“Do you know where Cat is?” Crown asks, but Beast just shakes his head, casting a look back at me.
“More important things to worry about,” he says, which I appreciate, but which also stresses me out. Should it though? If Cat were to die here today, that might be best for everyone. Still, I can’t shake the wild rage that travels through me at the thought of my father going down under mafia gunfire.
“He’s not responding on the radio,” Grainger admits, sweat-soaked and agitated. He gives me another look and a scoff. “Can’t believe I brought my baby mama to a shootout.”
I ignore him as he takes off down the side of the barn and I follow, already noticing several small fires burning in the dry grass nearby. It won’t be long before this entire area goes up in flames.
The five of us move along the barn’s exterior until Grainger locates a ladder, climbing up it and moving into the shadowy interior with silent footfalls. Crown follows up after him, but Sin, Beast, and I remain on the ground.
The boys keep their gazes on the woods around us, and I do the same, holding my Magnum in steady hands and watching for the slightest flicker of movement. It’d be hard to spot someone behind a tree with all the smoke, the ceaseless fall of ash, and the spot fires. Doesn’t stop me from trying though, waiting for my opportunity to contribute.
A rifle goes off inside the building, and I hope to God that it was Crown or Grainger that fired it and not vice versa.
“Stay here,” Beast commands, running down the side of the building and rounding the corner. I’m left with Sin, his silver eyes a charcoal gray in the strange light. It’s so fucking eerie out here, knowing that there are literally hundreds of men in and around the house, inside this barn, in the trees. Yet, we see nobody.
Where are you, Grey? I wonder, knowing that I shouldn’t be concerned for him but that I am anyway.
A group of mafia soldiers appear at the back door of the Artefact. Sin spots them before they see us, cursing under his breath and making a snap decision. That’s a lesson I’ve learned today that I will never forget: always be decisive. Whether the decision is right or wrong, it’s usually better to make it quick and act on it.
That’s what saves our lives right then.
“Up the ladder, Gidge,” he says, and I start to climb, awkwardly holding my gun in one hand and using the other to help myself up the ladder. Sin is right behind me, but he keeps his body turned, watching my back as I scramble up into the loft.
I don’t see Crown or Grainger anymore, but I can hear shots being fired just below us.
Sin kicks the ladder down and then holds his position near the entrance to the hayloft, taking aim and firing several shots of his own as he trusts me to watch his back this time. I survey the loft, looking for any movement—friend or foe—but finding it empty. There’s another ladder to my left that I move over to, peering down at the melee below.
I’m surprised to see Grey and Alvise standing just below me. Crouching more like. It seems as if they’re trying to hide from the ruckus taking place in the rest of the barn. My eyes flick that direction, but I don’t actively see anyone except for hints here and there. Daybreakers and mafia men alike are using old farm equipment and rusted vehicles as cover, taking aim back and forth.
I turn back to the scene below me.
Grey is watching his father’s back like he’s preparing to put a knife through it. Actually, I think that’s exactly what he intends to do. He’s got one held in his hand, tightening his fingers on the hilt just before Alvise turns back to him.
Their eyes meet, and I can see in that moment that neither of them trusts the other.
Maybe Alvise hasn’t trusted Grey for a long time—just like Cat didn’t trust Gaz.
Without warning, Alvise lifts his gun up and then pistol-whips Grey in the face, hitting him directly in the right eye. Blood splatters and Grey lets out this sharp, surprised sound. I imagine that if Alvise wasn’t concerned about being heard or seen by the other people in the barn with him, he’d have just shot his son.
Instead, he hits Grey again, causing him to drop the knife in his grip. Again. Again.
Even though I know I shouldn’t do it, I can’t stand here and watch this.
I lift the Magnum with the intention of firing a single shot into Alvise’s hideous face when he turns his attention up to me, as if he knew I was there all along. He darts around the tarp-covered stack of crates on his right, disappearing from my view.
My eyes flick over to Grey but just for a minute, just to see if he’s still alive. There’s a huge pool of blood widening around his head, and he isn’t moving. Fear threatens to seize my muscles and paralyze me, but I push through it.
