Elect(74)

And maybe that’s why I was beginning to feel more terrified than anything—because I knew—I had nobody worth pulling for, and it hurt like hell.





Chapter Forty-six


Chase


After my make-out session gone wrong, I called for Tex to pick up Trace. We didn’t talk about it any further and it kind of pissed me off that something I wanted so badly was so close I was able to taste it, but could not fully have it.

I was confused by my own feelings and definitely not on my A game, which meant it was possible I was going to get murdered in my own bank if I didn’t get my shit together—fast.

Checking both of my guns for the third time, I put both of them in the back of my pants and pulled my shirt over them.

I was a big fan of brass knuckles, so I had one of those on my left hand. It also had a knife that would snap out and slice someone if I needed it. I did all my business with my right hand anyway.

After taking a few deep breaths, I approached the large building. It was white with large spikes protruding from the top. Tony had built it to look like more of an artful fortress than a business building. His office, and the offices of the family, were all in the bottom of the building. The basement.

They were down there for a reason.

No windows to jump out of, no escape.

If you went down there and had done something to piss off the Abandonatos, you should record your good-bye on the little security video on the elevator, because it would take an act of God for you to make it out alive.

Funny thing is, we’d had several people do just that. It was like they knew by pushing basement that it was their final descent.

It was their hell.

I waved at the secretary, and she smiled and waved back. With an exhale I walked toward the back of the building where the elevators were located. I pushed the button, it dinged, and I walked in and looked up at the camera as the silver doors closed.

Basement. I pushed the glowing B button and waited as the elevator descended to the bottom floor. With a ding, the doors opened. Complete silence greeted me. I walked directly toward the basement-level secretary.

Her eyes revealed her fear.

That was the first and last thing I noticed before a gun went off. A bullet whizzed by my head. I ducked and reached into my waistband for a gun. I turned to the right and saw a guy stalking toward me. The secretary started screaming and hid in the corner. I fired two shots directly at his forehead and rolled behind the desk, where the secretary was seated. Releasing my brass knuckles I grabbed my other gun and held it out in front of me. One gun was pointed to the right, one to the left.

And then I felt something touch the back of my head.

“Not so smart for a boss, eh?” a man’s voice said.

I didn’t panic. It wouldn’t make anything better. “I’m smart.”

“Oh, yeah? Then why do you have a gun pointed at your head?”

I shrugged. “You tell me.” I looked down at his shoes.

Not boots. He was wearing tennis shoes. Brand-new tennis shoes. Not name brand. I closed my eyes and inhaled. He smelled like fast food.

Paid. He was a hired hit man. By the looks of his shoes he’d already gotten half his payment, too.

He also wasn’t used to the mafia, used to our kind.

I laughed.

“Stop laughing!” He pushed the gun harder against my head. “I’m gonna enjoy this.”

I sighed and stepped on his foot then quickly leaned over to the right as I pulled his arm forward and smacked it against the marble countertop. His gun toppled to the ground. I turned and kicked him in the stomach, and he stumbled backward, hitting the copy machine.

“I’ll enjoy this much more, I guarantee it.” I pulled out my gun and shot him in both knees. He fell to the ground with a loud crack and swore in agony.

Three more. There were three more guys.

Footsteps neared me.

I ducked under the desk and motioned for the secretary to be quiet, but her hands were shaking. Shit. With one swift movement, I knocked her to the floor and pulled her underneath the table with me.

“Thank you, thank you.” She shook in my arms.

I hit her across the back of the head, rendering her unconscious. She wouldn’t thank me when she woke up with a killer headache, but at least she’d be alive.

The footsteps got closer.

And then three shots rang out.

A man walked in front of the desk. His shoes were—white.

His hand reached down to me. “Come on. I don’t have all day,” he whined, sounding genuinely irritated that he’d had to shoot someone.

I grabbed his hand but kept my finger on the trigger in my left hand.

Once he pulled me out from underneath the desk I was face-to-face with the last person I thought I’d see.

“Sergio?” I gasped. “Man! I thought you moved!”