Hot-Blooded (10 page)

With the exception of Bane, her ‘ohana had been flirting with trouble since the day Mahina died, traveling the same road to hell, good intentions irrelevant.

All paths converged at this crossroads.

Her blackening heart pumped steadily in her chest.

To kill or not to kill?

As she debated, Butch capitalized on her distraction and lurched for the gun.

Decision made.

She jerked out of his reach. She targeted the bald pink demon between his legs, squeezed her lids shut, and fired.

The blast was much louder than she expected. She’d practiced countless times at the firing range, but she’d always worn ear protection. This shot was made real by the volume, power, and devastating consequences.

Butch stumbled back, staring down at the red disaster where his dick used to be as if he refused to believe what he saw. Keahilani lifted the gun, stared at it like a brand new lover, and smiled. An incredible high seized her—stronger than an intravenous drug gone wild. Her heart panted like an animal in heat. Her eyes sweated with orgasmic, visual triumph. Tears of joy? Relief? Pride?

Yes. All of the above.

She shot a man.

And she liked it.

Butch whimpered as he uselessly tried to stanch the blood flowing in a steady stream onto the floor. “You fuckin’ shot me!”

Balanced with one foot on the wave of her indiscretion and the other on a curl of disbelief that she’d actually stopped him, she nodded. “I did. Told you I had a temper.”

Awesome as her newfound balls were, she had to get out of there before someone reported the disturbance. But first, she should ensure he wasn’t armed. She aimed the gun at his head. “Empty your pockets.”

His face scrunched up. “I’m fuckin’ dyin’ over here. Call an ambulance, you bitch!”

Growling, she dropped beside him, weapon pressed to his flaring nostrils. “I said show me your pockets or I’ll pull the trigger again, motherfucker.” God, she wanted to, too. Even though she was scared shitless at the violence she’d done, the first shot had opened up a new world—a deadly playground that revealed how truly precarious life was, and how easy it would be to become Queen of the Hill, with the right tools and proper frame of mind. Breaking down the barrier between right and wrong had been a hell of a lot easier than she thought.

Right and wrong were both relative anyway.

She should finish him off. Save future victims from a scumbag rapist.

But murder was way different than shooting a guy’s balls off. She wasn’t sure she could live with that kind of guilt. A plume of bile sizzled up her esophagus. Dizziness subsumed her vision. She grasped the nearest chair to steady herself.

“Please don’t kill me,” he begged, apparently oblivious to her inner conflict. He fumbled with his pockets, but moved slowly. Loss of blood did that to a person. She shook off her momentary lapse in courage and patted him down both sides. Nothing but the card she’d given him and a wallet containing a couple hundred bucks. His head drooped left and lolled. “I’m dying …”

“One can only hope.”

Still lightheaded, she let him bleed as she put herself back together. Between the shredding job Butch did and the fine mist of blood spatter, the dress was ruined.

The moaning behind her dulled and tapered into loud, shallow breaths. Eyes shut, mouth hanging open, Butch was nearing the end of the line. The cruel pride swelling in Keahilani’s chest competed with an incoming wave of nausea. Orange and black dots danced along the fringes of her vision.

Shit. Shit. SHIT! What the hell had she done?

His hand dropped beside him, and the clatter of plastic bounced off the hardwood floor.

She lurched forward and picked up the cell phone he’d apparently just used to text someone.

6:58 PM:
You here?

6:59 PM:
Yep.

6:59 PM:

7:22 PM:
911

7:22 PM:
Pele

The recipient was named Blake.

The few remaining scruples constricting her chest vaporized in a rush of dark-winged shadow. She glanced to the unconscious would-be rapist bleeding out in the expensive condo and rubbed her head. She’d used a fake name, ID, and credit card to rent this place. Pele was the only one who’d been here—not Keahilani. There were no personal possessions that could be linked to her. No one would be able to track her.

Mahina had always told her to go big or go home.

No more indecision. Ever. Big it was.

Keahilani popped off a round through Butch’s temple. Blood sprayed out of him in slow motion, dousing her gloves, the stains camouflaged by their black color. She tossed the gun in his bloody lap. He slumped sideways to the floor, dead. She rummaged through the kitchen drawers until she found a screw driver and pried open the cell phone. Once she removed and pocketed the SIM card, she disconnected the battery, smashed the phone to pieces, and scooped the remains into her bag.

The smell of iron thick in the air, she donned her trench coat. It should cover up any evidence of having been attacked. Keahilani readjusted her wig, stabbed the arms of her dark glasses in place behind her ears, and rushed out of the condo. As she raced the sounds of approaching sirens, all traces of remorse burned away, leaving behind the exhilarating freedom of having gotten away with actual murder.

As the fire door to the stairs shut behind her and the trampling of feet and hurried voices invaded the hall she’d just left, a tiny, frenzied shadow trapped in the fluorescent light overhead grabbed her attention. She paused and regarded the butterfly. “I know, Mahina. He probably would have bled out on his own. But I couldn’t risk him living. ‘Ohana is everything, and I
will
protect my family, no matter the cost.”

The flapping stopped, and the insect settled. Satisfied, Keahilani smiled and trotted down the steps.

She’d entered this building as a mere petty criminal. She would leave it as a murderer.

“No regrets,” she murmured to herself as she slipped out the emergency exit into the cool night.

Long live Pele and the House of Mahina.

