The Deadliest Sin Series Complete Collection, page 101
Or whatever the hell his name is—the one not fucking my sister.
Blood splatter mars the side of Kat's pale face; though, it's impossible to tell whose blood it is from my vantage point.
I hope it’s hers.
That woman has caused Valerian and me nothing but trouble since the minute she set foot in this city as Kat. Our tentative truce with Michael had paved the way for us to make big moves, then she shot him in the fucking head and ended any potential future we might have had with the Albanians as allies. Kat firmly cemented where we stood after she lied to my face and told me she had no intention of interfering with my business and then hit my gun shipment in the same fucking breath on the same night she hit Valerian.
But where is Rowan?
I drop slightly and lean down to try to scan under the pews on that side of the church, but the continued fusillade of bullets from the rear of the church prevents me from moving any more.
Who the fuck is back there?
None of the families would be stupid enough to fire on all of us in a church, putting themselves in danger. I guess, in this moment, it doesn’t really matter who it is. Blood continues to ooze between my fingers and over my gun, where I press my hand against my wound. The real concern here is getting the fuck out.
“There has to be a side door to this place,” I call out loudly enough for Valerian to hear over the shots, hoping he might know the layout of the place, but he doesn’t respond.
Fuck.
Sliding down farther, I peek down to look under the pew and make sure he's not passed out or dead on the fucking floor…but he isn't there.
“Shit.”
Apparently, it’s every man—or woman—for himself when you’re stuck in a damn firefight.
I glance behind me toward the dark outer walls of the church. There has to be another door out of this fucking place, and there’s no way I can go out the way I came in. Despite leaking like a damn sieve, I don’t have any choice but to move and keep moving until I can get the fuck out.
Inching backward in a squat, I fire off a few more rounds over the top of the pew, conscious of the fact that I only have a few left in this magazine and only one spare magazine. The opposing gunfire continues to rip through the place of worship—pinging off the marble and shattering wood pews like they're made of fucking toothpicks.
Whoever's pumping this kind of lead into us means business. You don’t pull out automatic weapons unless you intend to cause serious carnage without care. And they’ve done exactly that, from what I can tell.
I grit my teeth against the agony in my arm and make it to the end of the pew closest to the outer side of the church. Three feet separate me from the marble wall. One of the Stations of the Cross hangs directly in front of me.
Jesus is condemned to death…
Flashes of my childhood in the church back home in Ireland flit through my head. Memories full of joy and happiness before it all went to hell.
Hopefully, it’s not an omen of my future.
Though it's darker along the outer edges of the church than under the center where the lights are on, if I stand, whoever is shooting will definitely see me. But I’m out of options. I have to make a break for it, or I’ll die here just waiting for them to advance down the aisle.
Fuck!
I clench my jaw and try to peek over the other side of the pew toward the altar, the last place I saw Rowan and Felipe. The last twenty years of my life were consumed with trying to find her, and now that I have, this isn’t the way I’m going to lose her.
A bullet whizzes past my face, close enough to make me tumble backward onto the marble floor.
Fuck.
If they’re alive, they’re down on the floor or hiding behind something like the rest of us. There isn’t any way I’ll get to them, but I can take some minor comfort in knowing Felipe will take care of her. He didn't shoot up my entire fucking place and take her out of there to let her die like this.
I have to believe that.
Shifting to get my feet under me, my back pressed to the pew behind me, I grimace at the pain burning through my arm and the trail of blood I've left down the once-white marble.
There isn’t any time to worry about anyone else. I need to get the fuck out of here if I want to survive this. Then I’ll deal with the fallout.
I push to my feet and fire behind me as I race toward the wall, keeping my back to it. Four men in all black fatigues stand at the rear of the church, unleashing a hailstorm of bullets from AK-74s, the empty casings falling to the marble floor faster than water from a faucet.
But I don't have any time to try to analyze who the fuck they are or why they're doing this. Only one thing takes precedent now.
Running.
I move as fast as I can, shooting back. Another bullet slams into my left shoulder, knocking me forward and off my feet. I slam against the unyielding stone, and my gun tumbles from my hand and slides across the floor in front of me.
Fuck!
Pain sears through my arm and upper body, but I grit my teeth, push back to my feet and run, scooping up my gun on the way. I fire off the last three bullets and finally hit a hallway that leads back from the main church.
Though empty, drops of blood shine on the marble floor. Someone else came this way and hopefully found a fucking way out that I can use.
Reloading my gun, I follow the trail like Hansel and Gretel, hoping it will lead me to escape instead of to some vile witch’s lair or to someone who can finally succeed in what those firing at the back of the church came here to achieve.
Total and utter destruction of the five Chicago families.
GALEN
The road in front of me shifts in and out of focus. Dark pavement and white lines fade into moments of gray and then total blackness.
I force my eyes open every time they drift closed. If I let myself succumb to the desire for sleep, I'll never make it. Of that, I am totally confident.
