Riding The Edge (KTS Book 1)

by Elise Faber

  The location—in the middle of her abdomen—was shit and there wasn’t an exit wound—which meant the bullet was still lodged in there and could be causing even more damage. Paired with the knife wound, the broken ankle . . .

  Not. Good.

  I tore the packet of clotting agent open with my teeth. “Ready?”

  She inclined her head. “Go.”

  I poured on the powder, her hiss of pain singeing through me as it bubbled and began working on her skin. Working quickly, I wrapped the bandage around her torso, pushing firmly to keep the pressure in place then tying it off as tightly as I dared, all while trying to ignore the way a cry emerged from her throat, the yelp escaping from between her tightly pressed lips. But fuck, hearing that sliced me to the quick.

  “Here,” I said once I’d finished. I handed her two guns, shoved another two into the waistband of my pants, one in the front where she could reach easily, one in the back that would be more difficult for her but would allow me to grab it with a single hand as necessary. “Ready?”

  She started to push up, and I bent, picking her up into my arms as carefully as possible.

  More pained sounds. A grunt that was quickly stifled.

  “I can walk,” she said.

  No, she couldn’t. We both knew that, but I didn’t waste time arguing. Instead, I held her closer. “You’re the better shot,” I reminded her. “And you know this place. Be my eyes and my guide. I’ll be the brute strength.” Forcing my lips up, I added, “You know that’s all I’m good for anyway.”

  “Hard-headed?”

  “Hard something.”

  She snorted then winced.

  And I felt like an even bigger asshole.

  “I wouldn’t be so quick to be an avenging angel to that one,” came a cold voice.

  Frankie was awake. Great.

  “She’s a Toscalo through and through,” he said. “And she enjoyed proving it when she turned on her friends, betrayed anyone who ever took care of her. Look at me. I was—”

  Ava shot him between the eyes.

  Blood bloomed on his forehead; his body collapsed back onto the floor.

  Her brown eyes were ringed with pain when they met mine. “I’m not that.”

  I didn’t bother wasting any grief for the man. Frankie was a fucking bastard, and the world was a better place without him. I just turned for the door.

  Maybe that made me a bad person.

  Maybe I should feel a blip of guilt or concern that she’d executed him without preamble.

  But I’d seen too much of Frankie’s deeds, knew too much of what would become his legacy to judge her for that. And I’d seen too many powerful, violent men hurt and manipulate and torment everyone around them without ever paying the consequences to think anything but good riddance, this man was gone.

  Especially when her voice shook as she said, “I’m not him. I never will be.”

  “No, you won’t,” I told her.

  By then, I’d reached the door. I shifted her, reached for the handle, and asked for a third time, “Ready?”

  Her eyes slid closed then opened back up, the pain hidden, determination written in every line of her face.

  “Let’s go.”

  Twenty-Two

  Southern Italy

  Unknown hrs local time

  Ava

  My head was getting fuzzy, pain was making my reflexes slow.

  My vision was blurry unless I closed one eye, and if I did that, I couldn’t very well be Dan’s eyes if I was only using one, could I?

  But I didn’t have time to worry about it, not when I had to focus.

  “Go to the end of the corridor and turn right.”

  A nod as he picked up the pace.

  We made it out of the room without seeing any guards and began winding our way to the surface, so I was trying not to focus on how the jarring from Dan running sent bolts of agony shooting through me every step of the way. The rumbling was continuing, stopping and starting at regular intervals, and that gave me hope it was Laila and the rest of KTS coming to say them with guns blazing.

  Because if it wasn’t, if it was some other criminal organization attacking my father’s compound and we suddenly needed to outrun two enemies, I knew we wouldn’t make it.

  I wouldn’t make it.

  I would slow Dan down.

  As it was—

  “Down!” I hissed.

  Dan didn’t hesitate, just dropped into a crouch.

  I squinted, fired off two rounds, and one of my cousins hit the ground.

