“Girl, what the fuck?!” Stephanie screams at Luiggi’s hand on the back of her head. She struggles to lean forward and unclips her wig from his fist before I toss the lamp into the water.
We step back as Luiggi’s body convulses. His skin blisters and blackens, emitting a nasty odor.
Steph’s lips screw at the smoke wafting from her hair floating across the water. “I liked that wig.”
“What the hell was in your panties?” I ask.
“Some of that grit porridge,” she says, out of breath, a hand pressed to her exposed wig cap. “I wanted to make it extra juicy for you to get the jump. They really tried to poison us.”
Ain’t that some shit?
“Wasn’t that Sally’s head guy?” She peeks at his lifeless body.
I nod. “His third-in-command. He has a partner, but I don’t know who it is.”
Steph wipes the sweat from her brow. “Well, whoever it is can join him in hell. Come on. Super Mario Dickhead left the bedroom door open.”
“Where were you when he came in?”
“Under the bed,” she says without shame.
An explosion rattles the side of the house.
Stephanie and I dive to the floor. We crawl toward the balcony as gunfire cracks through the air in sharp bursts.
“Damn, they’re active,” she says at the cemetery of dead men across the yard. Bodies are everywhere, with limbs blown off. “Told you he was coming.”
Benny and Andrea are in black tactical gear and bulletproof vests, sending people to the afterlife with their assault rifles. Drones fly ahead of them to fire at anyone who isn’t marked as friendly. A few hover low to surround their team and an older man tearing into people with a cleaver.
Tears fall.
He’s here.
I scramble to my feet and scream at the drone flying up to our balcony door.
“Hi, my love,” Benny’s voice says through the recording. “Come down front. I’ll see you soon.”
This man.
“In case I don’t tell you later, your husband loves you,” Stephanie says.
I smile. “I know. Let’s go home.”
We rush out of the bedroom door, look left, then right, before sprinting toward the steps. I cover my mouth to conceal a scream at a guard’s lifeless body at the base of the staircase.
“Ew, his throat is missing,” I whisper.
Screams pierce the background. Another bomb goes off outside with more gunfire.
I frown.
Should we stay upstairs?
Stephanie side-eyes me.
The way your man is throwing grenades, there might not be an upstairs.
I tip my chin to move ahead and freeze at the rapid approach of hard footsteps.
