44 ѱ RULES OF ENGAGEMENT (BWWM)

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Sunday, August 11, 2019

12:33 pm

COLE

As she issued her commands, Cole along with every other person gathered at the rendezvous point stopped to consider the woman who apparently was in charge of the proceedings.

Dressed in blue jeans, a buttoned-up plaid blue and gray gingham long-sleeved shirt, dark gray cowgirl boots, and a matching dark gray Carhart button-up jacket, he was hard-pressed to break the feeling that she was dressed to kill. Literally, she was dressed to do some heavy work, and judging by her disheveled, dirt-smudged, and blood-riddled appearance, the Angel he had come to know and love was long gone. The once meticulously tied ponytail she had become frazzled around the edges with tendrils hanging down on her cheeks as she held the hunting knife in her hand.

Eyes black as coal roved over the men who were at her feet balled up in the fetal position. Blood had been sprayed on their clothes and at first glance, he worried it was hers. Upon further inspection, Cole identified the cause of the rusty-red splatter.

Still pointing the weapon at the woman who last commented on the carnage, Angel and Cole's eyes landed on the blade in her anger-shaken hand. The substance coating it was identical to what was soaked through their clothes and surrounded the men on the floor.

"Angel?" The question was posed in disbelief.

Cole recalled the day she shot at the vehicle that was trying to run them off the road. He saw a vision of the gun battle on the day Bruce's men trespassed on her property while threatening his life. Now, she stood before those she seemed intent on cutting to pieces. It was only when she acknowledged that he had called her name that the look of murder slowly crept from her eyes.

Beautiful, caring, kind, loving, sensual, and soft were all words he once used to describe Angel and her alluring eyes. The woman with the blade in her hand and the men lying on the floor writhing in pain were someone he had never met.

"Baby. Please. Don't?"

Sunday, August 11, 2019

12:33 pm

ANGEL

Blood dripped down from each man's hand. That sight hadn't successfully yanked her back to her former sanity. Angel's mind worked backward from the messy state in which she found herself and her prisoners. She pictured how close she had actually come to breaking her contract.

How close had she actually come to taking a life?

A chill raced down her spine with the understanding that only a few seconds more and she would have forever been known as a murderer. No matter how much her losses hurt, she knew this wasn't the right way to bring her suffering to an end.

Had she continued down the path she was on, an army would surely come after her. Angel would spend the rest of her life fighting for her life.

"I don't care what you do to those ungrateful bastards, but their lives belong to me. I can't go around sanctioning the murder of white folks by anybody who ain't white no matter how much money you pay me. Retaliation, yes. Beat the shit out of those cocksuckers if that's what floats your boat, but keep in mind just one thing. We have principles against outsiders taking the lives of our people. If you kill them, I will find you no matter how well you hide yourself and unleash the full force of The Brotherhood on your little black ass. Make no mistake, I don't like anything that ain't white or green, but my love for white is more important than anything else. So DO NOT test me." Her mind recalled her conversation with the old southerner behind the call.

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