Chapter 18 Viper! Head or heart?
Catalina’s pov
The abandoned farm we used for training was nothing but skeletal timbers and forgotten fields. Settlers Farm, they called it. A ghost of a place for ghostly work.
“I contacted Papa before we left,” Jenna announced, sliding her phone back into her pocket. “He just replied. A thumbs-up. He says there are two, and neither will be missed.”
That was our family’s code. It meant the targets were the absolute worst, rapists, molesters. The scum even other monsters looked down on. I surveyed the scene as twenty motorcycles rumbled to a stop beside our SUV. Jenna and I got out. She went to the trunk for her sniper rifle, while I slid into the back seat. I opened my case, drew out a bandolier holding six blades, and secured it across my torso. Next came two heavy leather vests and neck guards, designed for live training; the knives would bite into the hide but not go all the way through.
We moved toward the old barn, a procession of leather and steel falling in behind us. Jenna hauled one of the heavy doors open, and we filed inside. In the center of the vast, dusty space, a metal bench was bolted to the floor. Two men were chained to it. Dangling just before their eyes, suspended from a thin chain, was a single key. I almost laughed. Papa was a mean bastard, no question.
“Babe, what is this? Who are they?” Viper’s voice cut through the quiet.
I studied the two men. They looked like accountants, dressed in matching gray suits and black loafers. Their mouths were stuffed with cloth and sealed with silver tape. Sweat soaked their collars. A manila folder lay on the ground near my feet. I walked over, scooped it up, and flipped it open.
A photograph of a blonde man with green eyes and thick, fish-like lips stared up at me. I glanced back at the bench and pointed to the one on the left.
“This piece of shit is Vance Molstome. Works at First National Bank. Fifty-two years old. Has a wife and three daughters, ages eight to fifteen.” My eyes scanned the page. “The middle girl is twelve. Seems to be the odd one out. The other two are blondes, just like mommy and daddy, but she’s a redhead. Looks like you adopted her. Her parents died in a car crash, and you and your wife were the godparents. They were friends of yours, yes?” The man stared back, his eyes wide with a terror he directed at the ring of bikers surrounding him. “Do not look at them. They are not the ones you need to worry about. Answer me. Were you her godparents?”
He gave a frantic nod, trying to form words behind the gag. It sounded like begging. I just shook my head and returned to the file.
“It says here she’s been in and out of the hospital with multiple bone breaks over the last eight years. Oh, and it looks like she told a teacher her daddy was ‘touching her’ in the middle of the night. But it was determined she was lying. Her parents said she makes up sJennaes for attention.” I made a disapproving sound. “Tsk, tsk, Vance.”
I turned to the next page. A man with black hair, brown eyes, and a thin, smiling lips grinned up from the photograph.
“Douchebag number two is Harry Squintz. An unfortunate name. Harry here works at Shuesters Investments. Did you know my ex, Jake?” Harry’s nod was immediate, his face leaching of all remaining color. “Well, Harry is thirty-five. It seems he enjoyed clubbing, meeting random girls, drugging their drinks, raping them, and dumping them on the street when he was finished. Three women have named him in police reports, but for some reason, those reports always seem to disappear. I wonder who the fuck you know, Harry? Not that it matters. You won’t exist after today.” On cue, Harry began to cry, his pleas muffled by the gag.
“Gentlemen, if you would please go outside,” I announced. “You will find some bleachers. Take a seat. The demonstration begins in five minutes.” A low, angry grumble moved through the men as they filed out, each one casting a venomous glare toward the bench.
“Babe, what’s going on?” Viper asked, gesturing toward the two men.
“We are going to give them a two-minute head start to run for their lives. After two minutes, Jenna will kill them.”
“Okaaaay,” he drew the word out, processing.
“Just go take a seat, babe,” I said, giving his chest a gentle pat.
Once he was gone, I made my final preparations. I secured the men’s bound hands to a chain leash attached to a collar around each of their necks, positioning their hands up under their chins as if in prayer. Taking the ends of the leashes, I ensured they would have to follow me. Their ankles were shackled with a three-foot chain between them, allowing them to shuffle. I waited for Jenna’s signal, a short whistle from the hayloft above, telling me she was in position, her rifle ready, her timer set.
