TWENTY-FOUR
Benito
T he clap of the Glock wakes the last guy on the sofa. He opens his eyes, as startled as I feel, while the man between us drops his chin to look down at his blooming chest. He bleeds rapidly. Slow enough that he has the crucial seconds to register he’s fucked, and fast enough that he’s out and down within the count of ten.
Stas sits on the floor before me, her left hand braced behind her, legs bent as she steadies her shot with her right. Her rapid breathing is the only sound in the room.
Until the crazed wench hooked on my back starts again. “You motherfucker.” She snares a sharp nail in the shell of my ear, tearing it wide, judging by the searing pain that shoots across the side of my head. “You’ve killed Jerry, and now your bitch killed Anton.”
Jerry’s not dead. I couldn’t take that from Nastasya. He’s having a little nap until it’s his turn—that’s all.
The guy named Anton, though. Yeah. He’s not coming back from this one.
I shunt an elbow into the woman and thrust her backward, gasping for breath. Control rapidly slips from my hands, and the feeling of chaos unfolding drives me to do the unthinkable. I cunt-punch the woman to keep her subdued. She doubles over, curses flying at an impressive rate, both hands cupped to her cooch.
The hero on the sofa figures now is as good a time as any to dive for the discarded gun in Anton’s loosened grip. “You’re fucking dead, asshole.”
I lift my right heel and retrieve a blade that I send straight into his shoulder joint’s meaty part. He jerks backward as though having touched an electric fence and sucks in rapid, panicked breaths.
It appears Mr. Gangbanger hasn’t encountered pain like this before. The cockiest ones are always the frauds.
I sweep the room, reassuring myself that control is firmly back in my hands, and then duck down to check on Stas. She still stares at Anton where he lies, her right hand slowly lowering with each staggered breath. I’d take the weapon from her, given the shock that strips her of the ability to handle the firearm safely, but she might need it yet.
Fingers to her chin, I turn her head to face me. You okay?
“Am I supposed to feel something?” She regards me with wide eyes.
Fuck she’s cute. No. I shake my head, smiling. That shit will come later. She follows my directive when I nod at the guy clutching his arm on the sofa. He hasn’t got the guts to remove the blade; he flexes his fingers around the entry site as though he can magic the weapon from his shoulder.
Probably a good idea to leave it in anyway; I wouldn’t want him to bleed out before Stas has had a turn.
She sits a little straighter and sucks in a deep breath. Her eyes close briefly before she twists to check out the reeling woman behind us. No need—I’m keeping tabs on the men’s fuck buddy. After a hit like that, I don’t expect she’ll be running anywhere in a hurry.
“What do I do?” Stas whispers, settling her vibrant green irises back on me.
I shrug and then nod toward her. Whatever you want. I’d pull my phone out so I can talk with her, but I don’t need these fuckers knowing my secret.
Her left palm pulses on the floor, eyes firm on the guy near-sobbing on the sofa. That blade will burn like a motherfucker by now; he missed his opportunity to get it out while the adrenalin held off the added pain. Stas gets to her feet, fluid and sure, and strides through the room and across to where the guy they called Imir lies. The sound of my knife leaving his eye socket is familiar to me this late in the game, but for a newbie, it takes a while to get used to. Evidenced by the way Stas covers her mouth with the hand that holds the gun to stifle a gag. She walks calmly into the room, steps over Anton, and fronts up to the guy on the sofa.
“Do I look familiar to you ?”
His nostrils flare. “You’re supposed to be dead.” His gaze drops the length of her. “I shot you.”
The idiot shouldn’t have said that.
I rise from my haunches and take a few steps back to lean on the wall to the naked woman’s right. She peers up at me, confused as fuck by my apparent calm demeanor. I’m anything but on the inside. I feel like one of Papa’s capos, eyes darting across the threats in the room on rotation. One misplaced sneeze from the remaining motherfuckers, and I may have to rethink the whole leaving this for Nastasya thing.
She’s beautiful in her vengeance. An absolute angel sent to torture the souls of the damned.
“You made a mistake,” Nastasya explains to the guy. “A really bad mistake.” She shakes her head slowly, all while weighing my blade in her palm.
I shove my fists in my pockets and tent my pants a little to hide how fucked up I am. Now is not the time to get turned on by this shit.
“Who paid you?” Stas asks, rotating the knife so she can grip the blade. “Who gave you the job?”
The man turns to stare down at Jerry, who is still lying on the floor.
“He won’t help you,” Stas says with a little laugh. “You’re going to have to figure out what to say all on your own.”
