“Shannon, let go,” I say.
She doesn’t respond, and she doesn’t move.
Lacy takes a step closer and places a hand on her shoulder. “I’m here.”
Still, Shannon says nothing.
There’s a small piece of me that wants to shake her and tell her that now isn’t the time for existential dread. We’ve all got problems, and we’ve all got shit to deal with on our own time.
Lacy grabs my arm. “Say something,” she pleads. “You knew about her mother.”
Goddammit. I didn’t make the choice to hide it from her.
Of course, I understand why she’s upset. Her mother is dead, her father isn’t going to be in her life anytime soon, and her grandmother keeps secrets from her. Who is she supposed to turn to? Who’s left?
“We weren’t going to leave without you,” I say. “You need to pull yourself up by your bootstraps and help us. Okay? When I was young, my father died, and my mother went to jail shortly after. I can take care of myself, right? Sometimes life kicks you in ass, but you’re strong enough to kick back. I know, because I did it. You can too.”
“Your father died?” Lacy asks, surprise in her tone. “And you don’t have your mother?”
“I’m fine. A little secret—sometimes you make your own family.”
Of course, what I don’t tell them is that I made a mob family my family. I went from not having a home to breaking skulls for living. Not really Hallmark movie material, but they don’t need to know the details, right? Hell if I know.
“I’m cold,” Shannon whispers.
Better than her staying silent. “I’ll give you my jacket.”
She lets go of me, and I stand in order to shuffle off my outer layer. I wrap it around her and zip up the front.
A door slams open. Everyone jumps, but it’s an echo of a far-off door somewhere in the retirement home. Miles rushes back to us and motions to the opposite end of the room.
“C’mon. We need to go.”
I follow Miles, and the two girls stay by my side, both of them with a grip on my shirt. We exit the large cafeteria and enter a nurse’s station. It’s long been abandoned. All that remains is the desk and metal filing cabinets. Miles takes us to the other end and cracks open the door.
“Boss! Boss!”
We all freeze. The front lobby hosts a crowd of people. There’s a commotion. I can taste the tension in the air, just from the bated breath and silence that follows the cries of boss.
“We’ve got a problem,” the same man continues, his voice a mixture of smoker and stoner. “Juan and Guerrero were cleanin’ up, when they were attacked.”
“Attacked?”
Jeremy’s voice. I’d bet my life on it.
“Dropped in the hall. Guerrero says there were multiples of ’em. I don’t know what they’re doin’, but they took two of the merchandise.”
“Someone specific?”
“Two little girls the cops brought in. Maybe they’re family. I dunno.”
“We shouldn’t be picking up anyone important,” Jeremy shouts. “None of these plebs should have any connection to anyone of significance!”
“They didn’t. They don’t. They’re runaways. Just some Asian and white trash. Cops said both had fathers that were in jail and—”
“An Asian?”
“Yeah. That’s what I said.”
I don’t even need to see the man to know he’s put one and two together. I nudge Miles and motion to enter the room. Change of plans. The lobby is huge, and there’s only light near the front door—we’re not leaving that way, which means there’s little option to get to the trucks. We can slip through the sidelines if we’re quiet, and we need to leave right now.
“Search the place,” Jeremy commands. “And open up windows. You never know when they’ll have something chemical.” He waits a moment. “Well? I said search the place! Not you two. You stay with me.”
The hired guns take off, scattering to cover the most amount of territory.
Miles shuffles into the lobby, keeping to the shadows, and I trail behind with the girls. They aren’t wearing any shoes, which gets me worried, considering the condition the building is in, but I don’t have anything to give them, and it’s not like I can carry them both.
Miles takes the first hallway he comes across, and we’re met with a flight of stairs. Gunmen swarm around the lobby behind us—I hear one enter the nurse’s station and head for the cafeteria—so it’s not like we have much choice, but I feel like an animal boxing itself into a corner.
Lacy, Shannon, and Miles take the stairs without difficulty. By the time I reach the second story, I’m running on fumes. Thankfully, or perhaps to my disadvantage, moonlight floods through the windows, illuminating the hallway before me. The place remains furnished, and I suspect it is all thirty-plus years old. Sheets cover everything, like the place is inhabited by furniture in ghost costumes.
I slink along the hall when I spot movement ahead. Miles ushers Lacy and Shannon into a room, keeping them ahead of him while he brings up the rear. Another silhouette emerges from the door across the hallway opposite Miles. The man creeps closer, his handgun at the ready, and I act on instinct. I pull my firearm and—fearing I’ll miss—unload the clip. I hit the man a handful of times, but the cacophony of shots is what worries me the most. He hits the floor with a wet thud.
Miles rushes over and offers his shoulder for support. He half carries me down the hall and shoves me into the room with Shannon and Lacy. Once inside, he blocks the door by knocking over a heavy filing cabinet and pushes us to keep going. The sound of men running up the stairs gets my heart rate up and my palms sweaty.
Shannon and Lacy run to another door at the far end of the room. They open it and rush forward, into a
