His men straightened at once, guns raised to block my way.
“Ma’am, don’t make this harder on us.”
Sweat beaded down my forehead.
I dropped the phone and said, ice-cold, “Hayes family, listen to my order.”
“Kill anyone who dares stand in your way today.”
I drew a long-unused combat knife from my back.
Bloodshot-eyed, I let go of reason completely.
Anyone who blocked me—I slashed for their throat and heart without hesitation.
Until today, these men were brothers.
They were the ones who helped the Hayes family get this far.
After today—bridges are bridges, roads are roads.
I won’t feed men who eat our bread while bowing to another name.
I don’t know how long I killed before going numb; my arms were slick with blood—
some theirs, some mine.
A black van stopped in front of me.
Instinctively, I raised my blade to kill.
Then I saw the driver was one of our own.
Everything in me gave out. I collapsed into the seat.
My lieutenant steadied me, hesitating. “Are we still going to St. Mary’s Hospital?”
That hospital—Adrian had built it up for me years ago.
He’d gathered the world’s best specialists in wrist injuries—
all because I once said, “My hand hurts.”