Page 60 of Fatality

Really?

I hit you with my fucking car, and you're telling me to go fuck myself?

They never learn.

I don't answer, I don't wait, I grab him by the hair, fisting it tightly as my eyes glow brighter, fueled by incandescent rage.

My jaw locks, my grip turns deadly.

“As you wish.”

I pull my arm back, every muscle contracting beneath my skin, then drive his head straight into the concrete.

Crack.

Crack.

Crack.

At first, he screams, then he gurgles then he only whimpers.

I don't stop until the concrete begins to fracture beneath his skull. Blood splatters across my face, across my clothes.

I don’t stop until I hear bone give way.

I don't regret it, I don't give a fuck.

I let the body drop, dismissing him completely. I wipe my hands together and look around.

The rest of my gang is already dealing with the others or helping the rookies—The ones still alive.

Varek is terrifying in a fight. He's deadly calm, one punch, and a guy gets thrown across the ground like he weighs nothing.

Neo is a fucking tornado, usually bare-handed. He snaps necks and grins while doing it, but his eyes stay dead serious.

Ren is different, he prefers weapons. He takes people down by shattering bones, knees, arms or wrists.

That's one of the reasons they're my most loyal and trusted people.

If one day I disappear—even though that'll never fucking happen—I know they'll take care of Crimson Velocity.

I step forward, not toward them.

Toward the rookie I saved, I crouch beside him and assess his injuries.

“Can you stand,” I ask, “or do I need to carry you like a fucking princess?”

The rookie's eyes widen.

“I can stand. I-I think.”

He pushes himself up, but cries out the second he puts weight on his left leg.

From the way he folds over, I'm pretty sure his ribs are fucked too.

I sigh, slide one arm behind his back and the other beneath his knees, careful not to aggravate the broken bones, then lift him.

Carrying him like a fucking princess.