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Afraid she would run away?
Was he keeping her prisoner?
“Angel,” I said, voice soft. “What—“
“It’s an ambush,” she cut me off, voice frantic.
Then she told me something that I probably should have guessed all along, since Warren had given me bad vibes since I’d met him.
That he was going to double-cross me.
That he was going to kill us. Then, of course, take the guns for himself.
“What are you doing?” she asked in a squeaky voice as I drew closer to the car, wondering how long it would take me to pick her handcuff lock since I didn’t have a key on me.
“I have to get you out of here,” I told her.
There wasn’t a single bone in my body that was going to let me walk away from a woman cuffed in a car, helpless.
“No! You can’t! I can’t,” she added, and there was something so final, so sure about her words that they did give me pause. It was the kind of desperation in her voice that said that even if the door to her cage was flung open, there would be something preventing her from escaping to freedom.
I wouldn’t pretend to understand.
Not in the short amount of time we were standing there.
Maybe I would have tried to, would have asked the right questions, and gotten the answers I was seeking, but a gunshot rang out, and I realized the guys had gone ahead without me.
And with the woman yelling for me to go, and knowing my men—my family, my cousins, my soldiers—were unaware of the ambush, I really had no choice but to do what she wanted.
For me to save ourselves.
And leave her to her captivity.
My heart was frozen in my chest as I reached for my gun, making my way in the direction my cousins—Dante and Santo—and my soldiers had taken off in, hearing more gunshots.
There were more of them than we’d planned on.
We’d only ever seen four or so men before, but this was double that, with their semiautomatics and a kill order from their boss.
The only thing we had going for us was the home base advantage.
That and, of course, the stacked metal containers that offered some protection when we ducked behind them.
“I’m out,” one of my soldiers told me as we both ducked behind the same container, breathing hard, eyes wide.
“I’m low,” I admitted, wondering how the others were doing. How much more prepared they might have been than I was.
My soldier suddenly stiffened and pointed toward the opening between the containers.
And there he was.
One of Warren’s men. Alone. With a semiautomatic. Likely still full of bullets. With backups, given that they knew what they were planning this night to look like.
Taking a deep breath, I nodded at my man, who made a small noise, drawing the man’s attention.
Distracting him just long enough for me to sink my final two bullets into him.
We watched as he faltered and fell flat on his face before we rushed at him, grabbing his gun from his dead fingers, his extra ammunition, and the second gun in his ankle holster.
