With the noise from downstairs, most of them didn’t hear me. And the only one directly facing me was the man in the chair.
Zeno Costa.
He didn’t remind me of the other Costas.
He was tall, dark-haired, dark-eyed, and had the same kind of bone structure. But in his stupid pajama pants, with his ink and his piercings, he just didn’t fit the mold of what I thought I knew about the Costas.
When his gaze fell on me—and the gun—though, I saw something cold slice across his eyes.
For a second, I thought he was trying to silently communicate something to me.
But it was right then that the guy holding Alara noticed me.
“Put it the fuck down,” he roared, making Alara stiffen.
Her head whipped over, eyes round.
“Liam, go,” she pleaded.
“Yeah, Liam, you should go,” the guy holding her said as his hand slipped, tightening around her throat. “Or she will pay for it. And so will he.”
He nodded toward the desk, and my gaze followed, finding the muzzle of the gun pressed hard into Zeno’s head.
He didn’t seem bothered, though.
“I’ll kill her,” the guy holding Alara said, pressing harder into her neck.
Her eyes were panicked, her mouth opened like a fish.
Feeling lost, my gaze slid back to Zeno, looking for some kind of instruction.
He widened his eyes at me, then lowered his gaze down to his hand.
I tried not to be obvious, but looked and saw something metallic and sharp sticking out of his hand.
My gaze flicked back up to his, holding, watching, waiting, knowing there was going to be a sign.
“She’s gonna lose consciousness,” the guy warned.
I saw the moment at the same time as Zeno.
The guy holding a gun to his head got distracted and looked over at Alara.
Zeno nodded.
Then he shot up out of the chair, stabbing his makeshift weapon into the guy’s wrist as his other hand reached for the gun.
My gaze went back to Alara.
She was still conscious.
But her body suddenly went slack, dropping down into the guy’s arms, sliding down far enough that I had an opening.
I took aim at the broadest part of his chest.
My finger pulled.
Once.
