Finally, I see it. One door at the end of the hall stands half-open. Light spills out and it’s warm, almost obscene against all this violence.
I slow, open the door wider with two fingers, then step inside.
It’s a master bedroom. Massive. Tasteful. Expensive as fuck.
And right in the center of it — Sombra is on his knees. Hands bound behind his back, shirt torn, blood on his face. Head tilted just enough to show his anger, but also his fear.
Arcangelo Romano sits in a high-backed chair like he’s a king waiting for dessert. One ankle crossed over the other, a gun resting casually against Sombra’s skull.
He glances up when I enter, eyes flicking briefly to my naked, blood-soaked body, then back to Sombra like this is all perfectly normal.
“Took you long enough,” he says calmly.
Sombra watches me, eyes burning, but he keeps his mouth shut. Arcangelo nudges the gun harder against his head and huffs softly. Mocking.
“This one is very rude,” he murmurs. “Has no idea how to greet his guests.”
Then he looks at me, the deadly ice in his gaze sending a shiver down my spine.
“I told you the tracker would do its job, even with the jammers. My tech man does excellent work.”
“Yes,” I mutter, stepping forward and slipping the AR15 off my shoulder. “I never doubted that.”
I barely have time to draw a full breath before the already-open door slams into the wall and Bones storms in, Reaper right on his heels.
“This is turning into a full-blown party,” Arcangelo remarks mildly, like he’s commenting on the weather.
Bones shoots him a glare but doesn’t bite. Instead, he turns all that fire on me.
“I know you saw me out there,” he snaps. “Why the fuck didn’t you wait for backup?”
I almost roll my eyes, but think better of it.
“I had everything under control, Bones,” I murmur.
“Yeah,” Reaper chuckles, already moving toward the walk-in closet. “Except the swing of your dick. I saved your naked ass twice out there, and you didn’t even notice.”
“I clocked those two guys,” I fire back. “Saw you had them lined up. You didn’t save shit.” My eyes narrow. “What the fuck are you doing?”
He glances back, unimpressed. “Getting you pants. You’re going to poke an eye out with that thing.”
Asshole. Since he stayed behind as our Driftwood Chapter Prez, I barely talked to him. I forgot how fucking annoyingly practical he can be.
“Forget this,” I mutter, getting back to Sombra. A grin stretches across my face, uncontained. “My trip to hell was very nice,hijo de puta. So nice, I had to come back for you.”
“Remember our deal, Fantasma.”
Santiago’s voice makes me turn.
He steps through the doorway — and I have to do a double take when I see Mindfuck strolling in right behind him, smiling and humming. He’s wearing his cut over a fucking Santa coat, ski goggles pushed up on his forehead, a gun in one hand and a machete in the other.
What in the name of Satan.
“Perimeter’s clean,” he announces, looking at Bones. “How many rooms does this castle have? Took me forever to find you guys.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I hiss. “What are you wearing?”
He looks down at himself, then back up, still smiling. “What? I’m doing the whole Christmas in July thing. We haven’t had a nice bloodbath in a while. This feels festive.”
