Page 45 of Damaged & Deadly

A round of shots is fired at us, and both Oliver and I move closer to the wall as we continue our descent at a slower pace until the gunshots cease. My ears perk up when I hear the slamming of a door from the floor below us, and pushing myself harder, I jump the final few steps before yanking the steel door open and chasing my prey out into the corridor, already firing off another round.

One of my shots hits his leg and he goes down on one knee in the middle of the hall, groaning. Another bullet lodges itself in his shoulder, throwing him forward so he’s forced to throw out his arms, his palms planted against the floor to keep him from smacking his face off it.

Santos is a cold savage. He’s ruthless; a fighter so he won’t go down so easily. Proven by the fact that, even as Oliver and I approach, he pushes himself to his feet and continues stumbling away from us.

“You won’t get away from us,” I bellow. “You can either take a bullet in the back like a coward or turn and face us like a man.”

At my jibe, he spins, the sudden move making him wobble unsteadily before he plants his feet, searing us with a deadly glower that would look terrifying if he wasn’t leaking blood and barely standing. He goes to raise his gun as we stalk toward him, and I swiftly counter his move, firing a shot into his wrist and forcing him to drop the weapon as he cries out. A manic grin dances across my lips at the delightful sound.

Closing the distance, I kick the gun out of his reach. “If you’re going to do it, get on with it,” he snaps, tilting his chin up in defiance as he looks past me. There’s no fear of death in his eyes. There’s nothing in his dark, empty depths. He’s as emotionless as Dante, except his emptiness comes with a biting frost and the heat of hatred instead of Dante’s cool indifference.

When I chuckle, it sounds as dark and twisted as his did earlier, like sharp thorns promising pain if you wrap your hand around them too tightly. “You didn’t think I was going to make it that easy, did you? Do you even know who I am?”

“I don’t give a shit who you are. You think you can take down the Antonellis? You’re deluding yourself. You might kill me, but we willannihilateyou. We’ll murder everyone you care about; anyone who knows your name will meet a painful end atourhands.”

I smirk, leaning in to whisper in his ear, even as his words drive like daggers into my gut. “My name is Cain Thomas. I’m the leader of the Reaper Rejects. Brother of Evelyn Thomas, whoyoustole from her home when she was only eleven years old.” Fisting his shirt, I slam his body into the wall behind him. “You see, you might not remember me, but I can promise you, I remember you.”

“I’m flattered,” he spits back. “Now that you mention it, I think I do remember the name Thomas. Your sister was a pretty little black-haired angel, right?” His lips lift in a sick grin and I smash my coiled fist into his face. The sicko only grins broader, red blood staining his teeth. He chuckles. “I remember her well. She was a fighter… in the beginning. But they all break eventually, even the strong ones.” I’m lost to the rage as I drive my fist repeatedly into his face. His head whips to the side, but he doesn’t seem deterred as he spits out blood and turns to face me again. “She looked incredible when she finally broke. Her glassy eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling as she took her final breath.” Another slam of my fist against his face sends a tooth flying, not that he seems to give a shit, too enamored with taunting me to care. “She was a sight to see, crying for her big brother to save her while we tore her soul to shreds.”

His laugh taunts me while his words play on repeat as I deliver punishing blow after blow. I’m numb to the pain in my hand, barely feeling the sting as skin splits around my knuckles or the crunch of bone as it snaps beneath my forceful blows. Images of Evie lying broken raise unbidden in my mind, playing havoc with me as Santos’ laugh drives me insane. It may have been minutes, hours, or days that go by before a firm grip on my shoulder pulls me out of the dark abyss my mind had dragged me into. As if being yanked out of a soul-clutching nightmare, I’m wrenched back to reality as I turn to meet Oliver’s tortured gaze.

My shoulders rise and fall with heavy, exertion-induced breaths as I stare at him, seeing my own pain reflected back in his eyes. Swallowing around a rough lump of emotion, I look at Santos, finding his lifeless body held against the wall by my fist. His jaw hangs at an unnatural angle and one cheekbone is caved in. The rest of his face is dripping in blood that has run down and soaked into his t-shirt. Even in death, his cold eyes seem to taunt me, and it takes everything in me to step back and lower my fist as he slowly sinks down the wall.

The silence that hangs in the hallway threatens to send me crashing to my knees as an overwhelming sense of loss and self-loathing like nothing I’ve ever felt before sucks the air from my lungs and leaves me feeling like an empty void.

