“Antonio,” Lucas says, his voice a mocking drawl. “Look at you. The prodigal son returns, all guns blazing. I must admit, I didn’t think you had it in you.”
My finger tightens on the trigger. “What’s so fucking funny?”
“You are,” he chuckles, pushing himself off the wall. He’s taller than me, lankier, but I know the kind of wiry strength that hides in a frame like that. “All this… effort. This grand, bloody gesture. It’s a little late for theatrics, don’t you think?”
Rage, cold and sharp, pushes out everything else. There are no more words. I pull the trigger.
Click.
The sound is tiny, insignificant, but it echoes in the sudden silence. I pull again.Click.Empty. I’ve lost count of the clips I’ve burned through.
Lucas’s grin widens. “Oh, out of presents for me? What a shame.”
He moves.
He’s fast, almost inhumanly so. A kick connects with my wrist, and the useless pistol clatters to the floor. I don’t have time to think, only react. I lunge forward, ducking under a wild swing and driving my shoulder into his gut. We crash against the wall, a tangle of limbs and pure fucking fury.
This isn’t the controlled violence I was trained in. This is a street brawl, primal and messy. We trade blows, grunts and the sickening thud of flesh impacting flesh filling the corridor. He lands a punch to my kidney that sends a flash of white-hot pain through my side. I respond by driving my knee into his thigh, feeling the muscle give.
He’s stronger than I anticipated. He gets an arm around my neck, squeezing, cutting off the air as black spots dance at the edge of my vision. Grace’s face flashes behind my eyes; not as she was, but as I fear she is now. Broken. Afraid. Ruined.
No.
A surge of adrenaline, raw and vicious, floods my system. I throw my weight backward, slamming us both into the opposite wall. His grip loosens for a fraction of a second. It’s all I need. I drive my elbow back into his ribs, hearing a satisfying crack. He grunts, and his arm falls away.
I spin around, gasping for air. He’s already coming at me again, but he’s slowed. As I see the opening, I put my entire body into it. Every ounce of fear, every shred of rage, every second of guilt since the moment she was taken. My fist connects with his jaw in a perfect, brutal uppercut.
The crack is louder this time. His head snaps back and he stumbles, dazed, into the centre of the corridor. There is no pause, no mercy. I am on him before he can fall. I don’t see a man anymore, I see a symbol of every horror she has endured.
I slam my fists into him. Again and again. There is no technique, only impact. The wet, dull sounds are a symphony of my ruin. I punch until my knuckles are raw and slick, until my arms ache with a fatigue that goes deeper than bone. It’s only when one of my men grabs my shoulder, pulling me back, that I stop.
“Boss… he’s gone. Antonio, he’s gone.”
I look down. Lucas’s face is a pulped, unrecognizable mess. The grinning bastard is gone. I shove the man’s hand away, my chest heaving.
I don’t feel triumph.
I feel nothing.
A vast, hollow nothing.
I stagger to my feet, wiping my bloody hands on my pants. I retrieve my discarded gun, eject the empty clip, and slam a fresh one home with a click that feels final.
I don’t look back. I head for the staircase at the end of the corridor, descending once more. It’s colder here. The air is thick with the scent of neglect and something else… the distinct smell of human waste.
This level is quieter, almost silent. My men follow, their footsteps cautious now. The corridor is narrower, with heavy metal doors on either side.
A man is slumped against a door at the very end, clutching his stomach. He’s been shot, probably by one of my men during the initial breach, but he’s still alive. As I approach he looks up, and a low, gurgling laugh escapes his blood-flecked lips.
I raise my gun, aiming for his head. A quick, clean end. He’s not worth a second more of my time.
“She was… sweet,” he rasps, his eyes glazed with pain and something else - malice. “Real sweet. I left her a little gift, though.”
The world tilts. The hollow inside me fills with ice. I take a step closer, the barrel of my gun now inches from his forehead. “What did you do?”
He smiles, a ghastly expression. “Gave her a choice. Told her she could wait for you… or she could choose her own way out. I wonder which path the little bitch picked...”
A single, solitary gunshot rings out, cutting his words off.
