27. Sara
Sara
I’m this close to drifting off to sleep when the lights flash on.
The door bursts open, startling me as Angela hurries in.
She motions for me to get up. “We have to go!”
Thanks to the emergency room, I have high stress tolerance, and the fog of exhaustion clears from my brain before I even process what’s happening. Within seconds, I’m on my feet, automatically catching the clothes Angela tosses my way. “Get dressed. Hurry!”
I do as I’m told and slip on the baggy black jeans. “What’s going on?” I cinch the jeans as much as possible and tug the hoodie over my head.
A grim-faced Angela grips my shoulders. “I don’t want you to panic.” She pauses, then blurts, “A group of men have broken into the house. I was heading out when I saw them through a window and overheard them talking. Sara…” Angela swallows. “Sara, they’re looking for you. We have to get you out.”
Terror threatens to rip me apart. All I can picture are the men who broke into my apartment years ago and held Jeremy at gunpoint. The men I now suspect may have also fed Dante lies to turn him against me.
Instead of dwelling on the unknown, I yank the hood of the sweatshirt up to hide my hair.
The thick material smells just like Dante, and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep my emotions at bay. As much as I want to break down, this isn’t the time or place.
Angela gestures me forward, but I hold out my hand to indicate I need a second and rush to the back of my cell. I snatch the collar and pearl leash from the pile near my other few possessions, and oddly, their weight reassures me.
The pearl chain won’t prove very effective against armed men, but it’s all I’ve got. If anything happens, I want Dante to know I at least went down fighting. Angela nods and grabs my hand. Together, we sneak past the other cells to the main door.
“Where’s Gregor?” My hand tightens around the collar until the band digs into my skin. The stinging pain helps slow my breathing, so I lean into the sensation. I can do this.
Angela blows out a frustrated breath. “No idea, but if you see him, stay quiet.”
I draw back, surprised. “Why?”
Angela doesn’t respond, too busy peeking out the door to the basement. The darkened area outside the cell block suggests that the intruders cut the power.
Shit. Luca won’t be able to use the security cameras to track them. The elevator is probably out too.
I tap Angela’s shoulder, and she whirls toward me, squinting in the dark.
“Stairs.” Rather than speak aloud, I mouth the word and point upward. In response, Angela guides me down the hallway.
Where is Gregor? Or Luca, for that matter? They’re probably preoccupied with locating the intruders and assume I’m safely tucked behind my cell’s institution-grade metal doors.
I pause. “Should we really be wandering around? Maybe we should go back and lock ourselves in?”
Angela looks back at me, annoyed. “Will you hurry up? Gregor’s the one who told me to move you just in case anyone slipped through.”
I bristle at but still brush off her delivery. She’s stressed. I’m stressed. And we could be shot dead any second.
Instead of bringing us to the stairwell, Angela leads us to the gym. A few of the guards stand in a circle discussing next steps, and Angela clamps a hand around my mouth before dragging me to the floor behind the boxing ring.
I spin and shove her hand away. “What the hell is your problem?” I hiss.
She shushes me while peeking around the edge of the ring. “Whoever is behind all of this knows Dante isn’t home, so someone has been feeding them information.”
The bottom drops out of my stomach. Angela’s right. The timing is a little too perfect.
Pressure roars in my ears as the two of us hunker down behind the ring, straining to decipher the guards’ low murmurs. Could one of them really be capable of orchestrating this?
Luca’s voice crackles out from someone’s walkie-talkie. “We need backup on the third floor!”
My heart plummets to my toe. I’ve never heard Dante’s second sound so stressed.
This is bad. Really bad.
The guards scatter, leaving the room empty except for Angela and me. As they troop past, we lie flat on the floor behind the base of the boxing ring. Only when their footsteps finally fade do we scramble to our feet.
“Come on.”
Anxiety clouds my brain and Angela leads us to the gym’s entrance. After fumbling her palms along the stone wall and muttering to herself, there’s a click, and a hidden door swings open.
My eyes widen. How the hell does she know the layout of the basement so well? When I searched, I never found anything half as exciting.
Guess I’m more of an Inspector Clouseau than a Sherlock Holmes.
