Page 37 of Liberated By Sin
My night had taken a completely different turn than I’d planned. I was supposed to be in his bedroom, surprising him with a few of my favorite blades on very specific parts of his anatomy, then sneak out undetected. But I was always prepared for unexpected situations.
Tossing Tarasov’s piece of shit Beretta, I reached for my own inside my boot and the extra magazine in the other.
“Get that bitch!”
Ivan’s bodyguard pulled in front of the car, another man beside him, and a hail of automatic gunfire descended over the vehicle. The noise inside the cabin was deafening, my ears ringing painfully as I duckedfor cover, wondering how long the bulletproof exterior would hold out.
“Shit,” I cursed, shielding my ears when it suddenly became eerily quiet until two suppressed pops, followed by heavy thuds, echoed throughout the garage.
Seconds crawled by, shrouded in an unnerving silence. Until I heard the most unexpected voice. “Amara.”
Santino.
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Weaker Girl - BANKS
Amaraeased out of the car, stepping over the body beneath the opened passenger door. Her eyes fixed on me, gun drawn and aimed at my chest, as if waiting for me to make a move.
“What are you doing here?”
There wasn’t a single inch of her skin not covered in blood. Despite the threat against my life, I shuffled forward. The urgency to know she was unhurt was stronger than my fear of getting shot.
“Don’t,” she warned, steadying her weapon.
I’d stared down the barrel of a gun more times than I could ever recount. It hardly fazed me, especially when my concern lay elsewhere. When I saw her set foot inside Tarasov’s car, I raced through the club and was out the door just in time to watch him pull onto the street. Not a second later, I trailed the vehicle while calling Amara’s cell, getting nothing but her voicemail.
“Are you okay?”
She snickered. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I’m not the one covered in blood,preziosa.”
“Stop calling me that.”
There was a quiver in her hand and uncertainty burning in her eyes. It was clear she was grappling with a decision—whether or not to take my life. I didn’t blame her as I glanced around at the carnage. Not disposing of a witness to murder was as stupid as getting into a car with a man the likes of Ivan Tarasov.
I shifted my foot, allowing a thin river of blood to flow past my shoe where the driver lay dead from a perfectly executed headshot.
When I suspected Amara held secrets, whatever happened here certainly hadn’t made that list of possibilities. Who was this woman? She was clearly trained to some capacity. Faced with such a sight, the average citizen would run for the hills, their minds in a panic. But I’d rubbed elbows with the most obscure of our society’s underworld. The carnage here reeked of a blood oath. However, what financial need or gain would bring Amara to Illusion if that were true?
“Why did you follow me?”
“Did you think I was going to just sit by and let you get in this asshole’s car?”
“You should have,” she said, finger on the trigger.
I slid forward another step, expecting to get shot but hoping she wouldn’t.
“Why, so those two bastards could kill you by pinning you inside this car?”
“I can handle myself.”
Gaze roving over the bodies on the ground, I nodded and dared to inch closer. “I can see that.”
“Santino,” she warned, “you know I have to.”
“Do you?”