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“Seven years to figure shit out?” I nod. “That’s manageable. I’d have seven years of helping with Emma by then.”

A car door slams outside.

“We just have to survive this first,” I hiss, pulling Victoria into position and taking a spot behind my recliner in the center of the empty stone hut so that I’m the first they see.

Victoria waits for my nod, gun out, shining with oil, safety off, suppressor on.

I nod.

Pazcuso is too smart to walk in first.

Too stupid to just accept a good offer.

The first man that enters is one I don’t recognize, but he clearly doesn’t know much about what he’s walking into.

The giant of a guy, swarthy and tattooed, opens fire at once, not even a hello or anything.

Victoria saves my life because she blows his brains out as he’s firing, and the shot hits the ceiling with an explosion of gravel and sparks.

Henchman Two is not as well-trained, but smarter than Henchman One. He holds his fire, looking terrified.

“That was dumb,” I scoff, my heart racing, palms as wet as if I’d dunked them in water. “What the hell was that even for?” I spit.

“Boss said—”

“He wants us both? Should have known,” I sigh, and then I lunge.

This shot hits me in the arm, just a little, but my hands are already around his wrist. Pop, twist, scream, no more hand. Pop, crack, Victoria levels a shot when he drops to his knees in agony, and no more pain, either. No more brain, but that’s an occupational hazard of working for Pazcuso.

There are two dead bodies on the floor. I don’t want them near Victoria. Her face is like glass, blank and smooth, all the life temporarily vanishing from it.

“Do we go out?” she whispers.

I shake my head and hold up a bloody hand to signal her to wait.

Someone else is coming. Two figures.

“Lazarus!” Pazcuso’s voice is oddly warm and effusive. “Can’t blame a guy for trying, can you? All right, sorry for the inconvenience. You’ve got your pound of flesh. How about you just let the girl come out. This is Dr. Untermeyer, Lazenby’s replacement. He’s here to check your work.”

“Get these dead idiots out of my living room first,” I snarl. “You can see she works. She shot them. I shredded them. We’re a good team. Her first directive is ‘Protect Lazarus,’ and she listens well.”

Pazcuso steps closer, his broad face and flabby jowls illuminated by the glowing tip of a cigar and his lighter as it flicks shut. “I can see that. Good job. You sure you don’t want to work for me? We can talk salary. Shared custody of Vicky.”

“Now it’s going to cost you ten grand just to collect her,” I say, arms crossed.

“Five.”

“Twenty.”

“Damn, I miss Lazenby. He did something wrong, that’s pretty clear, but he made you sharp. Let’s have a look at my little Vicky, then.” He chatters something in Spanish at his remaining muscle, who looks extremely grossed out about approaching the corpses of his fellow henchmen. He approaches gingerly, and I snap my teeth shut near his face, delighting in the way he trips, flails, and screams.

My supersensitive ears catch movement coming from behind the crypt. A silent shadow glides above, and I track it with just the faintest twitch of my eyes toward the sky, returning them to Pazcuso and the reclusive Untermeyer, who keeps to the shadows.

“Bring her out, and we’ll do ten.”

“Give me five, and I’ll bring her out. She’s already shown she’s a crack shot, and you sure trusted her enough to tangle with me. As for obedience and ‘turning on her maker,’ well...” I chuckle. “That’s not a problem. I killed her. Now she kills for me. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

Pazcuso is like an impatient child. He suddenly opens his coat, and I tense, but he just hurls a wad of money in a silver clip at my head. I snag it and don’t bother to count it. “Ignacio has cleared a path, and you can do the rest unless you want a few more holes in your head. I want my muscle in the car. Now!”