“I’ve given you information,” she shrieks. Panic is splayed across her face. “I gave you the cruise liner schedules, client listings, and contracts, and I shared his calendar with you.”
That little bitch. Thank fuck I only log legit work meetings on my business calendar. I hate that these assholes have a list of our client dealings, but I don’t think it’s any threat unless they plan to set up a competitor shipping or clothing business. They could pass it to our competitors, and it would hurt, but I don’t think that’s what they’re after. This feels more personal, but I don’t know why. Call it a sixth sense.
I agree with the guy’s assessment if that’s all the intel she supplied. The calendar would have given them jack shit except for my location at any given time. Those schedules are public knowledge too. Something we’ve always joked about because we’ve blatantly brought narcotics in right under the nose of the authority. But none of us are laughing now. We’ve already stopped using the cruise liners for the Cali runs, and an order was placed for another cargo ship recently.
“Bitch, that information was worth a whole ton of nothing.” He prods his gun under her chin, and she’s shaking all over.
I look at Caleb, wondering if we should step in now and stop this. If we rescue her, I’m pretty sure she’ll tell us everything she knows. Except I doubt she knows much. We need the guy in charge or one of his men. Then maybe we’ll get the intel we need. Excitement races through my veins at the prospect of a fight. I’ve been on edge for weeks, especially in the last few days, and beating the shit out of a few motherfuckers is just what the doctor ordered.
Caleb nods, reading my expression clearly. Or maybe it’s just we know one another inside and out. Either way, we’re on the same page, and I know he’s dying to get his hands bloody. The street stuff he handled recently didn’t even whet his appetite.
“You couldn’t even seduce him,” the long-haired dick says. “You’re a pathetic excuse of a woman.”
“No woman could seduce that cold prick!” she shouts. “He’s gay or bi or something, but he’s definitely not into women.”
The man backhands her with the gun. “He fucks women. You just didn’t do it for him.” He drags his eyes up and down her body in a derogatory fashion. “Can’t say I fucking blame him.” He presses the gun to her brow. “We don’t tolerate weak links. Weakness almost ruined us last time but not under my watch.”
“Dude, your sister just pissed herself!” some guy shouts, and every set of eyes lowers to the pool of urine spreading across the asphalt.
“Get ready,” Caleb mouths to our men as he slowly unzips the duffel and distributes rifles. I step back and press on my earpiece, whispering instructions to our second group.
“Please,” Lavinia pleads over a sob. “Please don’t kill me. I’ll try harder. I’ll get him to trust me. I’ll get you what you need.” Her voice elevates a few octaves with each sentence.
“Too late, bitch. You had your chance, and you blew it.” He pulls the trigger, and the light dies instantly in her eyes.
“You bastard!” the brother yells, raising his gun. “You said she wouldn’t be hurt! Fuck you!” He points his weapon in the man’s face, but he’s not watching his back, so he doesn’t see his buddy creep up behind him and put a bullet through the back of his skull. He falls forward on top of his sister.
“Anyone else have something to say?” the man asks, kicking Lavinia’s lifeless body as he steps over the dead siblings.
Caleb looks at me and smirks. I return his grin as we get into position behind the sheets.
“I do,” Caleb shouts as we push the sheets aside and jump out onto the debris-strewn ground. “Which one of you motherfuckers wants to die first?” We step out into their line of sight just as gunfire rains down on them from the level above.
Chapter Twenty
Joshua
Our crew takes out four of their men before they’ve even realized they’re under siege. The others dive for cover behind dumpsters full of building materials, large equipment, and a corrugated steel hut, which I’m guessing is the foreman’s office.
We trade gunfire, Caleb and I sticking close together as we take aim and shoot. Their guys are dropping like flies because they are outmatched and outmaneuvered. “Fancy going old school?” Caleb asks when there are only three guys left standing.
“Thought you’d never ask.” I grin at my twin.
We shoot the firearms from the enemies’ hands, leaving them unarmed and surrounded. Tucking my gun back into my holster, I glance at my brother as we walk calmly toward the men. Our guys hold back, weapons trained on the three goons as Caleb and I charge at them with our fists raised.
They enter into the spirit of things, and we throw punches and duck and dive like we’re in a ring. Caleb spars like a warrior, thanks to his time in Nepal, and though I’m not on his level, I’m not too shabby either. What I lack in skill, I make up for in enthusiasm and adrenaline as I pummel my fists into a dark-haired dude’s face and kick him in the gut, winding him. I sweephis legs out from under him as Caleb attacks the man in charge. The other guy is out cold on the floor.
Pouring every ounce of futility, frustration, and pent-up anger into my thrusts, I pound the guy’s face and head until his skull caves and the light goes out in his eyes. Blood coats my hands and splatters my face, and sweat sticks the clothes to my back. Adrenaline courses through my veins, and I wish there were ten more motherfuckers for me to beat. This has barely quenched my bloodlust.
“Enough, brother. He’s dead.” Caleb pulls me off him as I continue to lash out at his corpse.
“Accardi scum,” the long-haired dude says from his position on his knees. Several guns are trained on him, but our soldiers are under orders not to kill these survivors. We want them alive to interrogate them.
“Who are you?” I swipe blood from my face with my sleeve.
“Fuck. You. Pretty Boy.”
Caleb grabs him by the hair and yanks his head back hard. He hates that moniker. The New York media have called us The Pretty Boys of New York for years. Other, braver journalists have referred to us as The Poster Boys for the Mafia in New York. Those articles never last long on the web, and those journalists never live to write another accusation. “You’re in no position to throw shade, shit for brains.” Caleb taps his gun against the man’s face. “In case you hadn’t noticed, your friends are dead, and you’re next.”
