Shit like this never happened when I worked for Big Man Vice. Jeremy’s brought the bar down a few notches if I’m thanking his men for showing shreds of decency.
I know we were all criminals—it’s not like we were good guys worth emulating—but we fought and killed other criminals back in my day. Decency meant keeping hardworking stiffs out of the equation, and Big Man Vice never targeted children. He was a church man and thought God wouldn’t forgive certain acts of violence, no matter how much you pleaded.
“They didn’t hurt you?” I ask.
Lacy shows me the crux of her arm. The red spot, illuminated poorly by the sole lamp, indicates where they drew blood. “He just left.”
As though talking about this thug brought him back, I hear movement in the hall. I stand, tense, and glance around. It’s a square room with counters lining two walls, but otherwise barren. No windows. Nothing in here to hide behind. Nothing in here to use as a silent weapon.
Except the lamp. It’s made of three metal rods attached to a thick metal base.
I motion for Lacy to give it to me, and she complies with my nonverbal command. Once it’s unplugged, the room goes black, but at least that adds the fun element of surprise.
The door opens. I step forward, not giving a shit about my limp, and the man in the doorframe takes a step back.
“The fuck’s going on here?” he asks, squinting.
I bash his face in with the base of the lamp. It’s dark, even in the hallway, but the wet crunch of teeth is distinct. He hits the floor and I stomp down on his nose, busting up what’s left of his mug. He lies motionless. He could be dead, but I doubt it. The scrape of glass draws my attention away from his body.
“Juan? The fuck?”
Another thug stands at the T intersection. He points his gun but doesn’t fire, his uncertain movements betraying his lack of sight. He steps forward, sure to see me at any moment, and my mind goes blank. What am I going to do? Gunfire will get us caught. It has to be my last resort.
More glass crunching.
Someone runs up behind the guy and gets him in a rear naked choke—one arm around pulled across the neck and restricting his airflow—while the second hand rips the gun away and throws it to the floor before aiding in the choke with a powerful torque. Despite my impaired visibility, the skill in the technique is clear as day. Two moves and the thug was disabled. The newcomer knows his stuff.
After twenty seconds, the thug collapses to the floor.
“Miles,” I mutter the moment I get a good look at him. I don’t think I’ve ever found the man quite so fucking attractive. He walked over and knocked that guy out without a second’s hesitation. It gets my blood going.
Miles jogs to me, the hallway a mild obstacle course of bodies at this point, and he grabs my shoulder. “Have you found them?”
I back up into the room. Lacy runs into her brother’s arms the moment he rounds the corner. The siblings share a tight embrace, and I turn away, not wanting to intrude on their moment.
“Miles, I knew you’d come,” Lacy says, practically breathless.
“Of course. Always.”
Shannon sits against the wall in the same position I saw her last. I shuffle over and motion for her to stand, though I doubt she sees.
“Get up,” I command. “We need to leave.”
She doesn’t move.
Fuck. Now isn’t the time for this.
I bend down and scoop her up into my arms, my shoulder burning in protest. I half stumble forward, and I almost go face-first into the wall, but I catch myself and keep her close. She struggles for a moment, like she doesn’t want to be taken from this place.
“I’m getting you out of here,” I growl.
I hear a stifled sob and then nothing. Shannon quiets herself and goes still. I walk with her back to Miles. She’s not heavy, but my body isn’t in perfect shape.
“Hurry,” Miles says, urgency in his tone and movements. He picks up Lacy and leads us out the way I came, to the front door. I’m slow, but I know where I’m going. When we reach the glass front doors, I get a good look outside. At least ten guys are there, prepping the semitruck. Miles backs up into me, keeping us on the border of the darkness and just out of sight.
“We need to go out the back,” he says.
I turn around and follow him through the medical building, avoiding the hallway we littered with unconscious goons.
We don’t have much time. The guy I hit and the guy Miles choked out will both wake up soon, I’m sure of it. When we reach the long hall to the back, Miles once again freezes. More guys are waiting at the back exit, at least six of them. They smoke and exchange small talk.
