Kian catches sight of the driver in the black sedan and lowers his gun. “It’s okay, it’s just our backup.” Tucking my gun away, I turn back to the women, encouraging them to finish loading into the vans. Once they’re in, we shut the doors, and my shoulders hunch.
There’s no time for feelings. Later. I’ll deal with them later.
Pushing off the side of the van, I greet Larry and Owen, members of the Charon Group Jase sent. Larry will take Francis’s place as a driver, while Owen will take Francis back to the Charon Group, where their private doctor will care for her.
Yes. They even have their own doctor and nursing staff, along with an operating room. Kian had explained this earlier, and I’m still gobsmacked. But what Kian said was true—doctors have to report gunshot wounds to the authorities. Having your own doctor means the police aren’t constantly knocking on your door. And in their line of work, that’s imperative.
I slap the side of the vans twice, and Andy and Larry take off, the women now safe from Vincenzo. Kian helps Owen carry Francis to the car, laying her gently on the backseat before he too takes off.
Kian throws an arm over my shoulder. “What a fucking day,” he says, and I nod in agreement. I’m stiff and sore everywhere, and not looking forward to riding my bike back to the Waverley Building.
Kian’s phone pings, and he steps back, looking down at it. “What is it?”
“Fuck. It’s Jase. A limo followed by several cars is on its way and should be here in under two minutes.”
Anger at the state of the women still roils in my blood, and I raise my head to lock my eyes with Kian’s. A smirk lifts the corner of my mouth, and I notice Kian’s eyes light up when he sees it. “Come on, boom bestie. We have two grenades left in the RPG-7s. Let’s give dear old dad a warm welcome.”
Kian chuckles and looks around. “There.” He points at a wall of containers stacked four high. Grabbing our helmets, we put them back on, and Kian grabs the third bazooka we took out of the van. Quickly climbing up the tower of containers, we get the RPG-7’s ready to go, then lie flat, waiting for whoever is coming.
“If it’s my father or Cesare, I don't want them dead,” I say softly through the helmet’s speakers. “They deserve a much more drawn-out, painful death than being blown up.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“When they’re clear of the cars, let's blow up as much as we can. Then we can run while they’re scrambling.”
Kian puts his thumb up, and we go quiet as the sounds of engines reach our ears. Excitement thrums steadily through me, my foot nervously tapping as I wait with anticipation. I’ve never gotten to blow up anything besides the crane operator before, and the thrill of something exploding makes it difficult to keep calm.
A long black limo pulls up, followed by four black sedans, stopping short of the dead bodies littering the ground. If we’d had more time, I would have stacked them up and lit them on fire. Peering down, I watch as the doors open on the sedans, the security personnel crouching down behind the doors, guns raised as they search for threats.
When none seem forthcoming, they warily stand, keeping their guns trained in front of them as they slowly back away from the car. One man silently walks up to one of the bodies, then leans down and checks for a pulse. Shaking his head, one of his colleagues does the same for another.
A couple of the others spread out, glancing down aisles of containers, while others scope out the boats. Kian and I barely breathe, staying as still as statues. Why is it always in situations like this that your nose itches or you get a cramp in your leg? Gritting my teeth, I wrinkle my nose, willing the itch to subside. The last thing I need to do right now is sneeze.
When they’ve decided it’s safe, Vincenzo and Cesare step out of the limo, guns drawn. I’m so tempted to just blow them up, right here, right now.Do it, the dark angel sitting on my left shoulder commands.Just think how much fun it will be to see their brains smeared across the ground.
Damn. My dark angel is fuckingsadistic.
The bitch on my right shoulder stays silent. She’s probably given up on me, flown off to assist people that deserve it.
Glancing down, I notice that most of the security detail has gotten back into their cars. They must have decided that with the girls being gone and no imminent threat rearing its head, it’s safe for them to let their guards down.
Stupid fucks.
Kian arms the RPG, takes aim, and sets it off. Using the smoke as cover, we duck and run, jumping onto the next set of containers, then the ones past that. Falling to the roof of the container, we go still, our ragged breaths sounding extraordinarily loud in the confines of our helmets. We’re now almost directly across from them, whereas they’d been right in front of us before.
My heart thumps so loudly in my chest it feels as if it’s making a bid for freedom. Sucking in air, I watch with no small amount of joy as Cesare and my father unload their guns at the containers we’re no longer occupying. One of the cars is destroyed, flames licking at the inside, the men within trapped.
Two others lie on the ground, burned and bloody, their clothes smoking. “My turn,” I whisper to Kian, and he gestures for me to go ahead. Holding the RPG steady to my shoulder, I set it off, watching in satisfaction as it pierces the side of the limo before exploding.
Again, we use the confusion and smoke to clear several more container stacks, now putting us behind the cars. What’s left of the security detail is shooting wildly, bullets slamming into boats, the road, and containers with no rhyme or reason.
“Let’s finish them off,” Kian murmurs and I agree. We’ll leave Vincenzo and Cesare stranded here while we make our escape. Pulling out our guns, we reload them, then start shooting. While Kian goes for the security personnel, I blow out the tires on the remaining cars.
Cesare and Vincenzo shout and duck for cover when they notice the men dropping to the ground, and I can’t help the evil laugh that tears from me. Especially when I see Cesare cowering like a little bitch.
Not so little anymore now, am I, Uncle Cesare?
Kian grabs my leg, and we slide on our stomachs over to the edge of the container. Kian throws his legs over and drops down, and I follow after him. Of course, he has to go and be all chivalrous and shit, catching me as I come down. First Nate in London, now Kian.
