ALESSIO
The steel door closes behind Cesar with a heavy clang.
Silence settles over the cell. One guard spits tobacco juice onto the concrete.
The other lights a cigarette. Neither one takes his eyes off me.
They're through and through professionals.
That's the first thing I notice. Not hired muscle.
They don't crowd me. Don't taunt me. Don't make stupid mistakes.
One keeps his rifle trained in my direction while the other checks the magazine of his gun.
They're keeping me in their overlapping fields of fire.
They're disciplined, probably ex-military.
The Collector isn't paying for loyalty. He's paying for competence.
That makes them dangerous. The smoker exhales toward me.
"Boss says we're supposed to soften you up a little."
I grin through split lips. "He always this hospitable?"
"No."
The second guard finally speaks. "Usually, people don't survive long enough."
Fair enough. The smoker strolls over. Not too close. Just inside kicking distance. Smart. He drives a boot into my ribs. Pain explodes through my side when he hits my cracked rib. It might be broken now.
I grunt. Nothing more. He seems disappointed.
"I expected screaming."
"I expected better aim."
His boot finds my stomach this time. Hard enough to fold the chair backward. The zip tie around my wrists bites deeper. Good. Pain means movement. Movement means friction.
The broken weld I've been quietly working against digs another fraction of an inch into the plastic. Almost. Keep talking. Keep kicking. One more good shift...
The second guard laughs. "Still think you're getting out of here?"
I look him dead in the eye. "No." The corner of my mouth lifts. "But my men will get in."
The two guards exchange an amused glance before one of them laughs. "You really think they know where you are?"
"I know they don't."
That earns me another puzzled look. "So why are you smiling?"
I shrug as much as the restraints allow. "Because eventually they'll find me. And when they do..." I let the sentence trail off.
The smoker snorts. "And then what?"
I study him for a long moment. Square jaw. Broken nose. Tattoo of a raven disappearing beneath his collar. Slight limp on the left. "I'll remember your face."
His grin widens. "That supposed to be a threat?"
"No." I smile pleasantly, and he waits, like this is the most entertaining conversation he's had in years. "It's a promise."
He steps forward and punches me across the mouth. My lip splits open again. Blood floods my tongue. I spit it onto the concrete.
His fist lands in my side again.
"Another broken rib," I observe calmly. "That's two."
The second guard frowns. "What?"
I look at him. "You people keep adding to the bill."
They laugh again. "Bill?"
"Hospital." I jerk my chin toward the first guard. "He's paying for the ribs."
Then the second. "You'll probably get the jaw."
The smoker barks another laugh. "You planning on sending us an invoice?"
I shake my head slowly. "No. I collect in person."
That earns me another punch. Worth it. The chair scrapes half an inch across the concrete. The jagged edge bites deeper into the zip tie around my wrists. Almost. Keep talking. Keep hitting. Every second you're entertaining yourselves... is another second closer to getting one hand free.
The smoker rolls his shoulder.
"You know," he says, flexing his fingers, "I was expecting this to be harder."
"You should."
He chuckles. "I like this one."
The other guard smirks. "Give him another."
The smoker takes two steps toward me. Suddenly, everything dies. The overhead light pops, the hum of the A/C cuts off, the ticking of the ceiling fans slows, and darkness crashes over the room.
"What the fuck?" the smoker snaps.
They stand in the near-absolute darkness, probably waiting for the emergency lights to kick in. They don't. Instead... nothing. It stays pitch black. The silence lasts exactly two seconds before shouting erupts somewhere deeper inside the warehouse.
"The generator!"
"Check it!"
Boots thunder down the hallway outside. Doors slam. Radios crackle to life.
"...power's out..."
"...east side..."
"...move!"
The smoker swears under his breath. "Stay with him."
"I'm not leaving him."
"Good."
Neither of them moves. Like I said, professionals.
Any idiot would've rushed outside. These two know exactly why the lights went out.
Because somebody wants in. Or somebody wants out.
One of them clicks on a flashlight. A thin white beam slices through the darkness, sweeping across the room before settling squarely on my face.
I squint against it.
"Comfortable?" I ask.
The guard snorts. "Still got jokes."
"I've got lots of things."
He shifts the flashlight to one hand and draws his gun with the other. They're tightening security, not relaxing it. I almost feel sorry for having to kill them. They're good men. They're just playing for the wrong team.
