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“Then give me my fucking gun! Where did you hide it?”
That is the last thing I should do. “I can handle it. Go to the bedroom,” I order, shoving her in that direction.
All she does is push back, digging in. “What do you think I’m going to do? Shoot you?”
Yes. That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. And why wouldn’t she to free herself? The front window explodes inward in a storm of shattered glass, and the front door looks more like Swiss cheese when I dare peer around the table.
“Come on!” she urges. “Give us a chance!”
Fuck it.
I turn toward the drawers beneath the kitchen counter. When I slide the bottom drawer open, Emilia gasps at the sight of the safe and its electronic keypad. I don’t know whether she makes note of the code as I punch it in, and right now, I don’t care. The bullets flying in all directions and breaking the cabin apart are more concerning.
“Don’t make me regret this.” I hand over the service weapon taken from her apartment bathroom, and something close to grim satisfaction twists her lips into a grin as she looks it over. “Remember. Anything happens to me, and they get their hands on you, you’re fucked.”
“No shooting you,” she barks out. “I get the message.”
A bullet hits the edge of the table, and we duck. That was too close. Then, just as suddenly as the gunfire erupted, everything goes silent. There is nothing but the blood rushing in my ears and Emilia’s strangled gasps for air.
A voice then calls out, almost taunting, singsong. “Send her out, Santoro!” the voice implores. “We might even let you leave in one piece. Anything between us can be settled another day. Right now, all we want is her.” She flinches, whimpering softly, and I remind myself she might be a detective, but she’s still a young woman in way over her head. She’s never played the game at this level before.
Then I recall the damage they’ve done to my car. How would I leave with my tires blown out? Easy. They don’t expect me to leave.
That begs the question, whose guys are they? I doubt my father would allow anyone to open fire on the cabin knowing I’m inside, but then he could’ve bet on me being able to take care of myself. I wish I didn’t have to question my father’s motives, but that’s the path I’ve set myself on.
All thanks to the woman beside me, who makes no announcement before she begins to army crawl across the floor, sliding on her stomach until she reaches the sofa. The window is blown out now, and glass covers the cushions. She tosses them aside and climbs onto the couch, peering over the sill before ducking her head again. She’s either the ballsiest person I’ve ever met or entirely out of her mind on adrenaline that’s pushed aside her pain in favor of survival.
She looks back at me, our eyes meeting from opposite sides of the room. Gone is the timid, trembling thing I saved from certain death. She wants blood.
That makes two of us.
I clear my throat before raising my voice. “And if I hand her over…” I call out, “… you go? That’s it?”
“That’s it!”
Again, Emilia peers over the windowsill. She lifts her free hand, opening and closing it like a duck’s bill. They’re talking it over. She then gives me a thumbs up.
I begin moving out from behind the table, watching her watch the men. “All right. I’ll bring her out. Hold your fire, dammit.” Vitali is not sending his best on these missions.
Emilia nods, holding a hand in the air and lowering it, signaling they’ve dropped their weapons.
She waves me over, and I crawl across the floor the way she did, careful to avoid the glass. I take her place, gripping her wrist when she moves toward the door. “I’ll open it, but stay covered,” she breathes out close to my ear. “I’ll draw their fire. You take them out.”
“Come on, Santoro!” I’m almost glad that arrogant prick called out when he did, or else I might have no choice but to kiss this brave woman. I release her, and she nods firmly before creeping over to the door, bent at the waist.
Her hand closes around the knob, and I take aim at the man positioned in front of the door. I’ll drop him first since he would have the clearest shot at Emilia, and I don’t doubt that will startle the other two into opening fire. I only hope she gets clear in time.
She’d better.
She draws a deep breath, then flings the door open, leaping back toward the sofa. I give them a split second to react before opening fire, taking down the center shooter with a single shot to the neck.
“Stay down!” I shout to Emilia before firing on the man closest to me, who manages to blow more holes in the wall before I hit his kneecap and then his abdomen. He goes down screaming, squeezing the trigger, and sending bullets spraying in all directions. Emilia shrieks at the sudden burst of splinters and couch stuffing filling the air as bullets tear through the wood plank walls and into the room. I move out from my cover and throw myself over her, and for one moment—no more than a heartbeat—I wonder if this is it.
The end.
What’s left of the front door is kicked open from outside, and the third shooter bursts into the cabin. Before his vision can adjust to the change in light, I twist, take aim, and fire. His head snaps back, and he slides to the floor, a look of surprise still on his face while he paints the wood behind him a deep shade of red.
The rest of me remains still, my body shielding Emilia’s. The air is full of smoke and the coppery tang of blood. The silence is deafening.
