Heartless People

THIRTEEN

Murder is not the crime of criminals,

but that of law-abiding citizens.

~ Emmanuel Teney

LAUREN

"The plan was flawless," I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Every last detail was planned out for you, you no good brainless cocksuckers. We all but drew you a fucking map! So where the fuck did I lose you!"

I threw a gun at Chris, Antonio, Eric, and Jinxs faces. Those idiotic musclehead fuckers messed up, and I was tempted to kill them all.

"Ma'am, we had Amory on the Port Lincoln, but he had already been in Austria for days and knew something was up. We set the trip wires and even gave him time to leave, but the Italian here didn't give us a heads up he was circling back," Eric said, looking at Antonio who was ready to throw a punch at his fucking face.

"You know what, you Irish son of a bitch—"

"Enough!" I stepped forward, my voice still echoing off the rafters. "Will one of you explain to me how we lost some of our own fucking men? Did you push the idiot button?"

"Amory found the trip wires and reconfigured them onto the safe house," Chris answered, looking me dead in the eye, and I wanted to bash his fucking skull in. We lost five of our men—three Irish, two Italian—all blown to bits because of their fucking dumb shit.

"Is this your first time on a mission? You embarrassed the family." I moved toward Chris. "You embarrassed me, and now you stand before me with your cocks in your hands unsure of what to do with yourselves."

Sighing, I turned back around to find my wife sitting in my leather chair behind the oak desk, simply staring at the fucked-up men behind me. She was stunning dressed in a beautiful blue, lace dress with her white shoes. But I knew she was just as pissed as I was. In the last nine days, we had fought and fucked hard, and I was starting to read her as well as she could read me. Unfortunately, our men were like cavemen and had no idea how to fucking work together, and now I had five dead on my hands.

We stood in my basement with all our men around us, but no one was speaking. Not a single one of them. Camila pulled out a gun and placed it on the table with a single bullet before looking me in the eyes. She wanted blood, and so did I.

"Who was the biggest fuck up?" she asked softly. I noticed she never really yelled at the men when she was pissed off. In fact, her voice became softer, as though she wanted to haunt those around her.

No one spoke up, so I walked up beside her, leaning against the table. "She asked a question. We want an answer, or we will kill you all and start over. How much do we pay them, love?"

She glared at me, and I knew she hated when I called her that in public, but I didn't care.

"Five million a year? I could go to the ghetto and get men to replace them in five minutes with the offer of 500k," she said offhandedly as she spun the gun on the table.

Nodding, I looked back at the men. "So again, we ask, who fucked up the most?"

Eric stepped forward. "It was Ian."

And the moment he said it, Camila lifted the gun and shot him right in the kneecap, the poor fuck. I didn't even know the gun was loaded, seeing as how there was one bullet still on the table.

Camila hissed at him. "Since when do you give up your brother, you fucker?"

And she had a point. Even when we commanded them, they weren't supposed to give that information up unless someone was betraying us.