Vengeful Eyes: A Cane Novel 3

by Hart, Charlotte E

  Two men come in from the right suddenly enough that I let more rounds go at them, not caring how many die here today, as long as it’s not me or Quinn. They both drop as bullets come flying past my head and I push Quinn to the side to duck.

  “Fuck,” he spits out, turning me back to the wall. “The fuck did they come from?”

  He shoves at me, arms out wide to gain as much room as he can, until our arms cross in the shooting. More bullets fly from everywhere. I squint into the gloom, letting off my own gun into corners and darkness.

  “I’m out,” he snaps, pulling himself behind me to reload. My feet push both of us over to a long metal table, more shots firing from my gun as my other hand throws the fucking thing over to give us some cover. “Cunts,” I shout as he ducks in and finally starts aiming his gun again.

  Both of us drop at the goddamn rally of shots delivered at the table’s surface. They come with such force that the table ricochets on our knees, bouncing from the impact. My eyes close as we wait for them to ease a few seconds, old feelings reminding me of those errant streets I grew up on.

  “Fuck you, Quinn.” He chuckles, which makes me laugh, too, and shake my head as I open my eyes again. “You’re a dick.” He watches me reload, a smile on his goddamn face.

  “Love you, too, by the way.” The fuck? I stare at him, trying to glower and failing. The man is insane. “How many left?” he asks, easing his head out to the side a little. More shots come at the same time, causing his head to whip back from the action.

  “Four that I counted. Sounds like more, though,” I reply.

  “Mmm.” The room quietens a little, feet scuffling around us as they probably creep up closer. “Plan?” he asks. Plan? We’re backed up under a table, no fucking hope of escaping, and he wants a plan? I shake my head and lift my guns, as bored with all this shit as he should be.

  “All fucking in,” I snarl out, turning and raising my body, both arms out ready to obliterate whatever is left.

  Fuck this shit. Fuck all of it.

  He comes up with me as I let the first round go, eyes fixed on the men in front of us. Everything moves in slow motion then. Smoke. Shots and shouts in the haze of blood and violence. Quinn braces beside me as I climb over the table and keep moving forward into oncoming fire. I don’t give a damn anymore. Death and black is all I can see, my father’s eyes taunting me with his words all those years ago. More shots pulse through my fingers, a rally of Quinn’s coming at the same time. Three guys tumble to the floor, their lungs bellowing out in pain and finality as they land. Fate lives here. This is the shit that happens when you land your ass on my doorstep and try for more than you’ve been offered.

  I swerve left, dodging incoming, and then press forward as the three others begin to falter backwards at the continued onslaught coming from the pair of us. One fucker comes out of nowhere, though, and moves right, two guns aimed as he starts to throw himself behind a cupboard for protection. Quinn blanches and heads for him, separating us as he throws one of his own guns and grabs at the guy, knife in his hand. My fingers pull again without any thought, sending two more to the floor as bullets keep coming at me. This is it now. All fucking in. One left. I pull again.

  Empty fucking chambers.

  My hands launch both weapons and I run at the cunt, eyes wide and teeth bared. I’m riled beyond anything I’ve felt for years, enough so that the impact of me hitting him in the stomach sends him crashing back into the wall. He grunts at the strength, a wheeze of air coming from his mouth. Dick. A riot of hate spits out of me, fists punching at his jaw and fingers reaching for his eyes to rid him of his stupidity. He strikes back at first, his fist pummeling the side of my mouth and splitting my goddamn lip. I feel my ribs crack at one point under the pounding, which incenses me beyond sanity. My own lungs claw for more air, dragging his carcass around to kick and stamp on anything available until I don’t even care for that anymore. I suck a load in, rallying all my muscles to destroy the face that begins to stare blankly up at me, and beat the fuck out of it.

  Over and over again I go at him. Bones break, blood splatters back at me, teeth dislodging and jaws crumbling. It’s all just fucking black, a mist and murk of hate and anger, leaving nothing but belligerence and volatility in its wake. I feel myself sink to my knees and carry on delivering more, teeth going down to the blood pouring from his empty gaze. More hate. More justice. More fucking revenge aimed solely at this one fuck who decided to try killing me.

