I no longer had any time to wait. They were coming for me next. I felt around Frankie’s body and my hand twisted up in the material of his suit jacket, but I didn’t receive any electric shocks. Frankie’s eyes were closed as he lay on the floor in a crumbled mess.
I patted his sides, going up his shirt and trying to find where he hid a gun until I found a small handheld pistol in the pocket of his jacket perfectly concealed. I ripped the weapon out, tearing a piece of his fabric, and flinched.
The three men charged into the kitchen, not caring I had a gun. I shot once and the sound ricocheted over the metal and stone kitchen, but the bullet took a chunk of the door trim rather than a man’s face. One man, someone I’d never seen before, lunged at me. They had to be the men from the destroyed black van—the assholes sent from Chicago by Greg. Only he hated me enough to go to these extremes to kill me.
His fist found my face as we argued over the gun, and I shot again, not caring where the bullet landed but not hearing any screams of pain signaling I’d met my target. I kicked out with my feet and tried to spin to make a run for it when his enormous arms circled around mine, caging me in.
I held on to the gun, but couldn’t get in position to pull the trigger as a second man came in front of me and stole the weapon. How dare he? He grunted as I struck him, but tossed the gun far into the room apparently believing he could take me without a weapon.
I kicked back, throwing my head at the same angle as my feet, and screamed, but it did no good. One man held me as the other two picked up Frankie’s feet and dragged him toward the back door leading into the garage.
“Put me down, you asshole. I swear I will claw out your eyes.”
The man behind me laughed, his hot breath tickling my ear most disgustingly. “That’s it, give me a lot of motivation to put you down, sweet cheeks. Maybe if you promise to suck me nice and hard, we could work out a deal.”
I let out a terrified grunt, trying my hardest to push against his hands and get myself free while kicking at his knees, but it did no good.
They pulled Frankie closer to the back door until his legs were out of sight, and then his torso, and then his head. “Frankie!” I screamed.
The beast of a man who held me lowered me to my feet, trying to adjust his hold as his arms grabbed around my middle and he jerked me up again, throwing me over his shoulders. I scrambled to kick as hard as possible and, with my view now back on the kitchen counter, reaching out, I grabbed the first thing my hands touched.
There had to be a way to get rid of him. Where was the damn rocket launcher when you needed it?
I didn’t stop squirming, not wanting to give something away as I grabbed the cool plastic handle of the tiny egg pan still perched on the top of Frankie’s stove from where Maria had made breakfast. I held on to the plastic with a death grip and then swung my hand as hard as possible, catching the man on the other side of the head.
He dropped me but rather than fall gracefully to my feet in attack mode I rolled off the side of his shoulder, knocked into the counter on my way down, and then landed with my hip hitting the tile floor with such force I felt the jarring connection in my brain.
I scrambled, grabbing my pan and holding it up like a baseball bat in front of me. The man who’d held me captive a few seconds earlier chuckled as if he considered me with the tiny pan comical. He laughed outright as I jarred to my right, swinging the pan out only for him to jerk back and then the other side.
He caged me into the corner of Frankie’s massive kitchen, but I was not willing to give up.
“I’m not going to kill you, sweet cheeks,” the man said as a bit of drool escaped from the corner of his mouth, but he didn’t waste the time to wipe it away as he came at me again. I swung hard, hitting him in the shoulder, but it barely did any damage, not even causing him to flinch.
He might not kill me, but going with them didn’t mean good things. They didn’t have plans to take me out for ice cream and then let me hang out in their coastal mansion.
My shoulder ached, and my hips throbbed, but adrenaline spiked in my veins. My energy depleted quickly as I bobbed from foot to foot, eyeing the man. I refused to give up even though the longer our fight continued, the more tired I grew and the less likely I was to escape before he caught me.
Frankie’s body was nowhere to be found, the last precious view of him, his head being dragged out into the garage. I swung again with my left hand, trying to gather strength, when another gunshot stole the breath from my lungs and then another almost dropped me to my knees.
Not Frankie. No.
Greg wasn’t after Frankie but me. I brought this bullshit to Frankie’s door, and they took out their frustrations with me on Frankie by shooting him in his garage.
If they hurt the man I loved, I’d make sure the Grandmaster came out in full force. He’d rip retribution from every single one of them, and I’d stick their heads on a pike in our front yard. Damn the police and their families.
At the third gunshot I broke free, trying to make a run for it to get to Frankie, but there was no hope for me. The man raced right after me, and one of his long paws snaked out to scoop me up. My feet left the floor, and I screamed, thrashing around as much is possible trying to reach Frankie.
He was the only thing that mattered.
Another shot rang out, this one so close the vibrations rattled my skin. The man and I both went down together, me landing on top of his body with a thump.
Only I stood up a few seconds later. Shadows fell in the kitchen, but as my hand slipped in a mess on the floor, I didn’t have to see it to identify it. Blood. Heavy steps came from the garage and I scrambled to stand up and open the silverware drawer, searching for a knife.
As a shadowed figure walked in, I held a knife in front of me, not willing to give up the fight.
My hands trembled as I waited for my next attacker to show themselves, not stopping to care about who I’d have to take down. No way did my death happen now.
I lunged forward, ready to hit first, when Frankie’s body slumped against the doorway. “What are you planning to do with a butter knife?” he asked although his words were raspy and sounded as if they hurt with each one he spoke.
