Love and Chaos

by S. M. Soto

  My baby.

  Tears glide down my temples. And I grit my teeth trying to move my hand and feel the wound. I cry out when I do. The knife is still there. The blood starting to seep in and coat my clothes.

  “Sophie!” Alexis cries, scrambling to my side. The side of her head is dripping with blood. She keeps splitting into two; I can’t keep my focus on her.

  “Get him-m,” I choke out through the pain. “Get Angel please.”

  “I can’t leave you like this,” she sobs, hunching over me. I clench my eyes shut through a fresh wave of pain and force myself to nod, to reassure her.

  “Yes, you can. I’m going to be fine, I promise. Please, Lex. Don’t let them hurt him. Please.”

  Lex’s expression crumbles as she forces herself to nod. She pushes off the floor and runs off in the direction they went. I stare at the darkened hallway like it’s a black abyss. There’s smoke in the air, and the sound of gunshots being fired off in quick succession somewhere on the estate.

  I try to move my arm, reposition my body so I can get up, but the attempt has me letting out a strangled cry. I sob in pain, and my stomach churns when I try again. I manage to flop onto my stomach. The wood is damp beneath me. I try not to think about the blood I’m losing. I try not to think about what’s going to happen to Angel if me or Alexis doesn’t get to him.

  What happened to my brother?

  What about Creed?

  Are they even alive?

  I slap my right hand onto the wood above my head, and I curl my fingers, digging my nails into the wood. Using the pads and my nails as leverage, I try to drag my body. I scream out with the attempt. My nails bend back, snapping, bleeding under the weight of my body. But I still manage to move. I keep repeating the process. One arm then the next. Refusing to give up. I keep going until I don’t have the strength to move anymore. I can’t let them hurt my son. Those men said they had something planned for him, I refuse to find out what that is.

  In my pain riddled brain, I don’t even process the sound of pounding footsteps. They skid to a halt so close to me, I have the strongest urge to look, but I don’t have the strength to crane my head around to see.

  “Soph,” the voice whispers. I’d recognize it anywhere. My brother flips me onto my back, and I scream in pain as the knife lodges deeper, and my vision goes black.

  I HEAR THE SCREAMS. THEY make me fight harder. I hear him crying. It makes that pain in my chest intensify. The tightness makes it hard to breathe. Like someone has my lungs in a vise, tearing through my heart with a jagged knife.

  The pain from the wounds I’ve sustained has long worn off, in its place is a burning fire of rage. A brewing inferno. The need to protect my son and wife. Bouts of nausea still slam into me, my body still not one hundred percent but I keep going. I keep fighting. Leaving a trail of dead bodies as I go.

  Having snatched up a dead man’s automatic, I fire off round after round. Dropping Kincaid’s men on each level, trying to get to Sophia and Angel.

  “Find her!” I yell at Garrett, and he runs, leaving me. Leaving them all to me. I spray the room, watching in a flurry of motion as bodies drop. I fire off one last round, but not before a piercing pain shoots through my upper arm, the same arm that has already been shot to shit. My lip curls into a snarl. Ignoring the pain and the sensation of more blood dripping down my arm, I keep moving.

  When the sound of his cries intensify, I chase them. Wherever he is, Sophia will be. She has to.

  I have to find them.

  I run.

  Chasing my son’s cries.

  I dodge the hail storm of bullets, popping off shots as I go. When I spot men rounding the corner, I skid to a halt and my stomach churns when I see a man holding my son in his arms. My eyes narrow into thin slits. My lips thin into a grim line. Something shifts inside of me. I’ve never felt so empty, so cold, so fucking dark before. Nothing, has ever made me feel like this. So dangerous. So ready to maim someone. I grind my teeth back and forth, my automatic trained on him, just like his is on me.

  Over my dead body is he going to walk out of here with my son. Whatever fucked up plan the sinner man gave his men and colleagues, it ends. Today.

  Slowly, I inch forward, my eyes assessing our surroundings. The first thing I notice is my wife is missing. The pit in my stomach grows deeper. My grip tightens around the automatic, practically shattering the handle in my aggressive hold.

