Viv laced up her boots, tightening them like she was preparing for war. Across the room, Colt sat at the edge of the bed, loading a fresh clip into his gun with slow, practiced movements. Neither of them spoke. They didn't need to.
Outside, the city buzzed like a neon-lit carcass, crawling with all the worst kinds of people—the exact kind who wanted them dead.
Viv rolled her shoulders, cracking her neck. "You ready?"
Colt smirked. "I was born ready, sweetheart."
Viv ignored the nickname. She only let him get away with that shit because she was too busy planning the next move to stab him for it.
"Car's out back," she said, grabbing her leather jacket. "We hit Marcus's club first."
Colt let out a low whistle. "Damn, you're not playing around."
Marcus Morelli was a name that carried weight. A crime boss with a stranglehold on half the city, and enough bodies in the ground to start his own cemetery. But more importantly, he was the one who had put a price on Viv's head.
Colt stood, tucking his gun into his waistband. "You sure about this? We walk in there, we're not walking out quiet."
Viv shot him a look. "You ever known me to be quiet?"
Colt laughed. "Fair point."
They stepped outside into the night, the air thick with the stink of gasoline and bad choices. The old black muscle car sat waiting, engine humming like a predator waiting to pounce. Colt slid into the driver's seat while Viv climbed in beside him, pulling her knife from her jacket and running a thumb along the blade.
"You ever think," Colt said as he pulled onto the street, "that maybe we're the bad guys in all this?"
Viv let out a dry chuckle. "I don't think I give a shit."
Colt grinned. "That's what I like about you."
The city stretched out ahead of them, glowing red and gold, a maze of violence and vice. And somewhere in that mess, Marcus Morelli was sitting pretty, thinking he was untouchable.
Not for long.