Page 3 of Loathe Me (Touch of Death 1)
I shift my position and take a deep breath, calming my entire body. The slow beat of my heart is methodical and measured. I exhale, pause, and pull the trigger. The gunshot explodes through the night, and his head snaps back as the window shatters. Glass tinkles to the ground like heavy rainfall until it disappears, revealing the limp body that now slumps back the chair. I catch a glimpse of the woman’s hysteria before I’m up and moving. My gun is disassembled and packed away in my holdall in seconds. Pushing to my feet, I shoulder the bag and shrug it over my shoulder before heading back inside the abandoned building.
My footfalls echo around the stairwell as I descend the five floors. When I exit onto the cobblestone street, sirens already ring in the distance. Tugging my hood over my head, I keep a normal pace, blending in. Lights flicker to life in some of the windows as people wake to the commotion. Rounding a corner, I head for the center of the city where the bars and restaurants are full of life. I duck into a pizza restaurant only locals frequent because it lacks all curb appeal. Walking to the counter at the back, I make eye contact with the owner and slip her a hundred-dollar bill before I duck through the back door. No one in the kitchen pays me any attention as I meander through and into a small storage room at the rear of the building. The room contains various fridges and freezers, shelving, cleaning products. I pull one of the chest freezers away from the wall, revealing an exposed wooden square of flooring. Kneeling, I dig in my pocket and pull out a key to the small padlock. The improvised door lifts easily, and a light illuminates the steep stairwell that descends beneath the restaurant. It serves as a storage facility, one of many. Una and I have them in various cities all over the world, more so in areas densely populated by crime families and criminal gangs. After all, they make up our client list. Traveling with weapons is not easy, especially when the goal is to stay out of sight and under the radar. As soon as my feet touch the floor at the bottom of the steps, I take out the gun, stripping and cleaning it in minutes. It finds its place on the wall next to an array of other weapons: handguns, rifles, knives, grenades.
Discarding the bag in the corner, I grab an American passport and ascend the ladder. The lock slides into place with a heavy click. Job done. It’s time to go home.
2
Adelina
I frown at my phone screen, rereading the message.
I’m coming for you. Be ready to leave tomorrow morning.
Followed by my repeated responses, none of which have gone through.
I chew my thumbnail as different scenarios run through my head. There could be a million reasons why my sister would come all the way to England to get me, yet none of them explain why my messages aren’t getting through. The sinking feeling in my gut tells me something has happened to her. Flopping back on the bed, I close my eyes and try to swallow down the panic. I should be in an English literature lecture right now. Maybe I should go. It would give me a temporary reprieve from worrying about Gabi.
Hearing the distinct crunch of tires over gravel, I rush to the window and look into the courtyard two stories below. A black Range Rover pulls up where I expect to see my father, but when the back door opens, only my sister gets out, and something’s wrong. The set of her shoulders, the urgency in her step—they’re both giveaways. A couple of Daddy’s men follow behind her, including Ronaldo. Leaving my dormitory, I step out onto the landing, glancing over the banister. Gabi hurries up several flights of stairs, yet when she reaches me, she doesn’t even say hello. I haven’t seen her in months, and all she does is grab my arm and drag me into my room.
“Here.” She tosses a leather holdall at me. “Pack some clothes. We’re leaving.”
“What? Why?”
“Pack your bag, Lina!” Gabi snaps, startling me. She opens one of my drawers and starts pulling out jeans and T-shirts.
“What the hell is going on?” I stand stock still as she ignores me, tearing clothes from the closet with seemingly no rhyme or reason. “Gabi!”
My sister stills, and her shoulders rise and fall on a deep sigh. Her head tilts back, sending a sheet of ebony hair cascading down her back. “Please just listen to me, Lina. Do as I say.”
I hate that she treats me like a child. “Why are you here? Where’s Daddy?” There’s only one reason he would insist I leave, and that’s if I’m in danger, but he’d never send Gabi if that were the case.