  Family and blood and bullets and death. How many Toscalos would I be responsible for eliminating that day? And how many had been like me? Were innocent until they were pulled and coaxed and cajoled into a serious situation they couldn’t get out of.

  I’d managed to find a way to exit the family.

  But it had taken years, and my survival after leaving the family had largely been due to me stumbling onto a KTS agent.

  I’d helped Laila when she was injured, offering what little money I’d earned at my under-the-table waitressing job and letting Laila stay with me in my hidey hole until she’d been able to contact headquarters. Laila had brought me to KTS, offering protection. That protection had turned into self-defense training, and that training had transformed me into someone who was strong, who wouldn’t be taken advantage of again.

  And that training had brought alongside it a safe home and something that resembled a family.

  Even though I had been so damned careful to keep Laila out.

  My friend had gotten in anyway. Then Olive and Dan and Ryker.

  “Clear,” I murmured. “Take that right and then there should be a stairwell at the end. It leads upstairs.”

  We made it to the stairs and up the short flight.

  And then we were creeping through a dimly lit room. It was large and open, the only barrier between the windows showing the sea in the distance a narrow stretch of wall separating the dining area from the rest of the space.

  “I’m assuming you did me a favor, cousin?”

  I stiffened at the sound of the voice. “Sergio,” I murmured to Dan.

  Footsteps on the marble floor, several men I didn’t recognize coming out to flank my cousin, where he sat on a large cream couch.

  One of them stepped close, whispered in his ear.

  And I watched a sick smile spread on his lips.

  “Are you the reason your dear father has a bullet in his skull?”

  I swallowed, whispered. “Three exits. One back down in the dungeon, another through the kitchen via a servant’s door, the final one behind that couch there.”

  Dan nodded slightly.

  “I’m leaving,” I said. “You do with the family what you want.”

  I’d take Sergio out with KTS’s help another time.

  Today, I wanted to get the fuck out of here alive.

  Still in Dan’s arms, still feeling very much like a pathetic damsel in distress, I held tight as Dan shifted, moved toward the door I’d indicated with my head.”

  “Not so fast,” Sergio said casually. He glanced at his watch.

  Clicks surrounded us. Safeties disengaged in unison.

  Another rumbled shook the house. “Ah, right on time. Your pathetic little play army is trying to blast into the dungeons.” A nod. “Go take care of that.” Two men peeled off, pounding across the floor and slipping through the narrow door that led back into the dungeon. “Now,” his cold gaze fixed me in place. “Where were you? Ah”—he tapped a finger to his chin—“you were about to tell me all that KTS knows about the family.”

  “I’m not telling you anything.” I knew that much, even though my head was growing fuzzy.

  Sergio lifted a gun from his lap. “I think I can convince you.”

  “I’m getting really tired of guns being pointed at us,” I muttered.

  “Now, cousin.” Sergio casually lifted a shoulder. “Or I pull the trigger.”

  “Hang tight,” Dan whi
spered.

  He spun, and I held up my own gun, using the angle he gave me to get off several shots. But the poor light and the distance meant that I’d missed, Sergio diving to the side, firing rounds back at us, the rest of the goons following suit. Dan jumped behind a wall, hitting the deck just as more feet pounded into the room, as more bullets began to fill the air.

  Attempting to breathe through the jarring impact as we hit the tile floor, I knew I wasn’t going to last much longer.

  Not in a fight for our lives.

  I was a liability.

  “Go,” I said, gasping out a breath. “I’ll cover you.” I swallowed hard. “The servant’s door is down the hall. Go out the kitchen and take the path down to the beach. Follow it, and you’ll find the dock.” I lifted my gun, returned fire. “There are always boats there. Take one and get the fuck out of here.”

  “Ava.”

  I snagged the gun from the waistband of his pants, blinked against the plaster bursting into shards from the bullets hitting our faces. “Hurry, Dan.”

  “I’m not leaving you.”

