Hell Hath No Fury

by RC Boldt

  Exhaling slowly, I study the weapons meticulously set on the dining room table. We’ve been ensuring everything is in working order. “I’ll need to carry more ammo for my guns.” Then I level him with a pointed look. “Promise me you won’t interfere.”

  “I’m in this to find Hayden. That’s it. Everyone else is all yours.”

  The briefest hint of conflict flickers across his face, but it quickly disappears before he rakes a hand across his jaw. I understand his struggle. He’s never had anything close to a partner in a fight like this. He’s been doing this solo since the day he became The Hunter.

  It also doesn’t escape my attention that he didn’t exactly answer me, but I suppose it’s the best I’ll get from him.

  We go over the plan, and I point at the sketch of the warehouse, tapping my finger on one of the rear exits. “I’ll head through there. It’ll work to my advantage that they’re holding a small meeting and don’t plan to have many men guarding the place. Plus, Cash will be there.”

  We picked up that useful piece of info through the bugs I’d planted. It’s evident they want the fewest number of eyes around to witness the second-in-command making his entrance. “I’m expecting only about a dozen men at best, but I’ll plan for more to be on the safe side.”

  Hunter nods. “They’ll be on alert because of your other hits, but there’s also a chance they’ll be careless since you’ve been lying low. You can’t bank on it, but it’d be helpful.” He laces his fingers together on top of his head, staring down at the specs of the warehouse with a severe scowl. “Still don’t have a good feeling about this second-in-command guy heading there.”

  Unease prickles at me, too, but we can’t afford to dwell on it, so I move on. “Once I disable the surveillance feed and get through their minions, I’ll find the two men.”

  “Did you want me to let Warren in on any of this?”

  I lift my gaze to his. “No. I figure he’ll pick up on everything after…” I can’t bring myself to voice the remaining words and leave it hanging instead.

  I figure he’ll pick up on everything after it’s over. When Warren walks in that warehouse and finds the bodies. All of them.

  Including mine.

  Before I met Hunter, I knew that the final step of seeking justice would likely be the end for me. That setting my sights on revenge was the equivalent of a death sentence. Now, though, it’s much more difficult to acknowledge since I’ve grown attached to this man. Since he’s somehow breached my defenses to fully ensnare my heart.

  I’ve never allowed myself to consider the what-ifs. The questions that pelt my brain, leaving behind a treacherous trail of fear and hope.

  What if I get out of this alive?

  Could I really start my life over?

  Would he want to start over with me?

  If he doesn’t, could I do it alone? Would I even want to?

  I stifle these rambling questions, shoving them down deep because I can’t afford any distractions. Tonight is far too important.

  Tonight is when I hope to put the final nails in the coffins. To end this. To finally get the justice my family deserves.

  They spilled the blood of the people I loved most.

  Now it’s my turn to paint this town with theirs.

  51

  Hunter

  She hesitates at the side of the bed where I lie still, maintaining my even breathing, eyes closed. She’s dressed to go for her late-night run with Kujo.

  I sense her inner turmoil and indecision, but that may be because I’m feeling it, too. This woman has me all sorts of fucked up.

  When she finally whispers, it’s so faint that I’m partly unsure if I heard her correctly. But when the words sink in, it takes everything in my power to keep my eyes from opening in shock.

  “I love you.”

  Then she’s gone, exiting the house with my dog, leaving me to wonder if her softly spoken words actually happened or if it was a figment of my imagination.

  I love you.

  Those words lance right through me, cutting me to the core, exposing me to emotions I haven’t felt in years.

  Fuck.

  Darting out of bed and over to one of my bags, I grab a burner phone. Raking a hand over my jaw, I stare down at the cell, knowing my gut instinct has never led me astray, which means I need to listen to it now. Even though this will easily fuck everything up, it has to be done. I’ve gone over this in my head a million times, and it’s the only way.

