Page 148 of Nest of Thieves
They fall silent. Minutes tick by while they wait for Mac. Lark mutters a few times, but Vette tells him to chill. Mac returns a few minutes later with what looks like a new knife. “Here we—” His eyebrows pull together and he groans.
“What’s up, bro?” Vette asks right before he releases a groan too.
“I’m—”
“Took you long enough,” I mutter as the three of them fall to the floor. Hopping off the counter, I pull the weapon from Mac’s grasp and straddle him, slamming it into his chest. I do the same to Vette and Lark. Releasing a delirious laugh, I crawl away from their bodies and rest my back against the stove.
I suck in a sharp breath, swiping at my cheeks. Someone’s blood smears across my skin, but I’m too in shock to care. Glancing around, I take in the mess. We threw things, ripped things from the wall. Broke glass. Smashed expensive paintings and trinkets.
My hair is still in the bun, but after everything, a few strands have come loose and hang in front of my face.
A phone rings. I slide my gaze back toward the guys. I let the first call go. When the ringing begins again, I know exactly who it is. I crawl to Lark and grab the phone from his pocket and answer it.
“It’s done,” I manage to say.
“That was fast. They put up a good fight.”
“My sister,” I rasp, falling to my ass on the tile. My chest is tight, but I push through the lack of air. “Are they safe?”
“They’ll be fine.”
I suck in a sharp breath. That doesn’t sound like a guarantee.
“They’re gone,” I whisper.
“Breathe, Kitty. You’ll get through this.” His fake caring makes me want to reach through the phone and stab him. “I’ll come get you.”
“Okay,” I say with a fake sob. Tossing the phone on the tile, I use the counter to pull myself up and grab the tequila, swallowing a big mouthful. The shot Vette made me take earlier warms my stomach. I glance back at their bodies, the blood coating their shirts and the ground around them and take another drink, wiping my mouth on the inside of my wrist. I set the bottle aside and take calming breaths.
My hands shake, and I drop my head on the counter, waiting for Damien to arrive.
* * *
Several drinks of tequila later, Laurence. Damien. Asshole—whatever name he’s going by at the moment—knocks on the door. I set the liquor bottle on the stairs and stagger to my feet, opening the door. I lean against the sturdy wood and meet his eyes. Those steel gray irises scrutinize me, taking in the blood and sweat. The trembling of my bottom lip. We stand like that for a full minute. I don’t say anything, and I don’t look away.
“So,” he finally says. “You did it.”
“I had no other choice,” I half growl.
“How do you feel about your choice?”
“Not good, but my sister means the world to me, and I couldn’t let you hurt a baby.”
He hums and steps inside, forcing me to step back to keep his chest from brushing against mine. “It would have been a travesty for the child to die.” Glancing around, he takes in the mess.
“They put up a fight.” I close the door as he crosses the floor.
“I saw that. I thought, for a moment, they might get you.” He looks at me over his shoulder. “Good thing you killed them, because I would have had to do it anyway since you told them I ordered the hit.”
He has the house bugged. That’s not a surprise. I purse my lips and trail after him. He steps around a broken vase and stops at the edge of the kitchen. Bumping into him, I stop at his side. Damien is looking around, barely sparing the men a second glance.
“What a mess you’ve made, Kitty.”
“Death isn’t pretty,” I murmur.
He reaches up and rubs at a spot on my cheek. I recoil, but he grabs my chin with an iron grip to keep me close. His eyes bore into mine. “It’s such a shame.”
“What is?”
