by CJ Bishop
Eli smirked. “I can’t believe everyone is so fucking terrified of a queer cowboy. Probably wears rainbow panties. Isn’t that right, cowboy?”
His face expressionless, the cowboy drawled, “Not my style. But a friend of mine wears a rainbow G-string. His boyfriend sure thinks it’s sexy.”
“Fucking freaks,” Riccardo muttered.
The cowboy remained silent but Riccardo could feel his eyes boring into the back of his head, and he began to feel uneasy. Maybe pissing the man off wasn’t the best idea in the world. Queer or not, he was pretty sure the fucker could rip his head off with his bare hands.
Relief seeped through him when they arrived back at the house and pulled around to the rear side. He exited the car and waited for the second vehicle to park then motioned the men to get out. “We’ll take the cowboy in first,” Riccardo said. “Get him secure, then bring in the Egyptian. Stay alert when handling them. These fuckers may have just wanted us to bring them here so they could break loose and grab Cruz Santiago and the girl. So, pay fucking attention and make sure they are fully restrained. Two of you will walk them in, while the rest of us keep our weapons on them at all times. Got it?”
The men nodded.
Riccardo stepped over to the rear driver side his car, glanced at Eli who withdrew his gun, then opened the door.
•
Terrell checked his phone when a text came in. “They’re back,” he said. “They’re taking the cowboy into the basement now.”
Flynn backed toward the door. “I’ll help them.”
“I’m sure they can handle it.”
“With men like these,” Flynn said, withdrawing his weapon. “You can’t be too careful.” He left the room and headed for the basement. On the cellar steps, he slowed, keeping quiet as he heard the voices echoing through the basement below. He reached into his pocket, retrieved the item within, and screwed it onto the gun barrel. “Time to pay the piper, motherfucker.”
CHAPTER 35
“Clean Sweep”
______________________________________________
“Are you going to put him in with Santiago?” Eli asked.
“Yeah.” Riccardo walked behind the cowboy through the dim, narrow corridor. “They’re not going to be down here long enough to cause a problem.” He spoke to the two men escorting the cowboy when they reached the furnace room. “Stop here.” He unlatched the door. “Eli and I can take it from here. You two get back out there and keep an eye on the Egyptian. We’ll be out in a few minutes.”
The men looked a little anxious but nodded and walked back down the corridor and through the outer door. Eli opened the furnace door and held it as Riccardo motioned the cowboy inside. Across the floor, Cruz sat silently in the chair, head down, eyes raised, watching them.
Riccardo was hardly in the room when the door slammed behind him with a loud, metallic bang and latched from the outside—locking him inside. “What the fuck?” Something hit the outer door with a heavy thud—a body?—then dropped to the floor. “Eli!”
“It’s your ass you should be worried about.”
Riccardo whirled around, eyes widening. Cruz Santiago was on his feet, a gun gripped in his fist that he had aimed at Riccardo’s head. “Drop it, motherfucker, or this room is going to get a messy new paint job.”
“What the fuck…?”
Cruz peeled back the hammer. “Now.”
Swallowing hard, Riccardo dropped his weapon.
“Kick it over here.”
He did so. Fuck. Fuck! Who the hell let this fucker loose? His mind shot to Flynn. Had his little bitch turned him to their side? You little motherfucking piece of shit!
“Turn around and face the door, spread eagle,” Cruz ordered.
Riccardo stared at him as his nostrils flared and fury bubbled up inside him.
“You want to make a move?” Cruz twisted the gun a bit and smiled. “Please—make my day.”
The cowboy chuckled low.
Riccardo’s face twitched and he turned around, splaying his arms and legs. Should’ve fucking killed them on sight. Wasn’t that always the case? Hindsight was fucking 20/20. He glanced over his shoulder as Cruz produced a small knife from his pocket and cut the cowboy loose.
Fuck—you’re dead!
The cowboy picked up Riccardo’s gun and walked over to him and ground the gun barrel into the nape of his neck. He winced, his face twisting as pain shot up into his head and down his spine.
