Page 73 of Gilded Saint

Crouching, I come around the front of the automobile, behind the three amigos.

Pop.

One falls forward.

Pop.

Second down.

Leandro spins, one hand behind Willow. The other hand flails, attempting to locate his gun.

“Uh-uh,” I scold, rising from my crouching position, gun aimed between his eyes.

His head is too close to Willow’s.

“She’s mine,” he grunts.

“Wrong,” I say. “Get your hands off my wife.”

“She’s mine,” he repeats. “She was promised to me.”

“She’s. My. Wife,” I repeat. “I would tell you that if you come near her again, you’ll die, but today is your death day.”

He scowls.

“Let my wife go.”

He underestimated me. Believed the men he hired could protect him.

He locates his gun, but it’s snapped in.

Tears spill from Willow’s glassy blue eyes. I meet those tearful eyes head on and mouth the worddown.

She drops, throwing a fumbling Leandro, and the bullet rips through his brain.

She trembles, mouth opening as she takes in the carnage.

There’s still one tango in a car.

“Was it just the three of them?”

She nods. Her pupils are blown out. Shock is taking over.

I brush a finger over her cheek, listening for any engine fluctuation.

“You’re okay, baby. You hear me? Is anything hurting?”

They clearly hurt her, but I need to know if they broke anything. She walked out. I circle her, scanning her. She’s not handcuffed. The fucker used zip ties. Blood oozes where it’s cutting into her skin.

I set the gun on the roof of the automobile, snag my pocketknife, and slice through hard plastic.

She pulls her hands around, clutching her wounds.

“Get upstairs. Go straight to our floor. Do you hear me? Remember where the button is for the stairs?”

She nods. “I was in the bedroom when they came in. I thought it was you. I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay, baby. Get up to our place. I’ll be up in a minute.”

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