“Sin,” I hiss, drawing his attention back over to me. He makes his way across the loft as I slide down the ladder, ignoring the pain in my left palm as it skims down the old wood. Splinters are nothing right now; I care only about speed and quiet.
I don’t kneel down next to Grey or check to see if he’s still alive; there’s no time for that.
Sin moves up behind me, watching my six as I check around the side of the crate stack, looking for Alvise. I can’t quite shake the idea that maybe we really could end this today, cut the head off the enemy hydra so to speak. Maybe not literally this time, but still.
I continue around the crates, putting myself between the front wall of the barn and the stack. It’s not nearly as defensible a position with the entrance to our right. The smell of smoke has intensified to an almost unlivable level. I can barely fucking breathe.
The urge to cough is strong, but I choke the feeling back, glancing over at Sin.
He catches my meaning without my needing to say anything aloud and we swing back around the stack, pausing beside Grey’s comatose form. Shots are still being fired between the two sides, bullets whizzing along the length of the barn and pinging off rusted metal, burying themselves into old, decaying posts, or spearing through flesh and blood and bone.
I try not to focus on that part of the equation; I need to find Alvise. He can’t have gone far.
Sin encourages me to move away from the crates and beneath the platform of the hayloft. There are old, moldering stacks of hay bales here to provide cover, but not much protection. If someone decides to shoot blindly at these, they won’t do much to stop a bullet.
We continue on, moving along the length of the wall until I see Beast up ahead, crouched behind a massive tractor tire. He’s spotted us already, of course, but there’s a wide-open space between us and him that isn’t worth crossing just now.
The sound of splintering wood draw’s Sin’s attention around quickly. Someone’s just kicked their way through a rotten board on the wall behind us, and a man is stepping through. Sin takes a shot at him before I get the chance to, but even with the silencer on his weapon, there’s still plenty of noise to draw attention.
The man he hits gurgles loudly and stumbles back, cracking another board as he grasps desperately at it before collapsing. Hell breaks loose then. A series of shots are fired our way and, as I predicted, the rotting hay bales do little in the way of offering protection.
Sin shoves me down and I stumble, hitting the ground hard but flat. He crouches, too, his attention lifting as a man appears around the edge of the hay bale stack. They’re far too close together for either of them to take a proper shot, so Sin throws himself at the man’s legs, knocking him down instead. He brings his weapon up so quickly that it becomes a blur, firing into the man’s chest twice.
That’s the last thing I see before this horrible creaking sound comes from above. I curse as a hot spark falls and burns straight through the leather of my pants, searing my calf as I let out a hiss of pain. When I look up, it’s like staring into a nightmare.
Flames are dancing right above me that I swear to God weren’t there five minutes ago.
The old barn groans dramatically, and the platform above us tilts to the side. I’m barely able to scramble out of the way as it crashes int
o the dirt in a sea of sparks and flame, cutting me off from both Sin and Beast.
It’s fallen at an angle, too, effectively trapping me on this side unless I’m willing to run clear around it in the open space in the center of the barn. Shit, fuck, damn it. I shove up to my feet, ignoring the burn in my leg and the acrid reek of the smoke. It’s coming in thick, charcoal gray plumes now, embers drifting down around me like bright orange raindrops.
Pretty sure the fucking roof is on fire.
I’m almost blind here now with all of that smoke, and so I end up running straight into someone else’s back. The lack of leather is a dead giveaway that this isn’t a Daybreaker. Or maybe it’s just instinct that tells me to lift my weapon.
I do, but it’s too late. The person I’ve just run into slams their hand beneath my outstretched arms, spins and then nails me right in the stomach with an elbow. I grunt, the air knocked out of me, and then I stumble back. I’m proud of myself for keeping both my feet and my weapon, but I can hardly see.
Rather than to try to fight my attacker in the thick of the smoke, I start to run, the air clearing dramatically with each step that I take. Unfortunately, it’s still too hazy for me to see much at all, and I end up tripping on Grey’s body, stumbling to the ground and knocking my elbow so hard against the exterior wall that I see stars.
