The story is sad, really. All the lies, hidden truths—the murders. It could have all been avoided if people were just open about their demons. Instead, they hid behind the power they possessed, and now here we are—years later, living broken existences filled with deceit.
“Psst,” I sound out to get Tony’s attention.
He stops moving, his focus still on the house.
“No one’s getting hurt tonight,” I deadpan while pulling on my gloves, and he does the same.
“Figured as much, considering you asked for these.” Tony holds up a capped syringe and several zip ties. “Though, I can’t lie and say I’m not surprised.”
“Yeah, well, so am I,” I huff and take the vial of propofol.
“What’s the plan?” he questions and shoves the zip ties back into his pocket.
“I’ll take the front, and you sneak in through the back. If I have to guess, she’s in there waiting for me.”
“And you’re certain she remembers you?”
“I’m positive.” I spit off into the distance and move toward the front door.
From the corner of my eye, I notice Tony hunch low and scale the bushes that line the home until he finally disappears from view. Keeping close to the railing and out of direct view of the windows, I creep up onto the porch, peering through the tiny cutout above the door.
There doesn’t seem to be any movement on the inside of the home, but I’m not stupid enough to take that at face value. This woman has spent the past fifteen years on the run from my family, and she recognized me almost immediately, not to mention her little warning to Siân. If it were me, I’d want it to seem as if I’m asleep and unaware, only to pounce when it’s least expected.
I head for the door, checking the knob, even though I doubt it’s unlocked. When I realize I’m correct, I remove my lock kit from my jeans and get to work. It takes me a second before I finally hear the click I’m looking for. A smile stretches across my lips, and I slowly push the door open, staying low to the ground just to be safe.
The moment I get the door open, a loud gunshot ripples through the house, followed by the agonizing wail of my right-hand man. I rush forward, ducking around walls until I breach the kitchen entryway. Cynthia has her back to me with her weapon pointed at Tony’s head. The light above the stove makes it easy for me to see what’s going on, and I have to fight the urge to grin.
“Ugh. You old-ass bitch,” Tony gargles.
“Who the fuck are you?” Cynthia demands to know, still unaware of my presence behind her.
I make quick work, grabbing her arms, forcing her gun toward the floor. “There, there, now.”
“She fucking shot me,” Tony announces, his voice strained. “No one’s getting hurt, huh?” He throws my words back at me.
I tip my head. “Eh. Almost no one.”
Snatching the pistol from Cynthia, I force her over to the breakfast table and push her down into the closest chair. She swings and kicks, but I hop out of her reach.
“You’re feisty to be so tiny. I like it.” I fold my arms over my chest. “Calm down.”
“Calm down? You and your goon broke into my house to kill me.”
I flick my thumb over my nose, then suck in a breath. “Okay, okay. I’ll give you that. We broke in. But no one’s dying tonight.”
“Where’s Siân?” she demands to know.
“At home sleeping, I tucked her in and everything. One moment.” I hold up a finger and scan the room in search of the light switch. Finding it on the wall near where Tony still sits on the floor clutching his arm, I flip it on. “There, much better.”
Cynthia squints from the sudden brightness, using her hand to shield her eyes. Once she’s adjusted, she drops her arm and stares up at me. “What do you want?”
I cock a brow and pinch my lips together while snagging one of the empty chairs and positioning it directly in front of Cynthia. Her eyes narrow in on the Glock in my grasp, which causes her to shift awkwardly in her seat. I follow her gaze and then tuck the weapon behind me in the waistband of my jeans.
“Better?” I hold my hands up. “We just want to talk.”
“So you break in with weapons drawn?”
“It’s a good thing we did. Look what you did to my buddy here.” I tilt my head to Tony.
She snarls. “I was aiming for his head.”
“Ooo. You’re a spitfire. I see why Marco kept you around,” I tease.
Cynthia’s eyes grow wide.
“Yeah. I know everything, but I’m guessing Siân doesn’t. Am I right?”
“Please. Don’t kill her, Christian. She shouldn’t be held responsible for a deal that was made when she was a child.”