Page 37 of Thunder

"Like I said," Antonio continues his conversation, pacing the room, "the target is still alive. Our 'corrective action' didn't work." The anger in his voice sends shivers down my spine.

A thought flashes through my mind—Eileen, pale and unconscious in her hospital bed. A quiet gasp escapes my lips before I can stop it.

"Look," Antonio says, pausing, as if listening. "I don't care what it takes. We can’t fail again. Things have to move forward. I know I don’t need to remind you what happens to you if you make a mistake on your end. How old is your daughter? Six? Seven?"

"Understood. We’ll handle it. No more mistakes," comes a muffled voice from his phone. My heart races faster, and I clench my teeth, trying to hold back the fear that threatens to choke me.

"Good," Antonio replies. "We've got too much riding on this. Yes, that’s right, I said ‘we.’ It isn’t all sunshine and fucking roses on my end, either, Gio. I have a wife, and the men above me dangle the same fucking consequences over my head. I got a picture of her sleeping sent to me this morning because of this shit with that old bitch with the house. Hold on a second."

His conversation stops. The room goes utterly silent.

I press harder against the bookshelf, willing my body to be pure quiet, praying he doesn't discover me hiding here. The air in the room suddenly feels suffocating, every hushed breath I take labored.

"Damn," Antonio mutters under his breath, and I hear him pace across the room, his footsteps heavy on the plush carpet.

"Is he onto me?" I think, panic rising in my throat. "Did he hear my gasp?"

Antonio's steps slow, and I feel my entire body tense. He's close—too close.

The scent of his cologne fills my nostrils, making my eyes water; it’s sharp, with an unpleasant tang.

I hold my breath, praying that he doesn't sense my presence.

"Something's not right," he mumbles. His voice sends shivers down my spine. Hesitating for a moment, he finally speaks into the phone again. "I'll call you back."

He ends the call, slipping the device into his pocket as he takes another step closer to where I'm hiding.

A bead of sweat drips down my forehead, but I don't dare wipe it away.

"Please, just walk out that door," I plead silently, my heart pounding so loudly I'm sure he must hear it. I can’t let him find me. Somehow, I have to escape. My mind spins with all the potential outcomes if he discovers my presence. The consequences—job loss, imprisonment, even death—threaten to consume me, urge me to forsake all reason and just run for the door like a wild animal.

But fear keeps me rooted in place.

As Antonio's hand reaches for the bookshelf, his fingers nearly brushing against the spines of the books that separate us, mortal terror rushes through me like a tidal wave, and I know I am moments away from being discovered.

Chapter Sixteen

Thunder

It’s daytoo-fucking-manyof my vigil outside Eileen’s hospital room. Not that it’s been that many days, it’s just that, when you’re dealing with an old woman who’s been poisoned by a nefarious corporation,too-fucking-manyis where the countdown timer starts.

This entire situation is insane. Enraging. That a large corporation wouldresortto poisoning some old woman, just to get her out of the way, is sick. It’s also why I’m pacing the hallway outside her room, instead of sitting by her bedside, waiting for her to wake up from the coma she’s in; too many thrown pieces of furniture, too many broken glasses, too much shouting.

I’m not taking this situation well. Not even secret visits with Lia at her hotel do much to calm the fires that have enveloped my heart.

I want blood.

“You look like you want to kill someone,” Bullet observes from the chair beside me.

I stop my pacing. “I do want to kill someone.”

“Not justanyone, but someone here. As in, the first person you can get ahold of.”

“Maybe I do.”

“You know, Eliza warned us that even she can’t keep us from getting banned from the hospital if you keep acting out, brother. Think about what will happen if one of us gets shot. Can you imagine them hauling our asses all the way to the ER, only to be told, ‘Oh, sorry, we can’t save these two dipshits. They’ve been banned from this hospital. Take ‘em all the way to San Francisco. Maybe they’ll help them there.’”

“Bullet, this isn’t like the time you got us banned from that Denny’s in Oakland because you felt like their Grand Slam breakfast was less than major league. If we show up with gunshot wounds, they have to treat us.”

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