I’m still registering what just happened when a foot comes down hard on my wrist, loosing the gun from my fingers. A knee slams me directly in the face, and I taste blood. Whoever it is that’s attacking me grabs me by the hair and yanks me away from the wall and my lost weapon, dragging me through the dirt.
“You little bitch,” the voice hisses as I’m thrown against the wall of crates, knocking several of them down around me. I throw my arms up to protect my head, but even though the crates are empty, it hurts when the wooden corners stab into my arms, cutting and bruising me as they tumble around, trapping me in the center of the mess. I look up to see Alvise stalking toward me. He’s missing his gun, and his suit is torn wide. He’s bleeding, too, but he’s obviously more than capable of kicking my ass.
Get up, Gidge! I throw myself forward and hit him in the knees, knocking him back a few steps but failing to put him on the ground with me. I push back to a crouching position and throw a hard punch right at his balls. I manage to hit him in the crotch, but although he snarls in pain, he doesn’t stop moving.
He lifts up his foot and kicks me as hard as he can, sending me sprawling. Even though my body is screaming in pain, I’m used to it at this point. Been here, done this before. I shove up to all fours, crawling quickly across the ground and snatching a loose piece of wood that broke off the side of a crate.
I turn just in time to slam the wooden board into Alvise’s midsection. That buys me enough time to get to my feet but not enough to reach for my second pistol. The asshole is on me that quickly, grabbing onto the wooden board and yanking on it so hard that he drags me forward with it and we end up slamming together.
I’m coughing like crazy now; it’s so goddamn hard to breathe. It’s thick and hot and cloying, and all I want to do now is find my men and get out of here. I still have no idea if Grey is alive or not, but I’m not sure that I’ll have the luxury of rescuing him this time.
My skull flares with pain as Alvise knocks his forehead into mine, wrenching the wooden board away from me so hard that my hands are torn apart by the splinters. He swings it at me and manages to nail me right in the stomach.
The air rushes out of me as I double over, chills skittering across my skin despite the heat. No! No, no, no. Alvise hits me again and I stumble, stars dancing in my eyes as I gag and choke on the dark plumes of smoke, my eyes watering with the pain, with the grit of the smoke. He kicks me then, his foot nailing me hard in the stomach.
A groan escapes me as I curl up involuntarily, clutching my arm over my belly.
“Whispers on the wind say that you’re pregnant. Congratulations, by the way.” Alvise tosses the board aside and bends down, digging under my jacket for my spare pistol. I snatch Queenie’s knife from my boot and flick the blade out with a scream. I no longer care if we’re quiet, if we draw attention to us. I want that. I want my men to find me.
The blade sinks into Alvise’s shoulder, but he snatches my wrist too quickly for me to yank it back out. He shoves my arm back as I scrabble with my left hand, trying to get to the gun before he gets hold of it.
I manage to yank it from the holster as he pulls the blade from his shoulder and then proceeds to stab me with it. The knife glances off the bone in my arm as I grit my teeth in rage. I’m certain in that moment that I was right with my metaphors: I’m a grizzly bear.
And you know what happens when you approach a bear’s cub?
You get fucked-up.
I might lose this pregnancy, I tell myself, but I can’t worry about that right now. Instead, I swing the weapon in Alvise’s direction, pulling the trigger and hitting him in the same place where I sunk my knife. My aim is off because my arm is trembling. I’m aware that I’m bleeding, but I can’t feel it right now. The shock and adrenaline hide the reality of the injury from me as I attempt a second shot.
A small section of the roof breaks off, falling in a mess of flames. It smashes into the ground between me and the Don of the Grey Wolfe Mafia, disrupting our fight for the time being. I use the opportunity to get to my feet, my stomach cramping as my chest seizes and I cough so violently that I almost drop the pistol.
The man is maniacal. He appears out of the smoke and tackles me before I can shoot him again. We wrestle for control of the gun, and it ends up tumbling to the ground. He snatches it before I can get to it, jerking away from me and stumbling to his feet.
