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“You know I’m not one to dampen the spirit of the game, and I’m always hassling you to be a little more creative, but in this instance a drive-by shooting would have sufficed.” My mind flicks to Penny, back on the yacht, warming my bed. “I’ve got better shit to do,” I mutter.
Behind us, three shots ring out in quick succession. Angelo and I whip around in unison, guns cocked. We let them go slack when our idiot brother emerges from the fog, firing an AK-47 at the sky.
“Good afternoon.” He squints up at the falling snow. “Lovely weather, isn’t it?”
I stare at him. “It’s a miracle you’ve never been to prison.”
“Mm,” Angelo agrees. “Not even a short stint.”
Gabe ignores us and nods behind him. Two of his men come into view, dragging a large metal trunk across the snow. They pop it open to reveal an array of modified metal implements. Most pieces I recognize from rifling through the iron chest in his cave; some I don’t.
By the sharp intake of breath, Angelo hasn’t seen any of them before.
“What the fuck is that?” He crunches over the snow and peers into the box. “Is that… Fuck, does that have amotorattached?”
Gabe straightens up and regards us both with his signature indifference. “Listen carefully, because I can’t be fucked to repeat myself.” Angelo ducks as Gabe swings the AK-47 up, pointing it at the hotel behind us.
“Black Springs Resort and Spa. Been up for sale for the last twenty-five years, and now it’s the latest addition to the Visconti property empire.”
“You bought that thing?” Angelo asks quietly, temple ticking. “With money?”
“No, with magic beans,” Gabe deadpans. “I’ve bolted all the doors and windows shut.” He stoops into his trunk and pulls out an electric drill. “There’s only one way in, and unfortunately for our sinner, no way out.”
I turn one-eighty, glaring up at the hotel with fresh eyes. Through the sheets of snow, I hadn’t even noticed the iron grates covering the windows and doors. “He’s already in there?”
“Been in there for three days, brother. No light, no water, no stimulation.” Gabe rubs his hands together. “He’s going to be desperate to get out.”
“Christ,” Angelo mutters, popping his knuckles.
“Choose a number.”
My head snaps back to Gabe. “What?”
“A number. Between one and twenty.”
“One,” Angelo drawls. He glances at me. “Can never go wrong with one.”
Gabe’s lackey dives into the trunk, checking the small label on the bottom of each weapon. He hands Angelo a fishing spear.
“No,” Angelo says sharply.
“Didn’t ask,” Gabe grunts back. His eyes meet mine. “Number.”
I scrape my teeth over my lip, thinking. Clearly, the number I choose will dictate the weapon I’m armed with. It’s all down to luck. A reckless wind snakes down my collar, and the ugly green socks tighten on my ankles.
Fuck it; let’s see if they work.
“Thirteen.”
Angelo mutters something about me being an idiot. Gabe cuts me a knowing look. “Thought you might say that,” he murmurs, handing me my favorite weapon of all.
“Easy,” I purr, slapping the hammer against my palm, adrenaline nipping at my edges. “Give us the rules.”
Pressing the AK-47 into his lackey’s chest, he tightens his grip on the drill and steps between us.
“You don’t need the rules, brother, it’s just hide and seek.” He nods to the decaying building. “There’s two-hundred-and-fifty-one rooms in there. He’s hiding in one, and whoever seeks him out first, wins.”
“What do we win?”
