Page 63 of No Sweeter Poison

I pause at the door.

There’s a short foyer between the restaurant exit and the glass door that leads to an exit ramp. From here, I can see across the street where a heavy-set man in a black suit pops all four tires on our car. A second taller, skinnier one has a hand pressed against his ear. He speaks though I don’t see a phone in his hand.

I look over and notice that the man with the napkin has one hand pressed against his ear, listening intently.

“Alejandro.”

He glances at me over his shoulder. My grip on the door handle tightens and his eyes follow my line of sight.

He lunges for me.

Moises takes the gun out of his apron and fires two shots, taking down the first man, but not before a bullet catches him in the leg. He cries out and collapses behind the counter.

Alejandro pushes me into one of the booths and shoves a gun into my hand.

“I don’t know how to use this!”

“Figure it out.”

“Where the fuck do you have room in your suit to hide all of these!”

He gets up and I watch as the second man with the earpiece makes his way toward him. He lifts a gun and Alejandro disarms him quickly by catching his wrist and twisting it an unnatural angle. The man cries out and Alejandro grabs him by the collar of his button down before banging his head against the counter until there’s a dent in the side.

I stay hidden behind the booth, keeping my head low as I try to figure out a way to get us out of here when I remember.

My phone.

I fish it out of my pocket and quickly place a call to Diego. The doors open and gunfire frazzles my nerves, causing the phone to slip from my hand.

“Shit.”

It doesn’t matter anyway. Diego will hear the commotion in the background and get the hint. That’s if my call doesn’t go to voicemail.

I take a peek over the booth and Moises has his gun raised, attempting to aim at the two men who just walked in, but he’s injured and off balance. His leg is bleeding heavily and I fear an artery may have been hit. Meanwhile, Alejandro is perched against the counter, one leg planted on a red stool, as he tightens the man’s tie around his neck and chokes him from behind. Eventually, he jerks his arms to the left and the man slumps to the ground.

I could’ve sworn two men walked in but it’s just the heavier set one lifting a gun as Moises ducks behind the counter again. Alejandro grabs him from behind and flings him into a nearby booth. He grabs a stool from the counter and swings like a batter at home base, clocking the guy in the side of the head with enough force to practically crack his skull open. He crumples to the ground and drops his weapon, giving Alejandro the opportunity to pin him down.

My body seizes.

I watch as he lands punch after punch, the sound of crunching bone filling the room, and blood splatters everywhere. It’s violent, gruesome, and I’m unable to tear my eyes away. That guy weighs at least a hundred pounds more than Alejandro and yet, he’s still gotten the better of him. Whether it’s adrenaline, anger, or fear that propels him, I’m not sure. All I know is—

Someone grips me by the back of the skull, yanking until I can feel each strand of my hair being ripped from my scalp. I cry out and attempt to fire the gun but he twists my arm and it slips from my gasp.

“Look what I found,” he whispers in my ear. “Hiding in a corner like a wee mouse.”

There’s a hint of an accent in his voice—maybe Irish or Scottish—but it’s faded with time. He drags me out of the booth and I scramble for purchase against the leather cushions of the booth but to no avail. He has me from behind and can easily overpower me.

“Let. Me. Go.”

“You’re one sexy little bitch aren’t ya?” The hand not locked in my hair wraps around my middle. His fingers spread upward, until I can feel them digging into the front of my bra strap. “Tell your little boyfriend to—”

Suddenly, the grip on the back of my skull disappears. I spin around and Bertha has a massive frying pan in her hand. She holds it a few inches above her head, ready to swing again if need be.

“You’re crazy!” I whisper. I grab her wrist and pull her behind the counter. She looks up and reads my lips. “Go hide!”

Bertha shakes her head frantically and points behind me. I grab the pan and when the man attempts to rise to his feet, I swing. He stumbles backwards and I hit him again, bringing the pan across the side of his head with enough force to make my teeth rattle. I don’t stop hitting until he’s on the ground, head gushing blood, nose crooked, and moaning from the pain. Bertha looks around and dives for the gun I dropped. It slid under the counter and she grabs it, flips the safety, and fires before I have the chance to blink.

The man releases a groan and then goes still.