Page 54 of Vicious Souls

I edge around the van, look toward the truck and see Tate’s legs sprawled out on the ground. I can only see his lower body, but obviously he is hurt enough that he can’t keep moving, which gives me the opening I need. I look toward where I’d left Kingsley, where she still lays on her side, furiously rubbing at her binds in a futile attempt to free herself.

“Looks like it’s your funeral after all, Tate”, I throw out.

There is no response. It gives me enough time to silently head in Kingsley’s direction, where I flick out a pocket knife and cut the rope around her hands and feet. I glance in the direction of the truck and put a hand to her mouth to prevent her saying anything. She looks at me with wide eyes, but understands when I shake my head and nod in the direction of the van. I can’t risk her walking out the roller door and into the line of fire. I lift her to her feet, grab her as she almost stumbles after her body has been locked in the same position for hours, then hold her face, silently brushing her hair back from her eyes. I hold up three fingers and point to the van. She nods. I start counting down backward from three fingers, and as soon as I put my last finger down, she runs toward the van and I cover her body before I run toward the truck, creeping around the corner as I get closer to where I’d left Tate.

“Motherfucker!” I curse, realizing he’s gone. I look around the expansive area, trying to find where he might be, without luck. Coming closer to where he’d been sitting, I see the trail of blood that has pooled where his legs had been, then follow the track to the door exiting out of the hangar. By the time I reach the door, he is long gone. The shooting has died down and sirens can be heard in the distance. I tap my comms and tell Marco that I've lost eyes on Tate but have Kingsley.

“We need to move,” Marco says, a sense of urgency in his voice.

“Bring the cars around, we’ll be waiting by the roller door.”

I walk back to the van, where Kingsley sits by the side, her chin on her knees, looking as fragile as I’ve ever seen her. This is not the same Kingsley that had knocked out seasoned card players in a club. It is not the same Kingsley that had kicked a man in the balls and almost fed him his own dick when she was attacked. And it is not the same Kingsley who had nursed me back to health after I lay riddled with eleven bullets in my body. This Kingsley is in shock. She is hurt and disbelieving and betrayed. It’s too much for one person, for one who isn’t used to this life, to take in.

“We have to leave,” I say, my voice soft as I look at her. I hold out my hand and notice her long pause as she looks uncertainly at my extended arm. I feel the warmth of her fingers as her small hand slips into mine. I pull her up and hold her to me, my hand covering the top of her head, a comfort for my benefit more than hers. I can’t believe that I’ve got her back. Safe and sound. I had come so close to losing her.

“Where’s Tate?” she asks, as we walk toward the waiting cars.

“Getting ready for his funeral.”

50

KINGSLEY

The house is worse than I remember it. Well, what I remember of it is the way my room had been wrecked. In comparison, the rest of the house is demolished. I gasp as I walk through the front door, which hangs off its hinges. Obviously, something had blown it off. Tate’s men had meant business.

I’m not sure why we’ve come back to the house. The location is now compromised, and there is not a clear surface on which one could lay their head. But it isn’t long before I find out why we’re here. Dante takes me to the den, what looks like the only room that still has a door, and shuts us in, opting for some privacy. He stands at the door, his hands on his hips, his contemplative eyes following me around the room.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice a soft balm to my soul. I nod. I don’t know that there is anything to say at this point. Getting into the conversation with him would only take away from what little time we had to regroup and find Tate before he makes his next move. I’m sure that he won’t stop here. And I have no idea what’s coming. For all my fearlessness, I am terrified. Like I’ve never been in my life.

“Tate?”

“I’ll let you know as soon as I know anything.”

“Promise?”

He nods. Which is as good as a promise, I have come to realize. Dante only says things when he means them. And he wouldn’t lie to me. This I know for sure. He might evade, but he’d never lie.

“I need to speak with you about something.”

I watch him carefully as he looks toward the ceiling, as though summoning some sort of courage to discuss something delicate with me. Something he prefers not to discuss, but out of necessity has to.

“Tell me.”

The least I can do is offer Dante my ears. He’d been the one to warn me that I was in danger. Even when I hadn’t believed him. He’d warned me and he’d been right. And the danger had been right there in my own home, had been in my life since I’d been born. I couldn’t understand why my father had kept him around for so long.

“I don’t want to do anything against your will, so I won’t.” Why is he finding it so difficult to speak? “But I believe that Tate placed a tracker in you, and that’s how he’s been able to find you every time we’ve been attacked.”

“What?” I stare at him in disbelief. How would Tate have ever had that sort of access to me?

“It’s the only thing that makes sense. Down to you being at the club the night that you were attacked. Tate sent those men. How did he know you were there when you told me yourself he didn’t know about your nightly escapades?”

I am hearing everything that Dante’s saying, but it’s like nothing is registering. I now know that Tate is evil. He’s done a lot of bad things, probably even more than I am unaware of, and he is power hungry. He had me tied up to a Goddamn chair, for fuck’s sake. And I’m his boss! My head thumps with a resounding bang as I take in everything he’s saying, and everything he’s trying to avoid telling me.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that you more than likely have a tracking device implanted in your body.”

“How is that even possible?” I ask him.

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