Page 79 of The Company We Keep

Out of pure instinct, Dust threw himself to the ground before he knew what he was doing, before he felt the concussion of the first gun blast. He landed hard because he couldn’t catch himself with his hands, the zip ties cutting into his wrists. The quiet scene had erupted into the pulse of helicopter blades and automatic gunfire.

Emerson hit the polished wood floor a split second after Dust did. Blood pooled around them and Dust realized he didn’t know whose it was — his or Emerson’s. He tried to comprehend what was happening. It was as if the terror and chaos inside of his chest had grown so strong that it manifested there in reality, literally blowing the world apart to match the way the life he had built for himself was ending there in those moments.

The shattering continued. Whoever was shooting was taking out the entire front of the penthouse, opening upevery floor to ceiling window with a machine gun. Dust struggled to look up, to see The Company. They were gone.

The gunfire moved to the west, focusing on the living room. He tried to move to safety, shimmying along on his belly. Then there were hands on him, dragging him across the floor in a smear of broken glass and blood. Carrow. The man was shouting something Dust couldn’t make out — the gunshots and helicopter were deafening and his ears felt full. Dust pushed with his legs to help them go faster as Carrow pulled him.

Goddamn it, Carrow,he thought. The man was going to get himself killed trying to drag Dust away.

They made it behind the kitchen bar, Carrow falling back heavily as he pulled Dust the last few feet. The Company was assembled there, crouched and holding their guns. Vashvi clutched her shoulder, her shirt blossoming with blood. Everyone else looked unharmed — must have ducked in time behind the kitchen bar.

The gunfire stopped. The helicopter drew back, but they could still hear it.

“They’re landing on the roof,” Leta said.

“Vi?” Carrow asked, still squatting but holding her by the shoulders now.

“Yeah, no, I’m fine,” she said quickly, hissing with pain. “They clipped me is all. It’s gonna look nasty but there’s nothing vital to hit there.”

She removed her hand and they saw that she was right. The bullets had shorn off skin and muscle at the top of her shoulder, but it looked like she’d mostly been grazed. Impossibly lucky.

“What the fuckisthis, boss?” Wayles asked, his voice shaking.

“I’d wager someone wants their gold back — and it’s not goddamn Lefebvre.”

“We should fall back,” Leta said.

“No. If they knew where to find us, they’ll know how to block an escape. We stay and fight.”

“What about Charlie?” Herron asked, their mouth curling in an ugly way around his name.

All eyes fell back to him. Dust was curled uncomfortably on the floor. He’d worked out by then that the blood he was covered in was Emerson’s. The man had taken too many bullets, his blood flowing out too quickly. He was almost certainly dead. But Dust had fallen to the floor fast enough to avoid the strafing shots from the helicopter. He was unwounded but still bound, the ties cutting sharp into his skin.

He wished in that moment that the assailants had taken him out, too. He didn’t want to die by Carrow’s hand. Dust didn’t want to be added to the nightmares the man carried around in his head.

Carrow produced a knife from his hip and flicked it open with one hand.

As he leanedover Dust with his knife, the younger man going wild-eyed, the helicopter cut its engines. Everyone froze to listen.

Somewhere through the upstairs door of the penthouse — or maybe through the blasted-out windows — Carrow heard men shouting in Spanish.

He could only pick out two words: “oro” and “comandante.”

It was enough for him to make several leaps in logic. The gold belonged to the cartel — the elder Lefebvre must have been sitting on it for them, maybe waiting to smuggle it over the border, tasked with keeping it safe in his vault. Thejeweler had never told his youngest son that they were in bed with a cartel, and so Antoine Lefebvre didn’t know to warn them about the bullion when he hired The Company to rip his father off.

Carrow had stumbled into a clusterfuck, and then he’d takencartel gold.

El Comandante had sent men to retrieve it. No one else would have the balls to mount an operation like that against someone with billions at his disposal to strike back. No one else would be dumb enough to think that he could erase The Company.

Quickly, he told the crew what he knew — or at least what he guessed. They nodded, and each face that looked back at his seemed to become hardened as they prepared to fight for their lives.

The men El Comandante sent would be well armed, but they would be cocky, too — assuming they could take out a measly team of six.

No. A team offive,now, he reminded himself.

Carrow pulled Dust roughly to get to his wrists. He cut the zip tie and Dust sagged to the ground.

“What you do now is up to you,” Carrow said.

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