“Biker bitch,” Alvise snarls, his eyepatch blocking his right eye from me while the left one gleams with an endless storm of rage. He lifts up the gun as my mind frantically searches for a way out of this.
A figure appears out of the smoke behind Alvise. It takes me a second to realize who it is, my eyes widening as I see Grey. His face is a mess of blood, and I’m not even sure what the fuck happened to his eye, but he’s alive.
Before his father can fire the weapon, Grey is drawing a blade along the pale line of Alvise’s throat. His skin splits like a second smile, blood blooming prettily along the sharp slice until it begins to spurt. Red sprays into the air as the man chokes and stumbles, careening to the side and tripping over the pile of downed crates while Grey sags to his knees on the floor.
I force myself to crawl over to him, reaching out to grab his shoulders.
“Grey!” I shout, but he isn’t particularly coherent, lilting to one side as I struggle to keep him upright. Even though I’m hurting, and I can’t breathe, and I’m bleeding like crazy, I make myself stand up. With a scream of frustration, I haul my friend up and into my arms, his legs dangling on the ground in front of me. I’m not even sure how I’m managing this. Call it adrenaline. Call it love. I don’t fucking know.
I drag Grey across the floor in the direction of the barn’s entrance. Or … at least what I think is the entrance. I’m so disoriented that I wonder after a minute if I’m going the wrong way. I pause, hefting the limp body as I look around.
I can’t see shit.
I have no idea where I am. My eyes scan the room before I realize that I have a radio attached to my belt. I drop Grey rather unceremoniously to the ground and then reach down to grab it, lifting it up and tuning into the frequency that DBD uses.
“Gidget!” I hear my voice straight off and relief spikes through me, making my tired body sag prematurely.
“I’m … in the barn,” I choke out, my voice a weak, fluttering thing, as small and insignificant as a sparrow’s heartbeat. I find myself suddenly on my knees beside Grey with no memory as to how I got there. They’ll come for me, I tell myself. I’m not worried. I’m not.
“We’re on our way,” the voice snaps back. I have no idea which one of my men it is. I’m too disoriented. All I know is t
hat it’s one of them for sure. I can feel the truth of that in every beat of my heart. I wrap my arms over my belly as the world tilts and spins around me. So tired. It’d be so easy to lay down beside Grey and fall asleep.
I keep myself low to the ground, trying my best to breathe through the smoke as pieces of the flaming roof crash down around me. It’s probably a good thing, right? Letting in all that fresh air … Or not. Maybe it’s just fanning the flames? I have no idea.
I’m not in my right mind.
A man materializes out of the haze, and I choke back a sound of relief. I’m sure for a moment that it’s Beast.
Only … it’s not.
It’s Cat.
It’s fucking Cat.
He moves forward confidently, his gun held by his side. Did he hear me on the radio and come for me? Did my daddy come for me?
I hate that thought even as I swallow back a choked sound of relief.
Cat walks right up to Grey and lifts his gun on the comatose boy. I might be fading at the edges, but I’m at least coherent enough to recognize that I can’t let this happen.
“No!” I shout, throwing myself over Grey’s body. “Leave him, Cat. Leave him and take me out of here.”
“Girl, move,” Cat snarls, reaching out to grab my arm. His fingers smear in the blood that’s draining out around the slice in Beast’s leather jacket, and he pauses. But only for a second. Cat yanks me up and into the circle of his right arm. He’s strong enough to hold me there and still take aim at Grey.
I throw myself at his arm, and his shot goes wide. Cat curses at me, but before he can right me and try again, another figure appears from the smoke. A tall, slender figure that I definitely don’t recognize.
It’s Ivan Wolfe, the mafia’s underboss. Cat stiffens up with me still clinging to him.
They’re both holding guns, and they’re both there with people they really don’t want to lose. The roof creaks and groans again. I look up and wonder if it isn’t going to collapse completely, kill all four of us in one go.
Ivan looks at Cat, his gun still held in his right hand, and he bends down, hefting Grey over one shoulder with a surprising amount of strength.
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