AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The gun is out and pointing at me. “If my family is dead, you die.”
I open it with the code he tells me. I find Manuel’s number and hit send. He answers instantly. “He says if his family is dead. I die.”
“Tell him. Put it on speaker and tell him.” He motions with the gun.
“He’s pointing a gun at me. I’m sorry.”
“This doesn’t sound like a simple exchange.” Manuel’s voice is void of emotion. Only I know it means he’s in a rage.
“It didn’t have to be like this. I told you. All I want is Richie. Stand down from my family, and no one but Richie dies.” The guy is pleading.
“Is he treating you well?”
Sighing, I eye the gun. “Yes. He even bought my favorite fruit bananas. It reminded me of our time in Barbados. Remember how you had six margaritas, and we danced on the beach? He’s a nice guy. Please don’t kill his family.”
“For now. Because my wife asked so nicely,” Manuel murmurs.
“Not for now. Forever. My family is off-limits,” he screeches at the phone.
“You know those aren’t the rules, Radovan. The day you decided to do dark and dirty things, you kissed away your family’s security. They will live. Until I get my wife back. When I kill you. It can be quick, or it can take days. Only you can control that from here on out.” The call ends.
I hand him back his phone. “It’s the best you’re going to get. Make calls, try to hide them while you can.”
I’m saying it more to give him hope than because I believe it. He and his family have been dead since he made the first call to Manuel—they just didn’t know it yet.
* * *
Manuel
I’m in an area known as Ukrainian Village. The area has been cleaned up from the eighties when it was a place where you could buy a woman, cheap vodka, and caviar in one place. Except for this block, it seems.
The houses here are all split either into two flats, an apartment on the first floor and another on the second floor. The few that aren’t are broken into one room apartments. Three of my men are at my back with Milos’ men while his sniper is climbing to the top of a five-story apartment building to keep an eye on anyone trying to escape.
It isn’t hard to find their place. An older light brick building, that looks like it’s leaning to one side. Despite the fact it’s almost three in the morning, every light in the three-story place is on, including lights in the basement. Between the brick, the heat of the August night, and all the lights on in the place, it’s not easy to distinguish how many people are inside.
I’m not the only one. I look to Connor, the lone man from Valdez I was willing to bring with me. “I’m counting seven.”
Connor shakes his head. “I’ve got eight.” Then looks again and sighs. “It could be seven.”
“If you go in there without knowing how many there are and every one of them accounted for before you breach the door, I’m going to kick your ass from here back to Colombia,” my father growls in my ear on the open communication line. “If you so much as have a cut…”
I laugh for the first time in too fucking long. “I’m not dying today. Their loved ones are still alive.”
My phone vibrates. I check it. Connecting the call, I force my breathing even. I close my eyes to focus on every word. She hates bananas. Barbados, six margaritas, dancing on the beach.
I end the call with everything I need. Into the comm line. “Four-digit pin, two-two-six-nine. If it’s his pin for one thing, it’s got to be for something else.”
“It is. Your girl is good. It unlocked my way into his system. We’re going to be able to take this all the way back. And my men have Richie. He’s in the air. Arrival in two hours and nineteen minutes,” Diego answers. “And for the record, there are eight men. Three in the basement, four on the main level, two of those in the kitchen and two in the living room. The last man is up top, west corner room.”
“Thanks.” I end the call. “You heard him. Suppressors on.” I screw on the suppressor for my Mark 23, the guns of choice for up close and reliable kills using suppressors.
Suppressors are pain in the asses. I can’t find a good fit for my usual Desert Eagle to truly give the suppression of sound required for a kill to be as quiet as needed. And it’s not sound they’re suppressing, it’s the explosion of the gun firing. The explosion comes from gunpowder.
When people talk about smoke after a gun fire, it’s the smoke of the gunpowder filling the air. The gunpowder suppressed within the machinery can cause a gun to jam. Not with the Mark 23. It also has an extended magazine that holds twenty rounds. It’s the only gun I’m willing to use besides my Eagle.
“We’re in. We’re quiet. None of them survive tonight.” I order them.
All the men nod. Two men go up top, moving so fucking silently and melting into the night I lose sight of them as I’m staring at them.