  Once I dial the number, it rings twice before someone answers.

  “This is The Hunter. I’ve got a solid lead for your boss.”

  “You can tell us. We’ll pass on the info.”

  I harden my tone. “I only report findings directly to your boss.”

  “Now, listen here, you little—”

  “Should I hang up and let you be the sole reason your boss doesn’t find out who’s behind the hits?” My casual tone belies the threat that’s all too clear.

  Silence on the other end tells me this pissant realizes he’s caught between a rock and a hard place. When he finally responds, it sounds like it’s forced through clenched teeth. “Fine. Boss’ll call you back within the hour. This number good?”

  “Yeah.” I end the call abruptly and sit back and wait.

  Within the hour, my ass. It only takes a minute and a half before my phone rings. When I answer, I’m greeted with a raspy male voice, one I’m not familiar with, and the arrogance in it tells me this man is used to being held in high authority. But something tells me he’s still not the one I need.

  “You’ve got info for us?”

  My gut churns, and it’s why I wait for a beat, letting the silence hang between us so he understands I’m not fucking around. “I specifically said I wanted to speak to the boss.”

  His response will tell me everything I need to know, and my instincts are blaring at me that I’m treading down the right path.

  Slowing down my speech so it sounds like I’m speaking to a simpleton, I say, “I’ve got what you asked for, and now I need you to connect me with your boss.”

  “I don’t know who the fuck—”

  “It’s that simple,” I interrupt him, my tone dripping with condescension, and end the call.

  A moment later, the phone rings, and a different voice greets my ears. A riotous mix of satisfaction, dismay, and fury collide in my chest, but I tamp it down and lay out my demands.

  I ignore the tremor in my hands when I end the phone call. My conscience gnaws at me like an unweaned puppy, but I swiftly shove it aside.

  It’s time.

  52

  Kate

  The Final Task

  December 20th

  Few homes in this part of town have decorated for the holiday, and those that have display a meager amount of lights.

  The warehouse sits amidst the paved parking lot with countless cracks and craters, weeds sprouting to hip-height in some places. It’s a smaller building than the ones used for their other operations, which means fewer possible places for me to hide or take cover. But after Hunter and I went out one night to assess it, I felt more confident.

  On the edge of Seaside Cove, bordering the rougher part of Wilmington, it offers other indications it’s been abandoned for quite a while, judging from the clinging ivy which climbs up a few of the sides, and the shitty wiring for the surveillance mounted outside. As a bonus, I’ve noted only eight guards on the premises.

  “Be careful.” Hunter’s words from earlier curled around me, cloaking me in a comforting warmth I’ve been without for so long. I nodded to him and gave Kujo a little scratch behind his left ear, just the way he likes, and turned to leave. That’s when Hunter snagged my wrist, quietly tugging me close for a kiss.

  My heart skipped a beat because I haven’t had anyone worry about me and yet fully understand what I’m working toward.

  Not until Hunter.

  When he agreed to let me handle things alone, my mind and heart went into ov
erdrive because that indicates he trusts and has confidence in me.

  Now, as I head toward the “blind” corner of the building—one with no cameras in sight and bordering thick, overgrown hedges separating it from the nearest neighbor—I ensure that my emotions are in check and they won’t get the best of me. I need to keep my guard up at all times.

  Once I disable the camera beneath the entryway, I know it’s only a matter of seconds before they’ll notice. I need to act quickly. Securing the small sticky bomb with C-4 on the warehouse door, I dart away a safe distance and aim my silenced gun at the pin to detonate it.

  The blast reverberates through me, practically rattling the pavement beneath me, and it takes off the door like planned. With both guns in hand and my fingers curled around the grips, I wait a split second, and I’m not disappointed when dipshit number one comes stepping out with an HK45. But I don’t give him the chance to pull the trigger. With a subdued pop! he drops like a ton of bricks from the bullet that pierces his temple.