Angela puts her finger in front of her lips, and we listen. Upon hearing nothing, she practically yanks me through the doorway to a room that appears to mirror the basement. The door shuts with a sigh, and our surroundings pass by in a blur as we head for a staircase.
Despite my best effort to remain brave, fear seeps in.
Focus. I need to pay attention to the layout just in case. This building lacks an elevator, so Angela and I creep up the steps two at a time until we reach the first floor, both of us panting.
With my hands on my knees, I pause. Shit, I should’ve used the elliptical in my apartment complex more regularly. “We…we should call Dante.”
“Can’t.” Angela straightens. “He’s in a Council meeting, and they don’t allow phones.”
Stung that she’s more familiar with his business and life than I am, I try to laugh it off. “How do you know all this?” I don’t think I do a very good job of masking my jealousy because Angela raises a brow.
“Relax, Sara.” Her voice is almost mocking. “He has these meetings once a month, and Gregor informed me of their rules after I tried calling about a patient once.”
Feeling a little foolish, I follow her lead and inch forward.
A crash freezes us in our tracks. We pause for a good twenty seconds, and when no other threats emerge, we continue sneaking from one room to another.
They cut the lights to this townhouse as well, which makes our trek seem even more perilous.
For all we know, intruders lurk around the corner, waiting to trap us and do lord knows what.
From what little light reaches this space, the furnishings appear much simpler and more casual, and I find I prefer this aesthetic to the more impersonal one. It’s a silly thought to have in the middle of a siege, but I’m not exactly thinking straight.
We plaster our backs to the wall as Angela peers around bends for signs of life. At the next corner, she taps my arm to warn me to stop. A few seconds pass before she tugs on my sleeve in a clear signal.
Go.
Hunching low, I focus on keeping my steps as quiet as possible as I trail her. From the depths of the house, a board creaks, causing me to nearly jump out of my skin. Angela snags the back of my shirt, saving me from crashing into a table.
Her harsh whisper cuts through the dark. “Stay behind me, Sara.”
I duck my chin like a scolded child.
You’d think I’d be better at protecting my own life.
Past the kitchen and closing in on what looks like a back door, I can see trees beyond the window embedded in the wood. Angela quickens her pace. “Almost there.”
Great, though for all we know, we’re rushing into a trap.
Shoving my anxiety aside, I hurry after her.
We’re only a few feet from the door when a figure in all black emerges from the shadows on the far side. The visible barrel of a semiautomatic pulses terror into my limbs. I duck by sliding onto my knees.
Terror burns cold in my mouth as I struggle not to scream.
Angela remains frozen with one hand on the knob. If the man outside turns his head, we’re cooked.
Acting on instinct, I pull her down beside me. The back of my head collides with the door, and I fight not to hyperventilate.
Through the window, the man outside speaks into a walkie-talkie. If I concentrate, I can make out soft murmuring through the wood.
“We’ve got someone inside picking up the package now. They should make contact within the next few minutes.”
My head spins.
Am I the package?
I whisper close to Angela’s ear. “Is there another way around?” My own hushed voice barely registers over my drumming heart.
Her head jerks in a shaky motion. “There are more men parked in a van out front and next door. I was scoping out an escape route before I came to get you and saw them breaking in through the garden gate. Maybe we can overpower him and make a run for it?”
Considering G.I. Joe out there has a gun, I don’t love this plan, but it may be our only option.
Up close, I can smell the nervous sweat mixing with Angela’s citrusy perfume.
Despite the situation, she remains so calm. If I grab her hand, would her palm be as damp as my own? Doubtful. She must have nerves of steel, while it’s all I can do not to leap out of my own skin.
Struggling to draw oxygen into my lungs, I inhale and twine the pearl leash around my fist. We need a better weapon, but what? Dante doesn’t exactly let me roam around carrying an AK-47 and a sword.
I spot an umbrella stand near the back door and carefully inch over to nab one, cringing at the slight squeak as it drags free.
Holding my breath, I almost think we’re in the clear when the first man whips his head around just as I’m sinking back to my knees.
He rams the door with his shoulder. After a few attempts, the frame shatters.
I scramble backward as he lunges and press the button on the side of the handle.
As the umbrella pops open, I punch the guy in the chest with the pointy end.
