Page 153 of The Slayer
She stopped at the entrance to the room she was sharing with Chuito, spying a small brown gecko that dashed underneath the door. She’d never seen such a tiny lizard, and it was odd to see it running free in the house.
Alaine wasn’t sure if lizards fell under the same umbrella as rats to Tino, but she didn’t want to test it. She glanced back to the hallway, seeing a shoe box lying among the other trash in the corner. She opened it, found a bunch of old receipts, and she dumped them out and went lizard hunting.
It took her a while to find him, now hiding in the door hinge. She used the lid of the box to knock him down and then chased the gecko around the room for a good five minutes, which meant she was sorely in need of a distraction.
Finally she caught him by triumphantly slapping the box down. She ripped apart the lid by pulling the sides down and then slid it underneath the box. Once she had her prey, she took him downstairs and cracked the front door open.
“Mami, no!”
Alaine went to throw the box and set the gecko free before Chuito had a meltdown, but something caught her eye, and she looked down on instinct, seeing a glowing dot on Chuito’s hoodie. The crack in the door was only a foot wide, nothing in comparison to Nova driving out of the garage in broad daylight for one quick supply run before they locked down and figured out what to do.
But as she stood there, more red dots danced across the gray sleeve, as if opening the door had given her a contagious disease.
“Close the door and die.” The voice was icy with warning.
Alaine dropped the box and looked to the side, seeing a thickly muscled, blond-haired man in the overgrown bushes of the dilapidated house next door. She turned her head, seeing that Chuito was standing behind the door, his gun drawn, his eyes wide and horrified.
“What do I do?” she asked him in a whisper as all the breath left her, and her heart thumped hard.
“We’ll kill her. Try to close the door, and she dies,” someone else called, and she saw another blond in the driveway across the street with a gun in his hand, its beam of red light decorating her hoodie. “Come out, or you’llalldie.”
“How many are there?” Tino asked, making Alaine notice for the first time he was standing behind Chuito, the glint of his gun sparkling in the sunshine coming in through the window. “Can you see?”
Alaine glanced back outside, seeing someone else in one of the other driveways across the street. “I see three, but—”
“Two seconds, she dies,” the first man said in harsh, heavily accented warning.
“Coño.” Chuito stepped forward, pulling the door open and looking outside just as more Russians came out from what seemed like everywhere, all with their guns drawn, those deadly red beams still lighting up Alaine like a Christmas tree. Chuito didn’t turn back, but he did whisper, “Nine,” making it obvious he was quicker at counting enemies under pressure.
“Merda,” Tino cursed behind the door.
“Drop it!” the Russian who was clearly the voice of the masses shouted as he got to the driveway. “Lose the gun, or the woman dies.”
Alaine winced at the sound of the gun hitting cement when Chuito tossed it. He shoved Alaine behind him, the red dots now dancing over his blue T-shirt as he held up his hands.
Tino turned and ran up the stairs. For once she noticed that impressive speed of his worked to his favor. She could hear his footsteps echoing from upstairs by the time the Russian grabbed Chuito.
“Where’s your Italian friend?” he asked, shoving his gun under Chuito’s chin.
“No hablo inglés,” Chuito said in response, his dark eyes hooded, his features a mask of anger.
“Yeah?” The Russian tilted his head, and one of his companions grabbed Alaine, making her shout when he shoved his gun under her chin hard enough to make her bite her tongue. “Maybe the woman speaks English? She seemed to do fine with it last night. I recognize her now. Did you think you’d spy on us? You thought you could win?”
Chuito and Alaine ended up in the house again, this time with nine Russians. Alaine could hear her heart thundering in her ears as an icy-cold shiver of fear washed over her so potently she didn’t think she had taken a clear breath since she opened the door.
“Come out, Italian,” the Russian holding Chuito called, his voice echoing through the empty house. “Or the woman dies.”
Alaine looked at Chuito, who was still completely unreadable. His body seemed tight, like he was ready to spring, but what could he do with so many guns pointed at them?
“Kill the spic,” one of the other Russians suggested. “He’s useless. Fuck the Puerto Ricans. We owe them nothing.”
“No!” Alaine shouted. “Please—”
Her words were cut off when the Russian holding her slammed his hand down hard on her shoulder, making a scream burst out of her.
Her legs gave out, and at the same time, Chuito shouted, “¡No la toques hijo de la gran puta!” and then grunted when the man holding him caught him in the back of the head with his gun.
Alaine watched him fall, his knees giving out like hers had, and for one terrible second, she thought he was going to pass out, because the sound that gun made against his skull was horrific, but Chuito just grabbed the back of his head, his fingers coming away bloody.
