Page 47 of Consumed By the Mafia

Abby clicked the door softly shut behind them and quietly asked, “What’s the game plan if this turns out to be a bust? There’s no guarantee that guy has anything useful.”

She wasn’t wrong. There was always that risk.

A bright, yellow-white beam of light split through the shadowed interior of the rental, shining almost directly into Ryoma’s eyes. A second later an unfamiliar, definitely not Irish, voice said, “Oh, I don’t think you gotta worry about that.”

fifteen

Rush

Abigail ground her teethto keep from whining out loud. How was it that their every attempt to search out Coughlan and his goons got so immediately upended? She would have been willing to believe they were being sabotaged after three bad starts in a row, if not for the fact that Corey Wells was her personal issue.

Then again,didthat mean he couldn’t have somehow been a plant?

“I’m sorry, who are you?” Ryoma asked. His face and his words were aimed toward the beam of what Abigail presumed to be a flashlight. He’d raised his arms partially up and out,demonstrating he wasn’t holding any sort of weapon. Depending on their assailant’s mindset, though, that just made him a bigger target.

It also obscured her. Both from the focused beam of light and the most likely projectiles hiding behind it. Ryoma was taking the attention onto himself because regardless of who this other man was, they almost certainly didn’t know the truth about her. They would be assuming she was a tag-along of some kind.

“I didn’t say,” the speaker they couldn’t see said. “No point, seein’ as you and your girlfriend won’t be needin’ to talk anymore.”

Abigail carefully pulled her arm behind herself, making sure not to obviously shift her stance.

“That seems a little presumptuous,” Ryoma said. “Maybe I like talking. And knowin’ who I’m talking to.”

The male behind the flashlight scoffed, the sound almost grating. “Then I got good news for you, De Salvo dog.” The beam of the light flickered, wavering just slightly, as if he were adjusting his grip. “You’re gonna deliver one last message to your master—and it’s gonna be piping fucking hot.”

Abigail curled her fingers around the grip of her gun as Ryoma twisted in place. She wasn’t entirely sure whether her eardrums burst from the nearby explosion of gunfire before or after Ryoma launched them sideways and down. All she knew was that he rolled them together, the open floor plan suddenly felt too confined, and the beam of light was slow to follow.

But she held her wits, and her weapon. As soon as she was able, she braced a foot beneath herself and aimed her own gunat the figure she could see a little better from her new angle. They needed people alive to talk, so she aimed low between the spindles and pulled the trigger.

Their assailant cried out, a curse blending in with the pain, and his flashlight tumbled over the banister.

Ryoma was on his feet and moving before the flashlight hit the floor. In quick strides he crossed the space and hauled himself up and onto the landing where their unnamed assailant remained. Sounds of a struggle followed, two small thuds punctuating the confrontation Abigail could only partially follow with her eyes. Then, finally, Ryoma called, “Get the lights, baby girl.”

She found the nearest light switch and flooded the main space with artificial light. It was strange to her that the interior had been so dark in the first place, since it was so bright outside. But that was hardly the issue.

A quick, sweeping glance spotted the discarded flashlight on the floor precariously close to her feet and a discarded gun about midway down the outward-facing steps. Then she looked past those items, spotting Ryoma himself straightening from behind a slumped figure she presumed to be their assailant.

Ryoma smirked at her. “You got great fuckin’ aim,” he said. “I’ve gotta tie up his leg, but he’ll hold out. Could you call in, let someone know we got us an Ink Blot in need of questioning?”

The not-so-unconscious male groaned. “Fuck … you.”

Abigail obligingly switched her gun for her new phone, stepping slightly to the side to improve her line of sight asthe ringing started. She mostly just wanted to get an eye on Ryoma, to see if he appeared hurt.

Ryoma had already sliced away a portion of the man’s shirt and had set to work using the fabric as a tourniquet.

The line connected, drawing her attention. “I swear,” Mikey said, “if you’ve been derailed again—”

Abigail bit back an inappropriate smile. “This time it might have worked out.”

There was a beat of silence and she thought she heard the nameless assailant hiss in pain.

“Whatmight have worked out?” Mikey finally asked.

“There was an Ink Blot waiting in the house,” Abigail explained. “For us, specifically, or just whoever was sent, we don’t yet know. I had to shoot him, but it’s not fatal. Ryoma said to tell you he’s in need of questioning.” She’d barely finished speaking before a distinct, poorly muffled snort of laughter reached her ears. It definitely came through the line and Abigail was about as certain as she could be that it hadn’t been Mikey—the sound had been too feminine. “Um….”

Mikey sighed. “We’ll send a car. Have Ryoma get me a shot of his face so I can start digging.” The line clicked before Abigail could do more than open her mouth to respond.

Abigail lifted her gaze up to the figures on the landing. “He said to—”

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