  A hand lands on my shoulder, grabbing at me. I spin to stand and launch at that too, fingers flaring. Death and viciousness now—that’s all I want or need. The guy backs away, hands raised. Running? Fuck that. All I can see is threat. They’re all here in this room, coming for me and trying to obliterate everything I’ve made safe. I grab at a can of something, hurling it at the fucker to blindside him before he attacks, my body rushing him at the same time.

  “VICO!” rings out from somewhere. I half stop, searching for Quinn’s voice in the gloom, and turn back behind me. There’s nothing there but blood and guts, a crumpled body lying where I left it. My eyes scan again, counting the mortality rate in here to find him. “Yeah, fuck’s sake,” his voice spits out. What? I spin again, looking for him in the room, and find him staring at me, hands braced out in between us. The fuck is he doing there? “It’s me, you cunt. You back with me yet?” The hell is he talking about? “I think he's dead, Vico.”

  My lip curls in disdain as I stare at him, eyes still flicking around. Death is all that’s left now. A smile curves my mouth, tongue licking over my lips at the smell of it as I back away from him and survey the goods. There's a taste on my lips–blood. Not mine, though. I spit and wipe my wrist across my mouth to rid my skin of it. Japanese tastes like shit. Still, ten dead, one still squirming, his hands covering a stomach wound. I cross to him, fingers knocking his away so I can get inside the cunt and get information. Fucking Yakuza.

  “Where’s the bitch?” I snarl out, getting close in to his face. He shakes his head at me, fearful eyes not giving me anything but loyalty to her. That’s not gonna work for me.

  “Damn hierarchy,” Quinn says somewhere. “Might as well put a bullet to his skull.”

  I smile at that and dig into the blood beneath my hand, pushing my hand into his guts. I grasp his entrails in my fingers, the slippery sensation of them tugging through my grip.

  Warm. Slippery. Wet.

  Old times.

  “You gonna tell me?” I ask, squeezing down on something. Again, a fucking head shake as his face squirms up at the pain that’s coming. “Stupid.” It doesn’t matter now anyway. This shit here should be warning enough to back the hell off me, and out of my goddamn city. I start pulling and stand, bringing his guts with me as I walk backwards and zone out his shouts of agony. My feet wander from man to man, flicking jackets out of the way to get ID.

  “You know any of these?” I ask Quinn, searching through a wallet I’ve found.

  “That could be her chief. You’ve fucked up his face, though.” I look at what’s left of the guy's face, taking the other one’s entrails with me. My fingers grip then release them, grip then release. It feels good, like the devil’s come home into me. I smile, amused. “The fuck are you doing with those in your hand?” he asks.

  “Remembering.” A spluttered cough and wheeze sound behind me, the pained echo of years gone by coming with it. “Search that. I want to know we’ve killed the right ones,” I mutter out, pointing at the faceless cunt, and turning back for the only one still breathing. Just.

  “And you call me a maniac,” Quinn chuckles in the background.

  Yeah. Maniac. Psycho. That's what comes of living my life. At least I know I can trust this one now, that he's got my back covered if I need it. My fingers reach into my pocket, producing four tickets and handing them back to him.

  “What's this?”

  “Party. You're welcome.” He is. Very welcome in my life.

  I crick my neck and stare down at n
ear lifelessness, amused at the splutters and coughs, the fear of death.

  Two minutes it takes to rip the heart out of the fucker. Two minutes to hold something barely beating in my hands and watch it come to a stop.

  I still feel the same about it as I did all those years ago.

  Hollow.

  Eighteen

  Benjamin, Vico and Nathan aren’t back, and the icy reception I’ve had from Emily hasn’t thawed. That only leaves one obstacle, like usual.

  I fill a thermos of coffee and take it out to Torino. It’s coming up to 10:30 p.m. If I’m not careful, I’ll be more than a few minutes late and blow everything.

  “Here.” I thrust the mug into Torino’s hand.

  “What’s this?”

  “Coffee. I’m going to bed. Emily’s in there with me. I’m sure her goons will be downstairs?” My eyebrow lifts in question, hoping he’ll give up and go home.

