Play Dirty (Wages of Sin #2) - Neve Wilder Page 0,78

“You already know what to do.”

Madigan ignored Az and kept his focus resolutely on Bennington, watching for any flinch of movement that might betray his intentions.

“I know about the deadpool,” Bennington snarled. “I want my name struck from that list. In return, I’ll let your lover here go and shut down the enterprises that your little collective seems to find so distasteful.”

“Bullshit.”

Bennington lifted a shoulder. “It would be a much more efficient expenditure of everyone’s time in the long run. You must realize by now I’ve already called in reinforcements. You’ve got what, a couple others inside? Presumably one or two on the outside?” As if on cue, gunfire erupted somewhere in the distance. “And you can rest assured that I’m neither the first nor last man to run such businesses. If not me, someone else will rise to the occasion.”

“They’ll be discovered and taken down, too.” Madigan was almost certain Cas would stay on top of that.

“We’ll see.” Az winced as Bennington dug the needle deeper into the side of his neck and seemed to change tack mid-stride. “If Azrael were smart, he would’ve put the good doctor over there out of his misery promptly instead of trying to help him. If he were brilliant, he wouldn’t have sought me out again after Rio. But the angel of death has a soft streak, doesn’t he?” Bennington purred.

“He’s better than me,” Madigan said. His gaze dipped low to the pulse hammering at the side of Azrael’s throat and the tract of skin exposed by the weight of the vest protecting his torso. Madigan wanted desperately to make it out of this room with him so he could taste that pulse again, touch it, feel it beneath his palm. “At almost everything.”

Bennington took another step deeper into the safe room. “Then all the sadder for both of us. This door closes and, by the time you get it open, I’ll be gone and rigor mortis will be setting in on your boyfriend. Last chance.”

Madigan forced his gaze to hold steady on Azrael’s midnight eyes, eyes he’d met with lust, with fury, with emotions he’d tried to deny for months. Love.

“Azrael is right. We don’t bargain,” he said.

Then he squeezed the trigger.

Az jolted as the bullet ripped through him, the force knocking both him and Bennington backward as it buried itself in Bennington’s Kevlar vest.

Madigan rushed forward as the two men went down, shoving Az out of the way and diving on top of Bennington.

They grappled, Bennington swinging the gun around to crash into the side of Madigan’s face.

Madigan ignored the pain searing across his cheek and managed to pin the man’s arms beneath him. The flare of fear in his eyes was so potent and satisfying, Madigan almost had a physical reaction to it. Bennington was right: Azrael had a humanity that Madigan lacked, and it was that particular aspect of Azrael that kept Madigan rooted to the earth, that he cherished.

There was one thing that Madigan was better at, however.

He pressed the muzzle of the gun to Bennington’s forehead and smiled down at the man. “I’m the better shot.”

Before he could squeeze the trigger, Bennington began seizing underneath him.

Madigan frowned and held the gun steady as the man’s chest bucked beneath him and then went limp, his eyes rolling up in his head.

“The fuck—”

Throwing a glance over his shoulder, he spied the syringe that had been in Azrael’s neck now protruding from Bennington’s thigh.

Azrael lifted his gaze to Madigan’s with a weak smile. “In close quarters, I’d dare say we’re both equally effective, jaanum.”

Madigan slid from Bennington’s body and shook his head, trying and failing to keep a matching grin from his face. “Couldn’t fucking let me have this one, huh? Not even in the name of romance?”

“You just shot me.”

“My intentions were pure. The end goal was protection. Quit,” he chided, when Az tried to bat him away from examining the hole Madigan had put in his shoulder just beside the strap of his Kevlar vest. There was blood, but not too much. The bullet had gone through the muscle as clean as Madigan had hoped it would, but Az would still need medical attention and rehab later down the road, he suspected. “My options were limited, given how that fucker was holding you. What’s that old saying? ‘Sometimes the only way out is through’?” He helped Az upright, propping him against the doorway, then grabbed his hand and pressed it over the wound. “Hold pressure here.”

“I think that’s

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