Page 129 of Ink's Devil

How? Why?runs through my head, though this isn’t the time to ask. We tear down the stairs, and Ink stops so fast, I run straight into his back. George and Marcus, instead of running away from the flames, are trying to open a door that I hadn’t noticed before.

Ink raises his gun.

“Got to get them out…” Marcus ignores him and rounds on George. “Kick it down.”

“I’ll find the key.”

“There’s no fucking time,” Marcus spits back.

“What’s down there?” Ink snaps.

“Merchandise.”

Cad appears, his gun aimed at the two men. “Let the drugs burn.”

“Not drugs man, the breathing kind.”

“Fuck,” Ink breathes out. “Kick that fucker down.”

The heavyweight door at last splinters and falls in. It must have been soundproofed. Now it’s opened, it’s possible to hear screams and cries.

“Go bring ‘em up.” Ink waves his gun toward George and Marcus.

Marcus pushes George down the stairs, then follows him. There’s a loud crack as if a timber has fallen, and the screams start again. Then, two young women appear, a girl in her late teens, and one even younger. Their faces are white with shock.

“Beth?”

I’m there. “You’ve got to get out. Come with me.” I herd them toward the front door, sparing only a moment to ask Cad. “Is it safe out there?” I don’t want to run into my father’s men.

“Yeah, just don’t look around too much.”

“Hey what are you doing? Don’t let them escape! They’re worth money,” Marcus shouts, trying to grab one of the women’s arms.

Ink raises his gun and a perfect circle appears on Phil’s man’s forehead.

As his teammate falls to the ground, George raises his arms. “Hey, man. I was just saving them. Let them go, I don’t…”

He now has also fallen and staring up with wide dulling eyes.

“Out, Beth. Now!”

Ink draws my shocked attention back to the smoke-filled hallway, flames clearly visible through the open door of Phil’s sitting room.

The women have already run out but have stopped dead fearing Pal who’s standing guard over the man I recognise as the gardener and the maid who’d brought me my breakfast what seems like a lifetime ago. I run over to the group, almost tripping on a severed arm. Now I heed Cad’s earlier warning and keep my eyes focused on people standing. I yell at Pal when it looks like he’s reaching into his belt.

“They’re nothing,” I shout at him. “Don’t harm them.”

“Sort of gathered that,” he says. Then turns to the maid rattling off some Spanish.

“Si, Signor,” is her response. “No,” and shakes her head.

Ink’s close behind me. “Tell them they can go,” he tells Pal.

What Pal had been reaching for was a wad of dollars, he divides it in two then presses half into each of the Hispanics’ hands. “Lay low,” he tells them.

They don’t need telling twice. With a stunned but grateful look, their fingers curl tightly around the money, and then they run off.

“You two,” Ink addresses the shocked women who came up from the basement. “You got family close by?”

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