“We need to — ” he starts.
Then the bathroom door bursts inward, three men push their way inside, guns raised, fists up, one with blood dripping from the socket of a mutilated eye.
I raise my knife and leap forward. Screaming, I slash into one, the blade cutting a deep furrow across his forehead. He staggers backward, clutching at his face, and his gun goes off, the bullet biting into the ceiling and raining moldy drywall down upon us. I follow him, still slashing, still stabbing. These men want to take justice away from me. These men want to rob my sister’s death of any chance of meaning. I can afford no hesitation — it is either kill them all, or let my little sister down again.
My knife sinks into his chest between his ribs, skittering across bone before slipping through flesh and muscle. Bloodburbles in his mouth, and he releases a soft, wheezing moan as he hits the floor.
Behind me, Ricky screams, taking advantage of the small space to use the device as a bludgeon, crowding the Russians, bashing them like a maniac, pressing them so close they don’t have room to raise and fire their guns. He smacks the one-eyed Russian across the forehead, sending him crashing into the bathroom mirror, which shatters into pieces. The other Russian swings his gun in retaliation, clubbing Ricky on the back of the head, sending him tumbling into the bathtub.
The Russian grins, raises his gun, finger tightening on the trigger.
I scream and slash. My knife cuts him across the side of his torso, cutting through his jacket, his shirt, the flesh of his flabby midsection. Blood sprays, he screams, the gun fires and the bullet shatters shower tile and splinters pepper my face. I shut my eyes and slash blindly again. Hit something. Deep. Bloody. Someone screams again in Russian.
I open my eyes just in time to see the one-eyed Russian swing a fist at me. It hits. Impacts my jaw, and I gasp and fall backward. My head cracks into the bathroom door, and I land on the cold linoleum floor, the world swimming in a red-tinged haze.
“Fucking cunt,” he says as he towers over me. “Won’t kill you right away. No, I’ll take my fucking time with you. You’ll beg, you’ll moan, but I promise, you will not enjoy it.”
“God, shut the fuck up already,” Ricky yells, loud enough to make the Russian turn his head just a little.
I seize the opening.
“As if anyone would enjoy fucking you,” I snap and lash out with my foot, catching him in the crotch. His eyes pop wide. I leap forward, letting my momentum carry me and my knife into his midsection. He mewls as the blade sinks inches deep intothe space above his belly button. Warmth spurts out, soaks my hands, my shirt, my jeans. I retract the blade, and something red and veiny pokes through the hole, pulsating with the fading heartbeat of the Russian.
He gasps. “What the fuck did you just do?”
“I think I killed you,” I murmur in disbelief while he thuds to the floor.
Blinking, I turn to see Ricky on top of the other Russian, using one chain from the torture device to twist around the man’s neck, squeezing until his eyes are bulging, blood-shot and wild. With a shudder and a violent kick of his left leg, he expires.
“Holy fucking shit,” I whisper as I survey the bloody bathroom of the murder suite. “What the fuck just happened?”
“You’re talking like this is over. It isn’t over,” Ricky says. “This was just the start.”
“What do you mean?”
My question barely leaves my lips before the rapid rat-tat-tat of submachine gun fire tears into the front room. Growling, Ricky throws an arm over me and pulls me to the floor and covers me with his body. Even though he smells of old, bad whiskey, blood, and body odor, it’s not an altogether unpleasant experience.
His lips touch my ear, and when the shooting stops, he whispers, “Because these guys never come alone. Not when it’s this much money. They know who you are now.”
“What?”
“You and I are in this together. We’re stuck. And they won’t stop coming for us.”
“Fuck, I didn’t think it was possible to hate you any more than I already did, but I do. I hate you so fucking much.”
“Great. Hold on to that hate, save it for when you get the chance to kill me. But until then, follow my fucking instructions, because I refuse to let Vanessa’s sister die because of my shit.”He rises just a little, casting a look about the room. Then he grunts. Outside, I hear more footsteps. More Russians. More guns. More death. “What floor are we on, Adriana?”
“Second. Why?”
“Because this is going to hurt, but it’s our only fucking option…”
“What’s our only fucking option?”
“We either jump through that fucking bathroom window and run like hell, or we die.”
Chapter Five
Adriana