Another voice crackles over the radio.
"...generator won't restart..."
"...possible sabotage..."
Sabotage.
My first thought is Rossi. He got Marco and Dino out.
Regrouped. Found the generator. Exactly what I would've expected from him.
A tiny voice in the back of my head whispers another possibility.
Grease Monkey. I crush it immediately. No.
Rossi would've dragged her back to the penthouse kicking and screaming if he had to.
Hell, Olivere would've thrown her over his shoulder.
There's no world where the two of them let her anywhere near this place.
None.
I'd rather die in this chair than have her in Cesar's proximity. The thought settles over me like ice.
No.
Stay home, babe. Just this once... listen to me. The flashlight beam wavers slightly as another burst of shouting erupts outside. One guard reaches for his radio. "Control, this is Bravo Two."
Only static answers. His partner frowns. "Shit."
I smile. Not because I think I'm about to be rescued. Because whoever cut the power... knew exactly where to hit them.
The steel door creaks open. Too slowly. Too carefully. That's not Rossi or another one of my guys. My muscles coil. One of the guards swings the flashlight toward the doorway. The beam catches a slight figure pressed against the wall. Dark ponytail. Knife in hand. No.
Every muscle in my body turns to ice. Grease Monkey. What the fuck are you doing here? The first guard raises his pistol.
There isn't time to think.
"There!" I bellow.
Both guards instinctively snap their heads toward me.
That's all the distraction she needs. I throw my entire weight sideways.
The chair tips over with a deafening crash, and my shoulder slams into the concrete.
The guard closest to me instinctively steps back to avoid the falling chair.
Exactly what I want. The front legs of the chair slam into his shins, tangling his feet.
He loses his balance, windmilling his arms as his pistol flies from his hand. He hits the concrete hard.
"Down, Beccs!" I roar.
Beccs doesn't listen. She never does. Instead of dropping, she lunges. The stiletto flashes once in the darkness before disappearing beneath his ribs. The man's eyes go wide. A wet gasp escapes him as his knees buckle beneath him. He collapses.
The second guard spins toward her, bringing his gun up. My heart stops.
No!
You're not touching her.
You're not even looking at her.
She's mine.
I wrench my wrist with everything I've got.
The zip tie slices deeper into my skin. Pain explodes through my hand.
I welcome it. Snap. The plastic gives. My hand comes free.
Still trapped by my chest and ankles, I reach as far as I can.
The guard rushes past me toward Beccs. I hook my freed arm around his ankle and yank with every ounce of strength left in me.
His foot shoots out from under him. He crashes backward, and the back of his skull strikes the concrete with a sickening crack.
Before he can recover, I loop the broken zip tie around his throat and pull.
He claws at the plastic. Thrashes. His boots hammer against the floor.
Thirty seconds. Twenty. Ten. Then... nothing.
My chest heaves. "Babe..."
I look up. She's still standing over the first man. The stiletto buried to the hilt. Her hand is shaking. She isn't looking at me. She's staring at him.
"Oh my God..." The words are barely a whisper. "I..." Her voice breaks. "I killed him."
The words come out broken. Small. Like they don't belong in a warehouse littered with blood and bodies. She doesn't move. Doesn't blink. Her fingers are locked around the stiletto's handle so tightly her knuckles have turned white. Blood drips steadily onto the concrete.
"I..." Her voice catches. "Alessio..."
The radio clipped to the dead guard's vest crackles. "Bravo Two?"
Silence.
"Bravo Two, report."
I tear the zip tie from around my chest. "Beccs."
She doesn't answer. She's still staring. Still frozen. Like her mind never made it past the knife entering his body. I crawl toward her, still dragging the chair chained to one ankle. The remaining zip tie digs into my skin with every movement, but I ignore it.
"Beccs."
Nothing. I grip her wrist. Hard enough to pull her attention back to me. Her eyes finally meet mine. They're enormous. Shattered. "I killed him."
"I know."
"I..." Her voice trembles. "He looked at me."
"I know."
"I didn't..." She swallows convulsively. "I didn't even think."
"You weren't supposed to."
A tear escapes, carving a clean track through the grime on her cheek. "I killed someone."
"You saved me."
"I killed someone," she repeats, as if saying it enough times might somehow make it untrue.
