ALESSIO #2
That's the problem. Probably gets people killed.
"The Collector is behind this," Gabe continues. "And he knows we've been playing him."
That gives me pause. The Collector. Of course. Nothing about this feels random. I glance toward the restroom door. Toward Razor's office beyond it. Toward the woman tied to the chair.
One order.
That's all it would take.
I could walk into that office. Shoot every bastard breathing. Carry Audra out over my shoulder. Simple. If this were only Razor. But Gabe doesn't sound worried about Razor. He sounds worried about the Collector.
Which means there's another layer I haven't seen yet. I don't like unseen layers.
"Hold your position," Gabe instructs. I can hear his engine screaming now.
"With you there..." his voice lowers, "my chances of getting her out alive just went up."
He hangs up. I slip the phone back into my pocket. Wash my hands. Because if anyone asks... I was taking a piss. I glance into the mirror. My reflection looks calm. Good. Because inside...
I'm already planning how many bodies this is going to require.
I find an empty booth, which really isn't hard — it's much harder to decide which one looks less filthy. I pass on the one that looks like it has actual cum on it. Fucking clubhouse. Motherfuckers.
I sip on the beer. There's not much I hate more than beer. But when in Rome, right?
My legs start to jiggle. From inside Razor's office, I can hear a subdued scream, muffled voices. I force my leg to hold still and grab the fucking bottle neck so hard, it breaks. My eyes scan the entire open space of the clubhouse. Mapping the locations of every Reaper present.
More men enter, laughing, slapping each other on the back. Where the fuck is Gabe? I swear if I hear Audra scream again, I'll—the front door opens.
My eyes snap toward it. Gabe. He walks in like the devil finally got tired of waiting.
No hesitation. No pretending. His eyes find mine for the briefest fraction of a second.
That's all we need. No nod. No signal. No plan.
Just understanding. It's time. He keeps walking. Straight toward Razor's office.
He has Audra. That leaves me with everyone else. I walk to the bar, take Scorpion's whiskey, and chug it down. I set the glass down.
Scorpion looks over. "Hey."
I pull the stiletto from the strap around my arm. One quick thrust is all it takes. I move the blade up, right under the ribs. Straight into his heart. His eyes widen. Confused more than afraid. I catch him before he falls.
"Too fast, asshole," I murmur, lowering him onto the bar. "You'll get the message eventually."
His heart gives out almost immediately. Perfect, less blood.
I leave him slumped over his whiskey like he's passed out drunk. Nobody's paying any attention. Yet.
The door to the restroom opens. I've forgotten the name of the asshole walking out, but I shoulder him back in. "The fuck—"
The blade kisses his throat. One smooth pull. His hands fly to his neck. He tries to scream. Only blood comes out. I catch him under the arm and ease him against the wall. Another problem solved.
God... I've missed this. No pretending. No undercover bullshit. Just... honesty. I step back out into the hall.
"Hey!" Tiny yells from the other side. He points toward a wooden crate near the pool tables. "Newbie!"
I look over. "Ain't gonna move itself!" He laughs. "You're as lazy as your old man."
I walk over, cracking my neck, letting the grin born of anticipating final payback cross over my expression. "What, this one?"
I lift the crate with both hands. "Where do you want it?"
"Storeroom, fuckhead." He chuckles. "Thought Italians were supposed to work harder."
I smile. Then drive the entire crate straight into his chest. The impact knocks every ounce of air out of him.
"What the—"
Before he can recover, I kick sideways into his knee. The crack echoes through the clubhouse. He screams. I bring the crate down. Hard. Wood explodes across his skull. Glass bottles burst. Cheap whiskey rains everywhere. He doesn't move again.
"Jesus Christ!"
Someone finally notices. About time. Another biker lunges. The stiletto leaves my hand. It buries itself through his ear. He drops without another sound. Well. Element of surprise... officially over.
I draw my gun. The first idiot reaches for his own weapon.
Too slow. One shot. Center mass. He folds.
The second gets halfway behind a pool table.
I fire twice. He slides to the floor. The office door bursts open.
Flea and another biker. I put two rounds into the second man before he even clears the doorway. Flea dives for cover.
Before I have time to aim at him, a gunshot explodes from inside Razor's office. Everything inside me goes cold. Gabe. Or Audra.
Either way... I'm done playing.
I don't think. I move. One kick blows the office door off its hinges.
The first biker turns toward me. Too slow.
Two rounds center mass. He drops before he knows he's dead.
The second is shooting at another biker.
What the fuck? It doesn't matter; I put one through his throat.
Razor is down. Shame. Another body I don't recognize is bleeding out beside the desk.
