The smell of blood and shit and death was almost unpleasant.
I walked through the carnage. One Lionetti man groaned, but I finished him with a clean bullet to the skull. I was the last standing survivor of the massacre, and I wondered how many of them I was responsible for—at least half, maybe more. The Doyles did well enough, and the Lionettis did their part, but none of them expected a sniper to tear through their ranks.
I was an avenging angel.
The driver of the truck was huddled on the floor. He was young and he pissed himself. I opened the door and pressed the gun to his head.
“Get out.”
He got out and started running.
I let him go. It didn’t matter anymore.
I went around to the back and closed the door. I latched it, made sure it was solid, then got behind the wheel.
Just as a black SUV pulled up, blocking my way.
The front door opened and a single man stepped out. He surveyed the carnage and his eyes betrayed nothing—
Until Evgeni stared at me, and frowned.
* * *
Fiona
The Lionetti guy was like a little Pitbull: small and muscular, with a bald head, and shoulders the size of boulders. He rammed into Juan and knocked him sideways.
The gun went off, but the bullet smashed uselessly into the ceiling.
They struggled on the floor for control of the pistol. Juan grunted, smashed a knee up, but took a headbutt to the nose. He grunted, groaned, and the Lionetti guy nearly ripped the gun free.
But Juan held on. They struggled, Juan rolled, and managed to punch the guy in the gut with his free hand.
The Lionetti bastard grunted in pain but attacked twice as hard, raining blows down on Juan before grabbing Juan’s wrist again. They struggled for the weapon, both of them grunting and sweating and writhing in pain, locked in a life-or-death battle.
I pulled the gun from my holster with shaking hands.
Mack explained how to kill someone. He said it was easy. Aim at their chest—it was the biggest target. Don’t go for the head, since I’d probably miss. Don’t try to wound them, since they might still be able to fight and kill me.
If I had to shoot, then shoot to kill. Don’t hold back.
My hands shook and I couldn’t aim. I kept blinking sweat from my eyes. Juan screamed in rage and shoved the Lionetti guy back against the coffee table. The beer bottle spilled and the cigarette fell onto the floor. Juan tried to shoot him, but he missed as the Lionetti guy tackled him back into the TV.
A long time ago, I was a coward. I listened to my dad beat the shit out of my brother every night for years. I hid in my closet and cried until it was over, and then I went into his room and helped him clean up the cuts. After a while, he said it wasn’t so bad—it stopped hurting. His back was almost numb.
That felt worse.
I didn’t do anything for him then. I was a little girl and he was a little boy, but I still could’ve tried. Instead, I cried, and I hid, and he got beaten.
I took a step forward, planted my feet the way Mack showed me, and aimed at the Lionetti guy. He was a human with thoughts and feelings, maybe had a family, parents that loved him, all that stuff—
But right now, he was nothing more than the belt in my dad’s fist.
I squeezed the trigger. The gun bucked, just like I knew it would.
The Lionetti guy froze and looked at me.
I missed. He bared his teeth.
I pulled the trigger again.
That time, he staggered back. Bright red bloomed on his chest. His eyes went wide—
Until Juan shot him in the skull and he slumped to the floor.
My hands shook so hard, I had to shove the gun back into the holster. I stood there hugging myself, staring at the Lionetti guy. Juan’s face was bleeding freely and his right eye was puffy, but he walked over and made sure the man was dead before looking back at me with a smile.
“Nice shot. Well, the second one at least.”
“I’ve never done that before.”
“Don’t worry. I killed him. You don’t have to take that on yourself.”
I felt incredibly grateful to him in that moment.
“Come on.” He nodded toward the far door. “I think he was the only guard, but we’d better hurry.” Juan moved through the living room and took a right. I followed him into another hallway which ended with two doors.
The door straight ahead was a bathroom.
And the door on the right led down into the basement.
I turned on the lights and descended slowly. Juan came behind me, still breathing hard, favoring his left leg.
The basement smelled moldy and damp. Concrete floor, cinderblock walls.
Sitting in the middle of the otherwise empty room was Connor.