Cursed Angels - Page 4

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. King.” I look up to the fool who dares address me, and even worse, tied my hands behind my back with only a small rope. Seriously, no metal chains. Is he that fucking dumb?

“I wish I could share the sentiment, but when your men came for me, I was balls-deep and left decidedly unsatisfied,” I growl at him. The rumbling starts low in my throat and travels up into a torrent of spit-out words. I’m pissed off, but I’m also the master of distraction. While my enemy focuses on the rage spewing from my mouth, my hands make short work of the woefully inadequate bindings. In an instant, I’m secretly free. The rope tears apart with the brutal strength I possess. Nobody is behind me because my back is against the cold, external wall. A perfect place to gain momentum in the ensuing fight. One man stands to my left. He is shorter than me and half the size, so he won’t be a problem. Another two are holding guns behind the prick speaking to me; they offer me more of a challenge, but it’s not one I’m worried about.

“I’m afraid we had to take you at your weakest moment,” Mr. mohawk-and-suit speaks.

“Can we dispense with the crap? What is it you want?” I’m already bored and looking forward to getting back to my whore. I had unfinished business with her. Not that it’s anything like I imagined it being with Samara. Where the hell did that thought come from? I shake it away and scowl back at my captor.

“You took something of mine, and I want it back.” He slams his fist hard into my face. I crack my jaw to alleviate the pain.

“I’m afraid the money has already been allocated.”

“Making toy soldiers at that so-called orphanage of yours is not why I gave it to you. I want an army of grown men now.” Another punch comes, this time to my stomach. I clench the muscles together to bar against the force of the assault. It was one of the first things I learned when growing up. It was the only way to survive. If I’d shown evidence that they’d hurt me, they would have rejoiced and done it again. The weak were prey for the strong. It was man up or die. I choose to become a man way before my time.

“You gave us the money for unbeatable troops, and that is what we’re going to provide.”

“When?” A direct hit again to my jaw. Another, and I’ll feel it tomorrow.

“Right now.” I allow the soldier inside me to take over and make a lunge for the small guy. His neck cracks deliciously, and he falls dead to the floor before anyone else has time to register what is happening. One down, three to go. The men with the guns point them in my direction. I’ve been shot twice before. It hurt like a motherfucker. I don’t plan on letting a bullet enter any part of my body today. I haven’t got time to dig it out and get back on the job.

“I want my army.” The boss, a man I know as Lionel Nelson, takes a striding step over the dead body and bears down on me. Gunman “A” goes to his left and “B” to his right. I make sure to keep my eyes on all three as best as I can.

“Nobody makes demands of our company. We make them of you,” I point out. It was discussed at the initial meetings on the deal to provide them with soldiers, but it seems as though they have forgotten.

“Fuck you. I’ve paid fifty million dollars and got nothing for it.”

“You were told you needed to be patient.” I raise my eyebrow in irritability. Do people not read the fine print anymore these days?

“My patience has worn thin. Get on the phone, and have my army delivered here, now, or I’ll deliver you back to your boss in fifty pieces.”

I have to laugh at that one. It’s so absurd to think they would even succeed in chopping off one finger.

“Unless you have another ten men out there, I would say I’ll be going back in one piece.” That’s to be the final word on the matter. Gunman “A” cocks his gun. I pounce on him before he can shoot and use his weapon to shoot Gunman “B” right between the eyes. I break the arm of the man who still holds the gun when I turn it back on his head and fire again. This time, brains scatter all over me when Gunman “A” takes his last breath.

“Damn, this shirt is my favorite.” I shake the gun from his now lifeless hand and point it at Mr. Nelson.

“I believe I’ve just given you a demonstration of what your army will be able to do. They will be delivered in six weeks. Are you prepared to wait?”

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