My attention snaps to the two people on the floor. Gabe. Audra. Jesus Christ.
Gabe isn't moving. Audra is tied to a chair, blood running down her face, staring at him with absolute devastation.
Someone behind me groans. Still alive. I don't even look.
One shot. Silence. No witnesses. No loose ends.
Then I sprint toward them. Gabe's knife lies on the floor.
I scoop it up and drop beside Audra, sawing through the rope binding her wrists.
"No!" she sobs, grabbing my arm the instant one hand comes free. "Check on Gabe first! Please—check on him!"
For a fraction of a second our eyes meet. I see the relief the instant she recognizes me. I hand her the knife and move over towards Gabe, who lies in a pool of blood. Fuck.
She snatches the knife from my hand with trembling fingers and immediately starts hacking through the remaining ropes herself.
If she’s not careful, she’ll cut herself to ribbons, but the thought barely registers as I rush to Gabe's side.
Please don't make me explain this to Damiano.
Or Massimo. Or... hell... I don't want to explain it to myself.
I roll him slightly. Blood. Too much blood. No. Wait. I brush his hair back. Find the wound. And let out a loud, relieved exhale. Lucky son of a bitch.
"What is it?" Audra chokes out behind me. "How is he?"
I look up. I can't help myself, a grin breaks free. "Lucky bastard."
I tap the side of Gabe's face. "Just a graze."
Then harder. "Get up, you lazy motherfucker."
He groans. Music. Absolute fucking music. His eyes flutter. "That's my boy."
Audra collapses over him before he's even fully awake.
"I thought you were dead," she whispers, clutching him like she's trying to fuse them together. "I thought I lost you... I love you... I love you so much..."
I look away. This isn't my moment. This belongs to them. Still... a small smile pulls at the corner of my mouth. About damn time, Gabe.
His arm comes up around her almost automatically.
"I've got you, baby," he rasps. "I'm not going anywhere."
Jesus. If they get any sweeter, I'm shooting them both. I turn away before they catch me smiling. The office looks like a slaughterhouse. Bodies. Broken furniture. Spent brass. Blood creeping across the hardwood floor. Razor's office. Fitting.
Rossi appears in the doorway. I didn't have time to call him for backup, but I had men stationed close enough that they must have heard the shots. But if he's here… "Where is Beccs?"
"I left Olivere to wait for her. He'll keep her safe." Rossi tries to reassure me.
Which doesn’t work. Nothing will until I have her in my sight and arms.
"Clear the building," I order, pushing thoughts of Beccs down. Rossi is right, Olivere will protect her.
He nods. "No survivors?"
I glance once more around the room. "No survivors."
His eyes move to Gabe. "Medic?"
"I'll take him to the hospital."
I turn back to the lovebirds, who are so involved in their own world, they don't even seem to catalog Rossi or me. Suddenly Audra's eyelids flutter. Her grip on Gabe loosens. "Gabe..."
Her voice is barely audible. Then her eyes roll back. She goes limp. For one terrifying heartbeat, nobody moves.
"Audra?" Gabe's voice tears through the office. "Audra?! What the fuck—"
He shakes her carefully, panic replacing every ounce of the cold control he'd walked in with only minutes ago. I move before he even looks at me. His eyes snap to mine.
"Was she hit?" he demands, accusation burning there. "Did one of those bastards shoot her?"
I drop to one knee beside them to check her, following Gabe's frantic movements, but keeping my cool. Neck. Shoulders. Chest. Abdomen. No obvious entry wounds. No exit wounds. I shake my head. "I don't think so. No entry wounds I can see."
Then I see it. The cuts. Jesus. Not just the deep grooves from the zip ties. Fresh ones. Clean. Knife wounds.
"Shit..." I mutter. "She must have cut herself with the knife."
"What knife?" Gabe barks.
"The knife she used to cut her ties." I don't look up. "She told me to check on you, and she cut herself loose."
Gabe's voice is incredulous and laced with the hot red rage I've only seen a few times break through him. A rage that, once it hits, makes him absolutely uncontrollable. "And you listened to her?"
His glare could strip paint. "What the fuck?"
Normally I'd tell him exactly where he could shove that opinion. Today... he's terrified. He gets a pass. Barely. My eyes lock on the deep gash running the length of Audra's forearm. Too much blood. Way too much.
"She's bleeding out!" The panic in Gabe's voice echoes exactly what I'm thinking.
I yank my belt free and shove it into his hands. "Here."
He doesn't hesitate. Wraps it around her upper arm. As tight as possible. The bleeding slows. Not enough.