Page 75 of Born Reckless
I’m armed. I have two wooden stakes tucked into my shorts and a gun in a holster beneath my jacket. I’m wearing cutoff jeans and combat boots, so if need be, I can move without being encumbered.
I’m ready. I just want to stretch my legs and get a freaking hot dog. But I’m ready.
The traffic is getting lighter. It’s a weeknight, so most everyone is headed home by this time to get some rest before starting another mind-numbing day. But still, I eye the shadows, avoiding those who might want to see if they can tango. I don’t feel like bashing any skulls in tonight or draining anyone because I can justify the attack.
Finally, I get to my destination. I order my food and step back outside to eat on my very slow walk home. I nearly moan when I take the first bite and all the flavors hit my tongue. It doesn’t taste as good as blood, but it’s a pretty close second.
When my phone vibrates, I pull it from my back pocket and groan.
“I was having a nice day, Roman. What do you want?” I ask impatiently.
“I’m callingyou,” he snarks. “What the hell do you think I want? My guys got eyes on Pablo five minutes ago. Sigrid said you were in the same vicinity.”
Which means he knows I’ve left the Tower. And he’s not biting my head off for it, surprisingly.
“’K,” I say, looking up and down the street, and above, considering that’s how he got me last time. “I haven’t seen anything to worry about yet, but I’m definitely keeping my eyes open.”
“Lay low,” he says, and through his phone, I can hear him moving. Fast. “Stay put somewhere you can watch your back. I’ll be there in two minutes.”
“Fine,” I say as I bite into my meal. “I—”
Like a bulldozer slamming into me, I’m thrown to the side and my entire body smacks the pavement. My phone shatters against the sidewalk. Both stakes fly out of my shorts. And I’m the worst gunman ever, because it goes rolling out of its holster, clattering into the middle of the road.
I barely have time to look to the side before he’s on me again.
Pablo rushes me, grabbing me by the front of my shirt. He hauls me up once more before slamming me back against a building.
“It’s good to have friends,” he says in a low growl. “You have friends who are willing to stick their necks out for you. Yet here you are, alone. You’re not a very smart girl, are you?”
I react on instinct. I whip my head forward and crack the crown of my skull into his nose. With an animalistic yell, he releases me, his hands going to his nose as it gushes blood.
“Came back for more?” I growl, and I take a swing, landing a punch into his ribs as he tries to wipe away the blood. “I’m not a fan of bullies or whiners. You still have your daughter. Move on. Let it go. Be like Elsa.”
I land another blow to his ribs, but just as I connect, he grabs my wrist. He snaps it out, hard, across my body, throwing me balance off. I overcorrect, but hook my elbow, and snap back, right into his temple. The asshole jerks to the side, losing his grip on me. He staggers to the side.
“Juliet?” I hear a voice yell out for me.
I shouldn’t have looked. I knew I shouldn’t have looked.
But it’s instinct. Someone calls out your name, and you look for them.
My eyes meet Roman’s. And when I see his eyes widen and his mouth open in panic, I know it’s too late.
A split second. That’s all I took.
But in a split second, Pablo plows into me, and something sharp breaks my skin. There’s a glint of wicked satisfaction on his face as I hear my ribs crack.
“Juliet!” I hear a panicked snarl as I feel the tip of the stake reach my heart. I lose my breath as it pierces all the way through and hits my back ribs.
I blink once, and the world feels as if it’s all in slow motion.
Roman is nothing but a blur. Pablo never even looks his direction.
Roman’s hand reaches up inside Pablo’s stomach. His fangs attach to Pablo’s neck. And as every bit of warmth begins to leach from my extremities, my toes, my fingers, it’s as if Pablo… explodes.
Organs go one way. His head goes another. Roman gives a feral snarl that’s quite possibly the most terrifying sound I’ve ever heard, and then an arm goes flying into the street, a leg hits the wall beside me with a wet thud.
He might be a prick, but at least Roman De Luca has instantly avenged my death.