Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Galina

T he night seemed colder than it should for this time of year, or maybe it was the worst fear I'd ever felt in my life taking hold.

I'd been standing outside the back door of this broken casino for a long moment, my back against the brick, my breathing so fast and erratic I feared someone passing by would hear.

The sound of music blaring in the distance, the screeching laughter of a woman far too close for comfort, the crash of glass breaking, and an array of other obnoxious noises filtered through the night and tried to pull my concentration in twenty different directions.

The man you love is in there fighting for you. Go in there and stand by his side.

He'd hate it, be pissed at me. But I didn't care. Not right now, not when doing nothing wasn't an option.

With one more steadying breath, I pushed away from the wall, drawing up all the calm concentration I could muster, and reached for the back door I'd seen Arlo step through.

I curled my hand around the handle and pulled it open, the metal giving a loud creak, which had me freezing and my breath stalling in my lungs, my heart in my throat as I prayed to whoever was willing to listen that no one heard. After a second where no one came rushing toward me with their gun raised, I stepped inside.

I shut the door as quietly as I could behind me, the scent of mold and age tickling my nose in an uncomfortable way. The back room I stepped into had boxes pushed against the walls on either side of me. Trash littered the floor, grime and dirt everywhere. The ceiling looked like it was ready to cave in, bowing in one corner, the rest of the once-white paneling showing water damage that created large brown and yellow circles above my head.

I could hear muffled voices coming through the closed door in front of me, and I quietly made my way toward it, gripped the handle, and pulled it open. I immediately scented cigar smoke, but it couldn't mask the stench of heavy mold and decay thick in the air.

When I stepped out into the small hallway, I followed the muted light that came from my left, which was also where the voices filtered from. I was surprised I wasn't shaking, my hands steady, my finger running slowly over the gun as if a reminder of what I'd have to do. Because there was no doubt in my mind I'd have to use it on somebody to protect myself and Arlo.

I stopped before I got to the edge of the hallway that opened into the main part of the building, and looked around the side, taking in the large room that had clearly once been the main casino. Broken-down and half-taken-apart slot machines were pushed up against walls.

I could see a blackjack table with torn and stained felt laying on its side on the ground and to the left. There was one window beside the front doors, the glass painted black, a piece of cardboard taped in the corner, presumably to cover up a hole.

And then my heart jumped into my throat when I spotted where the men were, where the voices came from, and how Arlo stood behind Henry with a gun pointed at the back of his head. There were only two other men seated at the card table, one on each side of Henry, both looking ready to shit themselves.

Arlo had his other hand up, another gun pointed at one of the men.

"Go ahead," Arlo said calmly as he looked at the man who sat to his right, the only one who didn't have a gun pointed to a skull. "Reach for it, grab your weapon, and we'll see how fast you are." Arlo slowly grinned, and it was a smile I'd never seen before. It was absolutely terrifying. "You're all gambling men here. Want to place a wager that I can put a bullet in all three of your skulls before you even draw?"

A thick moment of silence passed where no one spoke. I don't even think they breathed.

The man sat stiffly in his chair as he stared at Arlo. There was no doubt in my mind, given his expression, that he wouldn't be taking on that bet.

"You're making a big mistake," Henry had the balls to say.

Arlo chuckled softly, but there was nothing humorous about it. It was dark and insidious, as if it was a precursor to all the "mistakes" that would come. "Is that so? You're some big shot, huh?"

Henry narrowed his eyes despite Arlo not looking at him.

"It's usually men who are about to die who say it's a mistake," Arlo said in a deceptively calm voice. I could hear the sound of trickling, something wet hitting the ground. My vantage point allowed me to see one of the men had pissed his pants, urine trailing down his leg and creating a puddle on the floor.

"You fucking weak asshole," Henry sneered as he clearly realized one of his spiders had lost his bladder. Arlo pressed the gun harder against Henry's skull, and he straightened in his seat, gritting his teeth. "You have no idea who you're messing with."

No, Henry had no idea who he was messing with.

"You stupid girl." The low voice that came from behind me and the feel of a gun pressing into the center of my back had my entire body freezing. But it wasn't the gun pressed between my shoulder blades that had me tightening. It was the voice… the voice of my father. "You should have stayed away. Not like Henry wasn't gonna find you." His breath was warm and thick with the scent of booze. "He did find you, was gonna bring you back. You've made my life hell by skipping out."

I looked over my shoulder at my father. His face was beat to hell, black-and-blue and swollen. It was clear me leaving had caused Henry to use the man who'd been my sperm donor as his personal punching bag. Yet I felt nothing. No sympathy. No empathy.

He nudged my back with the gun until I stumbled forward. Arlo lifted his eyes in my direction, but other than a subtle tic in his jaw, he showed no emotion. He might keep that steely composure, but I knew he was pissed I was here, that I hadn't listened. Surely he knew I couldn't allow him to do this on his own. He had to know I'd stand beside him to make this right.

This was my fight, and I wouldn't do it in the safety of a car with a gun in my lap as someone else put their life on the line for me.

Henry started laughing, and not even the gun pressed to his head could stop him. "So this is your doing, Galina?"

