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True. I take the automatic gun he holds out to me, hefting it for weight and comfort. Then he hands me a revolver. I shove that in the back of my pants and pick the knife up where I put it down a second ago.
“See you on the other side, boss.”
I nod as we make our way to the door. Burley opens it softly, barely an inch. Then he pushes it wider, opening to darkness. One door. We only need to move one door to the right.
Burley gives me a barely perceptible nod and we inch our way along the wall, our eyes slow to adapt. He’s feeling his way and pauses when he reaches another door jamb. He reaches for the doorknob and twists. It’s locked.
We don’t have time to pick a lock. A female voice sounds from the other side and Burley shrugs. He knocks lightly, three short ones in quick succession, then a pause, followed by another knock. A muffled moan sounds from the room and my heart skips a beat. Tasha.
The lock twists and the door opens a bit, but Burley is already pushing his shoulder in, gun up, ready to shoot. I follow, already knowing what to expect here as I recall the room vividly from the video footage we saw earlier.
My eyes have adjusted to the dark, but it’s hard to see more than shapes. The tattoo artist holds her tattoo gun as if it can save her. Burley points his gun at her temple, a finger to his lips. Tasha is still tied up and gagged and I step up to her, my heart in my throat.
I touch her cheek, which is wet with tears, as I lean into her ear. “Sshh, kitten, you’re going to have to keep it together here for me, okay?”
She draws in haggard little breaths, clearly petrified. I stroke her hair, needing her to calm down. “We don’t have time, Tasha,” I murmur as I put my automatic gun down on her stomach. “I’m going to lift the gag and untie you, but you need to be quiet.”
She nods and I have the knife ready, feeling where to cut through the cloth and the cable ties. As soon as her arms are free, she has them around me, clinging as she muffles a sob into my neck. I cup her head close, holding on to her for the merest second. “We need to get out of here.”
“Yes.” She lets go and reaches for the leather straps that are holding her legs in place. I help on the one side and once she’s unstrapped, pick up my gun. She puts her feet down, wincing.
“Can you walk?” I whisper, trying to gauge what I can from her expression in the dark.
Tasha nods but she’s in pain. I can’t see where she hurts, but if I could kill Randazzo every day for the rest of my life, it would be my pleasure.
Gunfire goes off on the other side of the house. “Party’s started.”
“The shutters should have gone up by now,” Burley hisses. “And this room has no windows.”
I’d hoped to make a clean cut through the garden to the car, but now we need to go through the house. We’ll be trapped if we don’t leave now.
From somewhere loud banging sounds as someone hits a shutter from the outside, making it rattle, probably trying to find the breach. Shouting ensues and we don’t have a second to lose. We don’t even have time for Tasha to put on the bulletproof vest.
I push the knife into Tasha’s hand, handing her the only weapon she’ll know how to deal with. Giving her a gun would be pointless. “Don’t hesitate, kitten. Whatever happens, don’t hesitate.”
36
TASHA
Matteo has come for me. It’s all I can think of as he hands me the knife. He has come for me.
Gunshots go off more regularly now. Whatever is happening out there, it’s real. I clutch the knife tight as we slip out of the door, Matteo first, then me, Burley at my back. While we were still in Boston, I would have given anything to have a weapon like this. Now, if I want to get out of this hellscape, I’ll have to use it. Do not hesitate.
Hurried voices come from the room next door and Matteo rushes down the corridor as if he knows exactly where he’s going.
I came through here earlier. At some point we’ll pass through the kitchen. If only we could put on the lights, but the power cut out as soon as the rattling of the shutters stopped. I’m limping from where I got a kick to the thigh, the muscle stiff. My stomach hurts with the echo of another kick, but at least he didn’t get my ribs.
Matteo stops abruptly and I collide with his back, but he has his arm out, pressing me to the wall, huddling me closer to him. With Burley squeezing me from the other side, I’m as well-protected as I’m going to be. We’re all holding our breaths. Behind us, voices are calling in Italian. Footsteps rush towards us from the other side.
A soft glow from a skylight in the next room makes it easier to see. Matteo lowers himself on his haunches and I follow suit. Then Burley scoots past me, into the next open concept living area that’s adjacent to the kitchen. He goes down behind a sofa. He covers for us, and when Matteo taps my hip, I understand. I keep low and follow him quickly as we seek cover behind the kitchen island.
I huddle with my back against the island, watching in horror in the oven’s gleaming reflection as five men sweep into the open space from the far side of the house, guns raised, seeking their targets. I tap Matteo and he looks at the reflection and nods. I close my eyes, knowing more men are coming from the other side. They are calling to each other in Italian, knowing that they’ve herded us into the space like cattle.
Matteo brushes my arm with his hand, instructing me to stay down. I can’t see Burley from my vantage point, but Matteo clicks his tongue.
All hell breaks loose.
I can hardly breathe. Shots are raining down, splintering the marble countertop, shattering the windows and glass cupboards. I clutch the knife, but my hand is shaking. Matteo is still there, calm, listening in the spell of quiet. He peers around the counter, looking for Burley. I have no idea how they communicate, but Matteo signals to me. Two down, five to go.
