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I nod quickly, looking up to where my grandmother stands at the edge of the pit gazing down on us.
She smirks. “See? I told you they would be your downfall. But you wanted to be with them so badly, so now you can be. All four of you can rot together forever in the foundation of this place once that hole is filled in.”
Malice growls, looking like he wants to throw himself out of the hole so he can wring Olivia’s neck.
My heart is in my throat, fear and dread climbing up in the form of sour bile.
Olivia moves as if she’s going to go make good on her threat, but before she can take more than a step, a gunshot rings out.
The guard standing nearest to her goes down.
38
WILLOW
My heart lurchesin my chest as my grandmother’s remaining bodyguards shout to each other, all of them scrambling to figure out where the attack came from.
He made it. Jonah is here.
“What the fuck is going on?” Malice growls, staring up toward the top of the pit. It’s hard to see what’s going on above us, but I can hear footsteps and more shots as my grandmother’s hired men do their best to secure her and keep her safe.
“Jonah,” Ransom replies quickly, turning to face his brothers. “He came with us as backup. He snuck into the building after us. Come on, we need to get the fuck out of this pit before the guards regroup. Give me a boost.”
Victor and Malice share a look, processing all of that information in a heartbeat. The trust the brothers all have for each other is evident in the way they spring into action immediately. The two of them are bound just like we are, their wrists secured in front of their bodies with zip ties, and their bulletproof vests have been stripped off. But they link hands, providing a platform for Ransom to step onto before heaving him toward the top of the pit. He throws his body over the edge and hauls himself out, immediately grabbing a gun from the downed guard.
Crouching by the edge of the pit, he helps Jonah—wherever he is—lay down more cover fire for us as Malice boosts Vic out of the hole in the cement. I’m next, and I emerge just in time to see Ransom almost get taken out by a shot from a guard who’s hiding behind a pillar on the other side of the room.
“Fuck! We’re sitting ducks out here!” he bellows, returning fire and glancing around wildly. “The table, Vic!”
Vic is already moving, flipping the nearby table onto its side and positioning it in front of us so that there’s some physical barrier between us and Olivia’s guards. Vaguely, I’m aware of the sounds of a scuffle above us, and I realize that must be where Jonah is. He went up to the second floor to get a better vantage, but it sounds like at least one of Olivia’s guards has found him.
With the table blocking us a bit, Vic reaches down into the pit and grabs Malice’s hands. He hauls his twin up and out, and the four of us crouch behind the table that’s barely big enough to cover all of us.
“How many?” Malice asks.
“Four down here. One already taken out, three with Olivia.” Ransom pops up and fires off another shot. “And at least one up top with Jonah.”
“That means no more cover from Jonah,” Malice mutters. “But at least he got us out of that fucking pit.”
“We need to—”
Whatever Vic was about to say breaks off in a curse as the three guards on the first floor rush us. We scatter, Ransom using his entire body to shove me to one side as his brothers break the other way, darting into the shadowy darkness outside the perimeter of the floodlight. I run toward an area of half-finished walls and exposed piping, with Ransom right behind me. It’s awkward and difficult to sprint with my arms bound, and I almost trip and go down once before I catch my footing again.
We end up in what will probably be a storage room or something at some point, a small five by five space with only two walls completed.
Pushing me down in the corner of the room, Ransom turns to face the open doorway we just came through. One of the guards followed us, and Ransom raises his gun to fire—but nothing happens. With a furious roar, he throws himself forward, bum-rushing the guard and grappling for his gun as two shots pop off.
I’ve rarely seen Ransom fight the way Malice does, but he’s relentless now, fighting skillfully even with his wrists bound. He throws elbows, headbutts that guard, and slams him into the wall. They’re still fighting for control of the gun, and as the guard inches it sideways, trying to break Ransom’s grip and get a good angle for a shot, Ransom slams his foot into the side of the guard’s knee.
The man grunts and stumbles a little, and Ransom follows up with another headbutt, this time to the wind-pipe. He presses his advantage, twisting the gun out of the guard’s hand.
The guard recovers quickly—but it’s too late.
He moves to make another attack, but before he can, Ransom raises the weapon quickly and puts a single bullet between his eyes.
The man drops instantly, and Ransom stands over him, breathing hard and disheveled. Crouching beside the downed guard, he drops the gun and pats the man down quickly, finally finding what he’s after—a small butterfly knife.
He brings the gun and knife both over to me as the muffled sounds of fighting filter to us from elsewhere in the building. “Hold out your hands,” he pants.
