ALESSIO #3
"We need to get her to the doctor. Now." Gabe yells.
Agreed. Gabe looks around wildly, like he's looking for someone. "Fuck."
He tries to stand and pull Audra up, but he nearly falls over. His head wound. He's probably got a good concussion. Probably more.
"Let me carry her." I offer. The words barely leave my mouth before he snarls.
"Don't you fucking touch her."
I immediately step back. Fair enough. If our positions were reversed... I'd probably shoot him for asking.
"My car's outside," I inform him, knowing Rossi would have parked it and left it running. With a driver inside. And Beccs better be there, too. "Let's move."
Gabe lifts Audra as if she weighs nothing.
Like letting go would somehow stop her heart. I take point. Clearing corners. Checking doors. Stepping over bodies I put there myself. No movement. No breathing. Perfect.
"You were busy," Gabe mutters behind me.
I glance back. He isn't looking at me. His entire world is the woman in his arms.
I shrug. "Somebody had to make sure you'd live."
A small smile tugs at my mouth despite everything.
"You didn't exactly give me much time..." I complain.
"You were late."
"I know."
No excuses. Just fact. Still, I try. "Two or three of the bikers were harder to take down."
Another body lies half across the hallway. One of mine. Unfortunate, but unavoidable. Nothing more. We step outside into the sweltering Vegas heat.
My SUV waits exactly where I thought Rossi would have left it. Engine running. The driver holds the rear door open. Gabe climbs into the back without ever loosening his grip on Audra. Before I can shut the door, he stops me. "Flea took off."
Yeah, I saw him. Bastard.
"Find him." Gabe orders. "He knows a whole lot more about the Collector."
Sounds like a plan. "I have a few questions for the bastard."
"I do as well."
"You got it, brother."
I start to close the door again.
"And Alessio?"
I look back. "Yeah?"
"Be careful." His eyes meet mine. "The Collector knows what we've been up to."
A slow grin spreads across my face. Good. I've been hoping he'd finally stop hiding. "Oh..." I push the door shut. "I have a few questions for him too."
My eyes drift once toward Audra. Then back to Gabe. "Take good care of her."
"You know it."
I watch the SUV disappear around the corner.
One problem solved. Now for the second. Where the hell is Beccs?
She better not have gone back into the clubhouse.
I pull my phone to call Olivere, no answer.
I reenter the Reapers’ lair. Silence greets me.
Well, not complete silence. The jukebox is still playing.
The same kind of lame rock song I've been forced to listen to ever since I entered this place a few weeks ago.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
The kind of quiet that comes after violence. Bodies lie exactly where I left them. Scorpion is still slumped over the bar. Tiny is half buried beneath the shattered whiskey crate. A thin river of amber liquor snakes across the floor, carrying shards of broken glass with it. No movement.
I draw my gun again. Flea isn't dead. Which means he's hunting.
Or running. Neither option appeals to me.
And if Beccs is in here… Slowly I move deeper into the clubhouse.
Eyes moving. Corners. Doorways. Windows.
The hallway leading toward Razor's office is empty.
Too empty. I stop. Listen. Nothing. No footsteps.
No breathing. Not even the groan of an injured man. Wrong.
Something about this is wrong. I edge toward the office anyway. One slow step. Then another. The office door hangs open exactly as we left it. The desk is still overturned. There's blood everywhere. But no Flea.
I sweep the room. Left. Right. Closet. Nothing. I frown. Where the hell—
Every instinct I have screams—Move! A split second too late.
Something massive crashes into the back of my skull.
White explodes across my vision. Not pain.
Light. Blinding, all-consuming light. My knees buckle before I even understand what's happened.
I try to turn. To bring the gun up. To fire.
A second impact catches me across the jaw.
The gun flies from my hand. I hear it skid somewhere across the floor, followed by a sizzling sound.
The unmistakable snap of a taser. Two barbed prongs bury themselves in my back.
A hundred thousand angry hornets explode through every muscle in my body.
Electricity tears me apart from the inside.
Every muscle locks. My teeth slam together so hard I taste blood.
The world convulses. My body isn't mine anymore.
It hits the floor like dead weight. I fight it.
Command my arm to move. Nothing. Command my legs.
Nothing. Only violent, uncontrollable spasms. A boot rolls me onto my back. Flea. He grins down at me.
Blood runs from a cut over his eyebrow. "Well, Alessio Vitali. I guess there are a few things your old man forgot to tell us about you. Or does he even know?"
I try to answer. Nothing comes out except a strangled growl.
He crouches beside me, snatching my gun off the floor.
The current finally stops. My muscles scream in protest. I suck in a ragged breath.
Move. Come on. Move. One finger. Anything.
Nothing. The blow to my head combined with the taser has turned my body into stone.
Flea studies me for another second. Then drives the toe of his boot straight into my ribs.
Something cracks. Good. Pain means I'm still conscious.
Another kick catches my shoulder. Another. Another.
"That one's for Javier." A kick. "That one's for the warehouse." Another. "And this..." his boot slams into my stomach hard enough to empty my lungs, "this is from the Collector."
Black spots dance across my vision. And then it's lights out.