I shake myself back to the here and now, trying to get my head back in the game rather than let her distract me again. It’s quiet. No one here. Goddamn windows run the entire length of the block, and I’ve got to get past them quietly. I glance at the two guards still up by the house, watching as they talk and turn, and then scout for any others in the area. None that I can see. I could take them out, but that might cause noise I can’t afford until I’m within touching distance of her.
Fuck it.
I move quickly along the side of the pool, hoping they don’t see my shadow moving as I run, and grab for the door handle into the tunnel. It’s silent on the other side of the door, but yet again, more fucking windows run the length of the glass structure into the building. I squint again at the guards and try calculating the distance between me and wherever she might be in the house. She’ll be too far in for this to be easy. The place sprawls; no fucking way am I getting through this tunnel with the guards so close to it.
All in.
My gun is quickly aimed at both of their heads, silencer still in place so I don’t cause too much commotion other than the smashing of the window I’m about to shoot through. I fire twice, cleanly and effectively. Both bodies drop, and I’m opening the door and sprinting the tunnel before I give a fuck who else might be around to hinder me. Two more doors and I’m through into the main house, listening for anything useful to me. Metal rattling to my left makes me ease back into the shadows by a room, and I watch a servant coming through, food and plates being pushed on a trolley. I skirt through empty rooms the moment he’s gone by, gun aimed around any door I pass through, but there’s nothing but luxury and decadence on show. No people. Certainly, no Fia.
I wait for a moment, straining to hear anything that might give me a steer. It’s too quiet, not even the sound of Anchov’s whores cackling like they were last year. Maybe she’s not in the house? Garages? Stables maybe. Or upstairs? I nod to myself and carry on searching the rooms in the vicinity quickly, then head through more corridors until I creep towards the grand staircase through the library. Voices sound instantly, three of them talking lowly. My head whips back around the door I was going to walk through, back braced on the wall opposite where they are.
She’s definitely up those stairs.
And that reeks of fucking problems.
My eyes close, drawing in a long breath to help me stay calm. These three need putting down before anything happens. It’s a fucking problem because the moment a shot is heard, all hell’s gonna break loose and I still don’t know where she is. Upstairs is a big goddamn place. My hand reaches into my pocket, pulling out my knife, and I listen to them talk, hoping for a steer in her direction. They chuckle and chat in Spanish, something about which one of them will have their fun first. And that’s enough to rile up the blood I was managing to keep at bay.
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.
“All the fucking way to the car,” I demand, eyes flicking around at the guards who are arriving around us.
Her hand slides into mine, her body creeping closer with each step we take. Good—perhaps if she stays close, I can at least take a bullet for her and she can run again if necessary. She won’t make it far, but I know her; she’ll try. I squeeze the trigger and raise it up to Anchov’s head, making sure these fucks know I’m serious until we eventually reach the gates and they slide back to let us out. He stalls, unsure where to go, and looks at me for direction.
“Dirt track off the main drive. Make them back the fuck off before I forget my manners.” Fucking seniority. If I didn't have Quinn above me and Cane to think about over my own thoughts, I would kill him for this.
Whatever signal he gives them makes them wait at the gate, their guns behind their backs rather than aimed at us. He chuckles and walks onwards again; his feet crunching polished shoes through the dirt and grit she’s been running though in bare feet. I glance down at them hurrying beside me, frowning at the look of them bloodied up, and then remember the cuts on her neck. My finger squeezes again, part of me ready to pull and run for it. Asshole. But then the car arrives in my line of sight.
He stops and turns to look at me. Silence. It might be an act of respect, him not trying to talk me out of shooting him where he damn well stands. He probably knows me too well; understands the way I work even if he doesn’t follow the same protocols. He’s held up his end of this bargain, and he knows I will, too.
I scan the area and unlock the car, pushing Fia’s body around me to get her in the car. She scuttles over, glaring at Anchov the whole fucking way, and then slams the door behind her.
“Go now. No one will track you from here. It’s done,” he eventually says.
I drop my gun and look at him, backing up to the car.
“This was stupid, Anchov. Unnecessary.”
“You killed my son. That, too, was unnecessary, Carter.” He smiles, but it’s laced with revenge regardless of his easy nature at the moment.
“Your son was a stupid fuck. No one pisses on Vico.” My hand opens the driver’s door, my eyes still directed at his. He wants vengeance, he can bring that shit at me at some point in the future. For now, this part is done. “No one pisses on me, either. Remember that. I’m not all Cane, and I’m not all that concerned with orders either.”
