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A little give.
I pull harder. Twist more.
And then—
My hands slip free.
I gasp and stand up. My legs are shaking.
But I’m free.
I look around.
There.
On the table.
My gun.
The Glock.
They left it.
Stupid.
I grab it and check the magazine.
Still loaded.
I move to the door slowly. Carefully.
I press my ear against it.
Voices. Muffled. Coming from down the hall.
I crack the door open and peer out.
They’re in the next room.
Lionetti. Jenna. Izzy. Cesario.
All of them talking. Arguing.
I can’t make out the words, but I don’t need to.
I push the door open.
Step into the hallway.
Raise the gun.
And I start firing.
The sound is deafening. The recoil kicks, but I hold on.
I spray the room.
Bullets fly.
