“Are you comfortable?” Sal asks.
“Not particularly.”
“Ah, that’s too bad.” He waves something in front of my face. It’s a muffin, and it’s got a big bite out of it. “You know, your baked goods really aren’t half bad. This thing was almost edible, and it’s been sitting in your fridge for weeks.”
I have no idea what he’s getting at, but before I can puzzle any of it out, he shoves the muffin into my mouth. “There. That should keep you quiet.”
“You’re an asshole,” I try to say, but it comes out muffled and indistinct around the muffin. Which is, I noticed, bran and raisin.
Sal just chuckles. “I have no idea what you said, and frankly I like it that way.” He comes closer, leans over me, and I close my eyes, not wanting to know what he’s planning to do.
There’s a crashing noise from the front of the shop just then. My eyes pop open, and Sal spins to face the sound. The door to the back room slams open next, and there’s Nick. He’s got his gun out, and his eyes are blazing. If I didn’t know he was there to help, just the expression on his face would terrify me.
“Let her go, De Luca,” Nick grinds out.
Sal’s as calm as he’s ever been, and he placidly points his gun at my head. “No.” The smell of smoke is thickening around us. “You drop your gun, or I’m blowing her brains out.”
They stand for a few long seconds, just staring, taking each other’s measure. “You think I won’t?” Sal asks finally.
I’m just staring at Nick. I want to see his eyes, but I know if he takes his focus away from Sal for even a split second, Sal will shoot him. At the same time, Sal’s not going to take his eyes off Nick, either, and that’s a good thing for me. I start shifting my weight, changing my position where I’m sitting against the wall.
Nick is very still. Then, slowly, he lowers his hand with the gun then kneels to set it on the floor. No, Nick. No. I don’t say it out loud, though. I don’t want to bring Sal’s attention back to me.
“Good decision, Angelino,” says Sal. I feel the cold metal of the gun muzzle shifting away from my head. Then Sal lifts his hand, pointing the gun right at Nick. “Any last words?”
Nick looks right at me. “Sarah. I love you.”
My breath catches. I meet his gaze, but I’m so taken aback and still so scared, I don’t know what he might see in my face.
“So sweet,” says Sal. “Now, say goodbye.”
Dragged back to the moment and to what I’m doing, I shift my weight back. Feet still taped together, I kick out as hard as I can. My feet strike Sal’s shins just as he pulls the trigger. The shot flies wide; I can hear it bouncing off metal—probably one of the refrigerators. Immediately Nick closes on him.
There’s not much else I can do now but watch, unless I can get my hands and feet free. I spit out the stupid muffin Sal shoved into my mouth and try to wiggle farther back along the wall. I don’t want to get in the way.
Nick has Sal by the wrist now, wrenching Sal’s hand sideways to force him to drop the gun. Teeth gritted, Sal tries to fight him, but in the end Sal lets out a sharp sound and lets go. It might be my imagination, but I swear I hear the crunch of breaking bones. The gun falls to the floor. Nick kicks out, sending the pistol skittering across into the dark by the freezers.
The smell of smoke is getting thicker to the point where I can taste it. It’s tickling in the back of my throat. That can’t be a good sign. We have to get out of here before the place goes up in flames, or before a propane tank explodes, or something equally deadly. But I know Nick’s not going to leave until he knows I’m safe and until he knows Sal is no longer a danger.
If I could, I’d get up and get the hell out and drag Nick with me, but with both ankles and wrists taped I can’t even stand up. Instead I start wriggling, working my hands and feet against their bonds, trying to find any slack at all. If I could just get one hand free…
There’s a loud crashing sound, and I look up. Sal’s back on his feet and has flung Nick into a cabinet full of glassware. Glasses and mixing bowls fall everywhere, shattering when they hit the concrete floor. Great. As if I didn’t have enough to worry about already, now there’s broken glass everywhere. The faint light catches it, making it gleam. Nick hits the ground, and I hear him swear, as if he’s landed in a pile of it.
It doesn’t look like it’s scattered very close to me, though, so maybe it’s okay if I keep moving, trying to get my hands loose. Nick and Sal are wrestling now, on the ground, and I can’t even watch, certain Nick is being shredded on pieces of broken mixing bowls. He’s shouting at Sal, cursing and screaming, and Sal’s screaming back. I can’t make out most of the words beyond the obscene ones. And my own name, which pops up occasionally.