Page 41 of Diamond In The Rough

“Hit him.”

Fifty feet separate our hood and the motherfucker in jeans and an unbuttoned shirt.

“Do you understand me?” I lean forward in my seat and tap my driver’s shoulder. “Hit him. Don’t kill him.”

“Yes, sir.”

He races us across the parking lot, so fast our wheels squeak against the smooth concrete, and just twenty feet from the duo, he hits the brakes and sends us skidding.

Tires scream. Then the car jolts, Stovic and I lunging forward with the momentum, as we collide with a guy who can’t be much older than me and Lix, and send him slamming up onto our hood.

His legs crunch from the impact, and his gun flies to the ground, steel clattering on concrete.

The car skids to a stop, and Stovic and I thump back against our seats, but Conlon bounces off the windshield and forward again, sprawling to the ground. While he’s at risk of being run over, I shove my door open and dart out, my own gun raised, and kick his pistol with my boot so it slides beneath the fucker’s car.

“Head count!” I charge toward the white sedan and try to peer inside, but the windows are tinted, and opening the doors is risky. “Stovic?”

“Just one,” Felix grumbles, lowering his weapon and sliding it into the holster at the small of his back. He stands over Conlon in a suit more appropriate for the opera. Or a boardroom. Not so much for parking lot bullshit.

I move to the front of Conlon’s car and look through the windshield, since it’s not tinted, and check to ensure the vehicle is empty. Just to make doubly certain, I put two rounds through the glass.

Then a third.

A fourth.

Bullets pass through the headrests, sending stuffing flying throughout the car’s interior, before my nine-millimeter slugs embed themselves in the back seats.

“Oh my god!” Christabelle scrambles out of Felix’s car, skinning her knees when she drops down beside Conlon.

She’s a bit like Minka, I suppose, in the way she runs toward the wounded. But Felix wraps his palm around her bicep and pulls her up again. “No, Darling.”

“Felix! He’s hurt.”

“He’s gonna hurt some more before the day is out.”

He hands her off to Michaels and turns to kneel by Conlon’s writhing body. After transferring his pistol from his right hand to the left, he slaps Conlon’s cheek—and grins when the man on the ground groans.

“You didn’t expect that, did you? You little bitch.”

“Fuck you, Malone.” Bleeding already, Conlon whimpers and tilts his head, his glassy eyes locking onto mine. “Fuck you both.”

“Why are you coming for us?” Felix grabs his jaw and yanks him back around. “Why?”

“Fuck you.”

“That wasn’t an option.” He pushes up to stand as police sirens ring out through the air.

It’s possible they’re not for us. But then again, maybe someone heard the collision and the rounds I put into a car.

The risk is too great, so Lix looks to Stovic and tips his chin. “Put him in the trunk. We’re taking him for a little chat.” Then to Michaels, “Put her in my car. You’re taking her home for safekeeping.”

“Felix!” Christabelle fights her guard’s hold. “I’m not going anywhere without you!”

“You are, Darling. But I’ll be close by. And I’ll be with you for dinner.” He looks my way and meets my stare. “You ready?”

“Yeah.”

It takes us mere minutes to get moving again, once Felix’s car is loaded up with Christabelle and Michaels, and mine, with me and Lix in the back, Stovic in the front passenger seat beside our driver, and Conlon in the back. The far back.

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