  Already my fingers were having a hard time squeezing the trigger.

  “You need to go—”

  He gripped my chin, pressed his mouth to mine roughly. “I’m not leaving you. So, get that the fuck out of your mind right now.”

  “You have to!” I returned fired. “Dan. I can’t be the reason you don’t make it out of here. Think about your family. Your sister—”

  “Fuck that,” he snapped, grabbing me and shifting us down the wall as more bullets pinged repeatedly against the plaster. He grabbed a table, threw it on its side, and shoved me behind it. “We’re both getting out of here alive. So fucking suck it up, agent. Get your head out of your fucking ass and clear our path to that exit.”

  Someone peeked around the opening.

  Dan fired, and the man went down.

  “Now, Ava.”

  I scrambled to focus, to not keep arguing with the stubborn man. “We need to get across the opening behind us. From there, we’ll have a clear shot to the exit through the servants’ quarters. Right at the hall, a hundred meters down. The door is hidden behind a bookcase.”

  “Got it.” He rose, grabbed a mirror from the wall. “Ready with a shot?”

  Hobbling forward, following close behind him, I waited until we were in position, then hissed, “Go!”

  He leaned around the wall and slid the mirror across the tile, sending it right toward my cousin and his men.

  I leaned, too, then closed one eye, focused before firing off a shot, and . . . it shattered.

  Glass burst into the air, blinding the men momentarily.

  It was enough. Dan scooped me up and ran like the fucking devil was behind us. And maybe it was. Because this house, this fucking house of horrors—

  “Here,” I said.

  He skidded to a stop, shoved the bookcase open, then we slipped inside and came face to face with—

  His gun was out in an instant.

  “Wait,” I said, recognizing the woman, pushing Dan’s arm down. “I know her. She’s—”

  “Eva?” she whispered.

  My eyes drifted to her arm, to the arm, the hand that was no longer there. “Isa.”

  She stepped forward, touched my cheek with the other hand, and it was just like when I was a child, when she’d wipe my tears away. “You’re hurt, caro.”

  “Yes, I—”

  Voices echoed through the hall.

  We all looked to the door.

  “Go.” Isa spoke in rapid Italian. “Hurry. Through the garden. My car is parked behind the vines. Keys are under the seat.” She reached up and threw a lock that was installed on the inside of the door, just before it started rattling, men yelling through the wood. “Leave and don’t ever come back to this place.”

  “Isa, I’m so sorry,” I said. “I didn’t think about—”

  “This is not the time for that,” Isa said. “You need to leave.”

  “I didn’t mean to—”

  Warm fingers over mine. “I know, caro,” she murmured. “I forgive you. I’ve always forgiven you. And as much as I want you to tell me all about your life these last years, you need to go.”

  “Come with us,” Dan said.

  “No,” Isa said. “I can’t. Now go, Eva.”

  “Isa,” I whispered.

  Fingers on my cheek. “I know,” she said softly. “Now go. Do good. Be happy.”

  Dan waited for her to step back. “You sure you won’t come.”

  Isa nodded.

  And he didn’t ask again, didn’t wait any longer, just hustled down the stairs, following my whispered instructions. And it was getting harder and harder for me to even whisper them. Blood dripped down my side, soaked into my pants. My ankle hurt more with every bump, until it threatened to swallow me whole.

  I dropped one of the guns, unable to hold onto it any longer, focused on holding tightly to the other, on trying to remember how many shots there were left in it.

  There couldn’t be many, not after the twisting halls and the shooting in the family room.

  Was it three?

  Maybe two?

  “Which way?”

  I blinked, realized we’d emerged into a kitchen. “Straight out. Brick fence. Right. Follow it until the gate.”

  We were out into the sunshine a few seconds later, sprinting through the trees, and then I found myself on the ground, surrounded by a cluster of comically cheerful wildflowers.

  Dan backed up and threw his shoulder at the wooden gate.

  It groaned but didn’t give way.

