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Chapter Twenty-Three – Luca
We’re too late. It’s already begun.
“Chuck!” I bark, but he already sees the gunman taking aim at us while standing in the middle of the driveway leading up to the house. He floors the gas while shots ricochet off the car and the bulletproof glass. By the time the man realizes he made a mistake, it’s too late to get out of the way. The car bounces as we roll over him.
“You should stay in the car,” Jock insists, but he couldn’t keep me here if he tied me down. Not when Delilah’s in there somewhere.
We come to a stop short of the house thanks to the fact there’s a black SUV parked sideways in front of us, blocking the way. Gunshots ring out from inside —we wait them out, knowing they’ll run out of ammo soon enough.
And the moment they do, Jock and I open our respective doors and crouch behind them for cover before returning fire through their vehicle’s open windows. One of the doors opens and a man falls out, blood pouring from a wound in his neck. There’s a man behind him, revealed in the car’s interior light. He’s slumped over the seat, his head a mangled mess.
Jock darts forward and checks if there’s anyone else inside. “Clear.” With that, we both head for the house while Chuck takes cover elsewhere.
Delilah. Where is Delilah? There’s blood in the hall, some of it smeared on the wall above a fallen man who isn’t one of ours. He’s propped up at the foot of the stairs. “Where is she?” I mutter loud enough for only Jock to hear.
He shakes his head, looking up the stairs before lifting his brows at me. I give him the go-ahead with a nod and he takes them two at a time, staying close to the wall. He hasn’t yet reached the landing when I begin my search, heading for my study first.
Where would she be? Where would she hide? She has to be around here somewhere. I need to be sure nothing’s been compromised in the study, though. That has to come first, our family’s confidential information.
Right now, I hate it, but I do have to think about my responsibilities.
As it turns out, I’m not the only one who thought about this. Scott is on the floor, wrapping his own belt around his thigh to stop the blood flowing freely from a bullet hole. Only a few feet away lies the man who gave it to him, eyes wide open, his blood soaking into the rug under him.
“Fuck, Scott.” I rush to him, then cinch the belt as tight as I can. “We’ll get you fixed up. How many are there?”
“Not sure,” he pants, gritting his teeth against the pain. “They got in through a window. Dining room, I think.”
“Have you seen Delilah?”
He shakes his head, then leans the back of it against my desk. “No. Vincent… around here somewhere… took one of ‘em out by the stairs.”
Damn it. “Stay right here. Try to keep pressure on that. The belt should work until we can get the doctor here.” Then I have no choice but to leave him, checking to make sure my private bathroom is all clear before moving on.
I can’t believe how much I want to scream her name. It would be the same as signing her death warrant, though, not to mention my own. Everything comes at me in flashes: another dead man, one of theirs. In the dining room, broken glass scattered across the floor tells me Scott was probably right. They got in through here. I move on to the kitchen, where there are playing cards scattered across the counter.
She was in here. They were playing cards.
But she’s nowhere to be found down here. I look out onto the patio, peering from behind the wall next to one of the glass doors. I see one of our guys out there, lying facedown but breathing. No Delilah.
I’m on my way to the hall again when I crash into someone on their way in. “Oh, thank fuck,” Vincent breathes. “I thought for sure this meant you were already—”
I cut him off. We can talk about that later. “Where is Delilah?”
“Don’t worry. I sent her through the tunnel. She’s safe.”
The tunnel. I forgot about it. “You’re a genius.”
“Remind me to get that one in writing.” He watches my back as we proceed toward the front door, still hanging open.
Gunfire from the second floor steals our attention. Vincent and I both rush to the foot of the stairs, guns aimed upward, and I catch sight of Jock backing toward the landing, firing on someone we can’t see from this angle.
He jerks, spinning halfway around, dropping his weapon before beginning his fall down the stairs, rolling on his side. I barely notice his assailant jogging towards the top of the stairs before Vincent fires on him. He collapses before ever seeing either of us standing here.
“Jock, Jesus Christ.” Vincent drops to one knee beside him once he’s come to a stop. “Just stay still, okay? Try not to move.”
“Bastard got me in the shoulder.” Yes, but the fall might have hurt him worse than that.
“You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck.” Vincent applies pressure to the wound while my head remains on a swivel, looking for any threats. At least I know she’s outside. I can breathe easier knowing she’s outside, away from this.