  I luck out with the next few easy targets. They’re unskilled, cocky, and careless, and I make quick work of them before carefully treading along the unforgiving concrete warehouse floor, searching for him.

  “You’ve got some pretty big-ass balls to come here.” Cash’s taunt does nothing to deter me from approaching him, following the sound of his voice until I spot the shadow around the corner of the narrow hallway leading toward the three offices.

  “What’d you say we handle this, man-to-man? No guns.”

  He’s giving me the opportunity to hurt him with my bare hands? Oh, hell yes.

  I creep closer and deepen my voice. “You first.”

  He emerges slowly, strolling out like he doesn’t have a care in the world, and fury pulses through my veins.

  “First, I have a question.”

  He sneers. “Stalling already?” When he fails to get a response, his mouth turns down in a sour expression. “What’s the fucking question?”

  I holster my guns and flex my fingers as we circle one another in an age-old dance. He may outweigh me, but I have a whole lot more riding on this than he ever could.

  “Why the hell did you betray your best friend?”

  Something indecipherable flashes in his eyes, but it disappears as he lunges, his fist aiming for my face. I dodge the hit, swinging with a hard uppercut to his jaw. Anticipation and adrenaline course through me, and I barely register the pain radiating from my knuckles. His head snaps back, but he remains steady on his feet, eyes narrowing with irritation.

  “What’s with the fucking balaclava? Still too much of a pussy to show your face?” He’s buying time with these questions. I see it for what it is. He might think he’s being discreet, but when he slides his right hand into his pocket, I know what’s to come.

  Brass knuckles are a coward’s weapon. Apparently, he feels the need to up the ante.

  I take another swing, aiming for his nose, and he barely deflects it. I land two more quick hits to his jaw before his fist aims for my face. I turn, landing a punch to his gut just as his fist grazes my still-healing shoulder. Nausea-laced pain sears through me when the brass knuckles connect with my flesh, and I battle against the urge to whimper.

  Lashing out, I land several successful punches, causing him to stumble back in his attempt to dodge more of my hits. I twist his wrist, shoving him face-first against the wall.

  I wrench his arm back and rip the brass knuckles off him, sending them clattering to the floor. When I jump back, he turns, and I catch him with two more punches to his face. The sight of blood dripping messily from his mouth is gratifying.

  But my gratification is cut short when he grabs me by the throat in a punishing grip. I cinch his wrist with both hands and use forward momentum to rush at him, catching him by surprise. Pinning my good shoulder against his body, I slam him against the wall.

  His grip slackens, but he retaliates, attempting an uppercut which I barely dodge. The singeing heat from the blow that’s grazed my cheek feels like it’s on fire, but I twist slightly, jamming my elbow into his stomach. He staggers, and I land another swift punch to his face, spittle and blood spraying outward from the impact.

  He will die at my hands. The man who betrayed my husband. The man whose hands pulled the trigger and forever changed my life.

  Before I can take another swing at his face, he headbutts me so violently, I’m battered with a flurry of pain. I gasp, blinking rapidly through the sudden disorientation, and he takes advantage of my momentary imbalance by shoving both palms at me.

  I stumble against the wall, and he traps me with the weight of his body, his thick forearms pressing into my shoulders, preventing me from reaching my weapons. The weight of one arm aggravates my shoulder wound, and I grit against the onslaught of pain before he secures his hands around my throat, fingers squeezing tight like the most unforgiving manacle.

  I claw at him as white spots dance in my vision. Twisting frantically, I’m desperate to drag oxygen into my burning lungs.

  Fuck no. I’m not going down yet. Not like this. No goddamn way.

  Dropping my hands, I allow my knees to buckle beneath me and attempt to channel the lingering strength that’s rapidly waning. Luckily, he interprets my sudden lack of resistance as a win, and it distracts him from my next movements.

  Kru Namsaknoi’s words flicker in the back of my mind.

