The strap of my bag bites into my neck. Constantine yanks it hard, pressing on my windpipe. Shadows form and crawl in from the edges of my vision, and I can barely hear his labored breathing in my ear. “Stop. Fucking. Moving,” he rasps. The strap’s too tight. Ducking my head won’t shift it off my neck. I fight off a wave of dizziness and suck in a breath. I wish my nails were longer. They won’t do a lot of damage, but fuck, I have to try.
I rip my nails down the inside of his forearm and drive both elbows into his chest. He lets me go with a surprised whumph. I pull the bag off and go for the hand still holding the gun. Another shot rings out, the bullet narrowly missing my foot.
A burst of rage surging through me threatens to shove me off balance, both physically and mentally, and I take a few seconds I don’t have to shut my eyes and breathe. He will not win. I won’t let him.
Constantine’s curled over me, chest flush against my back, blood from his broken nose dripping onto my cheek. I have one hand hanging on to his wrist, the other tucked in against my stomach to keep him from grabbing it. If I can elbow him in the ribs a second time, I might be able to reach his balls.
No one ever said I had to fight fair.
He’ll be expecting the elbow, though. I’ve already hit him twice. He won’t let me connect a third time. Second best option—snap my head back and hope I hit his nose. The risk of a headache is worth it.
The car swerves again, and I crash my head into his face as we smack into the back of the seat. His left arm loosens enough I can snake my hand between my ass and his groin. From the way he’s sitting, though, all I get is a small handful of loose fabric.
He chuckles. “Nice try, love.”
Fighting desperation, I twist around and thrust my knee toward his crotch, missing when he wraps his arms around me in a hug. My arms are trapped against his chest, hands inches away from his throat. Blood coats his upper lip, congealing around the nostrils. The beginnings of a bruise shadow the inside corner of his left eye, the earlier fury replaced by cold amusement.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “You’ll live to see Dom one last time.”
I curl my fingers into claws and grip the front of his shirt. “Thanks. I think.” I drop my head to the crook of his neck, adrenaline pumping hard and fast. If I can get the gun from him, there’s still a chance I can overwhelm Constantine before we get to the warehouse.
As close as we are, though, he’ll feel any move I make. I have one option left, and if it doesn’t work, it’s sure to piss him off to the point where he may decide to kill me now.
“It’s nothing personal, Cass.” His arms are iron bands.
Nothing personal. Why is there nothing personal in this business? “Sure as fuck feels like it,” I mutter.
“Not my fault you keep getting in the way.”
What was it Nick told me? Loose ends don’t get tied up; they get snipped. “Am I a loose end?”
“If that’s the way you want to think of it.” We round a corner, slower than the last couple we took. “Almost there.”
I picture the streets surrounding the warehouse like a grid. Plenty of cover, and it’ll be busier during the day. I turn my head and rub the tip of my nose up the line of his neck, clenching my teeth against the urge to gag.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he murmurs. He doesn’t let go, doesn’t relax his hold, but I didn’t expect him to. “You can’t seduce your way out of this.”
I have no problems robbing cradles.
Motherfucker.
My gag reflex kicks in full force when I place my lips on his skin. A growl sounds low in his throat. A warning. I have a few seconds. Less than. Opening my mouth, I bite as hard as I can, breaking the skin.
He curses and jerks his head away, his arms relaxing slightly. Planting my hands on his chest, I push back, ram the heel of my palm into his jaw, and free my other arm enough I can reach up and grab his hair. I slam his head into the window. The gun fires. This time, though, the SUV speeds up, the driver cursing long and loud. I slam Constantine’s head into the glass once more and throw myself backward. Constantine drops the gun on the floor. I dive for it right as the car lurches to a stop.
Pain races up my neck as I’m thrown into the back of the driver’s seat. I ignore it and close my hand around the gun. Weakness sneaks down my other arm, spreading from the pain in my neck. Something to worry about later. Preferably when I’m not trapped in a car with a man who wants to kill me.