Miles turns around and pushes me down another hall.
I’m lost now. Miles is the one running things. I follow him as best I can.
We reach some sort of side door exit, and he throws it open without a second thought. We step outside—into a shadowed alleyway between the retirement home and the paramedic building—and I see the lights of cars at both ends. Lowlifes mill about the parking lot and the back area of the building, blocking both our exits. What’re we going to do now? We’re out in the open and carrying two little girls. It’s only a matter of time before we’re caught.
Miles rushes over to the retirement home. He stops in front of a side door and motions me with a jerk of his head. I walk over but step in front of the door, blocking the handle.
“What’re you doing?” I ask, incredulous. “We can’t go in there!”
“It’s our only option. The place is huge. We could hide, or find another way out.”
“No. There are more guys in here than the dispatch center.”
“What else are we going to do?”
Damn. This plan reeks of uncertainty. But there are goons everywhere. Lacy and Miles stare at me as though I need to ultimately decide. I curse under my breath and step out of the way. I guess we’re going into the retirement home.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
THE DOOR shuts behind us, cutting off all moonlight.
Darkness.
Shannon shudders against me and takes in ragged breaths. My shoulder burns, and I kneel to set her down, but she tightens her grip and refuses to let go.
“You’re okay,” I tell her, trying to be gentle. My gruff voice isn’t built for it.
“Nobody came for me,” she replies, her words so distant they could belong to a ghost. “Nobody….”
“What’re you talking about, girl? I’m right here. Miles and I came for you.”
“You came for Lacy! I’m not… not….” Shannon’s voice cracks, and she presses her face into my jacket. After another ragged breath, she continues, “Nobody…. They don’t want me. Nobody cares.”
Miles sets Lacy down. “We really don’t have time for this. I’m going to look around and—”
“Don’t go far,” I command. “We’ll end up shooting each other if you get out of sight. There are too many variables here.”
Through the gloom I can hear him exhale and run a hand across his neck. “Okay. I’ll stay close. But we need to hurry. I don’t want to get caught in a firefight.”
I don’t want Miles to leave. I don’t want him to get more than a few feet away, if possible. He’s my only real companion here—the one I trust—the one I’m most concerned with. Even separating to search the emergency dispatch center got me nervous.
But Miles walks a few feet around the retirement home, in the nearby area, and I strain my ears to make sure he’s nearby. This place is cold and dreary. The open echo of Miles’s steps tells me we’re in a large room, perhaps a cafeteria, and I wait for my one eye to adjust to the low lighting offered by distant windows.
“Shannon, let go,” I say.
She doesn’t respond, and she doesn’t move.
Lacy takes a step closer and places a hand on her shoulder. “I’m here.”
Still, Shannon says nothing.
There’s a small piece of me that wants to shake her an
d tell her that now isn’t the time for existential dread. We’ve all got problems, and we’ve all got shit to deal with on our own time.
Lacy grabs my arm. “Say something,” she pleads. “You knew about her mother.”
Goddammit. I didn’t make the choice to hide it from her.
Of course, I understand why she’s upset. Her mother is dead, her father isn’t going to be in her life anytime soon, and her grandmother keeps secrets from her. Who is she supposed to turn to? Who’s left?
“We weren’t going to leave without you,” I say. “You need to pull yourself up by your bootstraps and help us. Okay? When I was young, my father died, and my mother went to jail shortly after. I can take care of myself, right? Sometimes life kicks you in ass, but you’re strong enough to kick back. I know, because I did it. You can too.”
“Your father died?” Lacy asks, surprise in her tone. “And you don’t have your mother?”
“I’m fine. A little secret—sometimes you make your own family.”
Of course, what I don’t tell them is that I made a mob family my family. I went from not having a home to breaking skulls for living. Not really Hallmark movie material, but they don’t need to know the details, right? Hell if I know.