  I inch my head to the side, watching him. His red hair is in disarray, hanging in his face. He looks like he’s been through hell and back too. But he’s never truly known hell—not until I get my hands on him.

  I take a step forward, trying to control my anger. Angel is screaming in the man’s arms. He’s screaming like he’s been hurt. I have to get to him. I’ve never heard him cry like that before. My eyes scour his nestled body in the sweater. I look for blood, a wound, anything that can tell me if he’s injured.

  “Hand him over.”

  The motherfucker smirks. He moves so quickly, I press my finger against the trigger, but don’t apply pressure. He’s too close. Too fucking close. All he would have to do is move at the last second, and I’d shoot my son.

  I can’t.

  He changes positions, flipping Angel. The sweater he was bundled in drops to the floor and my stomach bottoms out. The man dangles Angel in one hand, holding him upside down by his ankle. I choke on a breath and my heart explodes. An icy sensation filling my chest. Angel cries. It physically hurts to hear him in pain. It claws at my chest, making it hard to breathe. The sounds escaping his little lungs are shrill, like an alarm. His little face is red. An urgency like no other has me growling at the red-haired man.

  “Put him the fuck down!”

  He smiles. “With pleasure.”

  At the same time he lets go, I pull the trigger and bullets sails toward him, hitting him square in the chest. The force has him stumbling back, but my eyes are already on my son. I dart down, diving for the floor, for Angel. Everything seems to happen in slow motion after that. I watch him fall, I see Angel’s little head sailing straight for the ground. I shoot my arms out, praying, hoping to god, or anyone who is listening that I can catch him. His little body makes contact with my hands and I grasp onto him for dear life. I tug his shaking form into my arms. His screams have my heart bleeding with pain. He’s crying so hard, he’s not breathing. I lightly blow in his face, trying to help him catch his breath through his cries.

  I crush Angel to my chest, and for the first time, a tear slips out of the corner of my eye as I try to soothe him. As I try to get my son to stop crying.

  “I’m here, Tesoro,” I whisper into his ear, cradling him against my chest and rocking him back and forth. “Daddy’s here. I’m here.”

  He still cries in distress, but his body is no longer quaking with the force of his cries. I press kisses to his little head. Too scared of losing him to let go.

  I try to rock my son in my arms anything to get him to calm down and stop crying. With my heart pounding in my chest, I check his head, his little body, looking for any sign they hurt him. Any sign he’s in pain. I caress his full head of hair, I rub his back, press kisses to his skin and inhaling his scent, trying to anything to calm him.

  With my back resting against the wall, the foundation of the building falling I don’t have a chance to see him coming. By the time I look up and see the red-headed man who almost took Angel from me, charging us, with blood dripping from his chest wound, it’s too late. I push to my feet, taking a stance to protect myself and Angel but I freeze at the deafening blow of a gunshot. It’s piercing.

  My eyes widen on the dark stain spreading along his stomach. Another shot is fired into him. Then another. And another until he drops to his knees, the life long gone from his eyes and he falls forward in a heap. My gaze swings to the doorway. To Sophia. She’s dripping with blood, her face white as a sheet, but her hand is steady on the gun as she fires off another shot into the man. She keeps shooting. Emptying
the round into him, tears streaming down her face until the slide clicks, but she’s still pulling the trigger. Even when he’s dead. Even when there’s nothing left.

  As if realizing she emptied the entire clip on him an animalistic sound escapes her throat, and she drops to her knees beside him and slams the gun down on his head over and over. His blood sprays her. Her face, neck, chest, and arms. She keeps going and going until finally, with my free hand, I tighten my grip on her wrists, snapping her out of it. She freezes her movements.

  Her body trembles violently.

  She finally stops, and her gaze slowly drifts up to mine. I see the tears there, but I also see the anger. The torture. All of it glimmers in her green orbs.

  “H-he…he t-took him from m-me,” her voice trembles. The reality of what she’s just done kicking in. Her chin quivers and I’m just about to pull her into my arms when I notice something. My eyes flick down and all the blood drains from my face.

  “Fucking hell,” I breathe.

