I back off, throwing my still mostly full bottle in the trash. “Whatever. I’m not fucking going anywhere, I just need some air.”
With timing just as fucked up as the rest of this day, I throw open the door just to find a lanky fucker in expensive clothes leaning on the railing that lines the walkway in front of the apartment door. “What do you want?” I snap, putting my hand on my belt. My piece is hidden behind my cut, but it'll only take a moment to whip it out.
He takes me in with irritated confusion. His dark hair is slicked back and his angled face is familiar in a way that annoys me. Like I should recognize him. As he takes me in, his dark eyes narrow into slits. “Who the fuck are you?”
He wants to go hard? He's caught me in just the right mood for it. “That's none of your fucking business. Get the fuck out of here before I help you along.”
He meets my gaze without a trace of fear, which shows how goddamned stupid he is. He should be afraid. Then he notices the patch on the front of my cut and his pretty boy features twist in disgust. He spits on the ground. “You're a fucking Screaming Eagle. What the fuck are you doing in Alessa's apartment?”
Then I realize who he is, or at least where I saw him last. “You were at the meeting, weren't you? Standing behind your daddy while the adults were having a conversation. Go home, kid. There's nothing for you here.”
Faster than I expect, he reacts by stepping back and yanking a piece out of the inside of his jacket. Fast, but not quite fast enough. By the time he points the business end at my face, he's already looking down the barrel of mine, leaving us pointing guns at each other out in the fucking open.
So much for keeping a low profile.
“There‘s everything for me here. Where's Alessa?”
Finally, I understand. Even with our guns trained on each other, I allow myself a smirk. “You're that crazy kid, aren't you? Dario. Get the fuck out of here. Go home, and I won't put a bullet between your eyes. Alessa isn't here.”
“Are you so fucking sure you can pull the trigger before me?” he says with a sneer. “How about I put you down like the rabid fucking dog that you are? Is that really what you want, shit for brains?” His gun hand is rock steady. He's got balls, I'll give him that.
There's the very audible click of a hammer being cocked. “Sure, you can shoot him. I don't give a fuck. He's a grumpy shit anyway. But I'll still give your brain a sunroof if you pull that trigger.” Viking's arm extends past my head from behind, putting a second gun barrel aimed squarely at Dario. “Do you think you can get us both? 'Cause I don't fucking think so.”
Dario's hard gaze flits from one gun to the other. Despite the two on one disadvantage, he's obviously weighing his chances. Crazy fucker, just like Alessa warned the others. I speak coolly, calmly, not wanting him to twitch. “There are four of us here. Even if you in some kind of insane world managed to take down the two of us, you're still fucked. Is a girl who won’t even return your calls worth dying over?”
Dario's jaw tightens in determination and his eyes spark with fury. For a moment, I'm sure he's going to pull the fucking trigger and we're both done for.
“Walk,” Viking threatens. “Four guns trained on you isn't a loss of face. It's simple survival. Or do you think you can defend Alessa’s honor with bullets lodged in your fucking brain?”
I keep my mouth shut, lips tight to keep from saying what I'd like to say to this fucker. If he makes the sensible choice and walks away, it'll still take all my damn willpower to keep from gunning him down. Alessa thinks he might hurt our baby, and while I'm still pissed, that's between me and her. This little shit isn't going to come close to either her or Isabella, and I’ll do anything to make sure of it.
Someone screams down the street and a door slams, making him—and me—twitch. We've been spotted, and this isn't the kind of neighborhood were people quietly get the fuck out of the way to keep from rocking the boat. They trust cops here. 911 is going to be called and they’ll actually respond. We need to get the fuck out of here. Not just Dario, but all of us.
Fuck.
I can almost hear the gears grinding in Dario's head. He looks so fucking angry. He wants to gun me down. Only the number of barrels pointed at his head is stopping him, that's obvious. A little part of me wants him to fucking try anyway.