“Bastard!” I yell, watching the speeding bullet hurtle through the air and clip his earlobe. “I won’t miss the next time.”
“Carina.” My brain engages with the sound of a baritone voice, so chilling, so like home, that it pulls me from the frenzy of payback. I peer up from the satisfying mauling and pinpoint Tomás surrounded by the twinkly skyline.
In the soft skyglow, he appears dangerously handsome. Deadly dark eyes trail all over me with quick searching sweeps. His brow furrows and the scruff on his jaw seems so much darker.
Tomás’ face holds an expression I’ve never seen on him before. A look that's impossible to interpret. It whispers through me with an unthinkable warmth.
On the periphery, Shane lingers by his hip, prepared to carry out any order.
Tomás lets out a high-pitched whistle. It breaks through the pained yells of Brutus’ captive. Immediately, the guard dog obeys, unlocks his fiendish jaw and trots toward his owner.
The slimy fucker who had his hands all over me is no longer detained. He attempts to sit, dragging the tattered ends of his trousers higher to assess the carnage.
A rage like no other rips through me. I take my eyes off Tomás and widen my feet to give me a stronger position before I shoot. The buzz of retribution makes me nauseous. I’m almost loving the power I’m holding in my hands. Could I really kill this man?
“Lower your weapon,” Tomás commands.
I shake my head and swipe my brow with the back of my hand. “No…”
12
TOMÁS
I’ve never felt this way before.
My heart is on fire and my dick resembles a stone column holding up the weight of the universe.
Her body trembles in the pale moonlight. The t-shirt hanging on her dainty shoulders is torn. A single line of blood streaks her teary face like war paint. Yet her posture is solid, her loose hair wild, and her wrath weighted shoulders fiery with embers.
She’s absolutely captivating. Her integrity is feathered with a resolute need for vindication. I won’t allow her to do it—to take a man’s life and suffocate under that decision for eternity.
I close the distance, quickly assessing Bruno’s wretched state. His cheeks are scratched, his shin is chewed to the muscle, and thankfully, his dick is still stashed behind his boxer briefs.
Filthy asshole. Every grain of my existence turns murderous. My hands ball into tight fists that could punch through the flaming iron gates of Purgatory.
“What are you doing, Tommy?” Bruno’s face drains of color, his fretful eyes drilling into my golden gun. “It was her. The fucking spy. I caught her snooping. I bet she’s planning to kill you the same way she murdered Elias. Finish theputa, she's nobody.”
My lungs burn. Carina shakes her head back and forth. “I needed fresh air, that's all. I couldn’t sleep.”
Her lashes flutter as if she’s doing her best to stand without fainting. She’s not a fragile petal wilting under the monstrous deed of an aggressor. She's a warrior marred from battle, and bravely holding her ground. I admire her willful spirit.
My dogs don’t attack for no reason.
“You’re mistaken, Bruno.” The thrumming pulse in my skull whooshes louder than his snivels. “She’s nobody to you, but for now, she’s somebody to me.” Bruno’s mouth quirks into a grimace. “And you tried to take what’s mine. Which means you’ve crossed a big fucking line. I won’t tolerate disrespect.”
Bang.
The instant I unleash a bullet into his abdomen, Carina’s gasp follows. Her watery gaze darts to my side profile. Bruno swears in Spanish, doubles over and spits at her feet. A crippling rage crests within me, the rush so intense my hand shakes.
Not enough for her to notice, but enough of a quake to warrant the death of this motherfucker. With a snap of the trigger, I discharge the final killing bullet.
The dogs prowl, both of them sensing a volatile medley of her anxiety and my uncontrolled temper. Slowly, her torso twists and the weapon in her small hands turns on me.
“Stay away from me. Get back or I’ll shoot.” She hiccups, salty and terrified. “I’ve had enough of this shit.”
Shane immediately moves an inch ahead of me in defense, his gun aimed at her heaving chest. “Lower the weapon, kid,” he says softly, not speaking in his usual ornery tone.
The soles of her slender bare feet make no noise when she shuffles behind the trimmed topiary’s and keeps her aim high. “No chance.”