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“Now, Violet,” Cain says in a whisper, his gun in hand and ready to shoot. “Go.”
I grab a metal can filled with screws from a nearby shelf, yank open the door, and whip it as hard as I can toward the stainless-steel dishwasher. It explodes on impact, making a deafening noise. In seconds, we can hear shouts and yells, but I’m already down the stairs behind the staircase with Cain when they finally come.
It takes him three shots of the gun to take them down. One on the left, bullet to the leg. One on the right, wound to the left shoulder. Last one he shoots is the third target, and he’s prepared. He ducks, then lunges for me, acting on instinct. The son of a bitch must know Cain would lose his shit over me being hurt before he would himself.
Doesn’t matter. I’m glad to have the chance to get at one of them. With a quick duck and jab, I nail him straight in the solar plexus. He doubles over, and I waste no time, my knife to his throat before he can even blink.
“Stay right fucking there and I might let you live when all this is over,” I whisper in his ear. He freezes, not even breathing. I have him on his knees while Cain secures the others, and in one minute flat, we’ve got all three tied to chairs, secured with duct tape. Not the most original tool, but damn does it get the job done.
Three. Only three. Cain nods to me, eyes on the stairs, then jerks his chin at the guy I secured. I hold my knife to his neck.
“Any more security on today?”
He shakes his head.
“He’s lying,” Cain says. I trust Cain implicitly. I don’t question or give it a second thought, but press my knife to the guy’s neck until he bleeds. He pants, sweat dripping off his forehead.
When I first began working for Cain, interrogation intimidated the hell out of me. I still don’t like it, but I’ve come to see its merits. I don’t fucking like it when someone lies to me.
I lean in and give him one more chance. I’m shaking with anger. I want answers. “If I find you’re lying to me, I’ll find whatever it is that matters to you, and you’ll wish you’d told me the truth.”
“One more,” he gasps out. “Didn’t count the personal bodyguard.”
Cain nods, both accepting this and giving me permission to let this guy go. I secure his mouth like the others and walk quietly to the stairs. Listening. I don’t have to wait long.
“Who’s down there?” Cain’s eyes cut to me. The voice is the high-pitched, nasally one we heard before.
Cain and I stand as quietly as we can, side by side under the stairway. From the stairs, no one can see the guards we’ve secured far to the right.
A foot hits the top stair. A worn, ancient leather moccasin. I wish this guy wasn’t an asshole. I usually sort of like old people.
Cain squeezes my hand. He knows how I feel about interrogation.
“I get him secured, and you’ll go upstairs and look for the other guard.” His lips press in a thin line, and I know exactly why. He’d much rather have me babysit while he runs interference, but in this case, it isn’t the wisest decision, because I’m smaller and faster.
“Got it, boss,” I say with a teasing wink. I’m the only one of his staff that doesn’t usually call him “boss.” He gives me a wry smile back, making my heart thump a little faster even now.
I wait, crouched, while Descamps makes his way further down the stairs. In seconds, Cain’s got him fully restrained in his arms. Descamps shouts and kicks, but Cain easily secures him.
“Go, babe. Meet me by the sauna.”
I knew that’s what he was thinking.
Taking the stairs two at a time I race to the top, my Wilson tucked securely in my palm. I don’t have to wait long. I turn the corner, gun at the ready, when I hear someone move behind me. I duck and swivel just in time, missing the meaty punch of Descamps’ personal guard. I step back, giving myself room to maneuver, and quickly let loose a roundhouse kick to the gut. I’ve trained with both knife and gun and use them well, but when push comes to shove, I’ll always prefer to use my own body as a weapon.
He’s bigger than I am, though, so my body won’t be enough. He’s winded and on his knees from the kick I gave him, but I have to make sure he doesn’t hurt me. I slice at his thigh with my knife, ignoring the fresh, hot blood that cascades onto the tiled floor. He screams like a little girl, whimpering, but not before he gets a good solid punch to my cheek. I see stars, my head spinning, but don’t lose my concentration. I slash again, striking his arm, then again, until he recoils in pain.
