Page 40 of Vicious Vows

“You’re going to die today, Santoro. You should have stayed home and let us deal with her ourselves. We know you married her and forced her to do your dirty work. It’s not personal, just business.”

If I see this man’s face, I’ll gut him from sternum to pubic bone. Not personal? That’s all this is. There is nothing more personal than taking a man’s wife and threatening to kill her.

I dart back into the hallway and keep my gun on aim, this time conserving my ammunition. By my count, I have three rounds left. I don’t stand much of a chance against this guy with no gun, but I don’t have time to rush back up the hall and take a gun off one of the dead men, besides the fact that if I did, that would leave my back exposed.

I take a deep breath and my mind begins to race. I calculate my odds, trying to form any possible strategy that could get me out of this predicament alive. My fingers tighten around the grip of my gun, the cold metal like ice in my hand.

The laughter echoes again, louder this time. It's a sick, twisted sound, devoid of any humanity. The chilling noise reverberates off the hallway walls, heightening the tension. I grit my teeth against it, barely suppressing the primal urge within me to charge headlong into the fight. But that would be suicide.

My wife’s face flashes before my eyes, our last moments together a stark reminder of what I’m fighting for. I can still feel the softness of her skin, see the love in her eyes. That’s my drivingforce. I won’t let these monsters take that away from me. I inch forward in the hallway and ready myself to take a shot as I feel the hard steel of a weapon press into the back of my head.

“Drop the gun,” the grizzly voice says, and I obey. I’m no good to Micah if I’m dead. "Nice and easy," he continues, keeping his position firm and unmoving. "No sudden movements, Santoro."

My heart thuds against my ribs like a caged animal trying to break free. As the hard barrel of his gun presses harder into my skull, I feel a mix of anger and fear pumping through my veins. The thought of leaving Micah in their hands is unbearable, but the reality of facing death without even seeing her one last time forces me to swallow my pride. I tighten my jaw, feeling humiliation burn hotter than the fear.

"You'll pay for this," I manage to spit out through clenched teeth.

He chuckles, low and guttural, and the sound grates on my nerves like a rusty saw. "Sure, Santoro. We'll see about that," he says. I can sense him shifting behind me, most likely adjusting his stance for a better aim at my head.

“Your little plaything whom you call a wife is quite handy with a computer. Seems she knows how to move money in untraceable ways, or almost untraceable. I found her, didn’t I?” He nudges my head with the barrel of the gun and then kicks the backs of my knees, and I drop to the ground. My knees slam hard into the tiled floor, sending a shockwave of pain up my spine. I grit my teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing me cry out.

"And to think," he continues, his voice filled with perverse glee, "you thought you could hide her from us. You thought you could get away with the thievery and bring us to our knees. Well, you were wrong.”

"Wrong? We'll see who's wrong," I snarl back, though my gut clenches. I don't know what this brute is capable of doing to Micah, and the uncertainty is enough to make me feel physically sick.

He laughs again in that same hollow, echoing way, like a predator toying with its prey. "I don't think you quite understand your position here, Santoro," he says, his voice dripping with a cruel kind of amusement.

"I understand perfectly," I retort. "I'm the one who's going to rip your throat out if you lay a finger on her."

A boot connects solidly with my side, knocking the breath out of me and causing me to double over in pain. The laughter echoes again, a grating cacophony in the desolate corridor. "Oh, you're a feisty one," the voice behind me taunts. "But let's see how much fight you have left in you, shall we?"

The weapon presses against my head once again, and I hear it click, the safety disengaging. I push myself upward, refusing to take this lying down, and grit my teeth as I wait for the resounding boom of my life being taken from me. But when it rips through the otherwise quiet hallway, it isn’t a bullet in my head that happens.

I feel warmth across the back of my neck, and blood splatters the wall in front of me.

The brute behind me groans, his grip on the gun loosening until it clatters to the ground beside me. There's a thud and a grunt as his body crumples onto the floor. I scramble away from him, turning back to see a figure standing at the end of the hallway with a smoking gun.

Micah.

She's soaked to the bone, her damp hair tumbling around her shoulders, face pale but determined. The gun trembles slightly in her hand, but her gaze is steady, fixed on the fallen man at my feet. "Luke!" she calls out, rushing toward me.

Tears stream down her face, making paths through the dirt and grime. She stumbles as she nears me, dropping to her knees next to me. She tosses the gun aside. It clatters across the tiled floor and comes to rest against the wall. Her hands are on my face then, cupping my cheeks, thumbs tracing over my cheekbones. She's searching my eyes for something, reassurance, perhaps.

"Luke," she whispers again, voice heavy with relief. "I thought I was... I thought..." She can't finish the sentence. Instead, she buries her face into my shoulder, her body shaking.

"Hey, it's okay," I manage to say, wrapping my arms around her. The relief of feeling her, holding her, hearing her is intoxicating. An overwhelming wave of emotions floods me, the pain of my wounds becoming a dull afterthought.

"You came for me," she says, now sobbing into my chest as I stand, hoisting her off the floor where blood is beginning to pool.

“I had to. You’re my best asset,” I tell her, kissing her senseless. There isn’t a spot on her face that goes untouched by my lips. She chuckles softly, then moans and wraps her arms around my torso tightly.

“They killed Will. We have to take him home.”

My heart clenches, a painful reminder of the casualties of this treacherous game we're caught in. I nod, swallowing hard against the lump in my throat. "We will," I promise her, my voice low and steady despite the turmoil raging within me.

I scoop her up and march with purpose back up the hallway. As I turn toward the exit, I see Vic with wide eyes and blood covering his torso. He’s been hit and he’s moving fast, which means he’s being chased.

We run to the door and out into the rain which now comes down heavily. The car is running, and Dale’s friend is behind the wheel, but as I slide Micah into the back seat and turn to see if Dale is coming, I see nothing.

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