“She was a sight to see, crying for her big brother to save her while we tore her soul to shreds.”

I crash to my knees, a grief-ridden sob tearing from my throat as possibilities of what my sister suffered before she finally found peace in death torment me. Oliver falls to his knees in front of me, tears in his eyes as he wraps me in a hug. Tears well unbidden before they overflow, and I fall into the never-ending well of grief as I come apart.

Chapter 18

Nervous butterflies churn in my stomach as I watch Cain and Oliver disappear after Santos before I focus back on my brother. I refuse to look too closely at the blood coating his face, combined with the shades of black, purple, and yellow marring his features. He’s alive and in front of me, that’s enough for now.

I slide my blade through the plastic zip-ties around his wrists, and the second he’s free, he wraps his arms around me. “I never thought I’d be so glad to see your pissed-off face, Sawyer.” Despite the jest in his voice, I can hear the strain behind his words, and I pull him in tighter as I return his fierce hug.

“Well, you better get used to it, ‘cause I’m never lettin’ you out of my sight again.” Tears clog my throat, threatening to turn me into a sobbing mess, but I force them back. Now is not the time or place. “Come on. We need to get out of here.” Pulling on his hand, we start to make our way back toward Santos’ apartment. It rapidly becomes apparent that Luc is incapable of moving too fast, and I have to grit my teeth to keep my mouth shut against the onslaught of questions I want to ask him. Again, it’s not the time or place. Anything he tells me will only have me turning around and following after Cain and Oliver, determined to end that sorry son of a bitch myself.

When his knee buckles for the third time, nearly sending him to the ground, I reach out and wrap my arm around his waist. After a second’s hesitation, he drapes his arm over my shoulder, and we hobble the rest of the way down the hall. We stumble through the hidden doorway and I lower him onto the bed as I crouch in front of him. Air hisses between his teeth as he grimaces, and I can tell he’s trying not to let on just how much pain he’s in.

“What did he do to you?” I murmur as I drink him in, cataloging every cut and bruise to use as ammunition for my anger. Not that the raging flames need any more gasoline. He just shakes his head, unable to meet my eyes as he refuses to answer me. I let it go for now. Pushing him if he doesn’t want to talk will only force him to erect barriers I don’t want between us. Instead, I give him a moment to catch his breath before helping him up, and we continue our slow walk to safety.

Before we can reach the door to the apartment, it bursts open, and Marcus comes barreling in with Jon and some kid called Tank, whose real name I don’t know. I honestly need to make a concentrated effort to learn their names. They all have stupid as hell nicknames that I refuse to call them by. Tank? Bones? Rampage? What the fuck is up with that? Jon tried to explain to me once that they were named after MMA fighters, but it just isn’t justification enough for me to call them such ridiculous names, even if I do understand the reasoning behind why they chose said stupid names.

“Fucking hell,” Jon gasps as he rushes toward Luc, hesitating for a second before he relieves me of his weight, taking my place. “Are you alright?”

Luc grunts some sort of response as he sags against Jon, and Tank flanks his other side so the two of them can help him out the door.

“You two alright?” Marcus asks, his eyes on Luc.

“Yeah, we’re fine. Let's get out of here. The guys went after Santos, and hopefully, Dante and Enzo have Giovanni by now.”

We move into the hall as a group, all of us flanking Luc, whose head keeps dropping as he struggles to remain conscious. Maneuvering around dead bodies and careful not to jostle Luc too much, it’s slow progress as we make our way toward the elevators, remaining vigilant for any signs of an ambush. When we reach the closed elevator doors, Marcus speaks into his headset, calling for the elevator.

It only takes a few seconds before the knowing ping rings and the doors open. However, before we can all pile in, Luc seems to stir from his half-unconscious state. “Wait,” he slurs, digging in his heels and preventing the boys from carrying him into the elevator car. “We can’t leave her behind.”

“Leave who behind?” I ask him with a quizzical look. We haven’t seen anyone else, never mind afemale,since we entered the building.

He shrugs out of Jon’s and Tank’s hold, and on shaky legs, he moves back down the hallway in the direction we just came from. Marcus cocks a brow at me, but I simply shrug my shoulder and follow after my brother. Maybe he’s lost more blood than I realize, or maybe he’s got a concussion I’m not aware of, or maybe there really is a girl hiding somewhere on this floor.I guess we’ll find out,I think, as I move to follow after him.

---