weakness now?” My pulse thrums wild, and my head spins from the rush of adrenaline and panic at his next move.
The nearest guard lunches. I duck, slam the edge of my shoulder into his gut, and kick him in the balls. His head cracks on steel, and he collapses, groaning. I snake out and catch his gun.
Another grabs me. I shoot and catch him in the gut. The asshole stumbles back into the wall and slides down it, painting a beautiful trail of red. The recoil jolts up my arm, sharp and mean, thunder and whiplash rolled into one. My ears ring and hands buzz.
Thank you, Harper, for teaching me to shoot.
“Your empire doesn’t look so immortal now.” I fire into Blackthorn’s crotch and enjoy the satisfying stain of red on his pants.
“I’ll fucking kill you,” he chokes out, reaching for me.
Every second I continue to breathe is a borrowed one. For the first time in my life, I’m not weak, I’m fire. I blow a hole through his hand, and he screams, clutching it to his chest. My arm wrenches, and my wrist burns. The cell fills with the smell of burnt metal and cordite, and it burns the back of my throat, making me cough and my eyes water.
Ready for my finale worthy of the best revenge romance, I aim the gun. “Thanks for teaching me how to fight monsters, motherfucker.”
I unload my next bullet into his head. Blackthorn goes down like a sinking ship. I don’t check if he’s dead.
Chaos erupts as the final goon comes for me. I put an end to him with a bullet in his chest. He folds like a bad card hand.Running on flames and fury, I lean forward and eject another one into the head of the dick I slammed into the bars. I can’t take any chances.
Splattered with blood and brains, I lean forward, fishing for the keys to the handcuffs, finding them. I stamp down the vomit that wants to say hello. Shock can wait until I’m back safely with August.
Keys jangle in my slick fingers. I rip the cuffs free and stumble to my feet, ignoring the stiffness of sitting cross-legged in a cell. Every nerve is electric and primed to fire all the bullets. My lungs drag in smoke and iron. Ringing in my ears and shock disorients me. Jelly sets into my arms, but fear’s got nothing on adrenaline and rage.
The cell looks like a slaughterhouse. Horror sets in at what I’ve done. I can’t dwell on it. They intended the same for me… and worse. Thinking or feeling means breaking, and I’m stronger than that.
I lean down and swipe the keys from Blackthorn’s pocket, the gun from his arm holster, and the burner phone from the bloody floor. My boots slip in blood as I stumble out of the cell, over the body in the doorway. The tip of my sneaker kicks the man outside the cell, and I yelp, jumping aside. Despite Rational Me screaming at me to check for pulses, I’m already moving, hugging the wall, clutching the stolen guns with shaking fingers. The barrel of the one in my right hand is hot from firing.
By pure fucking luck, I manage to hit daylight. Cold midday air snaps across my neck and face. I try to get my bearings. Warehouse somewhere. Two parked vans and a Mercedes wagon. One is going to be my getaway chariot. Shaking worse by the second, I put a bullet into the tires of two vans. Book Girlie me is whooping that I’m living all my dark romance storylines. I push her aside and slide into the all-terrain wagon and crankthe ignition. The engine purrs to life. I hate that I’m sitting in the same seat as that rapist… but whatever gets me out alive.
My hands tremble so badly that it takes me five attempts to plug the address August instructed Blackthorn to deliver me to. When I finally get it, I suck in a shaky breath and brush my face. I force my scattered brain to string my thoughts together and take off, otherwise we’re on a one-way trip to an accident. The wheel’s slippery under my palms, even with my grip like a vise.