“Well, boys. You have two minutes to run for your freedom. Let me get those ankle chains off, and you can go.”
I unshackled them and swung the back barn doors open, revealing an open field. The second they were free, they scrambled into a desperate, clumsy run.
I walked outside and climbed to the top row of the bleachers, raising my binoculars. A timer beeped.
“Torque! Head or heart?” Jenna’s voice rang out from the loft.
“Heart!”
The rifle shot cracked the air. The men were weaving, already a good distance away. Through the binoculars, I saw Harry go down, a plume of blood misting the air around him.
“Hit!” I shouted.
“Viper! Head or heart?”
“Head!”
A second shot echoed. Vance’s head exploded in a pink cloud.
A chorus of “holy shit” and “goddamn” rippled through the spectators.
A few minutes later, Jenna emerged from the barn, rifle in hand, a triumphant smile on her face. Torque walked over, swept her up, and spun her around.
“Hotness, that was fucking great.”
“Thanks, baby.”
“Okay, I’ll give it to Jenna that she can shoot,” Rockstar called out. “But what about you, short stuff? What can you do?”
I gifted him a slow, dangerous smile. “Thanks for asking, Rockstar.” I walked to the bleachers and picked up the two heavy leather vests and neck coverings. “Put these on. Go hide in the woods. You have five minutes. I will come hunting, and I will have you dead within ten. When my knives tag you, do not pull them out. Leave them embedded in the vests. Then walk out of the woods to your brothers and show them how you ‘died’.” I made the air quotes with my fingers as I handed the gear to Rockstar and Beast.
When the five minutes were up, I gave Viper a quick kiss. “I will see your brothers in ten minutes or less,” I told the group. Then I turned and melted into the tree line, becoming a shadow.
It did not take long. After a couple of minutes, I heard someone crashing through the undergrowth like a wounded animal. I had to suppress a sigh. This was going to be a joke. I moved silently, tailing the sound of heavy footfalls. I used the trees and thick brush for cover, a phantom in their wake. I cut ahead, scaled a tree, and waited. At the three-minute mark, Beast stopped directly below me, heaving for air, his faux-hawk plastered to his head with sweat. I was four feet above him. I grinned, then dropped, landing on his back and drawing my blade across his leather neck guard. The tough material split open like a warm dinner roll.
“Shit!” he yelled.
“Dead men do not shout, Beast.” I kissed his cheek and jumped off his back.
He let out a low chuckle. “Do not tell anyone, but you just scared the piss out of me.”
I winked and disappeared back into the foliage. I moved low to the ground, a predator closing in. Seven minutes in, I had my second target in sight. Rockstar was six feet away, peering from behind a tree. Just as he tensed to run again, I rose from my crouch. His eyes went wide with shock, and then it was over. Three knives flew through the air in quick succession, thudding into the leather vest over his heart in a perfect, tight grouping. Without the protection, they would have sliced through muscle and bone and stopped his heart cold.
“Holy fuck, Loca. You came out of nowhere. Goddamn, these knives are sharp. They went in so deep.”
“I know. Come on. Let’s go back.”
We walked out of the woods to a crowd of men. Beast and Rockstar were already singing praises about my stealth and accuracy, and I allowed myself a small, satisfied smile. I saw the pride burning in Viper’s gaze as he watched me, his arms crossed, a smile playing on his lips.
“Let’s get back to the club,” someone said. “What about the bodies? Do we need to do anything?”
“No,” Jenna answered. “I texted our father. He will take care of it.”
“I can’t believe your dad was an elite mafia assassin,” Beast said, shaking his head. “And he trained you two to be just like him.”
“It was for our protection,” I explained. “We needed to be ready in case they ever found us.”
“Well, you have us now,” Butcher’s voice was low, but firm. “We will protect you, too.”
The declaration made my heart soften just a little. I had always found him intimidating. I have only known the man for about six weeks, but perhaps he was not so bad. Jenna said he was decent to her, though she was sure it was only because she cooked the meals. I wondered why they were so interested in our past. It seemed we were about to find out.