“Later on tonight,” the cowboy growled in his ear. “We’re going to have lots of fun together. But for now…” He grabbed him and dragged him across the floor and threw him into the chair. “We have more pressing business to attend to.”
Cruz used the rope and cinched Riccardo to the chair—extra tight.
“No worries,” the cowboy said. “We’ll be back for you soon. Until then, have a nice sleep.” He cracked him in the back of the head with the butt of the handgun and knocked him out cold.
•
Flynn stepped over Eli’s body and unlatched the furnace door, then moved on down the corridor. He paused at the outer doors, remaining concealed. Only two guys were out there, lingering around the second car. Flynn lowered his weapon and held it behind his back as he stepped outside. The headlights lit up the night and he walked toward the men.
The first guy—tall, athletic, and ugly as fuck—looked Flynn’s way. “Hey, where’s Riccardo-”
The bullet was through his head and out the other side before he even saw Flynn bring his weapon up. Blood splattered the second guy’s face and he stood for a moment, shocked and confused—then burst into action, whipping his gun toward Flynn.
Flynn was squeezing down on the trigger when the Egyptian exploded out of the backseat, grabbed the man, and spun his head, snapping his neck—all in one smooth action. He dumped him on the ground and stepped away from the car. Flynn stared at him, in momentary shock.
“Mind lowering that pea shooter?” the Egyptian muttered.
“Huh?” Flynn blinked and realized his gun was still raised and finger locked around the trigger. “Uh, yeah, sorry,” he mumbled and quickly shifted the weapon off the man. When a small band of men materialized out of the darkness, Flynn started swing the gun back up but was halted by the Egyptian.
“Easy, Dirty Harry, these are our boys.”
Flynn swallowed and nodded, and dropped the gun again.
Sanchez appeared and walked over. “Cruz and Clint take care of your guy?”
“Yeah.”
Sanchez glanced at the dead man with a bullet through his head. “Nice work. No hesitation.” He smiled. “I agree with our Egyptian friend here, you have potential.”
He agreed with the Egyptian? Flynn looked at the man; he thought Flynn had potential? A strange warm sensation coursed through him. It was a feeling he had never experienced with his father…or anyone, until he met Caterina—and her boys.
They entered the basement as Clint and Cruz emerged from the furnace room and latched the door. “He’ll be out till we come back to collect him,” Cruz told Flynn. “You ready to do your thing?”
Flynn nodded.
“Don’t let the fucker intimidate you,” Cruz said. “You’re the good man here. He’s the piece of shit.”
Flynn nodded again. “You can count on me.”
“I know,” Cruz smiled. “Once we got past our little misunderstanding, I didn’t doubt that for a moment.” He looked at Sanchez. “Did you bring the toys?”
Sanchez nodded and motioned Rodriguez forward who carried a small metal box. “Diego’s little science project.”
Flynn noted the slight strain in the man’s voice and sadness in his eyes. “What is it?”
“Homemade smoke bombs,” Sanchez said. “Great for disorienting the enemy.”
“Cool,” Flynn murmured.
Rodriguez chuckled. “That’s what I said, too.”
Sanchez tugged a handgun from beneath the rear of his jacket and handed it to the cowboy. “Your
baby, amigo.”
“Thanks.” The cowboy checked the clip then took the knife Sanchez offered him as well. “What do I owe you for babysitting?”
“Just shoot any fucker who gets in our way, and help us get out of here alive.” He patted Clint’s shoulder. “And we’ll be square.”
“Not a problem.”
•
Cruz watched as Flynn removed the silencer from his gun. “I better get up there before my father starts wondering where we are. He had four men with him when I was up there before. If they’re still there, I’ll see if I can get him to send them down here. Be ready.” He looked at Rodriguez. “You remember the way?”
The young man tapped his head and smiled. “Got it stored right up here.”
“Uh-oh,” one of the other men mumbled with a smirk. “We’re doomed.”
