Total pages in book: 170
Estimated words: 160791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 804(@200wpm)___ 643(@250wpm)___ 536(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 804(@200wpm)___ 643(@250wpm)___ 536(@300wpm)
“The elevator was here.”
It requires a code, so how the fuck did anyone use the elevator? In perfect unison, we each move to either side, pressing our backs to the wall, guns poised. My eyes on Otto, his on mine, the sound of the elevator gets louder until it eventually pings its arrival. The doors slide open. We wait.
Nothing.
I nod to Otto, and he swings around, filling the doorway. “Clear,” he grunts, disappearing inside.
“The shaft?” I ask, following him in and looking up.
“Clear.” He shows me the screen of his phone.
“In the years we’ve been here, have you ever known the lift to travel up and down without someone using the code?” I ask.
“Never.”
“Me neither.” But why the fuck would someone be so stupid? “You said the surveillance has been clear.”
“It has.” The lift stops and we both edge to the side. Otto looks across to me. “I’m watching it live.”
“And none of the sensors have been triggered?”
He shakes his head as the doors open, and I slowly crane my head, cautious, my heart booming. My apartment comes into view, and I scan every inch of it, searching for something, anything out of place. I don’t tell Otto it’s clear. I have a feeling. A horrible feeling. I step out.
“Wait,” Otto barks, halting me, my foot in midair ready to place down. “Don’t fucking move.”
I freeze, holding my position as Otto fucks about on his phone. “What the fuck are you doing?” I ask, splitting my attention between him and the open space before me.
With his eyes nailed to the screen of his phone, he slowly lowers to his knees. “Just stay exactly where you are,” he whispers, turning his eye onto the space directly in front of my boot. He goes lower, onto his forearms, and it’s then I see it. A wire. A wafer-thin wire crossing the air just outside the elevator doors.
“Fuck,” I breathe, slowly pulling my foot back. “Trip?”
“Definitely.” Otto starts to stand, rising deliberately slowly, scanning thin air. “Look.” He holds the phone out in front of me, and I take in the footage he’s got enlarged. It’s live footage from an elevator.
This elevator.
And it’s empty.
“Motherfuckers,” I say on an exhale, lifting a foot and clearing the wire. “We get the guns, we leave.”
“Take it slow,” Otto warns, following the length of the line into a nearby cupboard. “Fucking booby traps,” he mutters, revealing a pile of C-4 blocks. “We need to leave. They could have remote triggers; they could be watching us.”
“Not before I have my guns.” I can’t fight a fucking war without an arsenal, and despite being sure that Danny’s man will kit us out, who the fuck knows when that’ll be. I stride through the open space, my eyes high and low, squinting, watchful.
“For fuck’s sake, Kel,” Otto mutters, coming after me. I stop at the foot of the stairs and check for triggers before taking them two at a time. Another check at the entrance of my bedroom. And another at the dressing room.
I pull out some bags and dump them at Otto’s feet before rummaging to the back of my wardrobe and opening the colossal safe. You’d need to blow it up to gain access without a key or code, and lifting the fucker out would require a crane, so I had no concern whatsoever that my stash would still be here. I start passing Otto Glocks, VP9s, Berettas, machine guns, bullets, grenades, everything I have in my possession. The sound of them clanging against each other as Otto drops them into the bags is deafening. “Done. Let’s go.” I throw one of the bags over my shoulder, Otto takes the other, and we leave, taking the same route.
I come to an abrupt stop at the top of the stairs, and Otto warily skids to a stop too, looking at me in question. I back up, stopping at my office door, checking the entrance. Nothing. If there was anywhere I’d definitely go in my apartment if I returned, it would be my office. So why no trigger? I slowly lift my eyes to the bank of screens that dominate the wall, seeing every single one is illuminated, displaying the faces of many men. But not the men I’m going to kill.
I smile. It’s twisted. It’s dark. I see Brad. I see Otto. I see Goldie, Nolan, Ringo, and every other man I’ve set eyes on since digging up Danny Black from his grave. And, of course, the main screen, the largest, the one that holds center stage, has a picture of me and Danny. Not together, but . . . together. The two main targets.
“Fuck . . . me,” Otto breathes from behind.
I start nodding slowly, running my gaze across the bank one more time before snapping a picture. “Cut the electric to the building,” I order. “Do it now.”