  I pull her into my arms. Angel mewls like he knows his mother is close, and Sophia sobs, burrowing herself deeper into my arms. When she pulls away and I look down at her, I can’t explain the feelings running through me. Unable to help myself, I slide my hand into her hair and tug her toward me, taking her lips in a savage kiss. She falls into it, gripping onto me, clawing at my back, her anger and adrenaline still running rampant through her veins. Our mouths clash in passion and anger. Teeth nip and bite and I dig my fingers into her, needing all of her.

  When she least expects it, I grip the handle of the knife and yank, tossing it aside. Sophia yelps in pain, but I swallow it with my mouth, fighting past the burning sensation of using my mangled arm to apply pressure to the wound.

  I hear pounding footsteps and breathe a sigh of relief when Garrett, Clarence, and Monte shove through the door. Garrett takes in the scene and runs to my side.

  “Take him.”

  I hand off Angel, needing to apply more pressure to Sophia’s wound. The adrenaline finally dissipates from her body and she falls limply in my arms.

  Garrett rakes a frustrated hand over his head. “Goddamnit! I told you I was getting help, Sophia! Why didn’t you wait until I could stitch you up?” he yells at her.

  She jerks in my arms, her face pinching with pain.

  “Shhh. Everything is going to be okay, baby. I promise you,” I whisper in her ear. She nods, tears streaming down her face. I wipe them away, and slowly lower her to the ground. I apply more pressure as she lays there. The stab wound isn’t deep. I’ve survived worse, but that doesn’t mean I want to waste any time.

  “Get me a fucking first aid kit!” I yell to no one in particular.

  “Already found one,” Garrett says. That must’ve been why he left her when he found her, to find something to close the wound and stop the bleeding with.

  The smoke billows from the fire on this side of the estate, it’s only going to keep getting worse. We just need enough time to patch her up and stop the bleeding. That’s still too risky though, especially with Angel here. I turn back to Garrett.

  “Get him out of here. You shoot first and ask questions later, got it? Once we have the wound covered, we’ll get out of here, but I can’t take the chance of waiting too long.”

  Cova looks down at his sister, pain flitting across his features but he nods, understanding that it’s too risky to wait. He clutches Angel to his chest and then he’s gone. I look back down at Soph, making sure she still has a pulse and is still breathing evenly. Clarence rips open the tools he’ll need, working quick. He pours the half-empty bottle of alcohol on his hands and cleans all the tools he’ll need with them.

  “You ready?” he asks.

  I give him a stiff nod and he jerks his head toward my hands, indicating it’s time for me to move them. Her shirt is matted to her skin with blood and when he lifts it, we get a better look at the wound.

  It’s not deep. If something major was punctured, she’d be bleeding a lot more than she is.”

  Clarence gets to work, and I scan my gaze over Sophia, not even worried about my own wounds. Just focused on her. Once Clarence starts stitching her skin together, she groans in pain but doesn’t open her eyes.

  I take stock of the rest of her wounds, the bruising on her face, on her body. My gaze zeros in on her hands that are bloodied. I pick one up, inspecting it. I wince when I realize she’s missing her nails. Some all the way gone, others cracked halfway up where the nailbed is. Her knuckles are bloodied and swollen, like she was in a fist fight. As I look her over, I realize she put up a fight. Her wounds are defensive wounds.

  “We need to get out of here now, man,” Clarence says, taping gauze over the wound once he finishes up.

  I lift Sophia in my arms, my good arm taking the brunt of her weight, and we bypass all the bodies. I crush her into my chest, trying to keep her from breathing in so much smoke. I pause with her in the foyer. Outside, I can see Garrett holding Angel, Alexis wrapped in Jose’s arms and Kam. I even spot Magdalene, Lorenzo, and a few other soldiers. I grind my teeth together when I realize who’s missing.

  “Take her,” I say, handing her off to Monte. Both his and Clarence’s eyes widen.

  “Where the fuck are you going?”

  “Not everyone is out.”

