The signal pings to an app installed on my computer at The Den,the security system at our house, and our phones. Only the six of us know about it. Only the six of us can access it. As long as one of the guys or Ella can get to their phones, they’ll be able to track all of us.
But if we’re all here, locked up, or…
No.
I squeeze my eyes closed again, the cuff link digging into my skin as I inhale deeply, forcing myself to focus on those last moments.
I remember seeing Eric’s gun. Remember hearing it go off. But then, something, no,someone, collided with me, taking me down before I could see what had happened. I tried to catch sight of Ella, of the guys, as I fought my attacker off, but then all hell broke loose. I caught glimpses of Maddox and Gage killing Eric, his blood coating their hands, but there was something…
Something….
“Who are you?” I snarl, my fist colliding with some random fucker’s face as they pin me to the ground with their heavy weight.
Whoever they are, they’ve got a black plastic mask on and are wearing a black hoodie. They refuse to answer, pulling a gun from the back of their jeans which only serves to piss me off even more.
“Who.The. Fuck. Are.You?”
Still nothing.
The second the barrel presses to my temple, I stop fighting with my fist and press my own gun to their gut. I don’t blink, I don’t pause, I don’t falter. I justshoot.
“Shit!” He grunts, his voice deep and slightly accented. My brows furrow as I shove him off me. His gun clatters to the ground, and he grips the wound in his stomach, but he’s bleeding too much, too fast, and drops backward without another sound.
Gritting my teeth, I push up to my elbow and snatch his abandoned weapon up. A quick check tells me it’s a Tec 9, a street gun.
“What the fuck?” I mutter, my eyes scanning the parking lot. My breath catches. Chaos. Complete and utter chaos.
People are fighting everywhere. Guns are going off, some with silencers, some not. The sound of grunting and cries of pain fill the cold, all air. I shove to my feet as I frantically search and search.
Maddox is still beating Eric’s dead body into the ground, completely unaware of the insanity around him. His body is straddling the broken, bloody corpse of our girl’s rapist as if he can force the years of pain she endured to disappear with his fists alone.
I leave him to it, knowing he needs this. We all do.
My eyes flit to Gage, watching as he fights off three masked men. I swallow thickly, and my brows crash together when I notice one of them doesn’t seem to be fighting Gage as much as…trying to help him?
I quickly spot the differences between that attacker and the others, noticing that some are wearing all black but simple street clothes and the same black, faceless, plastic mask the fucker I killed was wearing. The rest are in full tactical gear with ski masks. Their fighting styles are different. Their weapons are different.
Quickly spinning, I drop down and rip the mask off the man, still bleeding out from my gun wound and choke out a raspy,“fuck.”
Because the man I killed is a man I recognize—a man I hate. Ruben Paloma. It makes no sense. None. But it doesn’t matter, not right this second. As I shove to my feet and wrap my fingers around my gun, aiming it at his head, all I feel is regret that I didn’t make him suffer more, and joy that he’s finally dead at my hands.
“I promised I’d kill you, motherfucker,” I grunt. “See you in Hell.”
I unload five bullets into his face in rapid succession, and then, I feel nothing. I lock it all down and turn back to the chaos, back to my family.
“Ella!’ I shout, my body moves on autopilot as I search for her, search for Nyx and Hunter.
People come at me, then drop like flies as I home in on my years of training. When each person falls, I do a brief scan, checking their attire, noticing every single attacker is dressed the same. The people in the tac-gear aren’t coming for me, for my family. They’re fighting the others.
It makes no sense. No fucking sense.
“Isabella!” I yell, dodging a random bullet.
God, there have to be at least fifty people out here. Where are the cops? Where are the people inside The Den? Surely, they’ve heard all this by now.
“Mi Cielo!” Where the fuck is she?
As if in answer, I hear a scream. But it’s not just a scream for help or from fear. It’s full of so much pain, so much devastation, my knees buckle. I whirl around, following the sound of her, of her crying, begging, pleading.
