Gunshots

Aaron.

It’s her.

I’d recognise that fire anywhere.

Black hair, those eyes that flare when she’s cornered. My Angel kneels in front of me, staring at me like she can't believe it herself.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?”

I thought it would be difficult before I got to see her again, but apparently, fate had other plans.

Not that I'm complaining.

I've fucking missed her.

Yes, I know it's only been a couple of hours but I'd be lying if I said that she didn't haunt my thoughts from the moment I left her in that dance room. Actually much longer than that.

She'd looked almost disappointed to see me go and because of it, I'd considered calling my uncle and telling him to come find the bastard who owed The Cause himself. Luckily, I summoned up the courage and left and for it, I'd been rewarded by the universe twice in one night.

My gaze trails down her face, taking her in.

The same stormy eyes that looked down at me when she was on my lap now stare up at me, wide and wary, but there's something else there too—something that sends a slow, cold burn through my chest.

A mark.

Faint but undeniable, blooming red across the side of her cheek.

A fucking handprint.

My entire body goes still.

I reach out to touch it but she tilts her face, avoiding my touch completely.

She'd been like that earlier too.

Dropping my hand, I clench my fist at my side, “Did he hit you?”

She's hesitant at first and I wonder what's going through her mind. I want to tell her that she doesn't have to be afraid. That I'm not here for her and won't hurt her.

“Does he hit you often?”

A pause, and then finally a nod.

Motherfucker.

Anger surges through my chest as I tear my gaze away from her and focus it on the bastard who did this curled up against the couch like it might somehow absorb him and save him from his actions.

Every part of my brain screams for me to put a bullet through his skull for thinking he could hurt her the way he did.

What gave him the right to put his hands on her?

My jaw clenches so hard I hear something pop in my ears. The bastard closes his eyes, body trembling like the coward he is. Good. He should be scared. Because I haven't even started yet.

But first, I need to know,

“Who is she to you?”

I'd wondered who she was to Finn and, most importantly, why she was here from the moment I found her, crouched behind the wall. The files didn't mention any family member other than his wife and daughter who disappeared years ago. But the girl in front of me was the complete opposite of the girl I'd seen in the pictures Cillian gave me when I first decided to hunt down the bastard. That girl looked scared to be alive, while this one looked scared. Period.

“Anne?” Finn’s lips tremble when they drift to my Angel. So that was her name. Somehow I find it doesn't suit her. “She’s my niece.”

His niece?

I rack my brain for any mention of a niece in Finn's file but come up short. From the looks of it, she'd been hidden. Nothing in his files mentioned anything about siblings. Just how much about this guy wasn't mentioned?

“You can have her, if you want.”

That causes me to still.

I glance back at her but she isn't looking at me. Her gaze is completely fixed on her uncle but it isn't in the way you would expect one to look at a family member. No, my Angel looks at her uncle with complete disdain. I didn't even know one could summon that much hatred with a gaze alone but my Angel pulls it off just fine.

Not bothering to stand straight, I crouch walk towards him, stopping when my shoes are only a millimetre away from his body. “I'm sorry I don't think I heard you properly. Are you saying you'll give her to me?”

“If that's what you want. If that's what it'll take for you to forget about this whole thing. I've seen the way you've been looking at her, and honestly, who can blame you? My Anne is as pretty as they come and I'll let you have her if you promise to let me go.”

Disgust coils around my gut like a venomous snake, tightening with every filthy word that slips past his cracked lips. My jaw ticks, the muscle twitches violently as I force myself to stay still—just for a second longer.

“And what about her? Are you sure she'd be okay with our little deal?”

“Who gives a fuck. She'll do as she's told.” His gaze shifts to her, and a crude smirk distorts his features, “Isn't that right, Anne?”

I redirect my gaze to hers and for a moment I wonder what's going through her mind but then she opens her mouth and tells me, and the coward behind me, exactly what she thinks.

“Go to hell."

My, my, my, my angel has a temper.

Guess I don't need to ask her what she thinks about her uncle's bullshit offer.

“Shut up, you little…” he stops himself, pressing his lips firmly together and releasing. “Look, once you agree to our deal, I'll make sure she loses the attitude.”

Funny, I quite like her attitude. It kept things interesting.

“Please.” The word slips out of her mouth like a joke, all soft and pitiful. “You don’t want me. I promise you'll regret it if you take his deal.

But that's where she's wrong.

Because I do want her.

I've wanted her for so long I've forgotten what it means to live without wanting her.

But I don't want her in the way the bastard thinks, and I most definitely don't want her for the reasons she fears.

I want her because….

“And how will I regret it?”

“I can't cook. I most certainly can't clean and I'm terrible in bed.”

The last sentence causes my lips to tip slightly and her face flushes a deep crimson that nearly distracts me from everything else.

Nearly.

Because even now, with her chin tilted defiantly and her cheeks burning, I know she's trying to protect herself.

Somehow, I doubt any of it is true.

Especially the last part.

“What's it going to be?” Finn's voice cuts through my haze and I'm immediately reminded that I'm supposed to be giving him the impression that he somehow has the upper hand in all of this.

A word is all I need to pull down his illusion but I've always been more of a practical kind of man.

Reaching behind me, I draw my gun with one swift motion and aim it directly at his head.

His eyes bulged.

His mouth falls open and a single gunshot rings through the house, shattering the air.

I watch his body slump over, hitting the ground with a dull thud as blood oozes all around him, sinking into the faded carpet like ink on paper.

Silence follows his death. Loud and heavy

And then, a scream.