Page 24 of The Pawn
Because I can imagine how he’ll hurt her, and I can’t let that happen to her. There’s that twisting again, a choking sensation at the thought of Allegra afraid. Allegra alone and afraid and unable to defend herself.
By the time we drive onto the cul-de-sac where the Maestro’s house once stood, it’s full dark. There are only two other houses on this street.
It’s quiet here, the night completely still. A stone wall encircles the property and ornate iron gates stand closed at the top of a long drive. The house is set too far back to see anything from the road. I slow as I round the cul-de-sac. I’m not sure it’s a good sign or a bad one that I don’t see soldiers. If I’m wrong about this, if I made a mistake, she’ll pay the price. Every minute I don’t find her, she’s paying the price.
“Hey, focus,” Jet says, and I turn to face him, seeing in hiseyes that he can read everything going on in my head. “We’ll find her.”
I don’t answer, don’t nod. Because there is a part of me that is terrified that I’m wrong. That we won’t find her. Or it’ll be too late. I begin mentally bargaining. Let her be alive. Let her be here. Let her be here and alive and I’ll fix this. I’ll fix everything for her. I won’t leave her unprotected again. I won’t set her in harm’s way again. Because that is what I did. That is what I did when my temper exploded.
I see her face, see how she looked at me that last time. How she swore she’d never forgive me. And now, this.
This horror.
The gates are chained together. If he’s here, he’d have soldiers. If he’s holding Allegra here, he won’t take any chances. He won’t face me alone.
But if I’m wrong, if Allegra isn’t here, I don’t know where she’ll be. I don’t know where he’d take her. And I’ll be too late.
I can’t think about that now. I glance at the SUV’s lined up behind me.
“Hey. Get it fucking together. We’re here. Let’s go,” Jet says.
I nod. He’s right.
“You ready?” I ask Jet.
“We’re not worried about being polite here, I guess.” There’s no humor in his voice. He’s just looking straight ahead, eyes narrowed. Determined.
“We’ll be announcing our arrival in a minute. If his soldiers are armed, they’ll shoot.”
“Then we’d best be ready to shoot back,” he says, checking his weapon.
I hit the gas pedal. The tires scream as we propel forward, up the driveway picking up speed as I floor it. Jet mutters a curse, gripping the dashboard as I crash through the gates, the heavy iron giving way, the chain breaking apart, crashing against the windshield which splinters where the lock hits then cracks all the way across. I don’t stop. The SUV bounds along the unkempt path overgrown with weeds, the garden creeping onto the gravel drive.
Alaric Moretti bought the property after the fire that ruined the house. It didn’t completely destroy it, though, and I wonder if that’s why he bought it. He never did anything with it apart from locking it up tight.
No soldiers here. No shots fired. Not yet.
There should be soldiers. “Shit.”
But in the distance, I see something. A blinking of brake lights bright in the black night. Here one moment, gone the next.
“There!” Jet calls out, pointing in the direction I’m looking. I floor it, the SUV’s following me. Everything is pitch-black out here. The house is set so far from the road that it’s impossible to see anything until the attack begins. An onslaught of bullets, a war of them piercing holes in the SUVs, shattering glass all around us as my men split off, breaks screaming, soldiers piling out, weapons in hand. They make barricades of the SUVs and for all the silence of a few moments ago, now chaos reigns all around us.
Brake lights flash again in the distance. I let my men battle the soldiers at the house and floor it to catch up with the car that must be driving off the property through a back exit. I’m too far away, though. I won’t reach them. And when bullets pierce the tires of my SUV, the vehicle comesto a sudden and abrupt stop. Jet and I open the doors simultaneously and take cover as we’re shot at from the upstairs windows.
We shoot back, but we’re sitting ducks out here. Although I only see two cars parked around the back of the house. He must have brought only a handful of soldiers with him. Around the raised patio, a door stands open. It’s a back entrance into the house and it’s my way in.
“Jet!” I call out over the chaos.
He takes aim at one of the upstairs windows and a moment later, a soldier drops from it to the ground.
He turns back to me, a half-grin on his face. “What?” he calls, swapping out his magazine.
I point to the door. “Cover me.”
He nods once, turns back and begins to fire against the upstairs windows. I crouch, hurrying across the garden, grateful that it’s overgrown as I narrowly dodge bullets. My luck runs out when I get to a few feet from that open door. I take a shot to my shoulder. It jerks me backward, my shoulder and upper arm on fire. I’ve been shot before, and I know the fiery pain to come. This is only the beginning.
I drop behind a tree, take aim around the back of the house where the shot came from, but whoever shot me is either gone or hidden so I decide to go for it. Using the last of my bullets, I shoot a continuous streak and run toward that door, not sure what I’ll find on the other side, but unwilling to stop because if she’s here, I have to get to her and if she’s not, I need one man to tell me where he’s taking her. Just one.
