* * *
he hairs on my neck lift and my skin prickles and my gut tightens: danger. I've lived with danger for so much of my life that I've learned not to ignore this feeling.
I glance at Terra, and she's frowning back at me. I look at the main doors with a lift of my eyebrows. She shakes her head minutely and gives a return look at Emily and Tom.
I hear voices—I've always had sharp hearing, and I recognize the cadence and the tone, even if I can't make out the words.
More friends from my past.
Shit.
Before I can decide whether to go out and handle it or not, the decision is made for me. The doors burst open and slam against the walls. Six men in tracksuits amble in, guns out.
The priest stops mid-vow.
"The fuck is this shit?" Tom snaps. "Hey, fellas. Private wedding, here. Fuck off."
Tom has balls, I'll give him that.
Terra gives me a look, eyes flaring wide, meaningfully, like DO SOMETHING.
So, I do something.
Namely, draw my pilfered pistol and crack off three shots in rapid succession—BAM-BAM-BAM: knee, shoulder, gut. By the time they've realized I've got a gun, I'm across the conference room and engaging hand-to-hand.
A kick to a knee, an elbow to a throat, and an open-handed slap to an ear, a la RDJ in Sherlock Holmes: "discombobulate."
All six are down and moaning in a matter of thirty seconds. A little slow, since I'm out of practice, but at least they didn't get a shot off.
I glance at the priest. "Well? Get to the ‘I Do,’ Father. Don't mind me, I'll just get these guys out of the way."
Everyone simply stares at me.
"What? It's not like I invited them. Your girl Terra dragged the wrong dude to the wedding."
"You didn't tell me you were wanted by the fucking Mafia!"
"Technically, they ain't the actual Mafia. They're an independent crime syndicate."
"Po-TAY-toe, po-TAH-toe." She frowns at me. "Also, you said Camilla Marccione—"
"Was the person I was hired to kill, and yes she’s actual mafia. The syndicate I worked for are rivals."
"Oh. Well still. You should have told me."
I stare at her. "When? While you were dragging me in off the street talking crazy shit to me? I was supposed to, what? Butt in with 'by the way, a global crime syndicate placed a five-million-dollar bounty on my head, dead or alive, and I think there are people hunting me for the money?'"
"Yeah, pretty much."
Emily hasn't reacted, yet. Now, she does. "Um, not to be a diva, here, but could you please remove the dead, bleeding bodies from my wedding?"
I wander over and kick one of the men—he groans. I repeat the kick for each of them, receiving a groan from each. The one I discombobulated is looking peaked and dizzy but not exactly down and out, so I kick him extra hard in the kidney, just for good measure.
I glance at the bride. "Not dead. I took a vow to never kill again."
She blinks at me, concern, confusion, and maybe a little horror crossing her face. "What kind of a person has to take a vow to stop murdering people?"