Another burst of gunfire echoes somewhere deeper inside the warehouse, followed by loud voices. They're coming. I cup her face with my bloody hand. "Listen to me."
Her eyes find mine again. "If you hadn't..." I glance toward the dead guard, "I'd be the one on the floor."
She shakes her head violently. "No..."
"Yes."
"But—"
"No."
I don't raise my voice. I don't have to. "You don't get to carry that alone."
Another shout echoes down the hallway. Closer this time.
I pull the stiletto free from the guard's chest in one smooth motion and wipe it on his jacket, cut the zip tie around my ankles, and press it back into her trembling hand.
The circulation returning feels like fire.
Like millions of little fire ants walking inside my calves.
I stand despite the pain, even as every muscle protests with all the outrage they can muster.
Then I reach for her. "Come here."
She stumbles into me without resistance. I hold her for exactly one heartbeat. Just long enough to feel she's still here. Still breathing. Still mine. Then I kiss the top of her head.
"Can you still hold a knife?" She stares at it in her hand. Then gives me the smallest nod. "Good." I hold her face in both of my hands and lock our eyes. "We're going to survive this."
Another voice shouts outside the door. I release her and scoop up the fallen guard's gun. The safety clicks off. "My turn."
The footsteps are closing in. Fast. A lot of them. I shove Beccs behind me, the stolen gun coming up. Friend or enemy?
The first man bursts through the doorway.
Not one of mine. He barely has time to register me standing before I put two hollow points center mass.
He drops where he stands. A second follows right behind him, raising his rifle.
Too slow. One round to the shoulder spins him sideways.
The second catches him between the eyes.
He crumples against the doorframe, blocking it.
Another silhouette appears. This one smarter. He doesn't charge. He keeps behind the wall while holding his weapon out. Good technique, but it won't save him. I fire through the drywall. One shot, followed by a grunt and the sound of a body hitting the floor outside. Silence.
I listen.
One... two... three... then—
"Boss!" Rossi. Finally. "Don't shoot!" he bellows.
"You'd better have brought friends," I call back.
Rossi rounds the doorway first, rifle sweeping the room. Marco follows. Dino's right behind him. All three stop when they see me. Rossi whistles. "Damn. You look like shit."
I glance down at myself. Blood. Bruises. Zip ties hanging from one wrist.
"About time," I mutter.
He grins. "Traffic."
I holster the gun I stole from the guard. "You'll look worse once I'm done with you," I promise. My head turns toward Beccs. "For bringing her."
Rossi immediately lifts both hands. "Yeah..." He points a thumb toward her. "About that…"
Beccs straightens before anyone else can speak. "It's not their fault."
Every head turns toward her. "They were pinned down." She folds her arms. "I stole a motorcycle. And followed the van. There wasn't anything they could've done to stop me."
Another voice comes from the hallway. "I could have."
Olivere steps inside, breathing hard; his shirt is streaked with dirt and blood that doesn't look like it's his. For now. He looks directly at me. "I made the call."
Rossi shoots him a look. Olivere ignores it. "It was a choice." He shrugs once. "Follow her... or lose you."
Everyone is staring at him. "I got Rossi and the others free."
He nods toward the hallway. "We figured we'd catch her before she managed to get herself into even more trouble." He glances at Beccs. "Didn't work."
A corner of Marco's mouth twitches. Dino outright snorts. Even Rossi looks like he's fighting a smile. I don't. I stare at Olivere for a long moment. He doesn't look away. Most men would've. Instead... he owns the decision.
I respect that. Doesn't mean I have to like it. "You disobeyed a direct order."
"Yes."
"You let my woman walk into the Collector's headquarters."
"Yes."
"You all apparently decided that was a fantastic idea."
Nobody answers. They know I'm not finished. I look at Beccs. She lifts her chin. Already preparing for the fight. My pulse spikes all over again. Not from anger. From the realization that if I'd been one second slower... if she'd hesitated... If that guard had squeezed the trigger...
I swallow hard. No. I'm not thinking about it. Not here. Not now. "We're having this conversation later."
Beccs opens her mouth. I raise one finger. "No."
She closes it again. Good choice. I look back at Rossi. "Status?"
His entire demeanor shifts back to business. "Perimeter's secure. Six down outside. Three escaped. No sign of Flea."
"Then let's go hunting," I decide.