39. Braken

Bang.

I stop walking halfway up the third-floor stairs.

I'm no stranger to gunshots, both triggered by my hand or buried deep within my body. I still have a shell casing in my side from a firefight a few years back.

But I am a stranger to the sick feeling of dread that seizes my legs and lungs.

Fuck. Whose gunshot was it?

And who the fuck is hurt?

As soon as we pulled into the lot, I sent Jasper ahead. We lost sight of Marco on the highway, but I knew deep within my soul where he was going. The gas leak isn't a coincidence. Marco set that up so he could be alone with Fiora on my damn property. And the answer is clear why: he's setting me up. The question is, for what? Battery? Death?

Murder?

Now that his meal ticket is gone, Marco Pollozo has completely lost it. Plenty of men fall victim to the Godwins' and other dangerous, powerful families' flashy lifestyles. Who wouldn't? Money, power, girls, drugs, weapons. All of it sounds enticing until you're staring down the barrel of a gun because you fucked the wrong man's third bitch. You become just another body buried beneath the cement blocks of a new hotel.

Who will we be burying tonight?

Fuck, I hope it's not Fiora.

My legs are shaky as I hurry up the stairs. I skip two at a time to make it there faster, tugging on my leather gloves as I go. I don't give a fuck if Marco is police. If he touched a hair on Fiora's head, I'll enjoy watching the light drain from his eyes as I choke the life out of him.

I skid onto the top floor of my dilapidated parking garage and walk right into Marco's hand.

He holds onto Fiora's upper arm, a gun pointed right at her temple. She's covered in blood, dark red smeared all over her pale skin and white hoodie. Jasper's blood. My bodyguard and driver lies unmoving at Marco's feet, a spreading pool of blood trickling from his gunshot wound.

Fuck. Jasper's been with my family for years now. Proven loyalty to the Frost family time and time again. He's supposed to be getting married next year. There are no guarantees in our world, but he deserved better than this bullshit.

I'm gonna kill that son of a bitch.

"Nice of you to join us, Braken," Marco teases. He thinks he has the upper hand because he's got a goddamn gun pointed at Fiora's head and a dead man at his feet. "I knew you'd show up."

"This is my building." I chance a step forward. Marco doesn't move the gun nor does he take his eyes off me. "But why the hell are you here?"

"Enjoying a night with my girl." Marco chuckles like a dumbass. "That's right, my girl. Since I had her long before you."

A rebuttal is on the top of my tongue, but I swallow it back. Now's not the time to talk about their lack of sex life.

"You should probably ask her since it's her choice."

"She doesn't have a choice," Marco snaps and presses the gun closer to Fiora's head.

Fiora winces at the move. Her eyes lock on mine, and the fear and desperation in them make me clench my jaw. Now that I can see her more closely, she's completely fucked up. Dried blood is caked in her hair, her ponytail is a mess, she's got blooming bruises on her cheek and jaw, and her body shakes—she seems barely able to stand. And are those Marco's fingerprints on her neck? Oh, this motherfucker is dead and buried. I just need to find a way to get the gun away from her temple.

"Well, clearly you wanted me to come." I try to avoid any wild gestures that would make Marco trigger happy, but I keep shuffling closer, one tiny-ass step at a time. "You have something to say to me?"

"Not really. Just wanted you here for the show."

"The show?"

"Fiora," Marco says simply, pulling the gun away from her temple to gesture to the rocky ground below. "There. On your property, nonetheless. What do you think the cops will say when they catch wind of that?"

"Whatever you tell them to say," I respond, fingers flexing. I have a gun strapped to my back belt loop, but I don't dare reach for it.

Fiora keeps her eyes on me, her gaze sharpening when I catch it again. She mouths something I can't make out, but she isn't able to try again before Marco jerks her into his chest.

"Maybe I should have tried to get into the Frost family's good graces," the bastard muses.

He looks decently fucked up himself. His hair is all over the place, he's got scratch marks on his cheeks, and there's a little bruise near his jaw that might be gross stubble. Fiora fought back. And based on the look she gives me when she stares again, she isn't ready to give up yet.

I shrug, placing my hands in my pockets. "We don't have any women you can use to fuck your way to the top."

"Put your hands where I can see them!" Marco yells, flashing the gun at Fiora's temple again.

