Marked (BLOOD BROTHERS #5) by Samantha Wilde EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Samantha Wilde
- Language: English
- Genre: contemporary romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
A laugh erupted in the crowded pub. The obnoxious prick yanked a shot
off the server’s tray and slammed back the liquid.
Sitting at the bar, Cole wrapped his fist around his glass of gin and
tonic. Music bumped from the speakers, some kind of rackety shit he
wouldn’t listen to at gunpoint—not loud enough to drown out the noise of
the drunks, but enough to be annoying as fuck.
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Rage simmered beneath the surface of his skin. He rocked his jaw back
and forth as he watched the dude get to his feet. The man clapped his friend
—who was wearing a black T-shirt and a silver chain—on the back and then
staggered toward the restrooms at the rear of the pub.
Now.
He hated being sloppy. Ditching a plan was a sure-fire way for things to
go sideways. But this dumbass had to go tonight. He didn’t have another
minute to waste. Besides, the longer Cole hung out in public, the greater the
chance someone would identify him.
Tugging down his baseball hat, he stood and peeled some bills from his
wallet. After dropping them on top of the bar, he tucked his chin and made
his way toward the men’s washroom.
Icy calm settled over his body. A familiar feeling. It always came before
he completed a hit. His heart rate slowed. The dampness on his palms
evaporated. Even the tension in his jaw loosened.
This was when he was most at ease. Before a kill.
And that wasn’t even the most fucked-up thing about him.
He’d already scoped out the place. There was one camera in the main
room and one in the kitchen. None in the hall. Keeping his head down and
his chin angled to the left would ensure his face stayed out of the footage.
The gun irritated the skin at the small of his back. He’d come prepared,
the silencer already intact. He had to do this quickly and with as little mess
as possible. Entering the men’s room, he immediately spotted the loser,
facing the urinal.
Cole glanced at the bottoms of the three stalls across the room—empty.
After flicking the lock on the restroom door, he strode in slowly.
Arson Friedman turned from the porcelain tank, zipped up his fly, and
teetered on his feet as he crossed the room. His gaze flitted over Cole. “Hey,
man. ’Sall yours.”
He’d already committed the photo of Arson to memory. Another thing
he was damn good at. He never forgot a face.
Cole advanced.
In one swift movement, he seized Arson by the throat. The man’s eyes
bugged out of his head and his hat fell to the ground. Shaggy brown hair
spilled out. As the punk grappled with his wrists, the scent of marijuana
wafted to Cole’s nose, floating on a wave of rum.
Cole carried him into one of the stalls, loosening his grip only a fraction
when he shoved him against the thin metal wall. Arson swung pathetically.
“I-I’ve got the money!” he stammered. “Tell him I’ll bring it tonight.”
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