The gun shakes as I point it at Constantine. To be expected, I guess, since I spent most of the car ride fighting. “Why,” I pant, “can’t your family leave me alone?” I flick the safety off. The grip is bulky and awkward, and my finger slips off the trigger. “Do you have something against talking through your problems?”
He groans softly. “I could talk myself to death, Cass. It won’t do any good.” Wincing, he sits up and slits open an eye. “Get out of the car. Now.”
Click. I guess the last gunshot didn’t do much damage because the driver’s pulled a gun on me. Turning my head to the left hurts. My neck’s growing stiff, limiting my range of motion. Before I can shift and shoot the driver, he presses the barrel to my temple.
Constantine pries the gun from my hand. “Out of the car. Dom should be here soon.”
We make an odd and stumbly group of people. Thanks to being slammed around in the car, I hurt in weird places. Constantine’s mouth is covered in drying blood, and the driver has a dark stain running down his lower back. From the placement, it looks as though the shot may have gotten him in the kidney. The bullet must have gone through the seat. He’ll collapse if he doesn’t get medical attention soon.
Several cars are parked along the narrow street in front of the warehouse. A few men are leaning against them and the wall near the door to the building. No visible weapons. No sign of Nick, either. I hope he doesn’t come. He will, but until he shows, I’ll hope he won’t.
The number of people waiting for our arrival surprises me. If this is indicative of how the organization as a whole feels about Nick, he’s screwed, whether he lives through today or not. “Do you really all hate Nick that much?” I ask the group at large.
“They’re all ready for a change,” Constantine replies.
“And you’re such a good example of that.” The snarky remark gets me a slap across the face. Tears well, and I blink them away, let them drip down my cheeks. “What kind of ‘change’ could you represent? Huh? You’re one of them. You’re a fucking Kosta.” I raise my voice. “You want change? Then maybe someone who isn’t a Kosta should run the organization.”
I get a punch on the jaw for my troubles. “Shut the fuck up, Cassidy.” Constantine jerks his head toward the entrance. “Get her inside. When Dom gets here, let him through.”
“No need.”
I drop my head to my chest and let the pain settle in. Dammit. He had to come riding to the rescue. One of the things I love the most about him will be the thing that gets us both killed. The ache in my jaw is nothing compared to the one in my chest.
Footsteps crunch on the loose gravel scattered across the road. I inhale sharply as fingers brush the underside of my chin, tipping it up. The small smile on Nick’s lips is at odds with the rage in his eyes. “Ready to go home, love?”
“I was ready before they got me in the car.” He has a plan. He’s too steady not to have one. I search his expression for anything that might clue me in on what he’s planned. “Nick?” There’s nothing there. Nothing but his absolute fury that I’m here, and there are a bunch of guns pointed at us.
“Enough.” Constantine yanks me to the side, out of Nick’s immediate space. “Inside.”
Nick reaches out, snakes an arm around my waist. “Sorry, Con.” The warehouse explodes.
My back hits the ground with a sharp smack, but Nick’s hand cradles the back of my head to keep it from connecting with cement. Fire rains down around us, pieces of wood and glass like shrapne
l. I hear screaming. Smoke stings my eyes and clogs my lungs, Nick heavy on top of me.
A blast of heat surges over us. He lifts his head, gives my face a cursory scan, and pushes up on his hands. “You okay?”
“I think so.”
“Good.” Pain twists his face as he gets on his knees, then his feet. Aside from the bruises I’ll be sporting on my face, hips, and back tomorrow, I’m uninjured. Constantine lies beside us, his face white with ash, eyes shut. Blood streams from a cut on his temple. The dark red carves rivulets through the layer of ash to disappear into his hair. When I poke him, he doesn’t so much as twitch in response.
I scramble to my feet, eager to be gone before he wakes up. I get a quick look at the warehouse before Nick pulls me down the street away from the fire. It looks like someone cut through the middle with a flaming sword. Both ends are more or less standing, though quickly becoming engulfed in flames. The men leaning on the section of wall that’s now missing are fiery, charred lumps. More bodies are slumped in the street, some moving feebly, some not at all.
