From the crazed look in her eyes, I had no doubt someone had physically hurt Regina—hurt her bad. I recognized that bleak terror staring back at me. I’d seen that same look in the infirmary’s bathroom mirror after I was assaulted that first week in prison.
More gunshots pelted the already battered walls. It didn’t matter, because Regina had all my focus. I hovered close, but didn’t touch her. “Regi, it’s me. It’s Krew. Look at me, baby.”
Another shrill wail came out of her as she covered her head with her arms. And what she shouted next had me frozen. It was the last thing I expected Regina to say to me.
“Teke, stop!”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Decker
I scrambled to the bedroom I used to store my rifle and the rest of my gear. Once I gathered my nine mil, the ammo and two of my knives, I quickly crept down the stairs, keeping my body low.
I didn’t bother with a shirt or shoes and carefully avoided the windows. Judging by the bullet trajectories and the damage to the bathroom walls, I figured the hitman—or hitmen—were positioned somewhere eye-level to the second floor.
Which meant they weren’t experts. For one, they used too many bullets. And two, if they were real aces, their aim would’ve been true and Krew would be dead. That was how I would’ve done it. Quiet and clean.
I shuddered at the thought of losing Krew—or Regina, for that matter to a bullet.
When I found the asshole who’d shot Krew, putting a bullet between their eyes was going to give me great satisfaction.
As I reached the bottom of the stairs, I heard more gunshots going off.
I chanced a glance to the ceiling, and sent a silent plea. Please stay alive.
On the main floor, by the fireplace, I found more bullet holes. Jesus, it looked like the hitman had brought the big guns to the party. I’d fix that the second I located the bastard and killed the motherfucker.
Jesus. Merrick was going to have my balls for lunch when he found out what happened to his house. Hmm. Maybe I should tie up the hitman as a gift and leave him for Merrick to torture the asshole.
But I couldn’t worry about Merrick right now.
Since the damage was on the west side of the house, my only conclusion was that the assassin was somewhere on the west end of the property. A quick study of the holes, gave me a direct route to where the shooter was set up.
Avoiding the front entrance, I went out the back door where the storage shed hid my exit. I crouched behind the ten-by-ten shed and took a measure on which direction I needed to crawl. In order to get the shooter, I needed the element of surprise.
I studied the gun in my hand, and realized I couldn’t use it. Stealth was the name of the game.
Close combat, I thought to myself, before hiding the gun behind the shed and pulling out my knives.
I kept both K-bars in my hands and began to crawl through the overgrown field to where I suspected the shooter was. About half way across, more gunfire hit the house and a scream ripped through the air. I stilled as all the oxygen left my lungs, because I knew that scream. Regi.
I debated for all of two seconds when a slight movement ahead and to the right caught my attention. Bingo.
More bullets showered the upper floor of the house—hitting the exterior wall, turning the clapboard into Swiss cheese.
Wait until I get my hands on you.
Right as I started to move, a flash of metal caught my periphery to the left. Sunshine glinting off metal. I ducked, knowing there were two hitters in the game now. I wasn’t sure if they were working in tandem, or whoever killed first, but the sniper in front of me was closer, so he’d be the first to die.
I moved, slow and methodical, until I was ten yards from a pair of booted feet partially covered by underbrush. Closer. And closer, until I was six feet away. Then three.
I took a long silent breath, held it, then launched myself. I didn’t give the shooter time to turn or utter a single word. Before the hitman realized I was there, I’d already shoved my knife into his neck, then wrenched it upwards and freed the blade from muscle and bone. It was a quiet death. Too quick, though for my liking.
Then I released the air from my lungs and breathed in the faint metallic scent of his blood. I wiped the blade on the back of the dead bastard’s shirt, and grabbed a hold of the man’s hair and lifted his head so I could see the hitman’s face.
My stomach dropped as I stared down at… “Shit. Jay—man,” I uttered before I let go of his hair. And I thought… I guess there really were no honorable killers out there. I wanted to believe Jay when he said he wouldn’t come after me and mine.
I took a deep breath, and released the subtle annoyance. No matter. One down and one to go.
