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And then I was swinging back and under, grasping the hand with the gun with both of mine, yanking until I heard a crack and a howl of pain, then taking the gun for myself, cocking, and sending a bullet flying through the fucker’s chest.
Turning back, I shot out the knee of the bastard who’d been putting his hands on Cinna, watching the blood spurt, seeing his leg give out as he cried.
“I don’t kill women,” I said, turning on the widow.
“But I do,” Cinna said, popping up out of her chair, catching the gun I threw out at her, and turning on her captor.
Cinna was okay.
She could handle the woman.
Now?
Now it was time for me to have some fun.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Cinna
I didn’t know what was in the needle, or how they were so accurate with their administration of it, but the shit was heavy, making it nearly impossible to keep my eyes open in under a moment.
Then, well, then it was all inky blackness.
Consciousness came back to me in bits and pieces. Snatches of garbled conversation. The feeling of something cold and hard against my face and side. My own erratic heartbeat, speeding up and slowing down, then speeding up again.
My eyes felt too heavy to lift my lids, and I didn’t fight it for a long time, some part of me pulled to the darkness, to the peace in the unconsciousness.
It wasn’t until someone kicked at my foot hard, sending a jolt of shock, but no pain, through my system, that I seemed to start to clear the haze of that abyss.
“It’s no fun to play with her when she’s unconscious,” I heard a voice say. “How much of that shit did you shoot her with?” he grumbled, giving my foot another kick.
“You didn’t see her in that warehouse,” the other voice said, familiar, but my brain was too soupy to place it. “She took down all three of us. Believe me, you want her ass drugged.”
“Not this much,” the other guy grumbled, and I was aware of him moving around me, then bending down to slap my cheeks.
I couldn’t say if it was the lingering effects of the drugs, or my own grim determination that kept me from flinching, but he got no reaction, then moved away from me, bored.
Left alone, my face pressed against something cold and gritty that I decided must be a warehouse or basement floor, I forced my breathing to stay slow and deep even as panic—new, but getting alarmingly familiar—started to build.
But as long as they thought I was unconscious, I wasn’t being beaten or assaulted. So I needed to milk this as long as I could.
I had no idea how much time I’d lost already, but I kind of hoped it was an hour or so. Long enough for that Lip kid to maybe call the cops. Or for someone to miss me.
We did have that important meeting at Renzo’s today at some point, and my absence would be noticed. If by no one else, then by Dav.
Good, caring Dav who wanted nothing but to help me, and I kept fucking pushing him away at every turn. If I had waited for him to hit the streets today, maybe none of this would have happened.
That mindset wasn’t going to help anything right now, though.
I just had to hope he would think it was weird when I didn’t show at the meeting, and would start looking around for me.
Though, what were the chances he would get to me before the bad shit started happening?
I couldn’t rely on him.
I had to focus.
Stay calm.
