Chapter 29
HAYES
The room’s empty.
I look behind crates and various doors, making sure not to miss a body hiding in the shadows. Other than a few items, it’s nothing more than a storeroom. If I know anything, the pills are further back, behind the working kitchen.
Bruno is so predictable.
There’s nowhere I can hide, so I keep to the wall, using my ears to judge where everyone is. There’s only a few muffled voices, but I hear the shuffling of feet, the flipping of paper.
They’re in the middle of counting for the night.
At the end, there are three rooms, with two doors closed and one open.
Glancing inside, I see two men doing the counts of the nights, heads bent down.
Maeve and I were here not too long ago, two dirty kids oozing blood from rough nights of territory disputes, forced to tally the night’s profits so as to check for any skimming at The Wharf.
I take out my gun and step into the doorway.
“Up.”
The men are young, and not quite jaded by this world. With dark eyes and hair, they’re Bruno family cousins.
They stand as one, both hands up. There are thousands of dollars on the desk, a high-tech safe behind them, open and stuffed full of bills. There’s a black duffle bag at their feet, and I know it’s full of money too.
They must have brought in other business tallies to this place. If I can take this bakery down, I’ll make a dent in Bruno’s pockets. Grinning, the hum of retribution sings in my veins. Not too bad of a start to the night.
“What’s the plan, Prince? Looking to come back, pick up a few dates?”
I cock the gun and don’t give into the bait even as my ire rises. I will never go back to that. “No, actually,” I comment, grabbing the spare set of keys in full view. Tossing it, I’m disappointed the set doesn’t hit him in the face. “You’re going to open the doors.”
His partner takes a step forward and my finger pulls the trigger. I’m not playing games tonight.
I only need one of them to open the door.
Thank God I put my silencer on.
His body dropping though, is loud enough to alert someone to my presence. He smacks the desk, flinging stacks everywhere. Jesus, it sounds like an elephant falling. Couldn’t he die quieter?
Stepping into the hall, I look around, listening. Knowing Roman, he’s got more security hiding around somewhere. Nothing stirs and I make my move.
Grabbing the still-living guard by his lapels, I shove him to the front, gun pressed to the back of his neck. He snarls at me, “You’re going to regret it.”
“And you’ll be dead by the time I’m gone.” I shrug, pushing him. “Not much to regret, really.”
He tries to push me off but I hold tight. “Bruno should have sold you off sooner.”
That earns a pistol whip to the back of his skull. The crack echoes in the hall and I laugh. God, I love that noise.
“Probably,” I agree. “But, hey, hindsight is twenty-twenty.”
Cursing, he takes the keys and opens the closed door. Women are separating the drugs into plastic bags, dressed in bikinis of mismatched underwear. There’s only four of them, but the banquet tables are covered in boxes of freshly made neon green pills.
“Anyone else in here?”
The women shake their heads, watching their captor become the captive. “Get out then. Unless you want to end up like him.”
Dressed in nothing but skimpy underwear, I have a moment of reflection.
They’ll freeze like that, and as much as it isn’t my problem, I make it.
Gesturing to the dead man behind me, I instruct, “Take his clothes. And here.” I strip my hostage of his jacket.
“It’s cold outside. They won’t need them. ”
The women hurry, used to moving in rushed situations. They don’t bother looking at the guard, holding the clothes to their chests and run for the exit. I ran just as fast.
“See how they run away and don’t bother helping you?” I mock. “It’s because you’re a bunch of monsters, better suited to death than life.”
“They’re bitches. Bitches don’t care about anyone but themselves.”
Another hit to the back of his skull and he drops to his knees. I almost feel sorry for him.
“You make it that way,” I remind him. “Treating them as nothing more than beaten dogs, they’ll revert in order to survive.”
I pick him up and slam me into the last door. “Final room.” At this point, my concern is low for an attack and I need to move. It’s taking too long and I’m wasting time.
There are still hours left to hit a few more places. I can win this.
I don’t touch the knob before bullets start flying, pelting the man through the wood.
He makes a great shield, but unfortunately, the door splinters right away, and I quickly catch the glint of three guns pointed at my face. Dropping, I let them get a few more rounds off, using my barrel to press in the places the wood broke.
I squeeze one bullet, hitting someone low. Probably a knee, maybe a thigh, I don’t care. All that matters is the body drops and the bullets lessen.
Reaching higher, I release a few more, only one hitting something soft judging by the oomph of someone collapsing. The bullets pause and I do a quick glance through the hole. Two bodies are down, only one standing, replenishing his lost rounds.
