Hunter's Alpha (gxg) ✓

37. Second Accident

When I was sixteen, I once bashed a man's skull into concrete. He had called Emilie a whore. I had smiled politely at him. Then I grabbed him by the neck, and it was lights out.

I had learned, from a very young age, to protect what is mine.

When I was seventeen, Tommy was twelve. He was in the awkward phase of growing, and he hadn't quite sprouted yet. A boy at school gave him a black eye. I gave the boy a mouth full of broken teeth.

Once, when I was eighteen, a new Wolf member grabbed my ass, leering. He called me a pretty lady. I gave him a right hook. He called me a fucking bitch. I slit his throat. He stopped talking.

When I was nineteen, a foreign mob boss from Japan visited the Underground. He was the head of a Yakuza family. Three of his men tried to overpower me. I shot them all.

Yes, I earned my reputation.

That is why, when people see me, they run the other way. That is why the florist trembled. That is why the receptionist stammered. That is why Reid turned as pale as a ghost when he realized who Jude was━under my protection.

Maybe being in the Mafia is in my blood.

But when I learned the truth about the Underground, I didn't want any part of it.

"Hunter," Anise purrs over the phone. I motion for my driver to stop at what seems like an abandoned strip of concrete.

"Sister," I acknowledge, pulling myself out of the car with my hand on the hood.

"I have a request."

"Do you?" I mutter, as I cock my gun and slide on my sunglasses.

"I want you to pick something up for me. A delivery."

"A delivery? Seriously? You have Lonnie and Reid for━"

"A special delivery," she interrupts smoothly.

I freeze, my heartbeat quickening. A special delivery can only mean . . .

"271 Lourde Street," Anise whispers. "And do hurry. I wouldn't want my shipment to be . . . damaged."

Damaged, because . . .

Oh, God. Oh, God.

Focus, Hunter.

With the pitch-black sunglasses tainting the world, I saunter towards the apparently empty building. This is where most Mafia bosses in the city stock their private planes, and I know Angel is no exception. I make it a habit to know the whereabouts of most people, and someone who was once the don of a Mafia family? She is no exception.

I walk calmly, despite what Derek told me over the phone.

Angel Falcone is holding a gun to my head.

Her soft, Italian-accented rasp murmured, You have twenty minutes before I kill him.

Which meant I had officially bought myself twenty minutes to get there before she left. My plan had worked.

You don't give the lamb to the slaughter without strategy. Or, at least, I don't.

My steps are remarkably cool. Precise. To anyone who knew what is happening, it would seem I don't care about Derek's life at all. And, of course, they might be right━but Derek was still a pawn in my game. I wasn't ready for the checkmate that would end him yet.