Page 68 of Save Me
Snorting, I nod. “Sorry for doubting you, man,” I say, punching him on the arm.
We exit the SUV in silence and make our way toward the bar with militant precision. We’re going in the same way we went into their club. All together, all guns blazing.
“Go time,” I murmur as Adam kicks the door down, even though the damn thing was probably unlocked at this hour. He has that raging beast look in his eye, and it fires me up even more. The Vipers won’t know what hit them.
We storm through the door, the sound of splintering wood a harsh prelude to the chaos we’re about to unleash. The first few Vipers barely have time to register surprise before we cut them down. No shouts, no warnings—just the deafening roar of gunfire and the thud of bodies hitting the floor.
Adam is a monster, his shotgun booming as he clears a path through the sea of enemies. I’m right behind him, pistol in one hand, knife in the other. Quentin and Harry flank us, their shots methodical and precise. Thayer’s somewhere in the back, I can hear his gun growl orders of death.
They had no time to prep for an assault; their guns are scattered, drinks still in hands. Fucking amateurs.
A Viper lunges at me from behind a broken table, but he might as well be moving through treacle. I drop him with a swift shot to the head before even blinking.
“I’m heading for the vault,” Thayer states as he strides past me. “Think they owe us a lil bit of compo.”
“More than a lil,” I shout at his retreating back.
Seconds later, a bang echoes around the bar, and I snicker as a couple of remaining Vipers fighting to their death, freeze. Thayer chose violence today, and I applaud him for it.
Moments later, he returns with bags of cash, which he throws to Harry and Quen. Adam takes care of the last Viper cowering behind the bar as Thayer pulls out two grenades. He hands one to me as the three other guys move out steadily.
“Bar go boom,” Thayer says, pulling the pin out with his teeth. “You ready?”
“Always,” I laugh and pull the pin. We chuck them together, and then we lunge for the door, diving out as the building explodes behind us. I come up in a roll, and I’m on my feet in seconds, heading for the next location.
Harry’s already there, gun poised like some dark angel of retribution. The second building is less of a fight, more of a slaughter. Adam and Thayer are on the tertiary location like flies on shit.
The Vipers are scattered, trying to grasp the reality crumbling around them. As we burst through the door, it’s clear they were expecting us to be licking our wounds, not bringing the fight to them.
Quen grins at me as we step over another body, his eyes wild with the thrill of the hunt. “Fucking pathetic,” he mutters, kicking a discarded pistol away from a twitching hand which he then chops off with his axe.
This isn’t a challenge—it’s a fucking statement.
The sound of sirens in the distance doesn’t even make us pause. Let them come—they won’t find anything but corpses and ashes. We’re shadows, flickering through violence and emerging untouched on the other side.
We clear room after room until we reach what looks to be an office—a shitty attempt at legitimacy in their pit of sin. I plantmy boot on the door, and it swings open with a dramatic flair. Inside, we find their leader, or what passes for one—a greasy-haired rat with more fear in his eyes than sense in his head.
“You made a really stupid decision when you got up out of your pit today,” I inform him, pressing the gun to his forehead. “The Crowned Syndicate says bye-bye.”
With a swift motion that comes from years of practice, I pull the trigger. The sound is no more significant than popping bubble wrap, but the result is final. His body slumps to the ground like a sack of meat, and we’re already moving on.
Quen pulls a grenade out of his pants pocket and pulls the pin, his fist clamping down on the handle until we reach the door. We hear an explosion not far away and know the tertiary location is up in flames.
“Time to bounce,” Quen says, and as we stride through the back door, he tosses the grenade over his shoulder, and then we run, laughing like fucking lunatics as we pile into the car Adam has pulled up right outside. Our getaway is smooth as the police are pulling up all around us.
“Yes!” I shout, smacking the headrests in front of me, making Adam and Thayer protest vehemently. “Who messes with the Syndicate?”
“Dead men,” Thayer states.
“That’s right, my friend. Fucking dead men.”
26
VOGUE
Sittingon the coffee table with a bottle of water in my hand, I wish it was stronger as I stare at my dad, pale but breathing as he rests.
The door opens, and the guys stride in, looking for all the world like they’ve been to a massacre in a minefield.