Adrenaline spiking, I pounce. Pulling the trigger, I release three bullets hitting the man’s chest. He rocks back, slamming into the table of chemicals and products, grabbing anything to stay upright.
It’s a comically poor attempt of a man falling in a western gun fight. He had more potential than that.
Shoving the dead guard, I kick through the wooden door, pieces flying. I stalk inside, eyes quickly scanning the room. Seriously? Six guards. We have more on The Wharf and it just houses bodies, a dusty filing cabinet and booze.
A sharp sting rips into my calf as a bullet fires from a chamber, and I’m thrown forward into the table. Breaking through the plastic, I shout out as everything collapses under my weight. Fucking hell, I’ve been shot.
My eyes harden, glaring at the struggling guard next to me. I got his thigh, and the blood pools thick around him as he struggles to sit upright. I nicked an artery; a steady thump squirts from the wound with every beat of his heart. He’ll be dead any second.
Growling, I push myself up, arms struggling against the pain. Between Killian’s fucking hazing and this shit, my body hurts. I could wait, but I’m pissed—pissed at this job, at this fucker behind me. Pissed I’m not in bed, waiting for Collins after her clinicals.
When did I get soft? Probably the minute I fucking fell for my viper and then allowed myself to bask in her concern. Jesus.
I pull my weapon again and shoot him between the eyes. Could I wait? Sure. But it’s the principle of the thing.
Annoyed, I lean back on my knees, leg crying out in pain.
A throbbing starts from the wound and as I look down, I see blood start to soak my jeans.
It pools into my boot, smearing onto the tiled floors.
That combined with all the other blood, and various bodies, this entire room looks like a massacre.
I shove a finger into the wound and yelp—the skin is burnt, flesh blackened but at least it was clean through. I’ll survive.
The problem is, I’m on a deadline and this wound is going to slow me down. Fucking fantastic.
I rip a piece of the dead guard’s shirt to staunch the bleeding. Wrapping it around the wound, I make a quick bandage but already it’s seeping through.
I don’t have much time.
Grabbing one of the discarded guns, I pop a few bullets onto the table, all my weight on my good leg and a fire dances up my nerves. Shit.
Limping to the door, I sag against the wall and inhale. My plan to blow this place up is going to be harder now that my running is limited. I could be caught in the blast—or never make it out. And as close to possible death as I am, I’m only thinking about Collins.
Her fragrance, her bright eyes, her ability to put me in my place. Do I risk this?
For her? I’d risk battling hungry tigers in a locked cage.
Lifting my hand, my aim lines up but my hand shakes as the adrenaline fluctuates. Everything aches and my body turns sluggish, blood loss hindering my movements. All the injuries are catching up to me and I feel it—body tired, drained. Done.
But I’m not done. Not now.
Without another thought, I squeeze off two bullets, igniting the others as hungry flames jump to set the rest of the product on fire.
It catches like kindling, a roaring fire so hot, I see the inner blue of the combustion zone.
Pushing myself, I run down the hall, feet tripping, legs heavy.
The chemicals in the women’s stocking room erupt and it sounds like the angry yells of a banshee on the wind, chasing me towards death.
I barely make it to the door, pausing to glance back. That’s my downfall. The fire comes surging toward me and as I open the door, the cold air turns the flames into an inferno.
The blast detonates and I’m thrown clear from the bakery. Skidding across the parking lot, my body is weightless, arms and legs cutting open as gravel clings to me. Across the way, my head slams into the curb, and my ears ring from the impact. I blink.
Everything hurts—and yet nothing does. It’s as if I’m separated from my body, looking down at the carnage I created.
The cold dark sky overhead is littered with white stars. Everything floats and the ends of my vision tinge black. Exhaling, my lungs rattle in my chest and there I see it—the North Star, shining so brightly that it feels like a welcoming embrace of home.
Collins.
She’s my guiding light. The one person I would gladly drown for, if it meant she’d be untouched. I spent years loving her from afar, and now that I have her, I’ll be damned to let her go. Because this isn’t fake—my feelings, what I want. All of it. It’s real. And she needs to know it.
She’s mine. As assuredly as my hair, my eyes or my hand, Collins is mine. She is my very air outside my lungs and I will wither away without her.
My eyes close, thoughts drifting away as I fight to keep ahold of them, as the cold seeps into my bones and the stars continue to shine. All I think about is Collins—her safety, her vulnerability without me. I can’t lay here and just let go—she needs me.
My body doesn’t listen.
Soon the stars blink out of existence and everything goes dark.