  Not for three more painful, jarring hits.

  Then it burst outward, and I was in his arms again, and we were running.

  A yell sounded behind us, more gunshots, and I knew we weren’t going to make it.

  There were too many of them. I was slowing him down.

  We would never make it to the car, and even if we somehow did, we wouldn’t make it out of the compound.

  Dan just needed to leave me. This wasn’t some martyr bullshit. I didn’t want to stay here, but fuck, I also couldn’t be the reason he didn’t make it out alive.

  I opened my mouth, started to speak. “You need to—”

  And the world exploded around us.

  Twenty-Three

  Southern Italy

  Unknown hrs local time

  Dan

  It was too fucking early in the evening for bloodshed.

  But evil didn’t always wait for a convenient hour.

  “You need to—”

  Ava didn’t get to finish her order for me to leave her—not that I would have done it—because an explosion rent the air.

  I dove toward the wall, trying to take the brunt of the fall, before rolling us and protecting her body with mine. My ears rang, cuts littered my bare skin, and I knew the constant jarring couldn’t possibly be good for her injuries.

  When the noise stopped, I started to lift her into my arms.

  But then my nape prickled. I released her, spun with my gun extended, and . . .

  Breathed a long sigh of relief.

  “Fucking hell,” I said, staring at Ryker and Laila. “Took you guys long enough.”

  “Maybe next time don’t leave your tracker someplace you’re not.”

  We didn’t have enough time to get into the details, so I simply turned back to Ava, saw she was on her feet, gun in hand, balance teetering.

  Her chin came up, and she hobbled forward. “Let’s go.”

  And then she collapsed.

  I was already moving, caught her before she hit the ground. “Let’s go,” I said, repeating her sentiment.

  Laila nodded. “Car’s this way.”

  The car turned out to be an armored vehicle, the engine idling, with Olive behind the wheel. When she saw us coming, she got out, helped me get Ava into the backseat. Doors slammed, Ryker started driving, and Laila got on her phone, calling into headquarters.

  But I w
asn’t paying attention to that.

  My gaze was on Ava.

  On Olive and her somber expression.

  On the growing pile of blood-soaked bandages filling the floor of the vehicle as we drove.

  Ava was so, so pale.

  There was so much blood on her skin, on the seat, on her clothing, on the dressings.

  And clearly not enough in her.

  The days that followed were some of the worst of my life.

  Ava was a woman who could go very still, waiting for hours to get the perfect shot. But even when she was motionless, there was still so much life in her, prickling beneath the surface.

  Now . . . she was quiet.

  No spark.

  No life.

  Just a slender, pale woman hooked up to too many machines.

  And she slept on. Never rising from unconsciousness as the hours passed—not as Ryker drove like the hounds of hell were behind us as Laila directed him to a KTS safe clinic, not as Ava was stabilized and wheeled aboard a KTS plane, not as she arrived at KTS headquarters and was brought directly to the clinic where Olive watched over her until Laila had pulled the doctor away.

  Olive had been dead on her feet, nearly unconscious herself as she watched every monitor, checked every stitch and bandage, ran herself ragged with every change in blood pressure and pulse.

  It wasn’t until Laila pointed out that her fatigue might risk Ava’s recovery that Olive had finally left the room.

  And I had stayed.

  Maybe from the outside nothing between me and Ava had changed.

  We were still teammates, still agents who sometimes put our lives on the line, who were occasionally seriously injured in the line of fire.

  Maybe people would think a handful of kisses and some conversations didn’t change anything.

  But it was more than just kisses and words.

  It was whispered memories in a dark cell, a bond forming when shit got scary. It was her being so willing to sacrifice herself when she’d kicked ass to get me out of the warehouse safely several weeks before. It was pain in her clear brown eyes after she’d taken the shot to kill her father. It was a sliver of light in a claustrophobic space, a glimpse of a life that hadn’t broken her but would have shattered so many other people before.