The flashlight clatters to the ground, rolling to illuminate both men in its beam. The man is big, taller than Blade and heavily muscled, but he moves with the sluggishness of someone who relies on intimidation rather than skill. He throws a wild punch that Blade easily sidesteps before driving his knee into the man's stomach.
The man doubles over, gasping for air, and Blade grabs him by the back of his neck, forcing him face-first into the concrete floor. The man's nose breaks on impact, blood pooling beneath him as he tries to push himself up.
Blade doesn't give him the chance. He drops onto the man's back, knees pinning his arms, and wraps his forearm around the thick neck in a crushing choke hold.
"How many more outside?" Blade demands, his voice terrifyingly calm.
The man spits blood. "Fuck you, Outlaw trash."
Blade increases the pressure, and the man's face contorts in pain. "Wrong answer. Try again."
"T-two," he gasps. "In the car."
"Where's Charles?"
"I don't—" The words cut off as Blade tightens his hold.
"Last chance."
"I'm never," he chokes out, "going to tell you."
Blade nods once, adjusting his grip and twisting.
I expect to hear the crack of breaking bones, but instead, Blade maintains steady pressure, cutting off blood flow to his brain. The man's struggles become more frantic, then weaker, until finally, his body goes slack.
Unlike with the first man, Blade immediately releases this one once he's unconscious. He checks for a pulse at the man's neck, then stands, wiping blood from his knuckles onto his jeans.
When he turns in my direction, his eyes find mine immediately, as if he knew I'd been watching the whole time. There's no shame in his gaze, no concern about what I might think after witnessing his violence. Why would there be? He is what he is.
And what he is, is fucking terrifying.
And—God help me—something else too.
My heart pounds against my ribs, and it's not just from fear. There's a heat spreading through me, a sick, twisted appreciation for the lethal efficiency I just witnessed. He took down two armed men without breaking a sweat, without hesitation.
What kind of fucked-up person am I that I find that attractive?
The same kind who always gravitates toward the most dangerous man in the room, I suppose. The same kind who thought the Vultures MC's interest was flattering until I saw behind the mask.
"Stay here," Blade says, his voice cutting through my thoughts. "There are two more outside."
"You'll kill them too?" I whisper, surprised to find my voice steady.
He glances at me, as if gauging whether I'm about to fall apart. "Yes."
"Good."
Chapter 3 - Blade
Her answer surprises me. *Good*.
One simple word with nothing soft or hesitant about it. Most women—hell, most men—would be vomiting in the corner after watching me take down two men. Instead, she sits in her torn wedding dress, blue eyes steady, telling me it's "good" that I'm about to kill more of them.
Interesting.
I move back toward the warehouse entrance, checking my gun. Three rounds left. Should be enough. If not, I have my knife. The blade that gave me my name isn't just for show. It's bathed in more blood than most have seen in their lifetime.
The two Vultures MC outside are making this too easy. Rather than maintaining position by their vehicles, they're approaching the warehouse, flashlights sweeping across the gravel yard. Amateurs. Charles must be scraping the bottom of the barrel these days.