Cruz and the others chuckled, amused. They all knew that Rodriguez had an elephant’s memory and rarely, if ever, forgot a damn thing—even things some of the guys wished he would forget. The ‘forget I said that’ backpedal didn’t work with Rodriguez who would usually respond with ‘Sorry, I can’t—literally.’
Flynn left them a few moments later and retuned upstairs.
“We have some of the other boys out front,” Sanchez told Cruz. “Well out of sight. They’ll take out anyone who comes out that way.”
Cruz nodded and looked around the dimly lit basement. “Conceal yourselves. If Pisano’s men come down here, I want us to see them before they see us. We only get one go at the element of surprise, so don’t waste it. This area isn’t big enough for an all-out gunfight without potential casualties, so let’s not give them a chance to get their bearings after we surprise them.”
The men found their hiding spots. Sanchez slid into a small alcove with Cruz and curled one arm around his neck and pressed his lips to the back of his head. “I’m so ready for this long-ass day, and night, to be over,” he whispered, then smiled against his hair. “You still going to do that strip tease for me?”
“Wait a minute,” Cruz murmured. “I thought it was the other way around.”
“Nope.” Sanchez kissed his head and grinned. His arm tightened a fraction as he hugged Cruz against him. His voice dropped to barely a whisper and filled with emotion. “Why won’t you let me say it?”
“Because,” Cruz explained. “When a person says it in a dangerous situation, it’s because they think they might not make it out and have a chance to say it later. But we’re going to get through this, so you can tell me when we get home.”
Sanchez tucked his gun into the rear of his pants and hugged Cruz with both arms, pressing a warm kiss to his neck. “As you wish, baby.”
Cruz savored the heat of his body and longed for their bed back home. He turned his head and kissed Sanchez on the mouth. “Don’t plan on sleeping at all tonight,” he whispered. “Not one wink.”
Sanchez squeezed him in his arms. “I hadn’t intended to.”
•
Flynn could hear at least two men in the room with his father. He walked through the doorway and was instantly drilled by his father’s chilled stare.
“Where’s Riccardo?”
“Downstairs,” Flynn said. There were three men present besides his father. “He wants more guys down there.”
“Why?” Terrell asked.
“I don’t know. He just told me to tell you to send them down.”
Terrell nodded at the other three men. “Go.”
Flynn waited until they were gone, then walked over to the fireplace. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately about mom’s death.”
“Don’t you think you should get over it already?” his father asked with a tinge of irritation. “It’s been nine years. You have her killer down in the furnace room. You’ll get your revenge. Now stop your fucking whining.”
You are right about that—I do have her killer locked up in the furnace room. But only “one” of them.
“You know,” Flynn murmured and raised his eyes to his father’s face. “I don’t remember you grieving for her loss. You seemed…almost glad she was gone.”
“She had her qualities,” his father said dryly. “But she wasn’t good for you. Not when it came to you growing into a strong man.”
“You don’t think I’m a strong man?”
Terrell scoffed. “I think you know the answer to that.”
“My mom was the best person in my life,” Flynn replied coldly.
“Of course, you thought that. She fucking coddled you. There wasn’t a damn thing you had to do for yourself. She gave you whatever the fuck you wanted.”
Flynn smiled sourly. “Not a new father.”
He shook his head. “You’re a piece of work. In the history of sons, I can’t imagine any were more disappointing and shaming to his father than you are. Get out of my fucking sight.”
Flynn didn’t budge. “Riccardo said something interesting to me today. It got me to thinking.”
“Again,” his father muttered. “First time for everything.”
“He said…Don’t think for one fucking second I can’t turn your life to hell in the blink of an eye. I did it once—I can do it again.” Flynn stared at his father. “What do you suppose he was talking about?” He barely caught the flicker in the man’s eyes, but it was enough to confirm his suspicions.
“How the fuck should I know?”