  “Yeah. Any idea when Vico will be back?” I stand and cross my arms. He should know better than to ask me that. Nobody knows Benjamin’s movements apart from him. “Stupid question.”

  “It’s fine. You’ve been here nearly twenty-four-seven the last few days. Go home before you fall down. You’re no good wiped out.” I read the debate as it flickers across his face, weighing his options.

  “The phone is on. Lock the door and get some rest.” He slurps the coffee and heads over to the elevator to take him out of my hair. The bolt on the door slides into place, and I dash to my room, putting my running gear to good use once again, tie up my hair and shove the treacherous phone into a small backpack.

  It’s a race now to get to the same spot in time. I don’t even know what I want to say, or how to get out of the mess I’ve made, but I do know that re-evaluating the plan is needed or I’ll lose before getting close to the finish. I’ve become everything my mother was in the end—vindictive and spiteful. That’s not what I want. Not when I’m with Benjamin, anyway.

  My heart stretches inside my chest, and I stand still, composing myself as I try to un-jumble my mind.

  “Hope?” Emily calls out. I look up at the bedroom door, more panic setting in. She can’t see me leave. “Hope? I’m going.” Is she? I sigh out the breath I’ve been holding and head for the hallway to find her.

  Her head whips back at me the moment I find her, eyes like venom looking me over. “Quinn’s called. The car’s downstairs for me.” Right.

  “Did he mention Benjamin?”

  “Only that he’ll be a couple of hours.” Good. I’d never be able to explain myself if he caught me.

  “Going out?” Emily looks at me, frowning at my clothes.

  “No, working out,” I reply.

  “At this hour?”

  “Yes. It’s what he expects of me. I work hard for this,” I snap, brushing my hands over my figure.

  “Okay,” she says, heading for the door. Good. Go. My eyes flick around, and I grab the door as she exits. I glance at my watch.

  “Let’s do brunch sometime?” I offer, at least trying to keep the peace. She doesn’t answer, just nods and walks away to her asshole of a husband.

  I give her precisely ten minutes before grabbing everything I need and heading out myself, taking the elevator to the basement where the car is parked. I can access the road without the desk clerk noticing anything from there, and I’m not risking the fact that Emily might not have quite left.

  The air is fresh as I exit out onto the street. I orientate myself and start a gentle jog towards the park. The cold pulls down into my lungs and burns my throat. To distract myself from the activities ahead, I focus on my breathing, taking small breaths to minimise the ache in my chest from the cold air. It’s a twenty-five-minute walk on a good day. I have under twenty, so I’d have to sprint.

  The darkness closes in around me as I enter the park. I don’t want to be here and am not about to make myself any more of a target than I already am to Andreas, so I change my approach and wait in the shadows, just like he did on our first meet.

  The night hasn’t reached its darkest, and there’s still a faint glow from the city. My feet step carefully on the grass as I pull my body out of sight behind some foliage.

  As the minutes draw out, my nerves begin to vibrate around my body, charging every part of me like I’ve been injected with a hit of adrenaline spiked with a cocaine chaser.

  My eyes dart from left to right, checking all around as I feel the blackness begin to swallow me whole. And then, just as I’m convinced I’m hidden from the world, a shadow approaches. Slowly.

  I hold my nerve for a moment more, waiting to see if it’s Andreas. He shows me his profile as he turns out towards the expanse of the park. The frown he’s sporting is visible even through the blackness.

  He sweeps the vicinity before digging into his pocket. The gentle vibration in my bag is muffled enough that it doesn’t give away my position. One more minute and then I’ll show myself.

  I suddenly wish I still had the gun from last night, but every time I contemplate what I’d have to do with it, I’m glad I’m not in that position.

  There were many times, especially when I was young, with some of the men when I had to fuck to earn my rent. I’d imagine killing them sometimes. For what they said to me. For how they treated me. Sure, they were paying for it, but I was a girl. Any innocence I had managed to cling to burned to dust under how some of them treated me. Of course, it wasn’t always that way. The caliber of client improved, the money improved, but it didn’t erase my imagination. But holding the gun to Quinn, I realised that it’s not something I’d be able to do lightly. Not the way Benjamin or Vico could.

