Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
He's waiting in the foyer.
“That’s all you’re taking?” he asks.
I shift the backpack on my shoulders. "I don't need anything but you."
He gives me a crooked smile, hefts the two bags up over his shoulders and heads out. I know better than to ask to help him.
As we drive over to Cesaro's hotel, Leka reels off the instructions. "Stay in the car. Don’t come up. No matter how long I take. Promise me so I can focus all my attention on Cesaro. If I don’t come out in thirty minutes, leave."
I balk at that order.
"If you don’t agree, you can’t come with," he says.
"I'm never leaving you," I declare fiercely, fisting my fingers around the steering wheel as if it's his life line. I'm never leaving him and I'm not letting him go. We're going to make it out together or not at all.
41
Leka
The hotel is packed. Cesaro likes this place because there’s always some young woman who is willing to trade a night with him for a boat load of cash and some lines of coke. Sterno would’ve never let Arturo spend a single night here because there’s no way to adequately protect his boss. There are too many entrances and exits. Too many non-residents flowing in and out of the doors. Too much of everything.
Loud music is pulsating from the basement club, and pretty young things of both genders are streaming in and out of the lobby and nearby bar. There are two security guards at the front, but neither one notice me as I enter. They’re too busy gawking at all the eye candy.
I bypass the elevator and head for the stairs. If I was in charge and forced to protect a body here, I’d put at least two guards in the stairwell, two outside the elevator bank and two in front of the door. Inside, there should be at least four. As far as I know, Cesaro’s only brought eight men with him, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t borrowing some of Beefer’s crew. Or that Beefer himself isn’t here.
I creep up the stairs, back to the wall, gun pointed up and at the ready. When I reach the fifth-floor landing, I spy a flash of black above me. To draw out the guards, I throw a coin against the railing and duck back out of sight, pressing a hand against my aching ribs. Before I left the apartment, I was tempted to swallow half the bottle of codeine, but if I had, I wouldn’t be worth shit on this job. No task has ever been so important. I’m not fighting for the crew or for money or even for my misplaced loyalty to Beefer. I’m fighting for Bitsy’s life and mine. I’m fighting for our future. That’s as effective a painkiller as any pill created.
One man leans over from two floors up, dressed in black and wearing an earpiece. Bingo. Targets one and two are in sight. I take the next two flights faster. The guard who peeked over the railing is the first to go with a bullet between his eyes. The second one is dispatched a heartbeat later. I prop one up and shove him out the door.
Bullets spray his body from the guards in front of the hotel door. I drop those two and duck down to wait for the elevator crew to round the corner. It doesn’t take them long. I use the last of my bullets on those two.
Adrenaline’s powering me forward. I can barely feel the pain in my ribs or the throbbing in my hand. I trigger the release on the magazine. The empty cartridge falls on top of the body at my feet. I slam another in place, knock on the door, and step back. A familiar face sticks his jowls out.
Our eyes meet. His widen and his mouth forms a circle. I don’t know what he would’ve said. Maybe he would’ve apologized. More likely he would’ve called a warning. I don’t care.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him and shoot him twice—once between the eyes and the next in the heart.
Beefer falls. A flood of gunshots follows. I plaster myself to the floor, using the bodies of the guards as shields. When the bullets stop, I hop to my feet and run inside. A burning sensation flares on my right outer thigh. Something whistles past my ear. I keep running. I keep shooting. I keep moving forward until there’s no sound in the room but my labored breaths, Cesaro’s mewls of fear, and the cries of two partygoers.
I straighten and blink the sweat and bloodlust out of my eyes. There were more than four people inside. Beefer was here along with Swan, his friend, and another of our crew. Sterno lies on the floor along with one of Cesaro’s main guards.