“There was only one time my life turned to hell,” Flynn said quietly. “The day Cruz Santiago murdered my mom.” His eyes narrowed a bit. “Or maybe I’ve been accusing the wrong man. What do you think, dad?”
Terrell frowned and stepped back. “What the hell are you implying?”
“Cruz Santiago didn’t kill her, did he?” Flynn’s hand itched to grab his gun but he resisted the urge. “Riccardo did—under orders from you. Isn’t that right, you motherfucker?”
“You are out of your fucking mind.”
Flynn’s breath surged out of him. “You don’t think I’m a strong man? Fuck you!” His fist clenched and he smashed his father’s jaw, knocking the man against the fireplace.
Terrell gasped and grabbed the mantle to keep himself upright. He stared in shock at Flynn—shock that quickly morphed into rage. “You fucking-”
Flynn swung on him again, driving him to the floor. “You motherfucking piece of shit!” Flynn kicked him in the gut, the ribs, the face. Tears were streaking his face before he felt them form. “She as the only good thing in my life!” His foot nailed his father in the back as the man rolled over, crushing him against the brick hearth. “I wished every fucking day that it was you who was dead! Not her!” He wrenched his gun out and dropped to the floor, dragging his father onto his back. Blood caked his face, streaming down in every direction. He ground the gun between his eyes. “I should let the cowboy take you back to his torture chamber,” he growled between clenched teeth. “But I swear to God, I just want you fucking…” He squeezed the trigger, blowing his father’s brains all over the floor. “…gone.”
•
The gunshot was distant, muffled, but unmistakable. It spiked fear in Caterina’s heart and sent it beating furiously, making it hard to breathe. Please, God, please let my boys be okay—all my boys. Please don’t let them get hurt. Tears blurred her vision as she sat on the bed, back against the wall and knees drawn up. She clutched the gun Flynn had given her and stared wide-eyed at the door, terrified that any minute Riccardo would come through it, telling her that Flynn was dead. That her boys weren’t coming for her.
A sob choked her and she ducked her head, squeezing her eyes shut. “Please, please, God…please get us out of here… please…”
The doorknob turned and Caterina’s head shot up. Terror exploded through her and she gripped the gun, aiming it at the door. The weapon shook in her trembling hands. Please don’t be him…please don’t be him…
The door swung open and Catering jumped, clutching the gun as a small cry burst out of her.
“Whoa! Cat! Don’t shoot, girl, it
’s just me.”
She blinked rapidly, clearing her blurred vision. “Rodriguez!” She burst into tears and lunged off the bed, throwing her arms around the young man, clinging to him desperately.
“Easy, babe,” he coughed. “You’re crushing me.”
“I-I heard a gunshot,” she cried. “Is…is everyone okay?”
“As far as I know,” he said. “I’m pretty sure that was Flynn’s gun. He had a matter to discuss with his father.”
“What matter?” She trembled.
“I’ll let him tell you,” Rodriguez said, then smiled. “Now, are we getting of here or what, sweetheart?”
“Yes,” she choked. “I’m so ready to go home.”
“Your papá is ready for you to be home.”
Tears refilled and spilled over. “I didn’t know I could miss him—or all of you—so much in such a short time.”
“We missed you, too, señorita.” He kissed her cheek then took her hand. “We’re not out of the woods yet, so back me up and keep that gun ready, sí?”
Caterina swallowed and smiled nervously. “Sí, amigo.”
•
The three men were near the bottom of the basement stairs when the gunshot rang out. “What the fuck was that?” They spun around and headed back up.
Fuck. Cruz motioned to Dominic, who was now in possession of the metal box, to throw one of the smoke bombs. The man responded quickly and sailed one over to the foot of the stairs. The bomb exploded, pouring smoke up the small, enclosed stairwell.
The three men cursed and came back down, shouting threats between coughs.
Cruz signaled his boys to get ready.
The men came out of the stairwell, weapons raised and swinging back and forth as they covered their mouths and noses with their free arms, coughing hard, eyes watering. “Motherfuckers! You’re dead!”
