Page 3 of Queen of Spades

The refrigerator is right around the corner, where this hallway ends in the kitchen to the right and the living room straight ahead. Yanking off my bag as quietly as possible, I put it down. I flatten my back against the wall and try to shimmy far enough to see what’s happening.

It’s still deathly quiet.

I don’t see Eddie or Charles, meaning it’s my job to protect myself.

Kicking off my shoes, my socks slide around the tile floor as I bolt back to the laundry room.

There’s an AR-15 under the cabinet next to the dryer, but I go for the Glock 19 under the top set. The holster is Velcroed in, and the gun pulls out easily with no noise, since I don’t yank out the holster. This model, along with most Glocks, doesn’t have click-off safety features. It does have trigger safety, meaning the lever must be fully and equally depressed to fire, but that won’t give me away with extra noise until I’m actually using it.

My chest rises and falls in rapid pants as I check the magazine.

It’s loaded.

I knew it would be.

Only amateurs keep guns around that aren’t ready to be fired at a moment’s notice. But even the metallic scratch of checking that could have given me away.

I keep my back against the wall as I move into the hallway and aim for the living room.

Maybe I should have called Kane… I honestly don’t know, but the whole situation seems suspect. I make it to the refrigerator once again and peek around.

I swallow audibly as I hold back the wave of nausea that rolls through my entire body. Charles is dead, slumped against the sink cabinets on the right wall of the kitchen floor. He’s practically decapitated. My lips push together as I fight to keep from sobbing. He might have been twice my age, but he was nice, and I considered him a friend.

My gaze flies to the door to the garage. The urge to run is strong, but it’s not stronger than my need for revenge. My brother was right when he accused me of being more like our family than I was willing to admit. My shoulders pull back as I inch around the refrigerator, scanning for movement.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are.” Andretti’s voice echoes around the spacious living room. Technically, there are three brothers, but I don’t know which one it is.

There was a brief time when my parents considered a union of our families. That union was to be spearheaded by my marriage to the Andretti brothers. Only, that fell to shit when my family realized their family still actively participates in the skin trade. There’s been a cold war between our families ever since.

My gaze flies to the hallway on the right. It leads to the bedrooms.

Andretti comes out first, but there’s a henchman right on his heels. The man has a switchblade to Edmond’s throat, and my heart skips a beat as I sway forward.

Coverage is the first step to survival. It’s like I can hear my father’s voice echoing in my head as I skid to a stop, crouching behind the kitchen cabinets.

Act first and with ruthless indifference is the second step if you want to live, my dad would say.

I pop up just enough that I can get a clean line of sight.

They’re about ten feet away, right in front of the step down into the sunken living room.

“Why are you making this more difficult than it needs to be?” Andretti chuckles ominously, giving me a condescending smile.

Jesus Christ, why the hell do the Andretti brothers have to look so similar? I still have no clue which one is in my house.

“You’ve got this, little bird,” Edmond says, his eyes staring into mine. “I trust you.”

He really shouldn’t.

I’ve been slacking.

Since I left the city, I’ve drastically cut back on the routine that was mandatory growing up.

My family does not fuck around with safety.

But I tried to buck their control, and now poor Edmond will likely pay with his life.

The man currently holding a switchblade to Eddie’s artery is too hidden behind Edmond’s massive frame for me to accurately get a shot off.

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