A low rumble filled the room, and I realized it came from Arlo. He leaned in so his lips were close to Henry's ear and said something in a voice too low to carry to me. I could see Henry's skin become pale, his eyes flashing with fear, but then they shifted to something evil as he stared at me.

When Arlo stood, his eyes were trained on my father, who stood behind me. He now had a firm grip on my arm as if he thought I'd try to run. But I was done running. I was sick of hiding. I was here to face this head-on no matter the consequences.

When we stood a foot from the card table and off to the side, the two other men sitting glanced my way with terror clear on their faces. They were lackeys, pawns in whatever sick game Henry played.

"Henry, just give them what they want. He's not playing."

Henry looked to the side and bared his teeth at the man who'd spoken. "Fucking coward." He wasn't smart, not even with a gun pressed to his head. He kept his fear covered in knock-off designer suits and too much cheap cologne.

The gun was ripped out of my hand by my father, but he still had his gun pressed to my back. But as I stared into Arlo's face, I wasn't afraid of dying. At that moment I wasn't afraid of anything. My entire life and all the situations I'd experienced so far had come full circle. I knew from this moment on that I would never allow anything to control me. I wouldn't allow someone to scare me enough to have me running away. It always caught up with you anyway.

Henry looked me up and down, his gaze lewd and just as slimy as I remembered. He grinned and spat out, "Lookin' just as perfect as the last time I saw you, Galina. I wonder if that tight little virgin cunt is still untouched, or if you became the whore I envisioned shaping you into myself."

Pop.

I blinked once, my ears ringing, that bang of a gun being discharged echoing throughout the entire room, seeming to shake the lone window and crack it even more. I stared at where Henry sat, the bullet hole in his head leaving a trail of red right between his eyes and down the bridge of his nose.

He slumped forward, his skull cracking against the card table hard enough the flimsy piece of furniture shook from the force.

"Holy shit."

"Fuck!" the two men on either side of him screamed out, eyes wide, their fear saturating the room.

"Man, we had nothing to do with whatever Henry was into," one guy rambled, hands in front of him.

"We just help him occasionally," the other man cried.

"Oh holy fuck. Please don't kill us."

Arlo looked right at me, and without taking his gaze off mine, he pointed one gun at the guy to the right and kept the other one trained on the man to the left. Then he pulled the triggers and shot them both perfectly in the head. It all happened in a matter of seconds, yet also seemed to go so slow it was like wading through water.

Three bodies now slumped over the card table, blood seeping into the green felt, my father behind me cursing, the gun at my back shaking from his nerves.

The scent of blood filling the room became so strong my stomach twisted, bringing me back to the present, time speeding up until I could remember to breathe again.

"Let her go," Arlo said and aimed the gun right over my shoulder. He was a good shot, but how good of one when I was being used as a shield?

"Put the gun down and let me go. I ain't got no fight in this," my coward father mumbled from behind me. It was because of him that all of this was even happening.

My father had his arm raised and pointed the gun at Arlo as he started slowly backing up, one arm around my chest as he kept me firmly in place so if anyone got shot, it was me. "I mean it. Let me go or she dies."

"You'd shoot your daughter to save your own ass?" Arlo asked calmly as he moved away from the table and came forward, staying far enough back that my father wasn't spooked any more than he already was.

"She's nothing to me."

And wasn't that the truth. Nothing but a bargaining tool. Nothing but someone to sell to be raped and tortured just so his debts could be paid. I'd never meant anything to him, and that's why when he rounded the corner with me, I pulled up the self-defense moves Arlo had taught me and leaned into him. It took him off guard at first, his hold loosening marginally, and it gave me enough leverage to twist in his hold, turn sharply, and bring my knee up to connect with his groin.

He grunted and brought his arm up. I knew he was about to shoot and saw it happening in slow motion. I ducked and put all my weight into his body, careening us to the wall. His back slammed into it, the air leaving him, my head ringing as his skull cracked into mine from the impact. I knew the only reason I'd caught him off guard was because he was drunk and he'd underestimated me.

We wrestled with the gun for only a second, the weapon between us, our eyes locked on each other's. I saw his desperation, knew he'd kill me if it meant saving his own hide. If I had any sentimental value toward this man, it would have been crushed a long time ago. As it was, all I saw was my survival or him bringing me down to hell with him.

The gun exploded between us, going off, heat, smoke, and searing pain encompassing me in a physical and emotional way. We both froze, staring wide-eyed at the other, both hands on the weapon. I stumbled back and looked down, the barrel pointed at my father's chest. Blood seeped through his shirt and spread outward so fast I took another step back. I slammed into a hard wall—Arlo's chest. He gently took the gun from me, wrapped a protective arm around my waist, and then lifted his arm.

My father was shaking his head and holding his hands out, pleading, begging as he bled out, but it all fell on deaf ears and apathy. Arlo fired his gun and delivered a bullet right through one of his eyes. My father's head cracked back on the wall before he slid down to the ground, blood smearing as he made his descent.

I didn't know how long I stood there, but when Arlo wrapped me in his arms, my head over his heart, the tears came fast and strong. They weren't ones of sadness or fear. They were ones of pure, utter relief.

I was finally free, even if I was covered in blood.