Dead Man Walking (The Fallen Men #6) - Giana Darling Page 0,10
see what you’ve done. Women like this are untouchable, you motherfucking swine. Women like this are not for the likes of you or me.”
“Don’t fucking kill me for this, she’s just a girl,” Brett pleaded. “I have money. Lots of money! I’ll pay you whatever you want. Fuck! Just let me go.”
I barked out a cold, hard laugh that hurt my chest and sliced an inch across his butter soft neck, spilling blood down his front.
“You crossed The Fallen MC,” I hissed into his ear, twisting my knife just to hear him groan. “And now, you’ve personally crossed me. I’m going to end you here, and then I’m going to end your family and everyone you loved because this girl is worth more than you and your scum family combined.”
The sharp odor of urine perfumed the air as Brett Walsh whimpered and shook against me, tears falling from his one good eye.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“I’m not,” I said, levering him higher into the air by his hair, ready to end him.
I wanted to feel his blood flow hot over my hands. Maybe then I could rid myself of the vision of Bea, angelic as heavenly death caught up in all this ugliness.
“Priest.” The soft, silken voice of my broken angel cut through my laser focus.
I looked down at Bea, her head in Wrath’s lap, her big blue eyes gone black with terror and pain. She studied the careless way I held her date and the deadly intent in my gaze as I stared back at her. I let her see the depths of my black soul, the absolute resolve I had to kill this motherfucker in front of her, for her.
Wordlessly, she inclined her head.
A second later, before Brett could draw another breath, my knife was across his throat and his blood splashed to the ground, anointing the earth at Bea’s feet like a sacrifice made for the gods and goddesses of old.
And through it all, we watched each other, Bea and me, locked together in this death in a way I felt echo into the future of our lives, linking us in a way I’d never be able to forget.
I knew then, as I’d only been curious about it before, that Beatrice Lafayette was going to be mine.
Bea
The sharp, antiseptic scent in my nostrils when I finally swam sluggishly from unconsciousness into a painful wakefulness meant I knew immediately where I was. The Garros visited St. Katherine’s Hospital so frequently, I joked with Loulou that we should start a loyalty program.
She hadn’t laughed. In fact, when I woke up in scratchy white hospital sheets with a residual ringing in my ears and pain throbbing like strobe lights under my skin, Loulou was yelling.
My sister did not yell.
Mostly because people usually did what she asked. It had something to do with her intense beauty, but also her quiet confidence and kindness. She was the kind of woman who understood the power of the feminine mystique and had long ago learned to control it.
So, I was shocked she was yelling until I saw exactly who she was yelling at.
Priest stood just outside the door, hands loose at his sides, face completely placid even though a passionate, angry Garro was shouting in his face.
He just took it.
And Zeus, who sat in a chair in the corner of the room, let it happen.
“There is nothing you can say to excuse this,” Loulou was yelling, tears in her voice, her anger on the edge of collapsing into sheer grief. “There is nothing that will ever make me forgive you for letting this happen to her.”
Priest blinked.
“Easy, little warrior,” Zeus warned quietly, but he didn’t move from his chair. “Don’t say somethin’ you can’t take back.”
“He deserves worse than my words,” she cried dramatically, her arm flinging in my direction. “Look at what he’s done to her!”
Her eyes widened as she caught sight of me awake and watching.
“Bea,” she breathed before launching herself at the bed. Despite her eagerness, her hands fluttered gently against my face like butterfly wings as she checked me out. “Beatrice.”
“Hey,” I whispered even though my throat ached. “How’s my favourite sister?”
I watched her blue eyes, bright like the ocean under a noon sun, flood with tears.
“I thought you were going to die on me,” she admitted. “And I know, that is one tragedy I wouldn’t survive.”
“Don’t be silly,” I told her lightly, trying to reduce her angst. “You’ve already survived worse.”
Loulou zipped her mouth closed against the force of a