57. Chapter 54
T he guests are murmuring. Between Delilah’s arrival and the argument with Charlie and Banks, voices hum with gossip. These people love drama, and we just gave them all the fodder they needed. Questions and speculation run rampant through the room. People only hearing bits and pieces of what others are saying.
Toby’s eyes are trained on his mother. I can’t imagine how he feels, seeing her after close to fifteen years. Roman’s sitting at the head of the table, sipping the champagne he had earlier. The chair beside him is empty, I guess for the other brother that I’ve not seen.
Salad plates are delivered in covered dishes, and the servers don’t utter one word. It’s all a little strange, and the tension in the room multiplies when ten men dressed in suits, much like Mr. Romero’s, enter the hall.
My eyes travel the room, looking for my family when they latch on to smoke creeping out one of the doors closest to Roman. A server bursts through the doors to what I’m assuming is the kitchen, and the smoke pours out, threatening to choke everyone on that side. Creed, Mack, and my father lurch to their feet, along with me and Toby.
I can’t see Talon or Cin.
The guests panic, jumping out of their chairs and flooding to the doors, some of the men in suits rush toward the kitchen, and the others help the guests get out. Fern and Lori rush over to me and Toby.
Their eyes are frantic.
“Where did Cin go?” Lori asks, gripping onto Fern’s hand as if it were her lifeline.
“And Tal, where’s Talon?” Fern adds, her voice laced with terror.
“I–I don’t know, I didn’t see them leave,” panic threatens to pull me in with them. A fire wasn’t part of the plan. “Maybe they're already outside?”
They nod, heading for the doors pulled along with the rest of the sea of guests. Among the chaos, the unmistakable pop of a gun goes off, and people start screaming. Hysteria floods everyone in the room as they run to safety. Some, falling in their haste to exit, even begin crawling over one another to get out. Toby takes off toward where the guests are, screaming for Salem.
Fuck.
That definitely wasn’t part of the plan.
The smoke settles in a haze-like state, making it difficult, but not impossible, to see through. Ripping the napkin from my plate, I cover my nose and mouth, heading toward where I last saw Creed and Mack.
More gunshots ring, but they don’t sound as close. My thoughts wander back to Banks and Diego. I hope their part is going according to plan because if not, we have way too many problems tonight.
My feet snag on something, and I trip. Looking down at whatever it is I stumbled over, I see one of the men who came in shortly after Mr. Romero left. He’s got a bullet in his head, blood oozing out of the wound. Looking away as quickly as possible, I get up and spot Tal exchanging blows with another one of the men.
By this point, I can’t tell who’s side is shooting or where the bullets are coming from. Everything is chaos, and my chest threatens to cave.
“Henry!” Creed shouts, “On the ground!” I drop without hesitation. The quick flash of a gun sounds in my ears, and the solid thunk of a body falls behind me.
Creed runs over and lifts me from the floor, checking me over before pushing me behind him and firing off another shot. Mack’s on the other side of the table, squaring off with another one of Romero’s men.
There can’t be that many left, not with the blood splatter covering both Creed and Mack and the number of bodies I see littered just a few paces in front of me. I can’t imagine how many more there are in the room. I’m suddenly grateful for the heavy smoke, so thick now we’re choking, coughing, and spitting.
“Banks, where’s Banks?” I gasp.
Creed doesn’t respond, he only pushes me back until we’re at the end of the table. One of the men dressed in black comes in with a heavy-looking gun. Tal jumps to cover Cin, who I didn’t see come in, and Creed throws one of the tables up, kicking it into the guy holding the gun.
Rapid fire opens up into the ceiling, and a whole new fear punches me in the gut. Banks and Diego are up there. With my thoughts so scrambled I can’t remember where exactly the office is, I pray that it’s nowhere near them.
Creed and Mack both run back into the kitchen while bullets thunk into the wood and spray the plaster of the walls. Chunks of drywall fly, as Dad joins us. He’s got a cut on his neck, but otherwise looks okay.
“Get upstairs and find B and Charlie!” Creed orders. I’m suddenly reminded that it’s my job to get them out of the house and to the cars. Kel and Logan will handle the rest once we’re out.
I nod, crawling through the parlor door. Keeping low until I’m sure no one’s around, I creep my way up, checking over every surface before standing. The parlor connects to a small hall leading to a hidden stairwell Diego found when researching the house’s blueprints.
Taking the steps two at a time, I gently ease the door open, checking to make sure the hallway is empty before rushing out toward the office where I hope Romero took them.
Diego’s voice helps pull me in the right direction because I can hear him shouting.
Charlie stumbles out, a hand pressed to her head. When her eyes meet mine, my stomach plummets to my feet at the agony I see there.
“What happened?” I grip her shoulders, looking her over. She’s got a cut on her temple, and her cheek is red. Other than that, she seems to be okay.
Her eyes well up, and she slowly shakes her head. “I’m sorry.”
“Where’s Banks?”
Her voice breaks, and the tears fall. They fall so hard that her breaths become choppy as she hiccups, “I’m so sorry.”
No .
Leaving her there, I sprint the rest of the way to the office, finding Banks laying across his father’s lap, his shirt soaked with blood, not moving.
No .
Seeing Diego cradling his son's shoulders, his face white as a sheet, has me falling to my knees. They crack with the impact, but I can’t feel it.
My hands immediately go to the wound on Banks's stomach, pressing hard to try and stop the bleeding. Tears drip off my nose as I hold as much pressure as I can. I don’t know when I started crying, but I can’t hold the sobs in now.
“Diego,” I scream, trying to get him to snap out of whatever shock he’s in. “We have to get him to the cars.”
“He– He just jumped,” he says, his face wet with tears. “I– I couldn’t…”
“I don’t care right now. We have to get him out!” My voice doesn’t waver as I command him. Charlie comes back in the room, this time with a man I recognize from the dining room. He’s wearing a suit just like the rest of Romero’s men, but he’s older, closer to our dad’s age.
“This is Liam,” she hiccups. “He’s going to help us get them to the cars.”
When Liam dips to lift Banks, I snarl, “Don’t. Fucking. Touch. Him.”
“Henry,” Charlie says calmly but efficiently, “You can trust him. I promise.” I shift my eyes to her, see the sincerity there and lower my guard.
I nod, only allowing Liam to help Diego while I hoist Banks up. He’s not moving, so I start praying to every fucking God I can think of to let him be okay.
He has to be okay because I never said it back.
Liam throws Diego’s arm over his shoulders and hauls him to his feet, snapping him out of whatever trauma he was spiraling down, and we make our way out of the office and down the way I came.
Dad and Nile meet us at the bottom of the servant stairs, briefing Diego on the current situation. Creed and Mack are still in the hall, guns firing left and right. Dad’s eyes quickly check me over before pulling Banks from my arms.
“No! I have to touch him. I have to know he’s breathing.” I howl at my father and stumble to keep pace as he heads for the door that connects to the side of the house with Banks.
“God–Please, Dad!”
Charlie grips my hand, slick with Banks’s blood, and holds on tight, pulling me alongside her through the door. Kel flies over to us, gun in hand.
“What the hell is going on in there?” He says, eyes latching onto Banks who still hasn’t made a sound. Logan opens the back door, and Dad jumps into the backseat of the SUV with Banks, and I follow, pulling his head onto my lap. Diego jumps into the front seat after us. “Get him to the hospital!” I shout, “Now!”
Kel doesn’t ask questions. Jumping into the driver seat, he peels off, dirt spraying behind us. I can’t look away from Banks’s prone form.
“Please, Banksie… don’t fucking die.”