“I’m cold,” Shannon whispers.
Better than her staying silent. “I’ll give you my jacket.”
She lets go of me, and I stand in order to shuffle off my outer layer. I wrap it around her and zip up the front.
A door slams open. Everyone jumps, but it’s an echo of a far-off door somewhere in the retirement home. Miles rushes back to us and motions to the opposite end of the room.
“C’mon. We need to go.”
I follow Miles, and the two girls stay by my side, both of them with a grip on my shirt. We exit the large cafeteria and enter a nurse’s station. It’s long been abandoned. All that remains is the desk and metal filing cabinets. Miles takes us to the other end and cracks open the door.
“Boss! Boss!”
We all freeze. The front lobby hosts a crowd of people. There’s a commotion. I can taste the tension in the air, just from the bated breath and silence that follows the cries of boss.
“We’ve got a problem,” the same man continues, his voice a mixture of smoker and stoner. “Juan and Guerrero were cleanin’ up, when they were attacked.”
“Attacked?”
Jeremy’s voice. I’d bet my life on it.
“Dropped in the hall. Guerrero says there were multiples of ’em. I don’t know what they’re doin’, but they took two of the merchandise.”
“Someone specific?”
“Two little girls the cops brought in. Maybe they’re family. I dunno.”
“We shouldn’t be picking up anyone important,” Jeremy shouts. “None of these plebs should have any connection to anyone of significance!”
“They didn’t. They don’t. They’re runaways. Just some Asian and white trash. Cops said both had fathers that were in jail and—”
“An Asian?”
“Yeah. That’s what I said.”
I don’t even need to see the man to know he’s put one and two together. I nudge Miles and motion to enter the room. Change of plans. The lobby is huge, and there’s only light near the front door—we’re not leaving that way, which means there’s little option to get to the trucks. We can slip through the sidelines if we’re quiet, and we need to leave right now.
“Search the place,” Jeremy commands. “And open up windows. You never know when they’ll have something chemical.” He waits a moment. “Well? I said search the place! Not you two. You stay with me.”
The hired guns take off, scattering to cover the most amount of territory.
Miles shuffles into the lobby, keeping to the shadows, and I trail behind with the girls. They aren’t wearing any shoes, which gets me worried, considering the condition the building is in, but I don’t have anything to give them, and it’s not like I can carry them both.
Miles takes the first hallway he comes across, and we’re met with a flight of stairs. Gunmen swarm around the lobby behind us—I hear one enter the nurse’s station and head for the cafeteria—so it’s not like we have much choice, but I feel like an animal boxing itself into a corner.
Lacy, Shannon, and Miles take the stairs without difficulty. By the time I reach the second story, I’m running on fumes. Thankfully, or perhaps to my disadvantage, moonlight floods through the windows, illuminating the hallway before me. The place remains furnished, and I suspect it is all thirty-plus years old. Sheets cover everything, like the place is inhabited by furniture in ghost costumes.
I slink along the hall when I spot movement ahead. Miles ushers Lacy and Shannon into a room, keeping them ahead of him while he brings up the rear. Another silhouette emerges from the door across the hallway opposite Miles. The man creeps closer, his handgun at the ready, and I act on instinct. I pull my firearm and—fearing I’ll miss—unload the clip. I hit the man a handful of times, but the cacophony of shots is what worries me the most. He hits the floor with a wet thud.
Miles rushes over and offers his shoulder for support. He half carries me down the hall and shoves me into the room with Shannon and Lacy. Once inside, he blocks the door by knocking over a heavy filing cabinet and pushes us to keep going. The sound of men running up the stairs gets my heart rate up and my palms sweaty.
Shannon and Lacy run to another door at the far end of the room. They open it and rush forward, into a giant dining hall or lobby, I don’t truly know.
Miles returns to me and again offers his shoulder. I lean on it and tuck my gun away. Without bullets, it’s worthless.
“Thank you,” Miles says. “I didn’t even see the guy.”
