Black

“Where the fuck is she going?”

Yanking open the bottom drawer of my desk, I pull out my .45, check to make sure it’s loaded, and stuff it in the back of my pants.

“Where do you think she’s going? What would you do if you just remembered, after fourteen years, who murdered your family?”

“She’s going after Dad? Is she fucking stupid? She’s going to get herself killed.”

“No, she won’t. Because we won’t let her.”

Dante’s lips part, and I cock a brow.

“Fucking son of a bitch,” he rumbles, rushing to his office, where he, too, grabs his .45. “I can’t believe this shit. What the fuck are we supposed to do?” he mumbles, prepping his gun as I just did. “Let’s just grab Shae, tie her to a chair, and we’ll make her see reason.”

“I can’t do that, Dante.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Because I love her,” I yell. “And I understand why she feels the need to do whatever the fuck it is she’s going to do. If someone murdered you, I’d be the exact same way.”

“What’s she going to do? Point a gun to his head and demand an apology?”

“No clue. I just know we have to get to her and Mom before Dad does.”

“Wait. What? Mom? What does she have to do with this?”

Grabbing my keys, I stalk down the hall and out to my car with Dante following close behind. “We’re about to find out.”

Dante yanks open the passenger side door and slides in. “I hate this shit. This is why I don’t want any part of the fucking mafia.”

“I know, brother, but Shae needs us. Whether she knows it or not, she’s about to go head to head with the fucking devil, and we’re going to be there to stop her.”

“I know you love this girl, Rex, but are you ready to die for her?”

“I’m not going to die, and neither are you.”

“I better not fucking die,” he scoffs. “Or I’ll come back to haunt your ass.”

“Shae.”

Ignoring JJ, I run for my room and grab a box from the top shelf of my closet. Placing it on my bed, I open it and pull my gun from its case.

“What the fuck is that?” JJ asks.

Taking a deep breath, I remind myself that I knew this day would come. That’s why I took shooting lessons, and that’s why I bought a gun to begin with.

“It’s a gun.”

“No fucking shit,” JJ admonishes, standing next to me. “But what are you doing with it? Do you even know how to shoot a gun?”

“Better than most.” And that’s the fucking truth. With my very first paycheck, I hired someone to teach me. He was a former Navy SEAL, and he worked with me for three years, ensuring that I had the tools necessary to protect myself, including the ability to kill someone if it came down to it.

He didn’t ask questions about my past, and I didn’t offer any information. I was a client. Nothing more.

I make sure the gun is loaded and the safety on before shoving it in my purse.

“I need your car.”

“What?” JJ’s eyes widen. “No fucking way.”