A room like that, if you've got the skills to pick locks, is going to be hard to miss.
As I turn the corner, I come face to face with a panicked Dom. Big, with too many muscles, and the kind of ugly behind the surface that comes from a man who's always getting his way.
I slam him in the face with my gun, and he punches me so hard in the guts that pain explodes inside, and I can't breathe.
I reel, my feet unsteady, but I'm already gathering my strength as I come at him.
A punch to the throat, and I step on his foot to hold him as I catch him by the hair to slam my skull into his.
“Motherfucker,” I snarl, reaching for my gun.
A cry comes from the side. "Enzo?"
"Lyndall? You all right?"
That momentary slip of attention is all he needs to punch me in the face and take off.
I'm torn.
I want, desperately, to go after him and drag him down, drive a knife into his belly, and beat his skull on the ground before shooting him dead. Or worse, let him live and suffer under my cyber brand of torture. I could make him wish for death.
My first instinct is to wipe him out for taking my sister, for attempting to take Lola.
I skid to a stop in front of the door where she's been held.
She shouts my name again, and there is a key in the lock like he was...what?
Planning to take her?
To let her go?
Yeah, he'd let her go.
Not even Dom Rebecci wants to take on my family. At least, not if he wants a chance to live.
"Enzo, get me out of this place!" Her voice shakes with bravado.
She sounds scared, but I don't think he hurt her.
I try the lock, and the key rattles and sticks.
I stop and notice my hands. They are shaking.
Taking a deep breath, I will them to stop and get steady enough for me to perform the simple act of unlocking the fucking door.
"Working on it, kid."
Yeah, Rebecci had to have worked out who he had, the trouble he was in. Not hurting her would have been smart, right beneath the wisdom of not touching my sister at all.
"Did he hurt you?"
"No."
Leaving her unharmed is allowing him future breaths.
I twist the lock and pull open the door, and Lyndall comes tumbling out, a mix of frightened, angry, and wild-eyed mobster girl.
She's bruised, but no handprints or marks left by a fist that I can see.