Chapter Nine

Saturday, September 27

At her ‘ohana meeting the next day, Keahilani settled into the chair behind the counter and put her feet up next to the cash register. The door swung open, and a sea-scented breeze scurried inside. Cool air riled up the steam rising from her full coffee cup. Her middle brother Manō strode in, sweeping the place with his usual subdued intensity. The faded shark tattoo ripping at his throat bore the same lackluster finish as the eyes of the animal itself. Same as Manō’s.

“You met a dealer at the condo last night without us?” he demanded. Bulging arms crossed over his thick pecs.

Keahilani stood and stretched. “You guys were busy.”

Manō’s nostrils flared once as he leaned toward her. “What happened?”

An inner wince tweaked her gut. She turned around to peer through the window blinds behind her into the vacant parking lot. “Nothing. They weren’t interested.” She sipped her coffee.

Kai stood beside her, his brow arched, a question in his bloodshot eyes. “Keahilani?”

“I said nothing happened. Now, where are we with Kihei? Did you talk to your contact there yet?” she asked Kai.

Manō stepped into her personal space and blocked Kai from view. “A dealer named Butch turned up dead with his dick blown off last night. You’re saying you had nothing to do with that?”

Keahilani narrowed her gaze on him. “No, that sounds more like your modus operandi, brother.”

He straightened. “Death by castration isn’t my style. That crap has the taint of sexual assault all over it. Did he touch you? Try to force you?”

“What the hell, Keahilani?” Jaw clenched, Kai leaned around the mountain of muscle between them. He rubbed his brown dreadlocks, bunched them up in a ragged ponytail on the back of his head, and let them fall around his shoulders. He paced for a couple steps, then faced her. “Tell the truth.”

There was no weaseling out of this. Her brothers knew her too well. Manō could smell blood in the water a mile away, and Kai had an annoying habit of reading her mind. With both of them pressuring her, she may as well come clean instead of dragging out the inevitable.

“He tried to rape me, so I killed him.” She shrugged.

“What—” The pitch of Kai’s voice skipped two octaves. “What the fucking fuck!”

Manō scowled. “The cops are crawling all over the resort. Did you leave any evidence?” Of course Manō would be levelheaded and emotionless about her brush with rape and the commission of murder. Nothing fazed him. Kai, on the other hand …

“She just said that asshole tried to
sexually assault
her—” Kai’s face darkened. Growing rage shook off his usual wake-and-bake glaze like a grizzly on a rampage.

“Tried. Didn’t.” Manō slapped Kai with a visual order to stand down.

“Yeah, but—”

Keahilani took Kai’s hands and squeezed them. “Hey. I’m fine. Chill out.”

Kai scrunched up his face and relented.

Manō continued his inquisition. “Where’s the gun?”

“I left it there. I wore gloves.”

“You went as Pele.”

“Yes.”

“Anyone see you?”

“Hard not to be seen dressed like that.”

Manō hit her with a grating scowl. “Were you
noticed
?”

“I don’t know.”

“Security cameras?”

“Not sure. I couldn’t check with the guard, but he got his money last week.” They’d anonymously paid him over the last year to turn the cameras off every Friday night from seven o’clock until eight, no questions asked. “Oh, I did save this, though.” She fished inside her purse for the SIM card she’d swiped and handed it to Manō. Their tech friend could retrieve the texts, contacts, call history, deleted data, and who knew what else.

“I’ll have it looked at.” He shoved the chip in his pocket and then turned to Kai. “Call the girl you used to date at the police station and see what the cops have so far.”

Kai hesitated. “I haven’t talked to Ret in a while. She kinda caught me with my pants down a few months ago.”

Keahilani stifled a laugh. “Kinda
figuratively
? Or
literally
did?” Ever since Kai got in the drug business, he couldn’t keep anything in his pants. Except maybe an occasional bout of chlamydia.

He rolled his eyes. “We’re talking about you right now. Killing people. Keahilani, you fucking killed a guy. Don’t you have any remorse?”

She glanced to Manō. “Nope. Not an ounce.”

Kai shook his head and furiously rubbed his dreads. Disappointed. She got that. She’d disappointed him a lot over the last few years, but it had always been to protect him and their brothers. It had always been about ‘ohana.

Kai needed to grow the fuck up. They weren’t running a roller-skating rink.

“You gotta lie low for a few days until we get more information.”

“I can’t do that. We need dealers, and I shot one of our prime candidates last night. It was slim pickings to begin with, and we’re falling farther into debt every day. Butch worked for someone else who probably controls all of Maui.” She wasn’t about to tell them the guy she gave surfing lessons and a blowjob to yesterday might be involved. Not for his sake, but for her own. Her brothers might really kill her.

“Keahilani, you can hide in plain sight here. Don’t arrange any other meetings. Let me and Kai handle it. Stay put and keep your mouth shut.” This conversation must’ve been a world record for Manō in terms of word count. Most of the time he blended into the background and enjoyed the quiet role of family heavy—a strong, silent partner with little else to contribute aside from the uncanny ability to scare the living shit out of people.

But having been on the wrong side of the law all his life, he was the only one who knew the ins and outs of staying under the radar. She should listen to him. Kai would have to step up yet again.

“Fine. I’ll work here this week, but our number-one priority is finding enough dealers to move this shit so we can avoid late fees on our first payment to the investors on October 17.” All three of them understood that “late fees” would come in the form of broken bones. Or worse.