  “Their confidence can also be their greatest weakness. That is when you strike.”

  Forcing past the effects from the lack of oxygen, I grab my gun from the holster and aim the muzzle at Cash.

  In our last encounter, he was lucky. He won’t be getting off so easy now because I pull the trigger at close range and the first bullet enters his throat.

  I pay no attention to the blood spilling between us. All I care about is when his grip slackens for me to frantically skitter away, my legs and arms far too unsteady for my liking. He clutches at his throat, pure terror lining his features.

  Leaning against the wall to try to steady myself, I aim directly at his forehead and heave out, “Die, you motherfucker,” before I pull the trigger.

  His body jerks from the impact of the two bullets piercing round holes in his forehead before he topples over, slumping on the floor with his blood and brain matter now surrounding him.

  I shove my gun in the holster as I struggle to drag much-needed oxygen into my lungs. My legs are still shaky, and I brace my hands against the wall when I teeter unsteadily.

  The sound of a slow clap of applause catches me by surprise. It travels from down the hallway, and how a single sound can carry such ominous power baffles me.

  “Well done. Now, allow yourself to be escorted in here so we can be properly acquainted,” a woman’s voice commands from inside the office. But that isn’t what has me freezing from a combination of shock and alarm, my heart constricting in my chest.

  Icy dread fills my veins as I’m overcome with a sense of betrayal so visceral, it embodies a sensation of bloodletting directly from my heart. Because the guns whose muzzles are pressed against my temple and my side are held by a man I recognize, even from beneath the balaclava he wears.

  It’s the same man who helped me plan this very attack.

  Hunter.

  53

  Kate

  “You’ll be a dear and drop your weapons, of course,” the smooth female voice instructs in a voice laden with barely veiled amusement. “Put the safety on and toss them aside.”

  Dammit! Bile rises in my throat at the realization that I’ve failed. I’ve failed my family.

  Not only that, but I’ve been played a fool by Hunter. I’d whispered words of love to this man, the one holding me captive with two weapons, fingers poised on the triggers.

  The same man who made my body and soul come alive.

  The man who’d made me feel again.

  Hunter had embroidered himself on my heart without permission, much like he handles his life.

  Now, his betrayal sea
rs like a burning brand on my flesh, permanent and agonizing, embedded in my skin forever.

  A tumultuous mix of pain and fury collide within me, swirling in my gut as I toss my guns aside. Hunter gives a harsh nudge with the muzzle of his weapons, urging me to move in the direction of the office.

  As soon as we enter the large space with dim fluorescent lighting, the woman takes a seat behind a desk with a laptop, cell phone, and gun set on the smooth surface.

  She looks to be somewhere in her late thirties or early forties with perfectly styled dark blond hair, flawless makeup, and dressed in a thin, sleeveless silk blouse as if she’s impervious to the cold weather outside.

  Diamonds sparkle from where they drape her wrist and neck, and I imagine her being more at home sunbathing on some enormous yacht while being served caviar and champagne rather than sitting in a warehouse harboring illegal business activities.

  The menacing gleam in her icy blue eyes has me wishing I had the ability to breathe fire. I would ignite the entirety of my surroundings in the span of a heartbeat, leaving behind raging fires and ashy destruction. Leaning back in her chair, she steeples her fingers and inspects me from head to toe like I’m the most curious specimen known to mankind.

  Her gaze shifts over my shoulder to focus on Hunter. “I’ve spent good money to find out who’s been behind these attacks.” She taps her steepled fingertips together slowly. “I wasn’t sure whether you were idiotic or brilliant to try to bargain with me.”

  “I brought in the person responsible. Without killing them.” Hunter’s voice is clipped, tone icy. “As I said before, this isn’t what I do.”

  “And for that, I’m grateful.” Her inquisitive gaze travels over me as she continues speaking to Hunter. “I’ll admit, what you suggested does have its advantages, but if she doesn’t agree—”