  I look down at Sophia one last time before I run back in. I try to remember the last time I saw Matteo. I bypass the foyer, following the trail of blood. I hear the sound of voices and grunts, pausing when I see Giovanni trying to drag Matteo to get him out, but he’s got his own wounds that are leaking blood too. I curse under my breath, going toward both of them, offering my arms for help. I let out a hiss of pain once Giovanni grasps onto my bad arm, but I fight past the nausea, helping him pull Matteo up. His skin is ashen white and when he peels his gaze back to look at me, that goddamn smirk spreads across his face.

  “The one chance you have to let me die and you don’t even take it. I’m disappointed, stronzo.”

  My lips press together in a thin line and I’m determined to leave him here, but I know I can’t. I should. Fuck, I know I should, but I haul him up anyway, ignoring him.

  “Kept my promise.”

  “And what promise is that?” I ask dryly.

  “She made me promise to keep you safe. No matter what.”

  My brows tug down, both me and Giovanni huffing through the pain as we spot the opening in the foyer.

  “Who, Mom?”

  Matteo chuckles, but it’s a hollow, sad sound. “I’m talking about your wife.”

  My gaze swings to his. And it makes sense. That day that Sophia cried in my office when finding out about the FBI, stating something about promises. I didn’t understand it at the time, but now I do.

  My chest squeezes, making it hard to breathe so I look away. My wife and son were going to be fine. Now, now I needed to worry about getting Matteo and Giovanni out before the entire foundation burns to the ground.

  We bypass bodies. The air is laced with gun smoke, burning wood and the rancid stench of death. I hear Sophia’s sob as soon as we make it out of the blown hole in the front doors. My surprised gaze whips to hers. She’s still seated on the grass on the estate, Cova hovering over her, Alexis, holding onto Angel. I thought she’d still be out. Still be in pain by now, but I should know by now she never does what I think.

  Always defying.

  Always surprising me.

  Always proving me wrong.

  I drop both of them onto the grass next to everyone else and when I glance back over my shoulder at the place that was my mom’s pride and joy, my chest tightens. The structure is on fire. No longer looking like the immaculate estate I grew up on.

  A sudden thought occurs to me, and I dart my gaze around us, looking for any more of Kincaid’s men but I don’t spot any stragglers. A few of them inside had c4’s. I don’t know if they used it all or if some were simply left throughout the estate. If that’s the case, they could still blow, and I won’t risk having S
ophia or Angel so close to the estate when that happens.

  With a growl, I push back off the floor and start jogging back toward the estate. I hear their angered shouts, everyone yelling after me, but I need to get to the garage. We need a vehicle for us to get out of here safely. The fire is hotter the deeper I go. I use my shirt to cover my nostrils, jogging down the hallway and ignoring the pain radiating from my wounds. Waves of nausea slam into me, but I fight them.

  Bursting through the doors, I grab the first set of keys and climb into the SUV, my blood dripping onto the leather seats. I floor it, crashing through the garage doors, toward everyone else. I can see the flames growing, I don’t even need to look in the mirrors, the flames rise behind me, shining against the windows.

  I need to get everyone out of here. Fast.

  Throwing the SUV in park. I hop down, grinding my teeth together to stave off the waves of pain and help Sophia and a sleeping Angel inside. Everyone else follows, squeezing in to make room. The structure of the estate is caving, the flames licking, devouring everything. Monte drives and the farther away we get, the more bodies litter the grounds. Absolute carnage. The front of the estate is a river of red, dead bodies.

  We leave it all behind, driving off the estate and a boom jolts the car forward, almost tipping us over. A glance in the rearview mirror has me seething with rage. The estate explodes. Going up in even bigger flames behind us. Monte presses on the gas, and I feel Sophia lean into me, her hand sliding in mine. I look down at her, at Angel cradled in her lap and she leans in, settling against my chest and arms, falling asleep. I keep my eyes on Sophia. Refusing to take my eyes off her even once. She’s still pale, but having her wound stitched and stopping the blood flow has helped. She’ll need antibiotics to make sure she doesn’t get an infection. I’ll need to call Dr. Chang to check on her and Angel.

  My nostrils flare as I think about everything I almost lost.