Page 108 of Dante

This isn’t a meeting. It’s an ambush.

I glance over my shoulder for Thomas.

He’s not there.

The first man pulls a gun, and Dante’s voice floods my mind, calm and precise. “Lock your wrists. High grip. Don’t hesitate.”

I draw.

The first shot explodes in the warehouse, deafening. The recoil jolts up my arm, but I don’t drop the gun.

The man jerks backward and slams against a crate. The second one lunges sideways, raising his weapon.

I fire again. He stumbles, hits the crate, and slides down hard.

The silence afterward is worse than the noise.

For half a heartbeat, I just stand there. The Beretta heavy in my hand.

Then a gunshot cracks behind me, and glass shatters overhead.

“Mrs. R!” Thomas shouts.

He drops to one knee, clutching his thigh.

“I’m hit!”

Everything inside me goes cold. There could be more men out of sight or on the way.

I swing back toward the crates, scanning shadows, corners, doorways.

Nothing moves.

My pulse pounds in my ears. I back toward Thomas, gun still raised.

Blood seeps through his fingers.

“Can you walk?” I ask.

He grits his teeth. “Yeah. I think so.”

I don’t lower the weapon as I hook my arm under his and guide him toward the door.

The engine is still running, and I push him into the passenger seat.

“I’ll drive.” I slide behind the wheel, slam the door, and hit the gas.

The tires scream as we tear out of the lot. My hands look white on the steering wheel.

The skyline rushes back toward us.

I don’t remember most of the drive.

Only the sound.

The shots.

The way the first man fell.