Page 32 of Forbidden Eyes
My body turns out into the hallway at speed without thought for the consequences, one shot fired into a heart, close range to muffle the sound further, and then my knife sticks straight into another’s throat. I turn my frame into the last one before he’s managed to pull his gun, yanking my knife out of the second one before swinging it straight across the other guy’s neck. Blood sprays straight at me, the crimson liquid sprawling over my face, as I cover his mouth to stifle the noise. He slumps to the floor, and I let him go gently, pulling his weapon from him in the same move. Silence then, as I look around, waiting for more men. Not one of them even managed a shout. No one comes.
I swing my head to look up the stairs, blood firing all sorts of shit at me now. My neck cricks, a snarl forming on my face from the hatred beginning to course through me. It’s been a long time since I’ve had to deal with this type of crap. Been a long time since I’ve felt thirsty for it. My feet climb purposefully because of the sensation crawling through me. I’m in it now, not one part of me giving a fuck for what happens as long as I get my way—and my way is getting her out.
I run the upper levels silently, waiting for noise to direct me to the room she’s in. Could do with hearing a scream, a shout, something. Instead, all I’m getting is silence and the dull echo of feet pacing somewhere. I follow the sound until I reach the far end of the hall, the door on one of the entryways wide open. Hushed words are being spoken by a voice I know well. Cold, brutal. Calm. Anchov might seem the gentlemen under the guise of fine suits and wealth, but he's far from it. I flick my gaze around, checking behind me before I press on and inch my way towards the hell I’m about to deliver. Who would have thought killing two Chelicos was on the agenda today? Not me. But fuck the first one threatening her, and fuck this one taking her from me.
Three strides and I’m in the room, two guns aimed and shooting instantly. Four guys drop like stones, and another begins to run at me, pulling his piece. I stop, lining up my guns at both him and the one man I need to get rid of, and pull one trigger again. Another thud sounds as he hits the floor. I can hear her breathing, hear her sharp intakes of breath behind me somewhere. I don’t look at her. Can’t. Not yet. I look straight at Anchov Chelico, my gun still aimed at his head because if she’s been harmed, I will lose my shit all over his ass, too, regardless of his power in our fucked-up world of honour. He smiles and holds his hands out to the side, slowly moving them in my eyeline to show he hasn’t got a weapon. If he thinks that’ll stop me killing him, he’s wrong.
“Tell me she hasn’t been touched,” I murmur, tilting my head at him.
He looks over my shoulder, a crease forming in his brow.
“She hasn’t by me.”
The snarl of disgust that rides up my face makes him take a step back, hands still up. What the fuck I’m going to see when I turn around is anyone’s guess. It’s enough to make my trigger finger squeeze again, lightly. “Think, Carter. Don’t be a fool.” I look over his expensively clad frame, warring with myself about the kind of impact it will cause if I do kill him now. So much intertwined. The last thing Cane needs is these fucks offside. Or Vico.
“Take her and go. Vico doesn’t need to know. You’ve made your point.”
“Have I? I’m damn sure both Cane and Vico would be happier if I dropped you for this.”
“And you know how much damage my family will do to Cane in South America if you do that.” My own brow furrows, part unsure what the hell he’s talking about, and part not giving a fuck. She’s behind me, hurt in some way. I should kill this whole fucking house for daring to do that, go after the rest of his family, too.
His hands drop to his sides at my hesitation, the smile on his face turning to one of self-satisfaction rather than nervous energy, and he backs away to sit in an armchair. He lights a cigar, sucking in until the end glows red and smoke billows out of his mouth. So calm again, so smug, so fucking Chelico. Part of me wants to kill him just for being so fucking up himself. He’s always been a pain in Quinn’s side, always been not quite under Cane control. “You should go, Carter, before I change my mind.”
“And what? Die?”
He sighs and takes another draw on his cigar, blowing the smoke out. “You know as well as I do how many of us there are. You'll get away with this. Kill me and the vengeance will be more than even Quinn can handle.”
Fucker.
“Carter?” Her voice brings me out of the rage filled mist that’s descended, the sound of her shaking tone making me question why I haven't got her the hell out of here already. I’ve got my way, won this battle, but the arrogance of this cunt, and the rage that’s built up because of the killing, have my feet rooted to the goddamn spot. “Carter, please.”
I turn slowly, trying to calm myself in the process, and holster one of the weapons. There’s not one tear on her face now, but the streaks of makeup prove they’ve been there. Then I notice the light stripes of blood on her chest and neck. My trigger finger twitches again, the look of her there, all scratched up, making me furious. Perfect skin marked up by these cunts, fear travelling through everything she is.
"They touch you other than that? " I ask, still looking at the blood.
She shakes her head.
That's one thing at least.
I look her over, checking for any more damage, and watch her toes screw up as I finally land my eyes on her feet. They're cut and battered, dirty and dusty. She must have tried running from them, tried to escape. I smirk slightly at the thought, amused that even in this scenario, wearing a cocktail dress, she still tried to beat on one of them and find her way to freedom without my help.
“As I said, I didn’t touch her,” Anchov says. I turn back to him, my gun still aimed right at him.
“Someone did.” He inclines his head to the floor, nodding at one of the dead.
“It was your damn knife,” she spits, attitude in her tone.
I back towards her, drawing my knife out so I can cut through the bonds on her arms and legs. He doesn’t move an inch, just watches me until she stands and hovers behind me.
“You come with us,” I say, flicking my gun to get him up. No matter how much I might want him dead for this, killing him isn’t useful to me yet.
He nods and stands, knowing it’s the only way I’ll leave. I need his head near this gun the entire way to my car, nothing less than that will ensure his word, especially not with this princess in tow. He walks as purposely from the room as I did into it, hands in his pockets as he makes his way back to the stairs. Fia grabs my arm, her bare feet keeping up with ours as she hurries to stay close.
“Carter…”
“Shut up ‘til we’re out of here,” I mutter, still fucking annoyed with her regardless of what’s gone down. All of this happened because of her mouth. The last thing I want to hear at the moment is any more of her words.
He steps over the dead bodies in the main hall, ignoring them as if they mean as little to him as they do to me, and then finally we step out into the cooling night air. I nudge Anchov’s back with my gun, steering him in the direction of the illuminated pathway and gates. He carries on, hands coming out of his pockets to stop the guards from drawing weapons. One wrong fucking move here and we’re all dead, certainly me. We’re a long way from safe yet.