Lacy - A Bad Girl's Revenge
Bad Girls of Romance

Excerpt

The frigid Colorado village had six bars and Lacy walked into the fifth with exactly that many shots of tequila in her bloodstream. Men parted and let her pass. Not because they were gentlemen. Hell no, they were drunk and sexually aroused, making them easy prey.

She avoided making eye contact and headed for the bar.

"Top shelf, tequila." Her gaze lifted to where the bartender grabbed a bottle filled with amber heat. "I want a clean glass . . . please."

The ageless man wiped his nose with the towel attached at his waist, then went to the bar sink and washed a tall shot glass.

"Don't use your towel to dry; just pour." Lacy smiled, but she didn't give a rat fuck if he thought she was the second coming of Howard Hughes. She wanted a goddamn clean glass.

With a sneer, the man pushed the glass toward her then poured her a long shot. "No call for you to get fussy, legs; we're small town folk."

She laid down a bill, ignoring his jibe about her height, and walked away to look for Tanner Campo. He would either be here or in the next hole-in-the-wall down the street. Timing didn't matter. She had all damn night. Thanks to an avalanche isolating the small ski resort over six hours ago, the murderous prick wouldn't get out of Snow Cap.

Yeah, she had all the time in the world to end his life.

Lacy found a table in the back, chose the seat against the wall and warmed the tequila between her hands.

"You gonna drink that, precious, or think about it all night?"

A towering brute with more flesh on his bones than brains in his head sat in the seat across from her. Lacy checked for where he'd stashed his weapons and saw a buck knife in a leather holder on his belt. The man wasn't a player, just drunk and stupid.

"I like your tits and long blonde hair; I've got fifty bucks . . . ."

Lacy stared past him as if he didn't exist; she didn't want to show her hand by cutting his balls off with his own knife.

The man leaned over to catch her eye. "Hey, I'm talkin' to ya, woman."

Her father had taught her the art of focus and Lacy continued to search the room for her target. Damn. Men in this town didn't take their skanky hats off inside a bar, forcing her to rely on body types.

The man in front of her let the chair fall with a loud clatter. He staggered away into the smoke. She ignored him and the other men leering at her as she downed her drink. The fire burned a path to her stomach. She gritted her teeth, letting the tequila take some of her painful loss away.

Sean Hennessey was dead. Her father, who'd beaten every man who'd ever come after him, had been ambushed in a seedy motel by three men hired by the Italian family in Boston. Two of those three bastards were now dead by her hand and she'd been sanctioned by Paddy O'Keefe himself for the last. Paddy expected Lacy to take her father's place in the organization and she wouldn't fail.

Sean had been all she had and he'd taught her everything about being an enforcer for the Irish Mob. When the Boston Italian family sent three enforcers to take her father down, they hadn't factored her into the equation. Tanner had been lucky to escape, forcing Lacy to use up two days and two thousand miles just to end up in some crappy Colorado mountain resort. Her only clue, apart from physical description given by her snitch back home, had been that Tanner drank alcohol as if he expected a shortage. He'd be in a bar tonight; Tanner hadn't been in his filth-encrusted apartment when she stopped by earlier.

Lacy scanned the room for red hair, bad skin and a tall, wiry frame. The bastard had lost the genetic lottery and he wouldn’t be hard to find in a sea of dark-haired, overweight barflies. The redheaded butcher's physical attributes weren't his only claim to infamy. Tanner used a knife on his victims, carving his initials on their chest with a T circled with a C. Unique, identifiable, the tag would be his undoing when she returned the favor.

"Hey, do you want another?" A curly, bleached mop of a woman leaned down to take the shot glass.

"Not yet. Do you know Tanner, Bunny?" The nametag said Bunny, but the forty-something woman resembled road kill.

Lacy pulled out a twenty and lifted a brow. "The man gave me the clap."

The woman grinned, exposing crooked teeth, snatched the money and shook her head. "Fuck, that man gets more pussy than he has a right. Saw him last night, but he hasn't come in again since Beaver punched him for steppin' on his new boots."

"Know where he'd be this evening?" Lacy forced a laugh at the server's story, wishing Beaver had hit him harder.

"Try the Lakeside Hotel and Bar on Eighth Street; yesterday, Tanner bragged he had a meeting for a big job." She winked at Lacy. "Slap him twice, honey. Tanner gave me the same shit last spring."

She nodded. "I'll do that."

Bunny moved away into the crowd. Lacy put her shoulders back and headed for the front door. The man would be in the only bar left she hadn't visited tonight. She'd need to change in her rented SUV. She'd need to blend in and become one of the trapped ski enthusiasts if she wanted to get close to her target.

Then Lacy would gut him like a fish.