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Sammy rolls the window down. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“There’s a woman in the house with a knife, and Belles is on the floor,” I tell him, trying to suck the air back into my lungs.
“The kid?” Sammy asks.
I shake my head no. “I couldn’t see him. What the fuck do we do, man? We need to call the cops.”
Sam exits the car quietly, and a switch flips in his eyes. People have talked about my brother for years. I heard someone once say that my brother was a cold-blooded killer. The smiling, laughing big brother I’ve been around all day is gone. Philly’s next mafia boss is in front of me now. “We don’t call the cops, Bash. Follow me. Do what I say or stay in the car. Got it?”
“Yeah, man.” I shake my head and follow him around the side of the house.
When we hop the fence, he turns to me. “Seriously, your friends have white picket fences? Did we even grow up in the same fucking world?”
I look at him with wide eyes, not believing he’s joking right now. He smiles back at me like it’s no big deal.
This is so fucked up.
When we get to the back of the house, we have a better view of the room. Sam sticks his head up and tries to assess the situation and then crouches back down. “Okay, some chick who looks like a cheerleader having a bad day is walking around with a kitchen knife in one hand and a tiny pink dance skirt thing in the other. The dance teacher looks like she’s knocked out, but I don’t see any blood. So, that could be a good thing.”
“Thank fucking God.” I bless myself with the sign of the cross—something I haven’t done in years.
“I’ve done everything in my power to keep you out of my world your whole fucking life, Bash. What the hell are these people messed up in?”
Sam is pissed, and I don’t have an answer for him.
“You’re killing me here, Sebastian,” he growls.
“What’s the plan, Sam?” I don’t really care if I’m killing him so long as Tommy and Belle are still breathing and Sammy and I walk out of here.
Sam takes out a lock-picking kit from his jacket and shakes it in my face. “Never leave home without it.” He smiles again, and his eyebrows shoot up as he starts to work on the lock.
I hear the moment the lock disengages.
“Listen, little brother. Leave the knife-wielding psychopath to me. You just get the dance teacher and the kid out of the house.”
I take a breath. “They have names, you know.”
“It’s better if I don’t know.” Sam pops the door open, and the damn alarm dings that a censor’s been breached.
Shit.
