His Vicious Revenge

The freezing Manhattan rain slashed against Keira's face, but she didn't blink. She stood in the suffocating darkness of the narrow alley, her eyes locked on the armored black Maybach idling across the street.

Her thin, soaked jacket clung to her shivering frame. Her teeth chattered so hard her jaw ached, but her right hand was completely steady. Between her pale, freezing fingers, she pinched three slender, silver acupuncture needles.

Across the street, the heavy driver's side door of the Maybach swung open. Mickey, a man built like a concrete wall, stepped out. He popped open a black umbrella and jogged toward the corner coffee cart, leaving the impenetrable safety of the vehicle for just a fraction of a second.

It was enough.

Keira shot out of the alley like a starved, feral cat. She kept her body low, dodging the halos of the streetlights, slipping directly into Mickey's blind spot as the rain masked the sound of her boots hitting the pavement.

With a flick of her left wrist, she skipped a heavy metal washer across the asphalt, sending it clattering into a pile of trash cans ten feet to his right.

Mickey heard the metallic clatter behind him. He started to turn his thick neck toward the noise, exposing the vulnerable expanse of his nape for half a second. It was all the time she needed. The oversized black hood of Keira's jacket instantly filled his vision.

Before he could even open his mouth to shout, Keira's right hand struck. It was a blur of motion. The three silver needles pierced the skin at the base of his neck, driving with surgical precision directly into the Fengchi and Jianjing acupoints.

The massive neural block was instantaneous. Mickey's eyes rolled back. His vocal cords paralyzed before a single sound could escape, and his two-hundred-pound body turned to liquid.

Keira slammed her bony shoulder into his chest, taking the brunt of his dead weight to stop him from hitting the asphalt and alerting the nearby security detail. Her knees buckled under the crushing pressure, her lungs burning as she dragged his limp body into the pitch-black gap between two parked delivery trucks.

She didn't waste a second checking his pulse. She shoved her freezing hand into his tailored coat pocket and pulled out the heavy, metallic key fob.

Without looking back, she marched straight toward the idling Maybach.

She yanked the heavy door open. The warm, rich scent of cedarwood and expensive leather hit her face, a sickening contrast to the smell of garbage and wet asphalt clinging to her skin.

She threw herself into the driver's seat and slammed her palm against the lock button. The heavy thunk of the deadbolts engaging sealed her inside, cutting off the roar of the rain.

The freezing leather made her stomach cramp. She stomped her wet boot onto the brake pedal and jammed her finger against the ignition. The V12 engine let out a low, guttural roar that vibrated through the floorboards and up her spine.

The icy blue glow of the dashboard illuminated her face. Her skin was paper-white, her eyes entirely bloodshot, burning with a frantic, suicidal heat.

She looked up at the rearview mirror. Three blocks down, pulling out of an underground garage, was the extended black Lincoln belonging to the McKnight family.

A violent wave of nausea hit her. The smell of burning flesh and the sound of her grandparents screaming in the fire clawed at the inside of her skull. Her chest tightened so severely she had to gasp for air.