He nods.
I nod.
Done.
Ten
Even though we’re in the car, my skin still creeps with nerves, and my eyes are set on the wing mirror to see if we really are free. No one’s following us, and the rushing ground beneath us begins to build a feeling of safety in me again. He’s here next to me, barely talking, but he came for me, rescued me.
“You can relax now,” he mutters, his hand gripping the wheel so tightly I think he’ll rip it off. I look at him, watching as he tries to wipe the dried blood from his face.
“Are we going to the hospital?”
“No. We’ll get you cleaned up, though. Don’t worry.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and force the tears back before more slide from my eyes. I did enough crying back there. I’m not doing any more.
“Where are we going then?”
He doesn’t answer me, just keeps his eyes in front as he drives. His jaw is rigid, and his hands keep tensing around the steering wheel. The action opens up his scratched, bloodied knuckles, making his appearance match his suit, which is torn and blood stained. I wonder how many more people died because of him, aside from the eight I counted at that place, but this time I’m not so concerned. If he hadn’t rescued me, it might have been my throat that was slit.
Silence lingers in the car and at no point does he shift his blank stare from the road in front of us. No matter how hard I watch his profile, he just seems to focus on the road like nothing's happened.
After twenty minutes, I start to realise we aren’t going back to the hotel. I keep my gaze out the window rather than let my eyes slip back to look at Carter. It’s not doing any good watching him; he doesn’t seem to want to look at me or answer my questions. The evil smile of the man who cut me before he pressed the blade against my skin creeps into my mind, followed by the image of Carter raising his gun and shooting him dead. And the others. The image of someone's last breath leaving their throat as he ripped a blade across it—the guy I saw bleeding out on the stairs when we left. Memories invade and chill me to the bone. I’m sitting next to a killer. That concept would have been alien to me a few days ago. Now?
He killed people. Cleanly. Effortlessly.
My mind gets lost in mazes of what-ifs and could-have-beens, going back and forth over the evening, how Carter reacted, how I reacted, if I’m shocked at what he did, or stunned, if I’m having a post-traumatic episode—the calm before I go crazy.
Tears prick at the back of my eyes again, but I suck them in. I won’t break now, not in front of Carter.
“What happens now?” My voice is soft, almost defeated, but I can’t take the silence anymore, or the questions swirling inside me.
“Nothing.”
“You can’t be serious? The deal? All those men. That estate—who was that?”
“It’s handled.” Handled? I was kidnapped. What about the drugs? I don’t know what to do with any of that information or my own feelings on the matter. I look down at myself, trying to cover the blood on my chest or wipe it away somehow.
“Does my father know? It was his deal, people he worked with.”
“Yes, it was his deal. No, he doesn’t know about this. Yet. Maybe not at all.”
I nod, even though he’s not looking my way. “So, Cane is involved, and you do whatever my uncle tells you.”
“I do whatever I see fit to run Cane business as I’m expected to.”
“And that includes killi
ng people in cold blood?”
A small sneer touches his stony gaze, but his eyes still remain on the road. “Would you have preferred for me to leave you with Chelico and his men? I guess I could have let him have his fun and pass you around, shove a gun in your face and rape you before ransoming you to your father.”
His words put me right back in that room and the fear that ran through me.
I thought I was frightened when Carter was with me. It paled in comparison to when I was alone. All I had then was fear and the overwhelming hope that Carter would come for me. “No, of course not. Don’t you dare…”
“Don’t even let those fucking words out of your mouth,” he snaps, silencing me. “You opened your goddamned mouth and gave away a vital piece of information. Information that made you more valuable than all the drugs in that place. I gave you a simple fucking instruction, and you failed to follow it. Because of that, they saw you as a target and took you.”
I slam my fist down on the dash in my outrage, rightly or wrongly. “You took me to my father’s fucking drug deal, Carter.” How dare he put all those deaths on me?
The air stills after my outburst, and tension crackles between us. There’s so much that needs to be said, more I want to ask, but I don’t know where to start, so I stick with an easy one. “Where are we going?”
He doesn’t answer that question either.
“Are you going to ignore me now?” Still no response, just the same stern look out the windshield and the tense grip on the wheel.
Forbidden Eyes: A Cane Novel 4 Page 10
