24. Daniela
I press my ear to the first set of metal doors and listen. From deep inside, voices mutter, followed by intermittent banging.
Beneath my balaclava, the hairs on my nape rise. I feel eyes burn into me. Someone’s watching.
Turning clockwise in a circle, I take in my surroundings, but don’t see anyone nearby. Further down the corridor there’s an abandoned cleaning cart, a parked wheelchair, and more doors leading to fuck knows where.
This hospital is like a rabbit burrow.
Adjacent to the elevators is an emergency exit sign. A narrow glass in the door beneath appears to be black with no light behind it.
I couldn’t be certain if the people stuck in the elevator are Carina and India. However, if I had to bet on it, I’d say it’s them.
Suddenly there’s a whirring noise from inside the lift shaft and the overhead lights flicker on, then off. At the same time, the elevator doors judder apart, and three sets of wide eyes lock onto my covered face.
Inside, the guy sporting an immaculate crew cut and a dark five o’clock shadow draws a gun and steps in front of the two women.
By the time his tattooed arm is out straight, I’ve already taken aim at his face.
He bares white teeth in a snarl and takes a confident step forward. A short-sleeved floral shirt wraps his muscular torso and cream fitted cargo shorts are well filled.
Diamond studs twinkle in his ears and dark brows tug together.
“Back the fuck up!”
He glares at me, not showing a single shred of fear at the threat of my suppressed firearm.
“Wait…” One of the girls steps out from behind him. Her sunshine blonde hair and wide ocean blue eyes look familiar.
The naturally pretty features of a young girl I’d protected in the past are warm and friendly.
“I recognize the symbol…Buffalo, right?” India sets her hand on the man’s arm. “She’s one of us, Letterman.”
His jaw flexes and his eyes trail up and down my leather clad body.
“She?”
“Yeah…it’s Mat’s girl.”
I almost smile as the words leave her mouth. Letterman mutters something undetectable, and I catch a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye.
My aim swerves right and I lock onto the figure in the distance.
“Get them out of here!” I bite out just as a bullet soars towards us.
After I pull the trigger and miss, the shooter ducks behind the cleaning cart. Letterman appears beside me. The two of us stand shoulder to shoulder.
I don’t react or let his presence distract me. Instead, I stay focused on the only visible part of the shooter I can see and wait.
After five shallow breaths, the target leans left to see us and their eye is exposed. I squeeze the trigger.
“Jesus. Good shot.” Letterman chuckles.
I arch an eyebrow at his praise, aware he can’t see my expression. He had clearly doubted my ability. At least now he knows I could blow his brains out in a standoff too.
India looks up at him, grinning.
“What else did you expect from one of Gio’s elite agents? She’s amazing, isn’t she?”
My heart warms a little. Shutting it out, I spin around and check the corridor.
“You guys need to get out of here. Matheus is downstairs taking care of his mother and the babies.”
Beside India, a sable-haired woman constantly taps her phone screen and mutters to herself about a shitty connection.
Loose waves swish across the plain white top hugging her chest as she shakes her head.
“Why the hell is the phone reception so patchy in hospitals? I can’t reach Tomás.”
“He’s on his way,” I tell her, guessing she’s the vulnerable chink in the cartel king’s chain. “The Lozanos are behind this.” My gaze cuts to India. “They’re here for you.”
Letterman pulls back his broad shoulders and parts his bright white designer sneakers, so his dominant stance is solid.
“Over my dead fucking body. Don’t worry, Indy, I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
India scowls, her sunny expression becoming menacing as she lifts the hem of her lemon dress and pulls out a lethal-looking blade from underneath.
“I’m not leaving Dré and Sinéad,” she declares in a hard voice to Letterman. “Take Cari outside. Tommy will go nuts if she’s hurt.”
“And you don’t think Gio or me would lose our shit if you got hurt?” he says, clearly annoyed. “We’re leaving together. All of us.”
“I’ll stay with Sinéad,” I tell them. “You three go ahead. Otherwise, you’re all dead. Any second, this corridor will be full of armed men and flying bullets. Get the hell out of here. Now!” I order, firm and to the point.
Big hazel eyes hold mine as Carina glides up beside Letterman, her whole aura commanding attention without even trying.
She’s naturally feminine and graceful. Everything I’m not. But that doesn’t bother me. I don’t need to be elegant when I’m crushing a man’s skull.
Although, I imagine some might think there’s an art to killing—like a sweeping dance step or a well-timed stomp.
Regardless, I’m a female who has the technique nailed.
“How do we protect all of us?” Her brows pinch together. “I’m talking about Dré, too,” she asks. “He’s just lying there while the sedative wears off. We don’t leave Souzas behind.”
