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Not sure what my plan is, I nevertheless exit the kitchen and, head high, walk into the living room, creating the distraction I had hoped for.
Brody will kill me if Don doesn’t.
“Here she is. The lady of the hour.” Don laughs. “I imagine you men are here to save this worthless piece of trash. Well, let me make it worth your whilenotto do so. I'm a very rich man, and I can make it very appealing for you all to walk away right now.”
“We don't want or need your money, you filthy pig,” Asher spits in disgust.
“It's not only money that I could offer. I have connections, power, and the ability to make your lives golden.”
I'm shaking almost as badly as Rafferty is, but with absolute, unbridled rage.
The fear is suddenly gone, like a spell that has been broken. I don't know if it's the presence of the men...my men, or the way Don, even in this situation, manages to be a superior, sneering, overconfident piece of trash. Has the man ever known fear in his life? Possibly not.
After all, if you've gotten away with crime after crime, lie after lie, and harm after harm, you probably think it is going to last forever. I expect even now, Don believes he can talk his way out of this.
None of the men with weapons take their eyes off their targets as I walk into the room. I step forward slowly, my eyes trained onmytarget.
Don flicks his gaze toward me once more, but it’s not for long enough. He doesn't look at me for longer than a nanosecond before he's focused back on his target. Wilder, however, swivels to look at me, and his eyes go wide in fear.
The second Wilder is distracted, Don dives to the floor, rolls, and fires a shot at Rafferty.
It misses, but the room once more erupts into chaos. Weapons fire all around me, and people dive for cover. I don't stop. Instead, I speed up and sprint across the room, driven by instinct, not thought. A scream of raw rage tears up my throat, and I’m blinded by my fury. It’s as if a primal inner soul is taking control of my actions. I pull the knife out from behind me and launch myself into Don.
I raise my arm holding the knife and plunge it forward as hard as I can. His hands grip my shoulders tight, and Don stares at me, his face turning pale as his eyes bulge. Shocked, I glance down and see blood oozing out all around the blade, which is embedded deep into his stomach.
Oh, my God, what have I done?
He makes a strange, half-strangulated sound, and grips me even tighter. In total shock, I let go of the knife and try to step back.
Something hits my lower leg, and the pain is like a bee sting—searing and sharp Automatically, I lift my leg off the floor, finding it hard to bear weight on it. What the hell? Stupidly, I glance down looking for the bee. I don't see an insect, but I see blood rolling down the outside of my shin.
Next moment, I hit the floor as a heavy weight takes me down to the ground.
“You are so bad at taking instruction.” Brody’s voice deep in my ear is angry and raw.
“Someone was going to get shot,” I say.
He tuts at me. “Yes, you just did.”
It dawns on me what the bee sting meant. “Oh.”
“Plus, I had my eyes on the situation from outside the room and was about to take Don out.”
My answer is drowned out by the retort of gun fire. The air is heavy with a sickly, sweet burning scent.
There is more firing followed by an agonized scream. I try to peer around the immovable force that is Brody, but he holds me down.
“Oh, no, you don't, not again. It's my fault you’re here, and I will be damned if you’re going to get yourself killed.Stay low.”
I want to slam my hands over my ears so I can't listen to what's going on in the room around me, but I can't, so instead I lie there as around us a battle rages, and one that I can't be a part of.
Suddenly, as if someone flicked a switch, all goes quiet.
“Fasten their arms and their ankles,” Rafferty barks. “Gag them, too.”
The weight that was holding me down moves, and I sit. Asher is moving around the room, using zip ties to secure the hands and feet of the men who had been laid on the floor with their arms over their head. He stuffs their mouths with pieces of the men’s clothing that he tears from them. Wilder is sitting in a corner, leaning against the wall, holding his side. Sticky red blood oozes between his fingers.
I gasp in horror.
