There’s a small shed by the gate. It’s inconspicuous enough, although it takes me a moment to open the padlocks on the door. Within the shed is a monitor that displays the same feed that I have running inside.
Here, I get a better look at what I’m dealing with.
Twelve men exactly. Some are still attempting to climb the gate, while others are just leaning against it, clearly just waiting to get a reaction out of me.
I wait until the next person tries to make the scramble up before pressing the button.
The dull hum of electricity reaches me a split second before the screams. I watch in delight as six of the cartel immediately drop to the ground.
The metal gate is the perfect anti-home invasion measure, as long as you don’t inform the HOA.
After a second of watching the others scramble to help their friends, I click on another button.
“Can I help you?” I speak into the microphone, knowing that it’s projecting my voice to those who are still conscious.
One of the remaining cartel members roars in frustration and throws himself at the gate to try and open it. Only I haven’t turned off the electricity yet. He falls just as hard as his comrades.
“Anyone else?” I comment dryly, earning me a few glares. “All right. I suggest you leave my property before your intrusion becomes tiresome.”
One of the men steps forward, hands shoved into his pockets to appear at ease. I recognize him immediately as the man who sat next to Isabella at the bar.
“Teo Vitale!” he yells loud enough for me to hear. “We know she’s in there. Come out and talk to us! Or are you just a coward, hiding behind these walls just like you did with Rocco Moretti?”
It’s a pathetic jab at my ego and not one I care to rise to. “You have twenty seconds.”
“So what? The Italians are banding together now? If my enemy was that hot, I’d be throwing away my pride, too.”
“Ten seconds.”
“I only wonder if the rest of the Guild knows about this.”
I hesitate. There can’t be any loose ends here, and he already knows that.
With a groan, I rack the gun hidden beneath the floorboards and head out toward the gate itself, mentally chastising myself for getting myself into a situation like this. At least I had the foresight to grab the silencer.
I let out one long breath, focusing myself before I kick the gate open.
Zip, zip, zip.
Three bullets meet their targets. Three men go down.
The two that remain already have their guns trained on me.
The ringleader, the man who spoke to me before, grins back. His friend behind him is huge, almost towering over the both of us as his eyes dart between us.
“The name’s Luis,” the ringleader states, “and you just took out my crew.”
“Not all of them,” I retaliate as I quickly aim at the huge man’s shoulder.
Zip.The bullet hits him and he grunts.
Luis retaliates in kind.
His gun is annoyingly loud. Loud enough for the light to switch on next door, a detail I note instead of the searing pain that crashes through my own shoulder.
The brute of a man drops to his knees, but I grit my teeth and hold steady. I’m thankful that my own leather jacket covered the tactical vest beneath it. I’m already irritable about the bruise that will no doubt appear before morning.
But from the look on Luis’ face, he hasn’t realized that yet. So, I stagger forward, clutching my shoulder so that he doesn’t question the lack of blood.
