Emily leans into my touch. “Thank you. It means a lot to me that we’re in this together.”
Chapter 6
Matt
I’m on the third hour of my depressive funk when Dad calls.
“What do you want, old man?”
“I don’t have time for this, Matteo.”Is that wheezing I hear? It’s subtle, quiet, but I’m almost certain …“You need to evacuate. Now. Don’t trust any—hurgh! Don’t trust anyone. Javier—”A wet squelch cuts him off.
“Dad, I—”
I don’t get a chance to finish. A strangled gurgle comes from the phone, followed by a thundering explosion. The call ends with static followed by silence.
Fuck.
Can’t waste time. Dad’s got Javier to watch over him and get him out, but with Dad’s order not to trust my own guards, I’ve got to sneak out without help.
I barely get to the hidden exit before I hear the front door to the penthouse open. Beto calls my name, waits, and what follows are some of the most terrifying sounds a person can hear:
A sinister laugh.
A grenade pin being pulled.
Metal clanking on the polished tile floor.
The door slamming shut.
I close the solid steel door just as an explosion rips through the penthouse. The shaft rattles and trembles in the aftershocks, and I put my hands on the walls to either side of me to steady myself. I trust the shaft to hold, trust the structure of the building Dad designed to hold until I can sprint down the steps.
What I don’t trust is Dad’s former staff. Someone got to them, got to Dad’s guard for the night, got to Beto. I don’t know who’s safe to trust besides the one constant in my life, and right now, he might be at risk.
The run down the steps seems to last forever, but it was probably just fifteen, twenty minutes. I can move when I want to, despite the acrid smoke that threatens to suffocate me.
When I get outside, nearly every car in the lot is in flames, including my personal Italian coupe. Looking around, I don’t see anyone lying in wait, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t someone out there. Wincing with the movement, I crouch down and dart from burning hunk of metal to burning hunk of metal, using the smoke and flames to cover my escape. As I run, a few more explosions rattle the city. Every spot I see getting blown is a known Syndicate home or hideout.
I reach the alley without any resistance, and to my relief it seems empty. Running full out, I cross between buildings and come out nearly a block away. Here, the chaos is distant. Sirens still wail, alarms still blare, and people still scream, but it’s all muted. Here, I can think.
Waking a homeless man, I hand him a wad of bills as payment for exchanging clothes with me. His torn, stained jacket has a hood, which I need, and the shredded pants won’t draw as much attention as the pristine slacks I escaped in. I tuck my gun in the back of my waistband to keep it out of sight. My phone gets shut completely off, then tossed down a sewer drain.My smart watch goes with it, along with any tech I have on me. Can’t have someone tracking me that way.
For a final touch, I ruffle my hair, ruining the style in favor of anonymity. When I finally emerge in my borrowed garb, I doubt anyone would recognize me.
I keep my head down and shuffle as I walk, mimicking the odd gait that some people get when they’re riddled with syphilis. People cross the street to avoid bumping into me, and the cops racing to assist at the apartment building speed past without slowing. No one seems eager to interact with me, which is perfect. Now all I need is a vehicle.
Since I don’t trust the nearby parked cars not to be rigged, I meander a good six blocks before I start checking car doors for an unlocked ride. It’s extra time that might put Aron at more risk, but I have to be cautious. I can’t very well rescue him and his wife if I’m blown sky high.
Jumping in the first unlocked car I find, I hotwire it and speed off towards Aron’s house.
We’re not supposed to know where our guards live, especially not the ones with families. If they’ve earned the right to marry and have kids, they’ve more than earned the right to some privacy. Now, maybe I’m a jerk for not respecting that privacy, but tonight that disrespect might save Aron’s life.
The drive to Aron’s gated neighborhood is quiet enough, and it doesn’t appear that I’ve been followed. My heart pounds the entire time as my mind races with the terrifyingwhat ifsthat await.
What if I’m too late?
What if I get there, and Aron’s house is in flames?
What if he’s lying on the lawn, dead from an assassin’s gun?
