“Down!” I bellow.
My voice startles Wren behind her, still cradling that cup of coffee. “Put it down, Wren.” A sickness churns my gut, something akin to fear and panic.
She eyes me, the gun and then the coffee, her brows drawing together before she gingerly places the mug on the table and climbs from the chair.
“What’s going on?” She asks.
“Down!” I yell again, directed to the intruder.
The commotion has drawn Ryker and Ainsley from the kitchen, the moment Ryker spots my weapon, he withdraws his own.
The woman before me lifts her hands slowly, bending her knees to lower herself to the floor.
“They made me,” she cries.
I take a look at her, her skin is translucent, the bones on her face prominent as well as her collar bones and hands. She looks ill, malnourished. Her lips are cracked and her eyes are bloodshot.
“Face on the floor,” I order, keeping my weapon trained on her with one hand, I beckon Wren to me with a curl of the finger on the other. The only reason I haven’t shot her yet is because Wren is here. She’s seen enough death in the last day, one more is not going to be added to the table.
Wren comes willingly though she is clearly confused. I tuck her into my side, turning my body to shield her.
“I didn’t know she was your woman,” the girl cries, “They didn’t tell me that. They just said that she betrayed them, that she had to die and if I did it, they would let my sister go!”
“Do you know who I am!?” I growl.
She shakes her head.
I pass Wren off to Ryker who follows a similar move as me, tucking her to him and shielding her from whatever the fuck this is.
“What’s in the coffee?”
“Cyanide.”
Fuck.
They’re not messing around. This Syndicate want Wren dead. A punishment to Valentine. I’d laugh if it wasn’t so fucked up. Wasn’t it me who had the same idea and now look at me, protecting the girl.
“Hands where I can see them,” I tell her, “and then get up, slowly.”
The girl raises her hands above her head and then slowly rises from the floor, keeping her arms above her head, “Ryker, take her to the barn.”
“No!” Wren cries, “no don’t do that.”
“This isn’t a time for mercy, little bird.” I growl.
I hear the thud of someone’s fist hitting flesh and I spin around, a blanket of fury making my blood boil so quick and fast I see red. Only what I expect to see and what I actually see are two very different things.
“She broke my fucking nose!” Ryker moans, cupping his face. Wren’s eyes widen as she rushes towards me, but she isn’t looking at me. By the time I realize what the fuck is going on, Wren has ripped the gun from my hand and has pulled the trigger. The loud bang in the small hallway makes my ears ring.
After the silence settles around us like a lead weight there are three thuds in executive order, one behind me and two in front.