“I know what to say.” The man returns his firm stare to her, the movement of his jaw drawing focus to a pinched scar on his neck. “I’m not sure if I should.”
“Why not?” Her attention drops to where he still flexes his fingers around the embedded blade. “Do you want to take the secret to your grave?”
“Wouldn’t you?”
“Depends how loyal I was to the other party,” she responds readily. “What benefit is it to you to keep the name secret? It helps them, sure, but how does it help you?”
He leers at her assessment of the situation. “I’m dead anyway if I tell.”
“Better odds at living, though, don’t you think?” She points the blade toward herself. “I’m here, but they aren’t. Who do you think would kill you first?”
“You wouldn’t kill me.” He chuckles.
I push off the wall. The woman at my feet shuffles sideways to put distance between us.
“Are you sure about that?” Stas turns and, to my surprise, sets the gun down on the table. Near me.
“Baby girl, you don’t look like you could kill a fly.”
“Shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.” Nastasya spins back to the jerk.
He lifts his hand from the injured shoulder to protect himself, fending her off while he raises one leg to put an obstacle between them. I step forward, my hand raised slightly and ready to lift the loaded weapon she left on the table. Stas struggles at first, but she eventually gets hold of his wrist as intended and bends his arm back and high, on an awkward angle. The guy grunts, pushing back against her, but she has the weight advantage as she pushes down on him where he sits.
The tip of my blade pierces his shirt in the matching spot to the other side, a malicious grin spreading across her pretty lips.
“What are you doing?” the woman on the floor whines. “Let him go!”
“I don’t think so.” Stas pushes a little harder. But it’s the way the man attempts to fight back that angles his arm for greater injury. He pushes forward against her hold, and the knife digs in. “You don’t deserve mercy.”
“Hey, buddy . ” The asshole peers around Stas toward me. “You need to get your woman under control.”
I shrug, clasping my hands before me. She already is under control—hers.
“Who paid you to kill me?” my girl hollers.
His wide eyes return to Stas. “You’ve got to know, right?”
Another quarter inch in the flesh. “Would I be here if I did?”
“This is fucking insane.” His voice cracks as he attempts to lift his left arm—the one I immobilized. Shock renders his eyes wide when his hand refuses to rise.
He’d need a working tendon to do that.
“Man, you’ve got to stop!” His voice gains an octave.
The bitch to my left joins in, wailing with both hands flat on the floor to hold herself up.
God, I love this sound: realization. When the mark understands that they have no way out of the situation other than to push through.
“Who fucking paid you?” Stas hollers. Her loose sections of hair hang wild in her face, the color of the irises a crisp spring green with the rush of adrenalin.
I don’t know if she’s ever done anything like this. I assumed not, but she’s fallen into the role so easily—as though she’s waited for this moment.
An opportunity to prove herself.
“Ask him .” The man uses the index finger of his trapped hand to point across to me. “He should fucking know.”
The discarded Glock slides against my palm, the barrel to his temple before I bother to blink.
“What?” Nastasya frowns, moving her focus between the man and me. “Why would he know?”
I shove the gun against the guy’s head. He opens his mouth to speak, yet he stalls when a staggered groan comes from our right. Fucking, Jerry.
“Baby,” the naked woman hollers, moving across the floor on hands and knees to reach him.
I extend one leg, catching her shoulder with my boot and pushing her backward. Nuh-uh. My weapon shifts to train on Jerry’s pallid face.
“Christ, Dane!” He scowls at the guy under Stas’s control. “What are you doing?”
“She’s fucking insane,” the man—Dane—replies, never once taking his attention off my girl. “They want to know who paid us.”
“What the fuck?” Despite the Glock pointed at his forehead, Jerry shifts to sit against the wall. He flicks his gaze toward me and then closes his eyes briefly, rubbing one hand over his face. “You aren’t serious. You’ve come here to blow us to bits to ask that ?”
I don’t like the insinuation that we’re dumb one fucking bit.
“Why is that such a surprise?” Stas hollers.
Jerry lets his head drop back against the plasterboard with a dull thud. He chuckles behind closed lips before eliciting a loud groan. “I told you we shouldn’t trust him, Dane.”
“You also said you needed the money, wise guy , and now I’m the one with fucking knives in me!”
“You lovebirds want to know who paid us to kill you, princess?” Jerry smiles before moving his smug grin to where I stand. “Then you better pay his uncle a visit.” His gaze narrows on me. “Ask that fucker when we can expect the balance while you’re there.”
I blow a perfect hole through his arrogant eye.
Fucker doesn’t deserve another second of my goddamn time, let alone another dime from our family.
I shift my attention to Stas and nod once. Finish it.