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“Cozy,” Andres said as he laughed. “I prefer a larger city.”
“You and me both, brother,” Connor said as he walked toward one of the port windows.
We’d been here for three hours, which was three too many for all of us. From what I understood, Raphael had three other soldiers with him who’d survived the warehouse fire. We were evenly matched.
“Make no mistake. I want to enjoy slicing and dicing them,” I said in passing. As long as I got the job done, I didn’t really care how they died, but I wanted it as painful as possible. I drummed my fingers on the table, visions of what I’d enjoy doing to the worthless fucks remaining in the forefront of my mind.
Another ten minutes passed and I was becoming far too antsy.
“I do believe they’re coming,” Connor said a few seconds later.
I eased my feet from the table, rising to standing position and grabbing my weapon from the table. “We wait to see what they’re going to do,” I told them as I moved beside the cabin door.
My men moved away from the windows, all of us remaining quiet as we heard footsteps and muffled voices as the men returned. I’d half expected at least Raphael to return to the stateroom. When I realized the boat was moving, my only surprise was that they were sailing in the darkness. Not unheard of but it could mean they’d been tipped off they were being hunted. Still, that might make disposal easier.
There was nothing wrong with dropping their bodies overboard, returning the ship to the dock then leaving. When Andre acted as he was prepared to head topside, I threw out my hand and shook my head.
So the wait was on. After another ten minutes, I gestured for my men to follow me. I headed up the stairs first, listening for any sounds. The men’s conversations in Mexican Spanish carried down the length of the deck. I could just make out what they were discussing, including the possibility of needing to hide the party favors given the lake patrol had been out in force. That was something we’d need to keep in mind as well.
We moved stealthily toward them, constantly scanning both the water and behind us. When I reached the end of the structure, I pressed my back against the building, taking a single look where the sound was coming from.
The light they were using provided a perfect backdrop for the ambush. Only there was a single problem.
Raphael wasn’t with them.
Pop! Pop!
The shots came from behind, one of my soldiers hit, his ugly groan a clear indication.
I took out two of the men before they had a chance to respond, powering around to face Raphael. As soon as I lifted my weapon, ready to fire on the brother, so did he.
The loud popping as two guns went off at the same time echoed in my ears a split second before pain tore through me, my body pitched backward by the force. I slipped on the deck as I struggled to grasp the railing to keep from going over, coming down hard, the cracking sound as my head hit the last thing I heard before being dumped in the cold water.
A freeing feeling floated through me as I began to sink. There was no bright light from above, no invitation to heaven. Not for a man like me.
I was going straight to hell where I belonged.
CHAPTER 5
“Be careful. There are people out there who will look at your love only as a place to put their pain.”—Beau Taplin
Smith Mountain Lake
Moneta, Virginia
Georgia
“Stop worrying, Celia,” I told my editor. “I’m working on the final section of the book. I promise to have it within two weeks. Tops.” In all the books I’d written over the last two and a half years, every one of them for the same publisher, I’d never felt such strange animosity for a story. There was no rhyme or reason why, other than I’d been asked to consider writing a mafia series. The first book had been fascinating, allowing me to work through several demons by very creative methods of killing people within the pages.
But the book had been a raging success, skyrocketing into the number five position on Amazon the night after its debut. I’d been shocked, partially because that kind of notoriety I didn’t need. Fear of being discovered remained debilitating, enough so that being pushed to finish book two had left a bad taste in my mouth. It was another way the monster had won. I was still fighting my best to keep that from happening, but the pressure from my editor wasn’t helping in the least.
“You know I hate to bug you about it, but we need to keep that firm grip on the fire of success.”
“I know what you’re saying. Two weeks tops. Okay?”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
When I heard the blip from another incoming call, I was excited. Phone calls never excited me. They only produced sickening fear. Like almost everything else did in my small world. “Gotta run, Celia. Talk soon.” I ended the call abruptly, not feeling in the least bad about it. “Hey, girl.” My best friend always had a way of making me laugh. I desperately needed that today. Even my skin was crawling.