This isn’t the first time I’ve been shot—and it likely won’t be the last, as long as I survive this one. Which is still very much not a given. I've lost too much blood. Even with my belt cinched tightly around my arm as a tourniquet, the warm trickle down to my fingers continues relentlessly.
Fuck! I hope Luke was able to get a hold of Doc.
I would have gone straight to his place, but I won't be able to make it across town. Not like this. As it is, I'm barely going to make it back to Bottom O’ the Well.
If it were any farther from the church, I’d likely pass out on the side of the damn road. Even being this close, I still might.
I turn onto the familiar street and release a breath of relief when the bar comes into view. After all these years, I never thought I'd be so happy to see such a shithole, but for better or worse, it's home. Even after Felipe came in and shot up the fucking place, there isn't anywhere else I'd rather be right now.
The future…that’s another story. But my big plans will have to be put on hold until I deal with the current crimson situation.
I turn into the lot and pull behind the bar. Even the simple act of shutting off the car and reaching for the handle with my good arm makes me wince and the world whirl around me.
This is bad craic. Really fucking bad craic.I stagger from the car and kick the door closed behind me, gripping the front of the hood with my good hand to steady myself. My head spins, the world around me disintegrates into a dull gray, but I shake it off and continue to the back entrance of the bar to yank it open. At least Luke followed my instructions to leave it unlocked for me after I called.
When I left the church, I had to warn him. I had to make sure he knew someone may be coming for us, and I needed him to get Doc and have him ready and waiting for me.
Another wave of dizziness hits me, and I squeeze my eyes closed and push forward down the short hallway and into my office, letting the outer door slam closed behind me.
Luke appears almost instantly, just as I collapse into my chair. “Sir?”
My eyes drift shut. “Did you get Doc here?”
“I can't reach him, sir. I've tried every number we have.”
Forcing my eyes open again, I lock a hard gaze on him. “Then fucking go get him.” I grit out the words through a wave of dizziness that threatens to make me pass out completely. “Now!”
He flinches. “Sir, I already sent Shane and Colin over there, and they say the place is deserted. Doc isn't there.”
“What about his house?”
“He isn't there, either.”
“Fuck.” It isn’t like Doc not to be reachable.
“Maybe he's out of town?”
“How the fuck would I know?” I press my hand against the wound on my arm harder, even though it seems like a lost cause. Blood continues to leak through my fingers and trickle down my back from the shoulder shot.
“Is there someone else I can call?”
“Who the fuck else would you call?” I practically roar at him, the agony starting to make my stomach turn. “Doc is always the one. He’s the only one we can trust to patch us up.”
“But, sir…” Luke swallows thickly and takes a step forward. “You don't look so good.”
“You think I don’t fucking know that? Try to think of any other alternatives.”
While Doc may be trained for surgery on animals, he gets the job done on humans just fine when needed, like he did for Nessa…Rowan. He’s the reason she survived after I made such a horrible mistake. Him and one other person…
“I know who to get.”
Luke raises an eyebrow. “Who?”
“The girl.”
“What girl?”
I squeeze my eyes closed and try to remember. “I can't think of her name…the new bartender.”
He shakes his head. “The blonde? I never met her. I was already out taking care of our situation when she arrived.”
Our situation…
If my best men hadn't already been dealing with other things, Felipe never would have made it in here so far. Never would have gotten to Nessa and gotten her out of here. It could have changed everything, but I didn't have much of a choice but to face Felipe with younger, less experienced guys. A decision that proved deadly for them and costly for me.
Luke moves farther into my office and stops just in front of my desk.
The girl witnessed a lot that night. A lot that could cause all sorts of problems for us. But she was gone by the time Felipe left with Nessa, likely fled when he came in shooting. “Have we heard anything from her since then?”
He shakes his head. “No. We had intended to get in contact with her to make sure she understood her obligation with regard to what she saw, but then, we were busy cleaning up what Felipe did and handling our other situation. Then you got the invitation from him to the meeting…”
Fuck!
I was so caught up with Felipe taking Nessa that I somehow overlooked the fact that a brand-new employee I didn't even know witnessed a whole lot of bad shit. “Find her. Bring her here.”
He raises a dark brow again. “The blonde, sir?”
“She has medical training. Get her here now.”
“What if she doesn't want to come?”
“I don't give a fuck if you have to drag her out of her place kicking and screaming. Get her here.”
“Yes, sir.” He slowly takes a step back.
“Now! It seems you're not quite understanding the gravity of the situation here.” I motion to my arm. “I've lost a lot of fucking blood.”
“Yes, sir. Shane is on his way back from Doc’s now with Colin. She left her purse downstairs the other night, so I'll get her address and send them over there. Right away.”
I grit my teeth and lean back against the chair with my eyes closed. “Good.”
“Sir?”
“What?”
“You might want to stay awake.”
I drag my eyes open to glare at him. “I'm trying. You might want to try to get her here sooner rather than later.”
“I’m going, sir. I’ve never seen you so pale.”
