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I don’t leap to save her from the crash. She’s a tough cookie, this one.
I have more important things to tend to.
I’m sure she’d want me to do the same. Well, I can’t imagine she’d want what I’m about to give him. Amara’s a little on the wild side, but blood and spilling guts and killing a person?
She could break up with me for ending someone’s life.
What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Clearly, I’m not talking about cheating. There’s no one else but her. No one else but the man who likes her and me.
No. There’s no one else.
I’ll have to act before she wakes up.
The lowlife who still has the nerve to stare down my pet doesn’t hear me prowling behind him. I bet the fucker’s hard from hurting her.
His erection won’t last long.
Nor will his life.
Fuck handing him over to the police.
First, if they come, I’ll never know who sent him—if someone sent him.
Second, calling the cops is a chicken-shit move. In my world, those who seem weak—those who don’t attack first—get hurt.
Sometimes, they even lose their lives.
And I’ve never been one to be weak or hesitant.
My stepfather—Killian, since I stopped calling him Dad ages ago—knows that. Our hotel members know that.
That’s why I’m an equal parts partner in managing Voltage. This isn’t because of the underlying, unspoken tension between my stepdad and me. He didn’t give me half of what’s his because he looks at me that way. Because I had too before Amara came along.
This also isn’t Killian pitying the newborn of the homeless woman he helped save years ago. He pitied my mother, sure. Killian was eighteen when he took us into his home. Couldn’t stand the sight of a woman and her baby curled up, defenseless, in a dark, filthy corner in the streets of New York.
As the right hand of one of the notorious consiglieri of the underworld, Eduardo, Killian had the means to help us. And so he did. He didn’t have to love my mom to marry her and adopt me. He was fueled by a sense of justice, and so he did just that.
But I’m not that baby anymore. Killian made me his partner because I’m family and because I’ve earned it.
His ruthless partner in literal crime.
The perfect man for the job of avenging Amara.
In three…
I sneak up behind the burglar. My fingers curl around the handle of the pocket knife I carry in my suit jacket everywhere. Cyclone is its name. That’s right. I fucking named it. I’m nothing if not a professional.
Two…
The handle feels warm in my palm. The blade shines beneath the fluorescent lights when I unfold it.
One…
My rage is a roar as I watch the fucker leaning in to grab my pet’s breast.
My breast.
Zero.