“I got your back.”
He grips me tight. “I love you too.”
The statement catches me off guard. Is that what we’ve been saying to each other this entire time? Miles doesn’t hesitate, and he helps me enter the dining hall with little effort, his focus on the task at hand. Now isn’t the time to dwell, and I bury my thoughts, saving them for later.
The floor sags as Miles and I walk out onto it. We both stop, and I take a step back—the whole room is sunken down, like a crater. It’ll cave at any second.
Shannon and Lacy must not have noticed. They’re halfway across the massive room and weaving between cloth-covered tables.
“Find them!” I hear Jeremy yell, even from the floor below. “Absolutely no one leaves this building!”
Banging drowns out all other commands as men attempt to slam open the door Miles blocked. Shannon and Lacy wait at the far end of the room, their nervous restlessness apparent as they pace back and forth, motioning for us to hurry.
Run across the weak floor or take our time? I let go of Miles and urge him forward. “C’mon,” I say. “We both shouldn’t go at once. Get to your sister.”
He must know we don’t have time to bicker. He runs along the wall and jumps over a table in the process, deepening the floor with his landing, like the supports under the room have been removed. Chairs slide down the curve toward the center point. Miles reaches the girls in record time, but not before thugs break past his file cabinet barrier.
I wait at the door, my back pressed against the wall, and I trip the first one through. The second guy rounds the doorframe, and I punch him across the jaw. He staggers back, I grab him by the jacket, and then I throw him into the first, knocking them both down.
The floorboards snap but don’t outright break, and the room sinks another three inches. Everyone holds their breath—both gunmen wide-eyed with realization—and I attempt to back away, but my stiff leg isn’t capable of soft steps. Five more chairs slide into the center of the room, along with a table, and finally a metal shelf tips forward, crashing onto the crumbling floor with a tumultuous slam.
Everything happens in slow motion, like my mind lags from information overload. The floor gives out, I’m falling, and dust whooshes up from below, filling the air. Gl
ass shatters. Wood splinters. The groan of metal twisting against its will finishes the chorus of destruction. I’m on my back, blinking away the debris, when reality returns to its normal speed. Needles of wood puncture parts of my body, but I can’t feel a damn thing.
“Pierce!”
It takes me several seconds to gather my strength and roll onto my side.
Well, I think everyone knows where we are now.
To my surprise, Miles yanks me to my feet. Did he jump down after me? I stare up at him, squinting, and he smiles back, like he’s got the situation under control. I wish that were true, but there’s something to be said about confidence.
“Miles!” Lacy screams from the second story. “Pierce!”
“Keep going,” Miles commands. “To the stairs. We’ll meet outside.”
He doesn’t have time to give any more instructions—both men who attacked me rise from the broken floorboards covered in dust, debris, and blood. Miles whips out his handgun and fires, his aim on par with Rhett’s. After two shots, he’s done, but the loud bang of firearms continues. Jeremy’s men fire at us from a room over, and Miles pushes me behind a pile of wood and metal. I hit the floor on my stomach and lament the fact I have no bullets.
What am I going to do in this situation?
“Pierce!”
The shout belongs to Jeremy. He’s somewhere in the building, no doubt behind his myriad of goons.
“I know it’s you!” His anger borders on incoherent rage, and even some of his words seem slurred. “I’ll see you suffer for this! How dare you turn against me!”
The gunshots stop. Miles takes a deep breath, coughs, and then helps me to my feet again. The cloud of settling particles mixed with darkness makes everything a clusterfuck. Rays from flashlights attempt to pierce the quagmire, but they flail about with little effectiveness. Miles and I duck when a beam streaks by, however, just in case.
“Go,” Miles says. “The stairs are that way. You should get to the girls. I’ll be right behind you.”
“He wants me,” I say between stifled coughs. The building settles, creaking all around us, but I know the men are searching for sounds. It’s a deadly game of hide-and-seek at this point.
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