  I emerge as Andreas’ partner did the other night and show myself to him.

  “About fucking time. You don’t get to call the shots here, understand?” he barks.

  “No, you don’t understand. I give you intel. You use that as you see fit in order to seek your revenge on the Cane empire. It’s a simple relationship. If you start to demand more or threaten me,” I let the words tail off, unsure what weight my threat will hold, “then you’re back to fighting blind.”

  Andreas considers my words for longer than I thought he would.

  “Your information was good,” he confesses.

  “I know, but it’s not easy to get you this anymore. They don’t trust anyone. They’re out now, but I don’t have anything more. And I think I’ve done the damage I wanted. I'm done.” I’m not sure if that’s true, but it’s certainly gotten far too close to hurting Benjamin for me to continue. I can’t risk that any further than I already have. It’s too much, too involved, and through all of this, I’ve questioned what I’m doing. I thought I’d be more resolved, but now I'm questioning it all.

  He sneers at me and closes in, eyes like weapons. I brace, expecting something. “No. You picked your side, Hope. Ours.”

  “I didn’t. If it comes to that, I choose Vico.” My feet back away, ready to leave. “He’s my side, Andreas.”

  “Too late.”

  “Just because you’ve turned your back on family,” I hiss, stepping up to him again, my finger pointed, “doesn’t mean we all do.” His face contorts with anger as he closes the distance between us. Close enough that I shiver at what's coming next.

  “You don’t get to lecture me about Gabriella. She’s not family to me anymore.”

  “Really? Is that why you’re so angry right now?” My voice holds a strength I don't have.

  “She betrayed me.” His voice softens as if he knows his defence holds no substance. It confuses me for a second, the sound of that softness. It resonates with everything I'm going through, reminding me that none of this is easy.

  “And that warrants you trying to bring down her husband?”

  Andreas doesn’t answer and looks away, stepping back from the heat of our discussion. I don’t push my luck. “Look, you got your intel. I have nothing else. Let’s just call it quits.” I dig into my bag and pull out the phone, offering it back.

  E
ven if he takes it, even if he agrees, I’ll have to trust that he won’t go to Benjamin or the brothers. Can I trust him? The answer is screaming in my face. I can’t just walk away like this, but I can’t do this anymore. I won’t do this anymore.

  The tension in the air is nothing compared to the weight I now feel on my shoulders. As if the world has imploded and the pressure has focused totally on me. The seconds pass, my heart pounds, but I won’t be moved. I can’t continue to deceive Benjamin. I love him too much.

  The words play around in my mind as I try to understand where they came from, when I started feeling this way.

  Andreas doesn’t take the phone back. His eyes bore into me, an attempt at intimidation. Tough. I'm not doing this.

  “If you won’t do this anymore then you better think about having eyes in the back of your head, because you’ll never see us coming.”

  “Oh, really? What are you going to do?” The alarm bells in my head tell me not to antagonise him further. I might just be able to walk away from this in one piece.

  “I wouldn’t stay in New York, Hope. Perhaps you should reconsider your choice of boyfriend, because I’m pretty sure he won’t tolerate a betrayal like you’ve committed.” His words chill me to the core, as if someone just walked over the grave I’ve dug for myself. “Giving intel to the enemy? I know he’s killed for less.”

  Andreas walks away into the shadows. No further words, no turning back. It’s over. Yet I know that’s a lie. It’s really just beginning.

  My mind is in overdrive and I can’t switch it off. Like I’ve hooked myself up to a really strong brew of coffee and hardwired it into my system for the last several hours.

  The apartment is quiet, but each creek of a floorboard and the gentle hum of the fridge clicking on have me jumping out of my skin.

  When I worked the streets—those nasty corners you think about when the word hooker crosses your mind—I had to watch my back, be smart and trust my instincts. It’s what kept me alive for over a year in a dodgy as hell neighborhood. I didn’t realise when I started out that even the oldest profession in the world had a hierarchy and management system. But at no time in those years did I paint a target on my back like the one I’ve marked and illuminated in fucking neon colors for Andreas tonight.