Insatiable (Steel Brothers Saga #12) - Helen Hardt Page 0,10

it comes down to you and Bryce, he’ll win every time. Throw my mother and sister into the mix? It’s no contest.”

“I told you to kill me. Give it your best shot.”

“Hold on, Joe,” I said. “No one wants to die that badly. He’s up to something.”

Booker chuckled. “You’d better hope you’re a good shot.”

“The best,” I said. “I learned from my psycho father. You want to try to take me on?”

“I learned from the best as well,” Booker said. “And you seem a little psycho yourself from where I’m standing.”

Rage welled inside me. “I’ll hand it to you. You thought of exactly the right thing to say to piss me off even more.” I cocked my gun. “I’m serious. Dead serious. You think I’m anything like my father? Even a little? Then you should be scared shitless right now.”

My words produced a tiny—but still visible—shudder across Booker’s body. I looked sideways at Joe. Yeah, he had noticed too.

“Hate to tell you this, Cade,” Joe said, “but Tom Simpson taught me how to shoot as well. We’re both crack shots, and fast as spit.”

“I was trained by the FBI, in case you forgot,” Booker said.

“Didn’t forget,” Joe said, “but Bryce and I have been handling guns since we were seven years old. I’d bet we’re both more experienced than you.”

“I wouldn’t take that bet.”

“Shut up and stand still.” Joe walked toward Booker and frisked him. “Just as I thought. Two. Take off your shirt.”

“Joe—”

“Now.”

Booker removed his button-down, revealing a shoulder holster and pistol. Joe took the gun and slid it across the floor. Then he took the other weapon from Booker’s ankle holster.

“Did you check his crotch?” I asked.

“I’d rather not.”

“Do it. Or I will.”

Unsurprisingly, he had a Beretta Pico hidden there. Joe relieved him of it quickly.

“Who the hell arms himself with three guns?” I said. “Who the fuck are you?”

“I think we’re about to find out,” Joe said. “You’re not leaving this office, Cade, until we know everything you do.”

“You think you two and your weapons scare me? Nothing scares me anymore.”

“You’re in good company, then,” I said. “Joe and I have seen just about everything in this fucked-up world there is to see. You sure as hell don’t scare us.”

“Maybe I should.”

“With three guns?” Joe said. “Maybe, if we’re having a bad day. Unarmed, you’re nothing, Cade. Not a fucking thing.”

“You’d be wise not to underestimate me,” Booker said. “Psycho Daddy might have taught you how to shoot like a pro, but you’re forgetting who taught me how to shoot.”

“The FBI?” I said. “I’d match Joe’s and my skills against any rank-and-file agent any day.”

Booker moved stealthily, easing his way around his desk. Joe and I moved as he did, staying the same distance from him.

“Hold still,” Joe said, “or one of us will blow your big head off.”

He smiled. The motherfucker smiled!

Joe’s countenance remained stern. He wouldn’t show weakness or worry, so neither would I.

Joe’s firearm was aimed at Booker’s head, so I lowered mine…aiming it at his crotch. “Whatever you think you’re doing, stop it, unless you want to be dickless literally as well as figuratively.”

“Bingo,” he said, pushing his hand down.

“Wha—”

A white spray whooshed toward my chest.

I inhaled instinctively, arrows of flame hitting my mouth and throat. And my eyes. Blur. Blindness. Tears.

I gasped and choked. “Joe!”

But the word sounded only like a gasp.

I was vaguely aware of Joe beside me doubling over, coughing as well.

“Fuck! Damn!”

Again, the words were only gasps.

I was dying. I had to be dying. What the hell had he done?

My eyes and nose were on fire, and my throat full of acidic phlegm.

The blurred images disappeared into nothingness.

I was blind.

Choking, on fire, and blind.

Chapter Eight

Marjorie

If I’d been having any nice feelings toward Dominic, his last statement erased them. “Nice try. My father is dead. I watched him die with my own eyes.”

“I didn’t say your father was alive,” he said.

“Last time I checked, dead people don’t give orders, and I personally don’t believe in ghosts.”

“Your father was a client of ours for years,” Dominic said. “He put plans in place to make sure his family was protected.”

“Even if I believed you, which I don’t, that would explain taking my mother and me, but not Colin. Besides, my father would never have us taken against our will. He wouldn’t frighten us like that, especially not my mother. She’s mentally ill, for God’s sake.”

“I never knew your father,” Dominic said, “but I did know he was alive during the time you