KICK ASS: A Boxed Set Read Online Free PDF Page B

operation wasn’t supposed to include homicide.”
    “You should have told that to Nestor,” Marisela snapped.
    “We did not anticipate his killing one of our agents.”
    “Nestor didn’t work for you?”
    “His assignment was temporary. Please, Ms. Morales, my employer simply wants to speak with you,” Max insisted. “He’ll explain with much more detail than I am at liberty to divulge.”
    “And why should I believe you?”
    The sirens grew louder, then seemed to fade.
    “My people have diverted the police for a few moments, long enough for us to clean up and get out. If you want your parents to remain unharmed, you’ll come with me.”
    He dropped one hand, and curled his fingers so the other beckoned her with cool politeness.
    She took a step, but he chastised her with a clucking tongue. “Leave the gun. Someone will see to its disposal.”
    Marisela had no choice, not if he really had her parents—and she could think of no other reason why they wouldn’t be tucked into their beds at three o’clock in the morning, snoring softly, oblivious to the violence that had crept into their home. She dropped the revolver on the bed and walked around slowly, slightly comforted by the feel of Rocha’s tiny .22 in her pocket. Max stepped back as she approached, giving her plenty of room to walk. So far, so good. When she turned into the hallway, she noticed the man Rocha had shot was gone.
    “Where?”
    Max gestured toward the door. “Everything will be explained soon. Please, Ms. Morales. We haven’t much time if we wish to avoid police questioning. Further delay could put your parents at risk.”
    Marisela nodded. A man who was confident enough to escort her away without the benefit of a gun—at least, one that she could see—probably had the experience and skill to take her where he wanted her to go with or without her cooperation.
    He diverted her through the living room instead of the kitchen, so she couldn’t see if Rocha had been “cleaned up” as efficiently as the guy in the hall. Outside, the street was quiet, though several neighbors peeked through drawn curtains. Marisela took a deep breath, then exhaled, hoping her parents truly were safe, praying her mother and father would be around tomorrow morning to field the barrage of nosy questions the neighbors would undoubtedly throw their way.
    The minute her foot touched the edge of the driveway, an ordinary, dark-colored sedan eased to a stop in front of the house, just behind her Corolla. The back door flew open and Max hurried her inside. She barely had time to settle into the seat before the car lurched forward, quietly speeding down the street without benefit of headlights.
    She stared down at herself, suddenly aware of every ache. Her arm throbbed from where Rocha had grabbed her. Her neck and skull still reverberated with pain. Her temples pounded and despite several deliberate blinks, her vision wouldn’t quite clear. Still, so far as fights went, this one was rather tame. But where fists rattled her body, gunplay rattled her soul. And Marisela found her shaking hard to control.
    “You put up quite a fight,” Max noted, his eyes scanning the road ahead and behind them, likely checking if the police had followed.
    Marisela wasn’t sure if she hoped they did or not. She had, after all, shot and likely killed Nestor Rocha. Not that he was any great loss to the human race, but murder was murder.
    “It was either him or me.”
    “An unfortunate turn of events.”
    “Really?” she asked, raising her voice a decibel louder than she intended. Her sarcasm must have hit the mark because he closed his eyes a few seconds longer than a typical blink.
    “Errors were made. I offer my sincerest apologies.”
    She crossed her arms, seeing no need to hide her anger. “You can shove your apologies, Max. And for the record, if one hair on my parents’ heads is out of place, I’ll be shoving something a lot more painful than an apology up your