“Tanya.” The word came from Josie’s mouth, but it didn’t sound like one sister addressing another. Her lips struggled to form the name, as if her mouth was getting used to it for the first time. Antonio came up behind Tanya, his lips close to her ear. “I think you need to sit down.” He looked down at the chair that he had pulled out for her.
She just stood there, blinking, confused. “I don’t—”
“Someone came looking for you.” He glanced at Josie.
“What happened to her?” she asked shakily.
Michael couldn’t understand why she wasn’t addressing her sister directly and looking to Antonio for answers, but he couldn’t bring himself to react beyond a stunned silence.
“You weren’t supposed to come.” Tanya looked down at the floor rather than in Josie’s eyes.
“Tanya. You should really be sitting down for this.” Antonio grabbed her shoulders and forced her down on the chair. She looked up at him, eyes wide and pleading. “I didn’t know she would come,” she said, her hands reached out for his, but he instead, unholstered his weapon, and started polishing it with a corner of his shirt. “Come on. We knew this was never going to last. It always had an expiry date.” He took a dramatic step back from her, as if dissociating from her completely.
“But you left your wife for me. You said I was—”
“Jesus. People say things. We had some fun. You’ve been useful, and now you’re a liability.”
Tanya went to stand, but he impeded her momentum with a firm hand to the shoulder. “Don’t make this awkward, Tanya. No-one likes a woman who can’t take a hint. It’s over.”
“What are you doing?” She lurched forward, trying to snatch the weapon from his hand, but he grabbed her by the hair, pulling her head towards him, and digging the muzzle of his handgun into her forehead. Tanya started wailing. “You lied to me,” she screamed dramatically like the lead of a tele novella. She lifted her head up. Tears had already started making their way down her face. Following the curves of her cheeks and clinging to her chin for a moment before dripping down.
“But… the things we did… I love you. You weren’t faking it, I know you weren’t,” she shouted, red-faced.
Michael jumped in his chair when Josie sprung forward, propelling herself at her sister like a wrecking ball. Her chair crashed down behind her, and she launched Tanya off of hers, slamming her against the hard concrete floor.
“You fucking idiot. What the fuck did you do?” She sat on top of her and slapped her across the face. Her hand connecting with her sister’s cheek like a crack of thunder. The sound echoing around the room. Even witnessing the ferocity of it made Michael flinch and want to rub the side of his face to sooth the imagined pain. Tanya tried to push her sister off, but she slapped her again. And again. Each slap slightly lighter than the last as if the rage was dissipating with each strike. Samuel, Antonio, and their two sicarios watched on with a thinly concealed look of amusement.
From the corner of his eye, Michael could see Miguel had somehow managed to untie his arms and was yanking at the rope around his feet. If there was a time to act, it had to be now. If the police were coming though, was it worth holding back, biding time? Samuel and Antonio did not seem in any particular hurry. Maybe they knew something he didn’t. The two hit men were the closest now, they even had their backs turned, transfixed with the scuffle taking place on the floor.
Throwing logic out of the window, he dived for one of the men’s guns. He had it. It was heavy in his hand. He had no idea how to use it. The man whose gun he had snatched had barely noticed, and Michael grabbed the man in front of him as the other unnamed man aimed and pulled his trigger. The force of the bullet hitting the man in front made Michael stumble back, and he wondered if the bullet had traveled straight through his human shield. There was no pain. He just about managed not to fall, but the man in front of him slid down. Before the man could get out a second shot, Miguel had kicked him from his position down on the floor. He swiped the man’s legs with his feet, knocking the guy straight down like a bowling pin. Antonio marched towards him and Michael could see straight down the barrel of his gun. Michael had no idea what to do, squeezing the trigger to no effect as Antonio advanced. He thought the anticipation was the worst part until he felt the bullet travel through his shoulder like a red-hot poker.
He stumbled back, hitting the wall before sliding down. He refused to look down as he felt the warmth of blood gush down his front. As he moved, sharp pains radiated across his chest like fork lightning spreading off in a million directions. His brain imagined bone shattered into a million fragments, and everything went fuzzy around the edges.
“I thought about shooting you in the head. But you need to suffer.” Antonio smacked him across the top of the head with the butt of his gun and then swung his clenched fist upwards, threatening to separate his jawbone from the rest of his face. Something cracked as his brain reverberated in his skull. Michael wanted to scream so desperately, but his body couldn’t