“What did you do?” He’s limping badly, and I glance at his leg. A dark stain’s spreading along his thigh. “You know, your leg’s never going to heal at this rate.”
“Thanks for that. And what I did was lay a well-placed explosive and took out the two men Con had on the other side of the warehouse. Couldn’t risk blowing the whole building. Too many people around, buildings too close together.” His voice is strained, and I move into his side to take some of his weight. We round the corner of a neighboring warehouse and turn onto a sun-dappled street. It’s empty except for a pickup truck parked in front of a loading dock. “Don’t have a lot of time.” Nick tries to pick up the pace and stumbles.
A bullet zips past, and we both dive for the ground. Nick shifts his weight so he’s on top of me. “Nick.”
“Don’t move,” he grits out.
“Stop trying to protect me!”
“I’ll stop trying to protect you when the sun explodes.”
Someone kicks my foot. “How touching. Get up. Both of you.”
Nick rolls off me, and I crane my neck to see Constantine standing behind me, gun trained on Nick. Every bone in my body is crying in agony, but I shift onto my back, then sit up. “Seriously. If you’re going to kill us, could you just get it over with already?”
Nick never takes his eyes off his cousin. “Why?” The question is quiet, barely audible over the roar of the fire and the shouts of the warehouse workers.
“You’re in the way,” Constantine says simply. “You don’t fucking trust me to finish the job. You’re on my ass, hanging over my shoulder, so certain I’m going to screw up.”
“The Nautilus project,” I murmur, and Constantine nods.
“Nautilus, Sager, a number of others that I could have saved without your help.” He sneers at Nick. “There’s more to it, though. You’re Andreas’s son. You know if my father had been born first, everything you have would be mine. The organization needs to change. Needs to trim down, consolidate. No one fucking listens. He won’t even listen to you. You’re gone, he has no choice.”
Greed. One of the most basic of human emotions and the driving force behind so much.
“Why Isaiah?” I ask.
Constantine cuts his gaze to me. “Isaiah’s needs meshed with my own. He wanted you dead. If the first hit had gone off like it was supposed to, we wouldn’t be here today.” He motions for us to stand. “I can’t shoot you like a couple of fish. Get the fuck on your feet.”
Gravel digs into my ass, but I remain sitting, contemplating the gun. It’s currently pointed at Nick. The street’s otherwise deserted; no one’s run around the corner to help Constantine. I risk a glance over my shoulder. A couple of men dash through the intersection. None of them think to look down the street. Everyone’s distracted by the flaming building one block over.
Nick’s struggling to stand, and Constantine’s watching him with impatience. Honorable bullshit aside, he might get trigger happy. Of course, if neither of us does anything, we’re basically just waiting for Constantine to shoot.
No more reacting.
I curl my legs under me slowly, like it hurts to move. Considering it does hurt to move, I barely swallow the hiss of pain trying to escape. Once I’m on my knees, I sneak a glance at Nick. He’s on his knees as well, and he’s not moving. Blood’s spread out from the wound in his thigh. I swear on all that is holy, I am chaining the man to the bed for a week.
Somehow I need to get Nick’s attention without drawing Constantine’s focus away. Shifting my weight onto my right hand, I lift my left, dislodging a few pebbles in the process. Nick’s in my periphery, but I can’t actually see his face. I’m running on hope and adrenaline now. Keeping the movement as small as possible, I point with my left hand toward Constantine, swinging my hand forward like I’m going to push, telegraphing my intent as best I can. He’s close enough I can throw myself at his lower legs and knock him off balance.
Muscles burning with tension, I spring forward. My shoulder smashes into Constantine’s shin. Through the shock of pain, I fight to wrap my arms around his legs. I guess I ought to be grateful I succeeded in knocking him off balance. He takes a giant step back, and I scramble backward, only to fling myself to the left as a shot rings out. Body screaming in agony, I slowly stand up, swaying back and forth.