Shit. His finger on the trigger means he's serious. One wrong slip and she could be joining Jasper. I pull out my hands to show Marco I don't have anything in them. I'm going to have to play along with his game until the right moment.

"I don't want to get to the top of your organization," Marco spits. "Assholes like you are ruining the country. I'll be perfectly happy watching you all rot in prison. A blowjob or two is just icing on the cake."

Fiora doesn't react to his crude comment. She makes the smallest gesture—a jerk of her head toward Marco's chin—and mouths something again. What the fuck is she trying to tell me?

"If a blowjob's what you want, you should have just asked," I joke. "Though I can't promise you'll get it before I kill you."

"You think you have the upper hand here, Braken?" Marco nudges Fiora's temple with the barrel.

I must take a few deep breaths to keep my anger in check. It will be good to hear Marco scream for mercy—mercy I won't fucking give him. Fiora and I aren't as helpless as Marco wants to believe. Because men with the upper hand get big heads, and people with big heads make even bigger mistakes.

Fiora's glare at me grows even sharper. She jerks her head again, accidentally knocking the top of her head against Marco's. He pushes her slightly and smacks her across the back of the head with the pistol. I take two steps forward, but Marco flashes the gun at me, and I stop. I'm close enough now that I can charge him. Well, if I had a few seconds, at least. All I need is a slight distraction.

A distraction. When Fiora looks up again, it clicks. That's what she's offering. She will throw herself back against Marco to give me that window. Shit. Will it be enough time? If she does and he recovers too quickly, we'll both bleed out on this rooftop. But if it works…

Fiora mouths something to me again and I finally catch this one.

Ready.

She's ready for whatever it takes to make it out of here alive.

That's my fucking girl.

"Why wouldn't I?" I question, attention bouncing from Marco to Fiora. I need to give her a signal somehow. If she moves too early, she's fucked. If she moves too late, I'm fucked. But if we don't do anything, we're both fucked.

These aren't very good odds, but it's better than a bullet to the head.

"Why would— Why wouldn't I?" Something about my question must have triggered him, but Marco starts ranting, drawing his gun up in the air as he does so. "This is what's wrong with you fucks. You always think you're better than everyone else. That you get off scot-free. Newsflash, you fucking don't. I knew full fucking details of Mason's shit, and I still couldn't pin anything on him. So, you know what I did? Hired someone to fix that for me. It's that easy."

Even with his rant and his gun, Marco looks fucking pathetic. If he had any guts, Fiora and I would have already been dead. Dead men don't tell tales and all that. But Marco lays it all out like we're on some TV show, and this is his moment to shine.

Dumbass.

Fiora motions down with her chin toward Marco's bottom half. I glance down and see that she's positioned between his legs at the perfect angle to kick him in the balls. That would certainly buy me more than a few seconds. Fiora gestures with her head like she's lolling forward, then slightly jiggles her leg again to show me she's ready to kick.

Then she slowly and clearly mouths: Three.

Damn, she's got more balls than Marco. No wonder I chose her.

I nod once but cover it up by stretching out my neck.

"So what, you're just gonna cover everything up with murder?" I ask. I signal a "one" to Fiora with my pointer finger then stretch them by my sides.

"Why not? I'll take one out of the Godwin's playbook."

"Maybe you should take two."

At my signal, Fiora takes a quiet but deep breath. Marco's face scrunches up in confusion.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" he asks.

"Our second rule," I assert. "Never count a man out. Three."

As soon as the word leaves my lips, Fiora reels her head back and slams it into Marco's chin. I charge forward at the same time, gravel crunching under my boots. Marco hisses and holds onto his chin, pushing Fiora away from him so hard she stumbles forward onto her knees. He swings around the gun, but I'm already there. I grab his wrist before he can point it at her and send my fist straight into his nose.

Marco folds back only slightly, recovering quickly enough to shoulder check me in the middle of my chest. I stumble back but cling to his wrist, twisting to make him drop the gun. My gun sits heavy on my back, but I don't have time to grab it. Marco wraps an arm around my neck and drags me forward, kneeing at my front as best he can. He barely hits my arm, but it's enough to make me loosen my grip on his wrist.

There's a feminine cry from somewhere behind me. Shit. Is Fiora okay? Is she hurt? I must protect her. I won't let this bastard take her from me.

Marco flexes the wrist in my grip and struggles against my hold, slightly lifting the gun.

"Braken!"

Another gunshot rings out in the quiet night.