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Jeronimo Vargas.
Nimo.
Fuck.
I lunge forward to grab her, but Abruzzo is much closer and snakes his filthy hands around her waist, lifting her up like a human shield. She wriggles against him, beating at his forearms with her bound wrists, but he only tightens his grip.
“What the fuck are you doing, man?” Abruzzo barks at me. Shaved-head dude points his pistol in my direction.
I cock my gun, ready to blow the fucker’s brains out. But I know if I shoot, there’s a good chance I’ll hit Dahlia. Even when he turns around and marches her towards the Vargas’s, I know if I shoot the back of his head, the bullet will penetrate her too.
Come on, Quinns. Where the fuck are you?
I know where they are. Waiting for my warning shot. And I give that warning shot right now, I’m a dead man, and fuck knows what will happen to Dahlia.
Abruzzo drops Dahlia at Jeronimo Vargas’ feet. His cold black eyes flick over to mine, suspicion brewing behind them. He was a handsome man once, you can tell. But being cruel has aged him, and a lifetime of battle scars form a network on his tanned face. Eventually, he breaks from my glare and looks down at Dahlia, cowering at his feet. “There’s myesposa,” he mutters, so softly that I can barely hear him. “You’ve been on quite the journey this year, haven’t you? You’ll be glad to get back home, I’m sure.”
He’s eerily calm. Men that calm can never be trusted.
“So, uh, I’ve given you what you wanted,” Abruzzo says, wringing his hands together. “You’ll keep your end of the deal?”
Santiago growls. He’s a quiet man too, but there’s no denying the strength and authority that bubbles behind his steel surface. “Do we look like men who don’t keep their end of the deal?”
“N-no, of course not. I was just—”
“You’d do well to learn when to keep your mouth closed,” Jeronimo says, ice in his tone. He turns back to Dahlia, lifting her up by her bound wrists. “Come on,esposa,let’s get you home.”
The men turn to leave, Dahlia in tow, her shoulders slumped. Like she’s resigned to her fate. Like she truly believes I can’t save her.
Fuck.
Santiago lazily twists his head over his shoulder, glaring at me. “Abruzzo, I’ll assume that you’ll handle this man?”
“O-of course, sir.”
This fucker doesn’t scare me. I don’t know why he’s even trying. I stare him out, my heart slamming against my chest. I’m waiting for the right time to shoot. All I know is that it’ll be before they leave this building because I made Dahlia a promise.
I’ll die before I let him take her.
Suddenly, there’s a scream—this one doesn’t belong to Dahlia. It’s gruff and strangled, and accompanied by Jeronimo sinking to the floor.
What the fuck?
Dahlia turns, running back towards me, something shiny in her hand. It’s dripping with blood—Jeronimo’s blood—and there’s a crazed look in her eyes.
“Dahlia, duck!” I roar.
My bullet whizzes from my gun, narrowly missing her ear, before piercing Santiago Vargas between the eyes.
Right before he can pull his own trigger on Dahlia.
It all happens so fast.
The all-black henchmen piling in through the door.
The thunderous sound of raining bullets.
White, hot heat ripping through my arm.
