Page 44 of Vicious Savage

“Not if they don’t try to hurt us first.”

44

LUNA

There’s a thunderous crash in the rear of the house. TJ turns his head back toward the window just in time to scream for me to duck before he drops to his haunches and crawls toward me. I’m already on the ground, meeting him half way as a series of calamitous bangs pervades the air. A deafening spray of bullets breaks the silence of the night, before the tapping of feet running down the hallways reaches my ears.

TJ has his gun out and pushes me behind him, telling me not to get up.

“Stay back!” he hisses, as he rises and points his gun out of the now shattered window. He aims at something then squeezes the trigger, before falling back behind the relative safety of the wall.

Thick arms fold around my stomach, dragging me back across the floor until I’m nestled in the shadows, facing Attila. He’s wearing nothing but sweatpants and a menacing glare, his upper body with all its ink on display. He presses his index finger up to my mouth, indicating my silence.

“Crawl back down the hallway until you get into my room. Go inside and lock the door. Don’t come out until I come for you.”

“I’m not leaving you,” I hiss. He cuts me off with a stern look, then indicates to the direction of his room. I look at him reluctantly, then start to crawl away. I’ve not moved two paces on my knees before I’m stopped by a pair of heavy boots standing in my way. I’m like a mouse that can’t get to the cheese, and I lift my head slowly, looking up at the man who has blockaded my movements. I don’t recognize him. But I don’t have to think about the matter long, because his head goes flying to the side and he topples sideways until he’s sliding down the wall. Scarface comes running down the hall, a gun in his hand, followed by Dante and Caleph. They’re all armed.

“Take the girl,” Caleph says, lifting his legs to cross over the dead intruder. Scarface moves toward me, pulls me up by the hand and tucks me under his arm, shielding me like wings as he runs me through the house toward safety. I turn back once, only to see both Dante and Caleph stepping out beside TJ to join the gunfight. Attila is nowhere to be seen.

* * *

“What’s happening!?”I screech.

Scarface bundles me into the room and locks the door. Sweat coats his forehead as he moves toward the window to look out. I don’t know what he sees, but he curses in a low voice, reels like he’s lost momentarily, then reaches into his pocket for his phone. I don’t know who he’s calling, but he speaks quickly into the phone, telling whoever is on the other end that we’re under fire and shooting off a location.

I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know anything about these men to know who would want to harm them. Aside from maybe my brothers, in an attempt to avenge my father’s death. My mind won’t switch off to think of him as anything other than my father.

“Help is coming,” Scarface says, putting his phone away. “They’re coming.”

No sooner has he pocketed the device but there’s a loud bang and a screeching whistle echoes through the room. Something has crashed into the window, sending shards flying everywhere, before it rolls to the ground and activates, a vaporous cloud enveloping the room. Smoke billows through the air until I’m rendered helpless and blind as I fumble my way through the room. There’s another loud bang as the door is flung back ferociously, banging into the wall. Through the haze of the smoke, I can just make out the shape of a man in a suit standing in the open doorway.

“Luna?”

I hear Scarface calling my name before I hear his grunt and his body goes slumping to the ground, quickly followed by my own.

* * *

When I come to,I’m being dragged through the house. My body, even in its unconscious state, refuses to move, as though sensing that if it left this house now, there’d be no return. I open my eyes, my lids heavy with sleep, but what I see is so far from what I expected that I stutter and trip, catching my foot on a rug. It’s all I need to buy me the few precious seconds I need to evaluate the situation and take action. If I don’t do something now, I’ll probably be gone for good the next time I get up, so I have to make every second count. Because Nestor Gamboa is in this house and he’s trying to take me away. What is it with men thinking they can just drag me away and run my life the way they want?

When he moves to lift me up by my elbow, I see my opening and slam my arm back into his face, knocking the wind out of him. He’s much larger than my petite frame, much more powerful than I’ll ever be, but he almost stumbles, and I take this opportunity to take flight, running in the opposite direction. I don’t get far though, before he reaches out and pulls me back by my collar so savagely that he almost chokes me in the process.

“Don’t fight me, princess,” he mutters. But it’s like I don’t hear him, because I rear back and spit in his face. Even knowing this will most likely send him over the edge. Which it does, because he lifts his arm and sends his palm crashing against my cheek. Hard. But it’s all the excuse I need to go crashing to the ground, buying me more time. If I leave this house, I know I’m never coming back. As long as I’m here, I know I stand a chance.

“Stupid bitch!” Gamboa hisses, leering over me. “I should just do you here then kill you and leave the scraps for everyone else.”

“I dare you!” I hiss back, my defiance a challenge.

“Wait until I string you up by the neck, then dare me,perra.”

I’m feeling extremely confident in myself as I stare up into his eyes. I can see movement beyond us, and I engage him in eye contact to keep him distracted. Hopefully, help is along the way.

“Get up!” he commands, leaning over me.

“Fuck.You.”

He pulls at my arm again, jolting me from the ground, then tells me to keep moving, his hand a firm manacle around my skin.

I hear a shot from somewhere behind me, feel the loosening of his grip on my arm, and I could swear I hear him squeal. I turn back. Dante Accardi is coming towards us, his gun trained firmly on Gamboa, who falls to one knee, anguish etched on his face. Oh my God, he kneecapped him. From behind. I relish his pain, take comfort in it, even.

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