Hard Justice by Sybil Bartel

Author:Sybil Bartel [Bartel, Sybil]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: The Alpha Antihero Series, Book Two
Publisher: Sybil Bartel
Published: 2020-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

The dirty-haired drug addict came out of the sleeping quarters with a cell phone to his ear and a gun drawn. His arm shaking, he pointed the weapon at us.

“Yeah,” he said into the phone. “I got them right here.”

My gun already in my left hand, I gave him one warning as I slowly palmed my knife. “Hang up if you want to live.”

“Tarq,” my woman whispered. “Find out who he’s talkin’ to first. Don’t kill him.”

“If he intends to kill us, I make no promises.” I raised my voice. “Hang up. Now.”

Extending his arm further, the addict’s hand shook worse. “No way. I hang up and you’ll do something to me.”

My woman put her hands on her hips. “Like what? Sell you a bike?” She shook her head. “You’re a dumbshit, Rooney.” She glanced at me. “Let’s go. He won’t shoot. He’s got no balls.” She made to move past me.

In a calculated maneuver to safeguard, I stepped in front of her.

“Hey!” The addict waved the gun. “One more move and I shoot!”

I threw my knife.

The addict screamed. Dropping his gun and his phone, he grabbed the arm my knife was embedded in and fell to his knees.

I did not hesitate. Kicking his gun aside, I pressed my 9mm to his temple as I stomped on his cell phone. “Do you know the only reason you are still alive?”

He did not answer. He cried. Like a baby.

My woman snorted. “You really are a dumbshit, Rooney. You’re alive because I told him not to kill you. Tell me who you were talkin’ to and you’ll stay alive.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Shaila!”

“Who were you talkin’ to?” she yelled.

“Your dad’s driver, okay?” His body shook in pain. “Now get the fucking knife out!”

My woman didn’t concede. “Where were they?” she demanded.

“I don’t know,” he cried.

“Not good enough,” my woman snapped.

“I don’t know, okay! They were here an hour ago, more, I don’t know! Help me and get the fucking knife out!” He looked at the knife and cried harder.

“You’re lucky I liked you, Rooney. But for the record? Now I don’t.” My woman fisted my knife and yanked it out.

The addict howled in pain as he fell forward.

Grabbing him by the shirt, my woman jerked him back up to his knees and wiped the blade on his clothing. “Where’s the six hundred bucks? And don’t mess with me, you shithead, or I’ll make sure you get a matching scar on your other arm.”

“Oh my God,” he wailed, holding his wound. “You’re fucking fucked-up, Shaila, you know that?”

“Money,” she demanded of him. “NOW.”

“Bedroom,” he yelled back, curling in on himself. “The fucking dresser, you crazy bitch!”

I hit him.

He fell to the floor, unconscious.

“You pistol-whipped him,” my woman stated, staring down at him for a moment before looking up at me.

“He called you a name. We need to go.”

She kept staring at me. “No one’s ever defended me like that. I mean, I get the whole thing back at the house and in the orchard, that was life or death, but this?” She shook her head.

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