“Fucking cunt,” Constantine spits out. I drop to my knees as he squeezes the trigger, narrowly avoiding the bullet. I should stay on the ground. Every time I get up, I end up flat on it anyway. This will save time. I fall forward and press my cheek to the pavement.
Over the continued shouts and crackling wood from the fire one block over, I hear a string of curses and the sounds of flesh smacking flesh. I lift my head. Nick’s standing. He’s standing and pounding his fist into Constantine’s face, heedless of the gun clutched in his hand. Guy must have super-glued it to his palm, because I don’t think he’s let go once.
As I watch, head fuzzy with pain, Constantine brings the butt of the gun down, missing Nick’s head and hitting his shoulder. Nick grunts, locks both hands around the back of Constantine’s neck, jerks his right knee up, and slams it into his solar plexus. Constantine doubles over and drops the gun at his feet.
That gun has become my holy grail. I push up to my elbows and belly crawl forward. I snag the gun as Nick rams his knee into his cousin’s face. Constantine collapses in a groaning heap.
Dead people can’t come after me. Dead people can’t kill Nick. I sit up and aim the gun at Constantine’s head. My hands are shaking. How many shots has he fired? Four? Five?
Dead people will finally leave me alone.
“Cass.” Nick limps over and gently pulls the gun from my hand. “It’s over.”
Over. I fall back and stare at the sky, smoke scudding across the faded blue, bits of gravel digging into my skull.
It’s over.
Chapter 26
I look like a prune. I study the puckered, wrinkled pink skin of my fingertips as water drips down my forearms. The heat and the Epsom salt helped with some of the aches, exactly like the nurse said they would. The pills in the orange bottle on the sink should take care of the rest.
Nick knocks on the door and pokes his head into the bathroom. I scowl. “Get back on the couch.” He promised he’d stay off his leg as much as possible for at least a week. Some promise. It took him only a few hours to break it.
“You’ve been lying in there for close to a half hour, love. Time to get out.” He withdraws his head, and I hear his crutches thudding against the carpeted floor. Water sloshes close to the rim of the tub as I sit up. He’s right. Dammit. I’ve refreshed the water twice to keep it warm. Gritting my teeth, I stand and reach for the towel I placed on the closed lid of the toilet. I dry off and pull on a pair of sweats and a hoodie, then pad out of the bathroom to find Nick.
He’s on the couch where he’s supposed to be, injured leg stre
tched along the length of the cushions. I wander over and squish myself into the corner of space he left me. “I’m out. Now will you stay off your leg?”
“Bossy,” he murmurs. “Bath help?”
“Some. Not as much as the pills, though.” The directions say to take one every six hours. Based on the time I took my first one at the hospital, I have two more to go. “Know what you want for dinner?”
“Cass.”
I shut my eyes at the warning note in his voice. He’s done nothing but apologize since the police and fire crews showed up at the warehouse. He’s sorry he didn’t listen to my concerns. Sorry he put me in danger. Sorry, sorry, sorry. If I hear that word one more time, I’m going to kick him.
“I’m—”
I jab at his uninjured leg with my foot. “You say you’re sorry one more time, the next thing I kick won’t be your leg.”
His mouth curves into a smile. “You’re cute when you’re trying to be intimidating.”
I sigh. “I know you’re sorry. You didn’t want to believe me, Nick. I get that. It hurts, I won’t lie, but I understand why you didn’t want to listen.” Constantine’s betrayal sliced through us both. He sheltered us. He shared food with us. I liked him. A lot.
His expression sobers. “I hate that I hurt you. I hate that I could have prevented it from happening at all.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek. “I hope we never have to face anything like this again, but… If I’m bringing my concerns to you, it’s for a reason. Will you listen? That’s all I want. Next time I try to talk to you about something, you listen.”
“Deal.” He darts his gaze to his leg. “Motherfuck.”
“Don’t you dare move it.”
The cushions bounce as he shifts on his ass, the movement forcing me from my spot. He nestles into the corner, injured leg still extended, but he bends his uninjured one and places his foot flat on the floor. A vee of space opens, and he holds out a hand. “C’mere.”
Game of Lies Page 20
