It doesn’t take long before I figure out what he’s begging for—his life.
Because in the next instant, the man standing in front of him pulls a gun from his waistband. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, wearing black pants and a leather jacket. And he is absolutely not screwing around as he takes aim, positioning the gun’s muzzle between the crying man’s eyes.
My stomach clenches and my blood goes cold. I open my mouth, prepared to scream, to beg him to stop. Anything. But nothing comes out. I can’t even draw breath. I might as well not be here, might as well be a ghost witnessing this.
If I don’t get out of here, I might end up being a ghost before long. I know this, and my instincts are screaming, begging me to run. My skin feels itchy, my muscles are jumping. Run, you idiot, get out of here! Something tells me a man willing to blow another man’s brains out in an alley isn’t beyond pulling the trigger on an innocent bystander.
Still, I can’t move. I’m in shock, with part of me trying to believe this is just a dream. A nightmare. Things like this don’t happen in real life.
Only when a shot rings out, and the man falls on his side do I know this is very, very real.
And when I gasp, finally able to make a sound, the dark eyes of a cold-blooded killer land on me.
2
Archer
Fuck. Fuck a million times over.
This was supposed to be easy. Uncomplicated, at least. The kind of thing I’ve done more times than I can count.
Tonight, something’s different.
There’s a witness.
Fuck again. But I knew I shouldn’t have done this out in the open, didn’t I? I knew it before I ever suggested the weak, whimpering, and now dead man in front of me join me outside for a little discussion; just a talk, a way to straighten a few things out.
People will believe anything when they’re desperate enough. I’ve seen it time and again. They have that fear in their eyes, that stone-cold terror that comes from knowing their time on Earth is about to come to an end. It’s when the memory of every stupid thing they’ve ever done comes rushing back—every poor decision.
Including the fatal decision to stab a member of my family in the back.
You’d think they’d know better by now. Who do they think they’re trying to kid, these morons who believe they’ve found a way to get around us, to steal from us, to pull the wool over our eyes? We might be young, my brothers and me, but we learned while sitting at the feet of none other than Paul Valentino. A man who once held this entire city by the balls.
Our father. Late father.
These assholes think that just because he’s dead, his sons will let bygones be bygones while the so-called tenuous hold we have over the city’s underworld commands all of our attention. Like we can’t multitask. Like we can’t clean house while solidifying control over the family’s interests, no matter what the media likes to report.
So sure, when I walked into the bar and found this tracksuit-wearing, sniveling little piece of shit, Trent wanted to believe there was nothing to it but a quick chat away from prying eyes and ears. People will believe anything when their life is at stake, and they don’t want to come to terms with it.
Well, I didn’t put it at stake. I didn’t double-cross us. He did. I only settled the score.
But now there’s this girl standing not thirty feet away, and I know she saw the whole damn thing. Why didn’t I notice her? Or at least hear her come up on us? I’m better than this. I’m smarter than this.
Obviously not, dumbass, or else you wouldn’t be staring at a witness to the murder you just fucking committed.
“Don’t move.” It’s a bark, a command, and nobody who’s ever heard that tone in my voice has ever dared disobey. She’s no different. Frozen solid, not even shaking, though her eyes are bulging out and her face is about as pale as milk.
A nice face. Angelic, even. The glow of an overhead lamp adds to that effect, I guess, making a halo around her golden hair. It’s pulled back in a messy ponytail, but I can tell it would be soft to the touch, flowing around her face like a cloud, framing those delicate features and those big, shining blue eyes.
Snap out of it, you dumb shit. I’m fast, but she’s small and toned, and she has the benefit of adrenaline on her side. The second she snaps out of whatever shock she’s going through, she’ll take off like a rabbit in her beat-up sneakers. I won’t stand a chance.
I’ve gotta get through to her. Or else I’ll have to kill her.