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“Clip, we’ll be there in one minute,” Kennedy said.
“Stay alert, team,” Kennedy ordered.
“There’s a first aid kit in the dining room. I’ll patch you up,” she stated with conviction.
My wife wasn’t asking. She was fed up with my macho bullshit. I’d been alone for so long I was already struggling to conform to listening to my wife. Every time the word wife hit my brain, it made me want to stare at the woman who shared my last name. I couldn’t wait until she carried my child.
Clutching my Glock in one hand, I peered down the long tunnel. “I have to give your father credit. Building a tunnel under his home was a smart move. Not only was this area designed as an escape route, he could smuggle drugs through the tunnels, too.”
“My father doesn’t keep drugs at our home. Even though he has the police in his pocket, it only takes that one rogue officer who decides to ask for a search warrant, anyway. We have warehouses and restaurants with elaborate drug stash houses underneath. All of our businesses are owned by shell corporations. He launders money through those businesses, then washes the money underground. It’s genius.”
I nodded. “It is.”
We stepped over the threshold of the cave dining room. The curved archway was stunning. But just the notion that this was a cave sent beads of sweat gathering at my temples.
Shit, maybe I was suffering from PTSD.
After my ordeal in Greece, I suffered several panic attacks. It took months to get my life back in order. Not to mention the healing process was grueling.
Clip hopped off the table, wearing a bloody white dress shirt, clutching an AK-forty-seven. His suit jacket hung haphazardly across a chair. There was a white bandage wrapped around his arm.
Quinn remained seated at the head of the table. A deep scowl was etched into his brown face. His dark eyes held fury. He appeared to be on the verge of losing his shit. I never witnessed this side of Quinn. There was blood splatter across his face and white dress shirt. He wore his father's blood on his skin like a warrior. His blood-stained navy jacket rested on a nearby chair. And there was a white bandage wrapped around his shoulder. Quinn’s' AR-fifteen rifle was positioned on the long table, pointing toward the entrance.
Piero bounced off the wall, holding his AK-forty-seven across his chest. A white bandage was wrapped around his thigh. He wouldn’t let down his guard for anyone. Beads of sweat now trickled down my forehead. I hadn’t realized caves were triggering because I hadn’t been in one in years. “We need to find your father now,” I said through clenched teeth.
Clip and Kennedy stared at me because they knew how uneasy the cave made me feel.
“Franco, lie on the table,” Kennedy ordered.
“Sweetheart, come on.”
She arched an eyebrow over her shoulder.
“All right. On the table it is.”
Quinn removed his AR-fifteen. As I inched my back onto the table, I noticed Vigo and Damon stood in the hallway on guard.
Good.
“Quinn, are you ok?” Kennedy asked as she retrieved the items she needed from the first aid kit hanging on the wall.
“Yup. I’m doing better now that I killed that motherfucker?”
His gaze was distant. This entire ordeal must’ve fucked him up.
“Who?” Kennedy asked.
“My father. He was still clinging to life after Uncle Anders shot him. So, I ended that shit for him. I stabbed him several times, then shot him twice in the face.”
Yeah, he wasn’t all there either. Really, was any person who killed several times in their life sane? I didn’t know the answer. After being burned alive, I became one with my psychopathic side.
He blinked a couple of times. “How are you doing, Kennedy?” Quinn asked.
Damn, did he just flip back to reality? How bad did this life fuck up Kennedy and her cousin? At times, they acted like iron robots. Not human. Could a traumatizing lifestyle condition you to behave a certain way? Yes. I was sure.
“I’ll survive. Those AK bullets are powerful. When this is over, I’ll get checked out.” Kennedy lifted my dress shirt and vest, then cleaned the area.
I winced, barring my teeth.
