Page 24 of Dirty Roxie
I put my hands up in a surrender pose and feel Ronan do the same behind me.
“Wow, you’re serious about this, aren’t you?” I let my voice quiver. “I thought maybe you were just joking at first. No problem, we can just go.”
I move to step away from the man and continue in our original direction, feigning confusion at the direction I should be going. The man makes a noise of dissent, waving his gun like it’s his head shaking no.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Ronan says in his funny American accent. Or at least what he thinks is American. To me, he sounds more like a stoned Matthew McConaughey. Not that I’m complaining. That man’s voice is sexy as fuck.
I shift back into Ronan’s chest. “I’m scared,” I say, my voice breaking as I glance over my shoulder at him. My eyes pivot downward toward his torso, hoping he understands what I’m trying to say. He nods, almost imperceptibly.
“Turn around,” the man commands.
“Oh god!” I cry, facing him once more. “Please don’t hurt us. We’re American. The hotel said we could come to the party. We mean no harm. I’m just here in Medellín to find textiles for my clothing company.”
The man points the gun back toward the direction we came. “You leave. I won’t shoot.”
“Oh, thank you so much.” I fling myself into Ronan’s arms, and we make our way slowly back toward the walkway we’d come from, passing the man as we go. He’s so focused on Ronan’s hands, and trying to predict his next move, he doesn’t even notice me until I’ve pulled Ronan’s gun from the holster and have it pointed between his eyes.
“Drop it,” I tell him. My voice is cold and steady.
He spreads his fingers, holding them up in a surrender pose, the gun dangling from his thumb as he squats to the floor. His eyes never once leaving mine. He lays the gun on the ground, and he tries to inch his back toward the hedge, smart on his part. That way he doesn’t have Ronan at his back and me at the front—double threat. But he doesn’t make it. Ronan grasps him in a chokehold, and I roundhouse a kick to his stomach. Between the two actions, he’s down in less than a minute.
“Nice kick.” Ronan holds his hand out for his weapon.
“Nice gun,” I tell him.
“I know,” he says. “It’s a CZ 75B Shadow Semi-Automatic 9MM. One of the best handguns to come out of the Czech Republic in a long time.”
I scoff.
“What?”
“Why can’t you just take the compliment and be done with it. Same thing with yourjet. You couldn’t just say thank you, you had to tell me it was some fancy-schmancy jet.”
“ADassault Falcon 7x—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah—”
“Listen, I research these things exhaustively before I buy them, making sure to only buy the best. It’s not a bragging right, it’s a testament to my purchasing forethought.”
“Last time I checked, that’s bragging.”
“Toe-may-toe, toe-mah-toe.” He waves his hand dismissively.
“You know, the more you open your mouth, the less attractive you become.”
“Yes, well,ditto,as you Americans say.”
I open my mouth to retort but can’t think of what to say. Instead marching ahead to lead the way around a dark corner, only to see Andrei up ahead with two other men. And if Roberto’s intel was correct, one of them is Juan Carlos Ochoa. I put my arm out to stop Ronan. Not sure how they’ve not heard us arguing, or our footsteps on the packed dirt, but none have looked at us yet.
Ronan holds a finger up to his lips. I roll my eyes. I know to be quiet. Not my first rodeo! I slip off my shoes, one at a time, and carry them in one hand, then pull my Glock from its holster in the other, and we proceed down the trail.
Juan Carlos drops a hand on Andrei’s shoulder and pushes him into an opening in the hedge. I already know from what I’ve read about the gardens, the mazes feature little trails that lead to dead ends made up of square clearings with benches, almost like little rooms. I sprint forward to see if that’s where they’ve gone, or if we’ve lost them on another pathway further in the maze. Voices resonate from behind the hedge, not clear enough to hear what they are saying, but enough to know it’s not in agreement with one another.
Ronan holds up three fingers. I nod.
One.
Two.
Three.
I pivot into the opening, gun cocked at the ready. Five heads pivot back with at least that many pistols locked and loaded.