Just fucking great.
I'm going to die in here.
Alone.
Shot up.
After I've finally made a move that will help secure my place in Chicago and ensure the future of the family, all hell breaks loose. All because of the fucking Colombians. That fucking cartel is going to be the death of me—maybe literally.
“Fuck.” I grit out the word and try to keep my eyes open, but this time, they don't respond, and I sink back into that familiar darkness that's been beckoning me ever since I fled the church.
Fuck.
NICKI
I pop the cap off another beer and take a long pull of the cold, hoppy liquid. Two didn't do the trick, but maybe three will. Maybe, just maybe, it will be enough to wash away the memory of what happened to all those men in that bar.
Flashes of that night flood my vision, just like they have every moment since I ran out of there.
The ringing sound of the shots. Blood all over the bar after that man came through the door and just started the carnage.
I should have left the second I came downstairs from talking with Rowan that night. I should have grabbed my purse and fucking ran as fast as my feet would carry me, but that man didn't even give me time to do that. I barely had time to take a breath before he showed up, firing. And I have no doubt that when he made it upstairs, he did the same thing there. The other men were merely obstacles as he fired indiscriminately, taking out everyone in his path. Except me.
Why did he let me go?
It doesn't make any sense. I saw him. I saw him kill the men in the bar area. I was a witness.
Why did he let me live when he killed everyone else?
The same question has been rattling around my head endlessly.
But it doesn't matter why, just that I'm breathing. That’s what I’ve been telling myself for days while I’ve stayed locked in here in the apartment, trying to wrap my head around that day.
Around everything.
I inhale deeply and let it out slowly, hoping to calm my thundering heart, but it races and skips a beat every time I think about what happened.
You can't go back, Nicki. You. Can’t. Go. Back.
I've been repeating those words to myself since the moment I realized I left my purse under the bar, tucked away and hidden, with my cell phone, my ID, my cash and credit cards—everything important. All the things I need.
Hours and hours, I’ve paced this small apartment, considering the conflicting realities, battling with myself over what I have to do and the fact that no options are good ones.
I need what’s in my purse. I need to go back and get it at some point. They probably don't even know it's there. Showing up would mean putting myself directly in the line of fire for Galen. After all, I know he shot Rowan and then I witnessed a massacre on his property. While Galen hasn’t sent anyone for me yet, that doesn’t mean he won’t. That man who came in could have killed him, for all I know, or he’s just been too busy to come to find me and deal with what I saw. But walking in there would give him—or his men—the opportunity.
Fuck.
I take another long drink of my beer and plop down onto my couch to find something mindless on television to try to keep my brain occupied with anything other than this.
“They found the body buried down three feet in the backyard…”
“Oh, hell no.”
I grab the remote and flip the channel until I land on a cheesy romantic comedy. I'd rather be depressed about my love life, or lack thereof, than be reminded of all the violence I just witnessed by watching the true crime shows I used to enjoy.
Sagging back into the cushions, I take another swig of my beer, willing my body to relax.
You made it out. You're alive. You're okay—for the time being.
But I still need a job. I'll never be able to stay in Chicago unless I find one fast, which means I have to get over my constantly shaking hands and legs and get my shit together so I can start applying and going to interviews. Otherwise, I'm going to have to move back home, and that's the last thing I want to do.
That’s a problem that can wait until tomorrow, though. Tonight, it’s beer and romcoms.
Not gunshots and blood…
I finally manage to get my heartrate under control and melt into the cushions, losing myself in the antics of the crazy suitor in the movie.
It’s the first time I’ve felt relaxed in what feels like days—the alcohol and the cheesy film having the desired effect. My eyes start to drift closed, but the apartment door bursts inward with a massive crash, ripping the lock right out of the apparently useless wood frame.
I jerk back. “What the fuck?”
Two big men enter, their hard eyes scanning the room until they land on me. My beer tumbles from my hand, the glass shattering on the wood floor, and I scramble over the back of the couch, away from them.
But it's no use. There isn’t anywhere to go.
One of them advances around the couch, and strong hands wrap around my waist as a meaty hand clamps over my mouth. The smell of sweat and death clings to the palm. “You’re coming with us.”
I try to scream, but it’s muffled by the damp flesh against my lips. Everything I’ve ever been taught about self-defense races through my head. All the things I was told growing up about protecting myself if someone ever tried something like this.
Back then, people were worried about some creeper rolling through the neighborhood, snatching kids off the street, not big killer goons breaking into apartments. But either way, the truth rings the same in both situations.
Don’t let them take you!
I open my mouth as wide as his hold will allow, still kicking back at his shins, and bite down as hard as I can. He jerks away his hand immediately and curses, giving me the opportunity I need.
“Help! Someone, help!” My cries echo around the small, shitty apartment and out through the open door into the hallway.
Someone must have heard that.
But no help comes. No sounds of doors opening or rushed footsteps coming toward my apartment.
Nothing.
