“Did we check upstairs?” Everyone shakes their heads. “Someone’s up there. I’ll go.”
Honey Badger tightens the knot around the ankles of a thug and rises to come with.
Scratch warily looks upstairs and exhales through his nose. He swipes a couple machine guns from where they fell, and hands them to Fuse and Tonk. “I’ll protect the women and guard their door. Fuse, you make sure no one gets out the front. Tonk, check the other rooms on this floor. Jett, Honey, grab those rifles on your way.”
Everyone breaks off. Honey Badger and I do as we’re told and then stalk our way up the gaudy-ass staircase, but I’m sure whoever’s up there heard us talking.
They know we’re on our way. I feel calm. Ready to strike. I know Honey Badger feels the same. He’s great under pressure. I feel sorry for the fuckers we’re about to meet.
As we make our way down a long hallway, the second floor is quiet as a graveyard after a funeral. We carefully open doors to empty rooms decorated in the most expensive furniture money can buy.
At the far end one is cracked and waiting for us.
I’ve suddenly got a feeling in my gut I don’t like.
Honey Badger looks at it, then back to me.
I nod.
Crouched, we approach and duck as a man jumps out and starts shooting. We meet his shots with our own and he falls in a grunting, jerking heap.
I kick the door open and we both freeze.
An elderly man is in a bed fit for a king. He’s on oxygen, watching us with wrinkly eyes that have an odd smile pulling at their edges. In front of the bed is Sunshine, tied up in a velvet red chair, her mouth covered with duct tape. Her beautiful eyes go wide at the sight of me.
Honey Badger shouts, “JETT!”
Jett
Ducking just in time, a bullet zips past my head. Honey Badger rushes the guy hiding behind the door. As I stride over to Sunshine another gunshot explodes through the room. I look over my shoulder to see if my friend is okay. He nods at me, his rotund body rising up as he grunts. The thug took the bullet. He’s down.
“Search for more!” I growl as I reach her, setting down the machine gun by her feet. “You okay?”
She nods.
“They hurt you?”
She shakes her head.
“This is gonna hurt,” I warn as I rip the duct tape off.
She gasps for air and handles the pain like a soldier.
“All clear,” Honey Badger assures me, returning and staying by the door, just in case. “This is the last room upstairs.” The old man watches us with rasping breaths echoing pathetically off the walls. The machine is making a pathetic sound, but I don’t like the look in this guy’s eyes. This guy is the big honcho. There’s no doubt in my mind. On his nightstand are bottles of pills and…her 9mm.
“What are you doing here,” she demands, voice hoarse from fear and bondage.
Untying the ropes on her wrists and ankles, I joke, “It was either this or rob a bank.”
I assumed the old man couldn’t talk.
I was wrong.
“Is this your boyfriend?” he rasps with the shittiest smirk. “Come to save you?”
She kicks off the rest of the bindings and stands to face him. “Fuck you.” She grabs my machine gun and backs away, aiming at him.
My hands go up and I step toward her. “Whoa. Sunshine.”
She aims the gun at me. “Get back to where you were!”
I’m no idiot. I do as I’m told. Honey Badger and I exchange a look as she points the gun at the old man again. It’s a bizarre picture. A guy in his eighties – hell, maybe nineties – whose body has given out on him, shrouded in a four poster bed with black curtains, and a beautiful woman aiming a gun at his head.
“You didn’t get what you want after all,” she snarls.
“I did,” he rasps with that evil smile. “You’re in my bedroom.”
Furious, she centers her aim. “You piece of shit, I hope you rot in hell.” Her finger starts to press the trigger and I picture her in prison for the rest of her life.
“Don’t do this.”
“You don’t know what he’s done,” she growls to me, determined, but scared. She’s probably never killed anyone before. If that’s true, it gives me enough of a chance to maybe talk her out of this. I’m gonna give it my best try.
“Sunshine…listen…I’m aware of the women downstairs. I know this guy is the boss and leader. But look at him. You won’t be able to call this self-defense. You’ll go to jail for murder. Or be on the run your whole fuckin’ life.”
She doesn’t even look my way. He is the only thing she can see. “I’ve been on the run anyway! At least now he’ll be gone. He’ll be where he belongs. Do you know what he did?”