“Let the grannie go, yeah, we get it.”
“No, not that,” I say, and with each syllable I stalk just a little bit closer, projecting an aura like I’m just talking like I’m not coiling all my energy and strength like a spring ready to erupt.
“What, then?” he says, even if part of him knows this is all bullshit.
“All you have to do, Clive,” I say, watching him flinch at the use of his name like I knew he would, “is get on your hands and knees and beg like the pathetic fucking worm you are.”
“You mother—”
I leap forward as he raises the gun, moving far quicker than he thought I would.
Or could.
He yells when I grab his wrist and, with a violent wrench, twist it upward, the gun falling from his hand and clattering metallically on the floor.
He swings at me with a wild punch and I take it, I can’t move out of the way quickly enough.
But I roll with the motion and then spin around, my elbow finding his jaw.
Something goes snap and he reels backward, roaring.
I kick the gun and it slides across the floor, and then I leap at the nearest man and drive my fist up into his nose. I feel something crush and then wobble like jelly as if I’ve dislodged his naval cavity, and then he falls to the floor in a shower of blood and screams.
I jump at the gun again, slamming my elbow into one man’s back and then grabbing another man and lifting him clear off the floor by his shirt.
I bring him down on my knee, violently, savagely, hitting him so hard he goes unconscious immediately.
I grab the gun and tuck it into the back of my pants, turning to find Hardhat and the three of his men I haven’t yet injured standing there uncertainly.
I glance at the one with the lead pipe.
“Well?” I growl. “Aren’t you going to use that thing, tough guy?”
He yells and throws it at me, which is probably the stupidest thing he could’ve done.
I catch it mid-air and then leap forward, smashing him across the jaw and then taking out another’s legs. I drop it and grab the third, lifting him off his feet and pounding a head-butt in between his eyes, dropping him like a sack of potatoes.
I stomp on Hardhat’s hand as he tries to pick up the pipe, twisting my shoe, making him wheeze and gasp.
“All of you, out,” I snarl.
They groan and writhe and gasp as they clutch their injured bodies.
I grab the gun from my waistband and fire twice into the air, and that clears the bastards pretty damn quickly.
I’m glad to see that they rush out of the back exit, meaning they won’t come into contact with Melody or see the car. Not that they would anyway, not where it’s parked, behind the natural camouflage of the shipping container where they’re unlikely to look.
“What’s the plan now?” I snarl. “No women to abuse. No lives to threaten. What the fuck are you going to do now—”
Behind me, I hear a gasp.
I glance and see Melody stumbling into the room, her eyes wide as she takes in the scene.
“Gertrude,” she gasps, leaping across the room and carefully removing the duct tape from her mouth. “Oh my God, Gertrude. I’m so, so sorry. I never should’ve put you in this position. I never should’ve even been around you long enough for this to—”
“Hush,” she says, as Melody starts removing her bindings. “If I never met you, Melody, I’d count myself the unluckiest woman alive. You’re the daughter I never had. Do you really think a silly little man with a silly little head tattoo – which, frankly, does nothing to hide the fact that you’re bald, by the by – is going to change that?”
Melody laughs and sobs at the same time.
“How fucking cute,” Hardhat snarls.
I kneel down and grab the back of his shirt, lifting him up like he weighs nothing and then giving him a stiff jab to the throat, making him choke and splutter and kick around pathetically.
“Apologize,” I snap. “To both of them. Now. Or I’ll string you up and use you as a punching bag until the police gets here.”
“Apologize?” he cackles. “Do you really think—”
This time I smack him across the mouth with the gun, the metal causing his jaw to dislocate. Any pity I might feel is burned away when I think about the women and children this man has probably sold into sexual slavery and the fact that he was going to do it to my woman, stopping me from having my children.
“The next one might kill you,” I growl, the beast within me in control now.
“I’m s-sorry,” he gasps, his voice distorted with his messed-up jaw. “Jesus, I’m sorry. Just stop. Please. I’m sorry.”
I look at Melody, waiting to see what she wants to do.
Because she has power over this man, not the other way around, and she never has to be afraid again.
“Let me get Gertrude out of here and I’ll call the police,” she says. “I’m done with this pathetic little man. And she’s right, Clive, that tattoo is the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen. Are you going to be okay watching him until the police arrive, Mason?”
“Oh,” I say, and then reel back and hit him so hard in the stomach he doubles over and crumples into a ball on the floor. “I think I’ll be fine.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Melody
As I ride the elevator up to Gertrude’s new penthouse apartment – with round the clock security – I clutch the newspaper in my hand, the headline still singing through me.
Hero CEO Saves the Day: A New Dawn for Spark Industries?
The photo on the front is of me and Mason, taken at an industry function a few days ago. I remember how nervous I felt as we strode into that ballroom together, my ball gown feeling faintly ridiculous as it trailed behind me and the flashing camera lights