Spoken like a true queen and someone who clearly has no idea how many armed assholes I’ve had to kill since I’d arrived.
I draw in a breath and scan the corridor, that prickly sense of danger coming again.
“Stalling puts everyone in danger,” I chide over my shoulder. “Dré is immobile. He needs medical care and can’t leave. You three are targets and need to clear out for your own safety. I’ll stay behind with Sinéad. Let Mat and I do our job. Take the stairs and don’t stop until you’re outside.”
I look at Letterman and see something flash behind his eyes. Something I can’t quite read.
“Keep them safe.”
It’s too late though. As I finish, the far doors open and the crack of a bullet whips through the air.
While I grab Carina by the hand and swing her behind me, Letterman shoves India inside the elevator for cover.
Focusing on the threat, I keep cool and pinpoint the enemy, easily popping a cap in each of their heads.
The elevator dings and Carina gasps.
“Oh, my God… who’s bleeding?”
My gaze drops to the floor where a fresh trail of blood streaks the vinyl, leading beyond the closed doors.
“Shit,” I mutter, a twinge of concern for India twisting my stomach.
Something about the girl reminds me of myself.
“Time to go, Carina. Once you”re outside, I’ll come back to help the others. I promise.”
A sickly feeling creeps over me. Finding myself solely responsible for Tomás Souza’s kryptonite, my heart races. Once upon a time, this reality could have had a different outcome.
Perhaps I would have shot her in the heart for being in the Souza circle…dragged her kicking and screaming to a window and thrown her out…done really bad shit just to hurt Tomás.
Then again, my past wasn’t her fault. And as haunting as those memories are––her hero was mine once upon a time too.
That toxic hunger for revenge isn’t my driving force anymore. I turn into Carina and stare at the worried creases lining her brow and the way her chest lifts and falls as she tries to control her breathing.
She’s vulnerable––and today I’m going to help her.
“What if they killed Indy?” She brushes her fingertips across her top lip, her eyes wide and panicked. “Or Letterman.”
“We’d better get to the ground floor and hope the lift isn’t stuck again.” I snatch her wrist. “We need to get to them before anyone else does.”
Long silky hair flicks out as her head whips around to decide which way to run.
“Sinéad needs our help, too,” she says, a little breathy, conflict etched across her pretty face. “Fuck…I can fire a gun.”
“Do you want to see Tomás again?” I squeeze tight and yank her in the direction I’m heading.
Her face falls and she nods. “Of course I do.”
“I don’t have a spare gun. If you hang around trying to help, you’ll be dead by the time he gets here. It’s that simple,” I tell her straight. “I’m sure you’ve dreamed about him seeing you in your wedding dress?”
Even though I ask the question, I’m not interested in the answer. We both know she wants to be his wife. There’s no questioning it. I’ll do whatever it takes to fulfill my promise to Matheus.
Carina whimpers and willingly trots along beside me, both of us pushing into the cold stairwell.
I unhand her, content she understands our mission to evacuate immediately, and cautiously check around the curve of the banister.
She descends with me, hurriedly clipping each step in her fancy heeled sandals.
After another set of stairs, we’ve hit the fourth floor. One more flight and we’d be on the same level as Matheus.
My ears prick, the loud wail of an unoiled metal door cracking wide catches my full attention.
I glance over my shoulder where Carina teeters a few stair steps higher than me. I gesture to her to keep quiet by pressing my forefinger over the buffalo emblem and my mouth.
Ready to shoot, I stay frozen and wait. My strong pulse thumps in my ears.
A tall figure appears over Carina’s left shoulder and comes to a stop.
Immediately, I blink in the dark combat gear and wool mask. Slowly inching into the dim light, a set of dull green eyes observe my silent inspection, and I’m greeted with a familiar scorpion emblem.
Hunter.
Neither of us speaks, but we do nod. However, in the weird moment of recognition, something feels off.
A shiver runs down my spine and my gut swoops. I’ve studied Hunter on a professional level and dissected his combat techniques in the field.
Carina backs herself against the wall as Hunter slowly descends, approaching her. Something’s different about him today.
His willowy height––slimmer than usual build––sage colored eyes––no stab vest like he expects to get out of here quickly, and the fact he’s holding a semi-automatic in his left hand.
Motherfucker.
This guy might be wearing Hunter’s mask, but it isn”t him.
I’m certain Hunter”s eyes are navy blue, and I know for a fact he’s right-handed. Those are details I never miss.
If it’s not him, then who the hell is it? And how did he get the scorpion balaclava?
Adrenaline charges through me at the same time the imposter lashes out, grabs a clump of Carina’s hair, and shoves his gun into the soft flesh of her neck.
