Angel Blood

14- They Rarely Stay Holy

Sinclair

"If you're looking at her right now, we're going to have a problem."

One of them has the decency to look away, smile falling from his face. Unsurprisingly, the twisted interest in his eyes lingers. "He wants to make you another offer."

"For?"

His chin juts out, motioning to the little spitfire that eyes us at the bar. "Twenty million. Cash."

Something dark and ugly thrashes inside of me. It begs me to wrap my hand around his neck and snap him in two. "If her name ever touches his lips again, I'll be the one to personally deliver a bullet to his head."

The big one stills, hand tapping over his waistband where cold steel must lay sheathed behind it. The more intelligent of the two, it seems. "Is that a threat?"

A cold smile stretches over my lips. "Only if he doesn't follow through."

"The boss won't take kindly to that."

"Get back to me when I give a shit. Now you can talk business or get the fuck out."

His face smoothes, calculation disguising the harsh rage that dwells underneath. "We have a name for you."

"Go ahead."

"Sebastian Volkov."

Something oddly familiar itches my brain at the name. Then it dawns on me, the fresh challenge making my fingers twitch in anticipation. "Heir to the Volkov line?"

His chin tilts up tauntingly. "The very same. Will that be an issue?"

I almost laugh. The man is too dangerous to send some half-beat after but I don't mind. If there's anything that can clear up brain fog and the oncoming idiotic attachment I'm forming to a certain pet, it's the scent of fresh blood and the numbing pop that radiates into my arm as I pull the trigger. A reminder of power and how trivial life truly is.

"No." I sit back in my chair, dismissing the skepticism in his eyes. "It will be done."

"Good." His hand relaxes a bit but he never takes it off his waistband. Smart man. "The money will be sent as soon as it's finished."

I nod, taking notice of how the shorter, grisly one steals glances at the bar. My fingers tighten over the armrest. "One thing I demand if we work together is respect."

The taller one straightens, clearly hearing the warning in my words. "Of course."

"Join me for a drink in the back room."

His lips thin. "No. We're expected back as soon as possible."

"Join me."

"We can't—"

I lean forward, bracing my fingers on my knees, watching them stiffen at the small movement with murderous delight. "It wasn't a question. Join. Me."

He studies me with the rigidity that indicates he expects me to strike at any given second. After a moment of strained silence, he stands. "Of course. After you."

Rising from my chair, I make way to the door off to the side. They follow quietly behind me. I wait until they've stepped into the sound-proof walls and seated themselves against the bar to pull Calli's .25 ACP pistol from the band of my pants and push it against the back of the small one's head.

"When I tell you to stop looking at her," I click the safety off and settle my finger on the trigger, "you stop fucking looking." I don't wait for the reply. I shoot. The sight of his brains splattered against the fine mahogany of the bar top is so satisfying that I don't even mind the fact that we'll have to call in another cleaner to rid the scent of death.