Page 161 of Secondhand Smoke

“Jesus,” she hissed, and he set her down. She whirled to face him, so relieved, so thankful, so pissed off that he’d scared her like that.

Ava’s husband loomed colossal above her, another man beside him nearly as tall. His brother, Colin, had to be. It was dark, but the moon glimmered down the steel handles of the sledgehammers they carried.

“Aidan and the guys inside?” Mercy asked.

“I just left him,” she said, nodding, trying to catch her breath. A runner she was not. She clutched at her side. “Ava told you?”

“Yeah.”

“My God, I’m glad to see you guys.”

Fast gleam of white as he grinned. “And we brought the whole crew.”

That was when she heard the crunching of footfalls in the leaves. Lots of footfalls.

Mercy turned and pointed up the hill with his hammer. “Sam, run up there. Littlejohn’s waiting at the top of the rise. Stay with him, and if shit goes too south, y’all run like hell for the truck, okay?”

“Be safe,” she countered, “okay?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, chuckling darkly.

She ran up the hill to Littlejohn.

~*~

There was a hallway, Greg had told them, that ran a wide loop around the first floor of the mansion. The door to the basement was on the far side from the sunroom, beside the entrance to the kitchen. The door looked like it opened into a closet, he’d said, but if you walked all the way in, you found the inner door. It required a key card to gain access – a card Greg himself hadn’t been in possession of. Which meant they were going to have to snag a card off one of Ellison’s men.

The least of their worries considering they couldn’t go any deeper into the house without revealing themselves. Better to go in guns blazing than risk starting a firefight.

They paused in the sunroom, and Fox’s blue eyes gleamed with a preternatural light in the incoming fall of moonglow. He looked at each of them in turn.

“No hesitating,” he whispered. “You kill, and you kill quick. I don’t wanna see no shots in the legs or arms, yeah? Center of mass, or in the head, boyos. Let’s get this done.”

Aidan pulled in a deep breath, held it…and felt something dark and sinister lock into place inside him. Every house raid he’d ever conducted had been accompanied by shakes, chills, quick bursts of nausea.

Not this time. In this moment, a solid ball of hate coalesced in his belly. His hands were steady as he double-checked the silencer on his gun one last time. “Yeah,” he told Fox. “We’re ready.” He had no doubts about his performance, no matter what was about to unfold.

Killing made him sick? Was watching the people he loved put in the crosshairs somehow less sickening?

No. Not at all.

Fox pulled at the Velcro straps of his vest and nodded. “Okay. Move.”

With quick, fleet-footed steps like police ghosting up to a scene, they slid through the sunroom and out into a lounge area tricked out in white on white, a fire crackling. There were four men, and all of them were greatly distracted by Jasmine, who stood in the center of the room, her jacket in a puddle at her feet, as she reached to untie the neck of her halter top.

She heard them come in – a little twitch of her shoulders to show she was startled – but she didn’t turn toward them, didn’t betray them. Good girl.

Aidan was on the left, so he aimed at the man on the far left, and dropped him with one shot.

Low gasps of sound, as the silencers did their work.

One of the men managed to turn toward them, eyes wide with shock, but Fox put him down before he could reach for his own weapon.

Jasmine snatched up her jacket and rushed toward them, her expression wild with fright. “God.”

“Go.” Carter caught her quickly around the waist, kissed her forehead, and shoved her toward the sunroom. “Follow Sam, go!” he hissed, and she went, high heels louder than their gunfire had been.

“Kitchen,” Fox said, striding across the room. “I see it.” He leaned toward one of the fallen bodies without breaking stride and swiped the ID card from his jacket pocket.

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