Page 16 of Kingpin's Secret Baby

Not far, of course. But I still haven’t decided that my cousin iswrongfor wanting me dead. In fact, I’m leaning into the idea that he’s well within his rights, and it probably would’ve been better to just let him kill me in London than send me all the way here.

Achilles thinks this is mercy, freedom even. But what if I’m just… tired?

Piers must see something of these thoughts in my face, because his gaze softens. “Fantasia, you can’t expect me to leave now. Not when I was gone for forty minutes and you were almost killed. Let’s get to a safer place and call Achilles, all right? Or at least get some real rest. Then we can… go from there.”

I don’t think he means for his words to be taken this way, but my mind immediately goes back to the way he kissed me only minutes ago. That was our first kiss ever, and it likely only happened because he was afraid for my safety, or my mental wellbeing, or whatever. I don’t need or want his pity, but even more than that, I don’t want him to throw himself in with my lot when he shouldn’t be here at all.

I open my mouth to tell him to leave and never come back, but I don’t get the chance. Downstairs, I hear the clear sound of footsteps.

Several sets of footsteps, in fact.

Piers and I exchange a tense look. It could be police, considering four shots were fired in this house maybe twenty minutes ago. Despite the large plot of land it sits on and the trees surrounding it, the houses on either side and across the street probably still would’ve heard them. I consider the story I’d have to tell- that my two chaperones attacked me and my… myfriendmanaged to come to my rescue just in time- and I want to lie back down on the floor.

But Piers’s eyes are tight with worry. A moment later I realize what he’s thinking.

If they were police, wouldn’t they have announced themselves while entering the house? As it is, these steps are quiet and measured, like whatever sort of people have arrived are searching each room with the intent to sneak up on whoever’s inside.

Neither of us have to say a word, but I know what we’re both thinking.

More Ashwoods have arrived, and they’re hunting for us.

Chapter 9

Piers

Itry to scoop Fantasia off her feet, but she flails so hard I’m afraid she’ll tear her side wide open again. She slips past me out of the bathroom, adrenaline making her steps sure. Ignoring the bodies of her former bodyguards on the floor, she rummages through her duffle, still open but unemptied on the bed. I creep toward the door, listening hard for any movement from our intruders, when I notice her struggling with the blouse, wincing as she pulls it over her head. I don’t hesitate, grabbing her duffle bag from the bed and slinging it over my shoulder.

Under our feet, at least four men search the house. They aren’t exchanging words, no doubt focused on trying to figure out where everyone is and why the front door was left wide open. I check the magazine of my handgun, and find what I already know is true.

I might have enough bullets to shoot my way out of this situation, but only if there aren’t more men than I think there are. And only if I never miss.

Footsteps start up the stairs. They have two directions to go- left, toward the two smaller bedrooms down the hall, or right. Toward us.

I don’t have a silencer on my gun. If I have to shoot the guy coming up the stairs, everyone will know, and we’ll likely end up in a standoff. I don’t have the ammunition to hold out against even a few other assailants.

If I fire, Fantasia and I are both dead.

I feel Fantasia’s heat at my side. Looking down, I find her staring back up at me, her pale eyes hard as jade. She’s not afraid, despite what’s just happened to her. In fact, she has Barnes’s massive knife clutched in her hand, still stained with her own blood.

I could kiss her again, if we weren’t in mortal danger. I settle for grabbing her free hand with mine.

Together we wait, breath held, as an unseen man’s footsteps hit the top of the stairs. He pauses for a moment, deliberating on his path. Then his steps begin to fade. I wait until I hear the creak of a door down the hall. Then I squeeze Fantasia’s hand fiercely.

Now. We have to take our chance now.

I pull Fantasia out of the room and down the stairs, carefully balancing speed and silence. Fantasia is even lighter on her feet than I am, which I knew from years of her sneaking up on me around corners in Wesley Hall. We pause on the bottom step, listening again for the sound of footsteps moving through the house. There are mumbling voices in a different room, but no one nearby.

I squeeze Fantasia’s hand again. We dart around the bottom of the stairs- and almost trip over my duffle, which I dropped here when we first got to the house. I hesitate for only a second before tucking my gun into my belt and grabbing the bag, which holds clothes, money, and ammunition. Feeling slightly more prepared, I lead us down the hall toward the back of the house.

On the way, we pass the door to the den, the second living room, the garage. At every doorway I pause and peek inside, breath held. On our way past the kitchen I spot the first men, and my stomach plummets. There are two in here, armed and alert, but thankfully not facing the doorway. One is turned so that I see nothing but the back of his red hair. The other is showing me his profile- and his breast pocket, where a white and gold handkerchief is neatly tucked.

The Crowes. Fantastic.

“Are we sure this isn’t some random fucker’s house?” The man with the red hair doesn’t turn, but I hear his whisper clearly. He has a thick Irish bend to his voice. “If we have to dodge more cops-”

“The tag we put on ‘im went right here,” his companion says.

Him? Did they slip some kind of tracker into Barnes or Armstrong’s clothes during the fight at the airport?

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