Hissing, she fights back and fists him in the nuts. He grunts and throws his forehead into the side of her face.
Her heels wobble, her footing slips, and her knees bend, thrown off balance by the force of it.
I spring forward, bounding up the stairs to catch her, both of us tumbling awkwardly together.
My wrist takes the full weight of our bodies combined when I put out my hand to break the fall.
Searing pain shoots up my arm and the back of my head cracks against the wall.
I can’t feel my fingers, never mind wiggle them, and when I try to straighten my elbow, I almost vomit from the agony it causes.
I’ve broken bones before, gritted my teeth and carried on butchering the target, except this time, I’ve busted up the arm I shoot with.
“Carina!” I bite out, doing my best to shield her as I try to free her from under me. “Run!”
But she doesn’t move. The fall must have knocked her unconscious.
Fuck!
I stay on top of her as the guy comes at us. He takes pleasure in kicking my gun over the edge of the stairs. The clatter of it hitting the bottom floor makes him chuckle as he points his at my chest.
My reflexes kick in and my mind turns jet black. The way it always does when I switch to killing mode.
I zone everything out and welcome the darkness into my soul.
There”s no softness to my sharp edges. No light in the corners of mind. Only bloodlust and punishment.
My veins run cold, and my instincts take charge.
This is who I am.
The pain in my arm numbs and my moral compass spins out of control. This fucker won’t get the better of me. And he won’t get to Carina either.
All I see are narrowed eyes and a scorpion as I draw in a quick breath and boot his thigh, immediately following it up with another.
Two brutal kicks aren’t where it ends. I might not have a gun, but slaughtering a man in unimaginable ways is a challenge I’d often accept.
Blades and bullets aren’t my only weapons.
I lunge at him, stuff my fingers into his balaclava, yank his head down and use his resistance to throw my knee into his jaw. His head swings sideways and the satisfying grunt of pain he makes, fuck, yeah, that injects my blood with more adrenaline.
In the chaos, I hear his gun drop and smile inwardly. He’s not slow to react to my attack, though, stomping his boot down on my inner thigh.
I bite my bottom lip and swallow a pained groan. Not giving myself a second to feel, I flick up my boot and wallop him straight in the dick.
It’s a dirty move and one I’d happily reuse. Which I do. Why stop there?
In the short seconds of his stunned paralysis, I pull back my good arm and punch him in the same place. He staggers a little, and I reach for the bottom of my pant leg, lifting it until I can unstrap the dagger attached to my calf.
He swings at me again, clobbering the side of my head with his fist. Dazed, but I don’t let go of the dagger.
I shake off the floaty blobs in my eyes and lunge at him. The blade sinks into his bicep, slicing through the muscle and stays wedged.
His pained snarl is music to my ears. Blood oozes from the wound. He’s disarmed and injured. Just the way I like it.
Despite getting the better of him, he manages to catch me off guard, smacking me across the face with the back of his hand.
My head jerks and hits the wall beside me. Temporarily stunned, I blink and pant, doing my best to stay alert.
When I refocus, ready to unleash my best move yet, he’s already sunk to his haunches with the bloodied dagger held between us.
His throaty chuckle burns under my skin and my temper spikes all over again. He’s too close and no man has permission to be in my personal space, except for Matheus.
Not giving up, I thrust the heel of my hand into his nose, simultaneously pushing him backward. His snarl explodes around us. I smirk again, knowing I’m winning, and he hates it.
I”m ready to throw another punch when his hand lashes out. Long fingers squeeze my windpipe, and his other hand clamps my injured wrist.
He twists the bones and laughs when I howl. Crowding me, he uses his weight to pin me on top of Carina––trapping me under him.
Red-hot agony has my whole body shaking. I draw in my lips and do my best to fight against him, but his fingers are merciless and I’m struggling to breathe.
While I thrash, Carina stirs beneath me, her body wriggling when she realizes what’s happening.
Blackness clouds my vision and my eyes bulge, needing oxygen.
He continues to manipulate my broken wrist, using it to overpower me. Sandwiched in place, my legs twitch, and my free hand slaps at his shoulder.
There’s a rift in time as the memories of Matheus and me together play out in my mind like a movie.
I remember the look on his handsome face when we both gazed at his name painted on my chest. The two of us understanding our love is forever.
Never considering it meant until death do us part.
His proud smile had made my heart flutter and when I admitted I belonged to him, possessive devotion had swirled in his fiery chestnut eyes.
That”s the bliss my mind helplessly holds onto when a known voice rumbles into the side of my face.
“Every Souza bitch will die today, Buffy. And you’re one of those bitches.”