I follow that by lashing out with my foot in a perfect groin shot, triggering a glorious scream.
Angela hauls me up by the arms as if to shove me out the door, but motion outside has me actively resisting.
More men dressed in similar gear charge forward. I manage to knock the first man into the one who tries to enter on his heels. They crash to the ground, providing me with just enough cover to keep Angela in my sight.
She struggles until I hiss at her. “Did you see all those men? That way is out. We need a new plan.”
With a huff, she falls silent. As more men enter through the back door, we continue edging back the way we originally came.
They’re oddly quiet, and no one shoots at us. Yet. Maybe they’re waiting for orders?
Then realization dawns. I bet they’re staying quiet because they don’t want to alert the other guards to their location. Clearly, they hope to steal me away into the night with minimal struggle.
To hell with that. “On the count of one, stay low and sprint. One, go!”
Crouched low, I dart down the hall and start yelling. “Here!” I pray one of Dante’s guards hears me. “We’re in here!”
Curses follow, and two of the masked men rush us. I snap the chain in front of me, preventing them from getting any closer.
“Drop it, and no one gets hurt.”
That might be more believable if both of them weren’t aiming their guns at us.
Angela raises her hands. “Maybe we should do what they say.”
“What? No! For all we know, they’re only keeping us alive to assault us, and then they’ll shoot us.”
I flinch, hoping I didn’t just give them any ideas.
Distracted by Angela, I miss when the taller man lunges. Capturing my arm, he attempts to seize the chain. I struggle, kicking and hitting for all I’m worth. When he throttles my scream with his hand, I manage to sink my teeth into his flesh.
He screeches. “Fuck!”
Pain blossoms in my cheek, and his backhand whips my head to the side.
Then the beautiful drum beat of boots on the floor reaches my ears, along with a familiar shout.
“Stand down!” Gregor charges forward, his handgun trained on the first man who forced his way inside. The guy is still doubled over from my expert kick to his balls, but the men behind him poise to shoot. My stomach knots into a pretzel.
A harrowing moment of silence descends while I wait for the first crack of gunfire. Instead of bullets, a high-pitched whistle splits the tension, spurring the intruders into action.
Was that the signal they were waiting for?
The next few moments unfold in slow motion, like I’m watching them through a stranger’s eyes. Gregor’s head snaps toward Angela. Angela, in turn, releases me to shield her head as violence erupts. Bullets fly overhead, soiling the air with the acrid smell of gunpowder and hot metal.
Dante’s men scatter, yelling as they’re driven back.
They’re less willing to risk hitting Angela or me by mistake, and the masked intruders take advantage of their hesitation.
I scurry behind an overturned end table as brass casings litter the marble floor.
When one of the men in ski masks pops up and fires from around the hallway corner, Gregor flies backward, blood fountaining near his head.
Horror seizes me.
No.
Angela shouts as she cowers behind a gunshot-laden settee, but the bullets drown her out. By the time I glance back, she’s gone.
I stifle a sob. I can’t leave Gregor to bleed out only a few feet away.
Screw it.
Without stopping to consider the foolishness of the act, I lunge for him. Before I reach him, a hand snatches my ankle and yanks me onto my stomach, hauling me toward the door.
I scramble, my nails biting into polished marble floors as I struggle to get away.
From the corner of my eye, I spot the umbrella from earlier in the corner and stretch until my fingertips graze the handle. With a cry, I flip onto my back and swing wildly, ready to stab and stab and stab until this asshole lets me go.
Heavy footsteps cut through the pandemonium, and the man’s hand on my ankle disappears.
Someone else blocks the door now. Tall. Muscled. Armed. My brain shifts into overdrive, categorizing everything as either threat or non-threat. Still, the confident way the newcomer carries himself is familiar, and relief floods me immediately. “Dante.”
I jerk upright only to stop short. Dante’s hoisting a large object onto his shoulder, and after several shell-shocked seconds, I finally understand what I’m seeing.
Is that a–?
“RPG!” A man’s panicked shout slices through the house. “He’s got a fucking rocket launcher!”
“Sorry I’m late, tesoro.”
With that, Dante’s finger squeezes the trigger, and all hell breaks loose.