Page 62 of Gunner

My body jerks with shock when at least ten shadows move past us, clad in camo and combat boots. This isn’t a hit, this is an army, and one designed to blend in with their surroundings. It can only mean that we were being watched and that this had enough time for them to get their act together and move in.

I struggle against the behemoth at my back, but there’s no way that he’s letting me go, and tied up, I can only do so much. He’s got his feet spread and firmly planted so that I can’t kick back at him and take him by surprise. Even if I could run, I’dbe running straight at the cabin with all those men. They have weapons in their hands. This is broad daylight. I can see it all.

What about Ronan? Have they come for him too, or is it just me these men want?

I scream behind the gag and the bastard’s hand, but nothing comes out. I practically inhale the fabric, choking for my efforts. I can’t speak. Can’t thrash. All I can do is let the fear choke me, the adrenaline swamps me, and my heart beats out of my chest with whiplash style cracks that batter against my ribs.

The horde crawls over the grass, signaling to each other, talking low. They have to have earpieces in. This is no low level fuckery. This is a well-orchestrated and oiled machine.

“Gunner!” I scream, eating more fabric from the gag. I flex my arms madly, shake my head, toss myself every which way, and all of my efforts amount to nothing at all. Barely a few inches of movement.

“Stop that,” the man at my back hisses in my ear. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

Would Adolfo Rossi care? Romeo certainly wouldn’t. He didn’t before. A sickening sense of dread infiltrates my body. The bindings I’ve been tied in are soft. I was taken first and gagged, but now I’m being held back here in the woods, out of the line of fire, out of harms’ reach. Not because these men fear what I could do to them, but because they fear what I could do to myself, or what could happen by accident.

I struggle harder instead of using my brain. Maybe it’s because I don’t want to process what’s happening. I want to shut my eyes and stop looking at the cabin. Stop watching those menencircling it, their leader raising and lowering a hand, watching as they descend like shadows from hell.

The door gets kicked in by a huge boot. It doesn’t splinter because it was unlocked, but I’m sure it’s damaged. They pour in a sea of menace.

I want to slam my hands over my ears at the crashing sounds. Glass shattering, shit breaking. The little haven being destroyed. A world torn apart.

Because of me.

The front bay window shatters, the middle exploding as a body is tossed through. The camo clad man grunts, picks himself up, and hauls ass back inside. Yelling and shouts fill up the clearing.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” the guy behind me curses, disgusted.

My heart can’t swell with pride over the fact that Ronan is giving these assholes hell. How many are there? Ten? Fifteen? To his one? I don’t know who these men are and who sent them, but they clearly don’t want to hurt me. Their commands are to take him, and it’s clearly to do it alive or they would have just shot him and had done with it.

Bile crawls up my throat and I have to keep swallowing fast or throw up and choke behind the gag.

Part of me wishes he would just let them take him. Maybe they wouldn’t hurt him then.

“Please,” I beg behind the gag, the word entirely muffled. I twist my head around, catching enough of my captor’s eyes tobeg, but he twists my face and not all that gently, so all I can do is watch.

My legs almost buckle when I watch four of the thugs shove Ronan through the wrecked door. He tears his arm free and lands a punch to the face of the guy directly to his right. The man crumples, but another takes his place. One throws a fist into Ronan’s stomach. He coughs and gags, spittle flying from his lips. He’s coated in blood. I don’t know how much of it is his.

He struggles harder, and one of the assholes has finally had enough. The four thugs hold Ronan, and one steps up, pulls back his fist, and smashes it into Ronan’s face. His head snaps back and he’s close enough to the wall of the cabin that I hear the sick crunch of both bones and his skull.

He goes limp, but from the blow or the way he hit his head, I don’t know. Did they kill him? I kick my legs, digging my feet into the ground, but the wilder I get, the tighter I’m held.

The sea of men carries Ronan off to the opposite side of the clearing. They disappear through the woods with his prone form dragging, his limp legs and bare feet in the grass and dirt.

I want to pass out. I scream and scream into the gag. My eyes pour out a lifetime of useless tears.

All my railing amounts to exactly nothing. The giant behind me picks me up like I’m made of straw and air. Right now, I feel like it. He tosses me over his shoulder and stomps over to the cabin.

I freeze, my heart pounding for an entirely different reason.

I don’t know who these men are. I had my suspicions back there for a second, when my brain was working, but now I don’tknow. They could be anyone. An attack in broad daylight isn’t how the mafia usually work. They would have had a bullet or two for Ronan. I doubt they’d care if he’s alive or dead unless they want him alive so they can torture him until they kill him.

They might have, if they could have got their hands on him five years ago, but now? It doesn’t seem likely that they’d bother. But if they are bothering… how did they find him? Us?

I’m so afraid that once in the cabin, Romeo Rossi will appear out of nowhere, or that the orders were not to harm me but that his men could have whatever fun they wanted with me after, as long as they didn’t leave marks on the outsides of me, that the tears blind me, blurring the kitchen as I’m set down in a chair. Not roughly. Gently.

The asshole reties me to the chair while I try and clear my hazy vision.

Two other men join us. I think they were in the cabin already. They have guns out, but they must be sure that the threat is now neutralized, because they tuck them away.

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