He held me for a long time as the steam filled the bathroom. When he released me, he hurried from the room, turning on the fan on his way out.
“Shit,” I said to myself as I stripped the rest of my clothes and stepped into the shower.
Chapter Thirty-Six
It wasn’t easy being stealthy in three-inch heels. I waited until both Santiago’s guards had their backs turned before moving from the office where I had hidden to a spot behind a wide support column. I waited again for my next opportunity before crossing to the center of the room and placing my gun to the back of Santiago’s head. He stopped yelling at the half-conscious prisoner who we’d left strapped to a chair. At the immediate silence, his guards pivoted toward us, pulling their weapons.
“Nice and slow, boys. Lower your weapons, or I blow his brains out.”
“You shoot me, then they shoot you,” Santiago said, holding his hands out to his sides.
“Are you sure about that?” I asked as I raised a hand signal into the air.
The rifle fire sounded in the warehouse, the warning shots landing in the ceiling.
Santiago startled at the sound. “Who else is here?”
“Just a few ex-military buddies, spoiling to get some sniper practice in this weekend.”
Santiago motioned for his men to lower their weapons. “Someone might have called the gunshots into the police. They’re likely to arrive at any moment.”
“Don’t you worry your pretty little head over it. I have friends keeping everyone out of my way.” I looked over at Santiago’s goons, sliding my shoulder bag off and tossing it toward them. “You two, grab the flex cuffs out of the bag. Strap them on with your hands behind your back.” I reached forward with my free hand and removed the gun from Santiago’s back.
“If anything happens to me, my brother will kill you,” Santiago said.
“We shall see.” I kicked the back of his knees, forcing him to the floor. Keeping my gun on Santiago, I stepped behind the other men. I kicked my bag away from them, tossing Santiago’s gun on top before I tightened their cuffs. The original prisoner still had his hands bound behind his back and his ankles zip tied to the chair.
“Kelsey?” Tyler called from the doorway.
“I thought I told you to stay home?” I called out as I stepped back a few paces and retrieved my shoulder bag.
“I decided to follow Shipwreck,” Tyler said as he urged Shipwreck through the door with a shotgun pointed at his back. At least Tyler hadn’t worn his club jacket, advertising the Devil’s Players.
“I could’ve handled it.”
“You’ve already got four prisoners,” Tyler said, grinning. “That’s a few too many, even for you. What’s the plan?”
“Since you volunteered your services,” I said, grinning back as I passed him flex cuffs from my bag, “Santiago and I need to step outside for a moment. If any of his men try anything, just raise a hand and the guys in the rafters will take them out.”
Tyler glanced around but didn’t see anyone. “O—kay.”
I grabbed Santiago by the back of the shirt, jerking him upward. I felt my stitches pull and was glad I left the waterproof bandage on so I wouldn’t bleed on my white blouse. It was a nice blouse.
I turned Santiago toward the door and forced him outside. I didn’t have backup outside, so the quicker I could get us back inside, the better. I walked him to the van, holding him against the front quarter panel while I slipped on a pair of black driving gloves, one at a time, so I could keep my gun trained on Santiago. When I had both of them on, I moved him to the side door. “Open the van.”
“Why?”
“Do it,” I ordered, holding the gun to the back of his head and distancing my stance, preparing to fight.
Santiago opened the van and unconsciously stepped back when he saw the body. I holstered my weapon and shoved Santiago—hard—on top of the dead man. I stepped back, readying myself, as Santiago braced his hands on the body to lift himself off the corpse. As expected, he pulled the large-handled knife and turned, swinging it in an arc toward me.
Anticipating the move, I easily kicked the knife free. Grabbing his wrist, I held it firmly as I ducked under his arm and behind him, pivoting him toward the van and slamming his chest into the front passenger’s door with his arm now wrenched at a painful angle behind his back.
“Thank you,” I said as I pulled a flex cuff out and secured first one, then the other, wrist behind his back. “You made that too easy.”
He coughed and wheezed, trying to fill his lungs with air. “What the hell was that all about?”
“I needed someone else’s prints on the knife.” I forced him to his knees, pulled my gun again, and held it to his head as I reached out with the other gloved hand to pick up the knife. I tried not to think about it as I slid the knife back into its original hole in the dead man’s body. “Who is he, anyway?” I asked as I stepped away from the van.
“A loser. I paid the bastard ten grand to kill you. If he wasn’t already dead, I’d kill him all over again.” He spat, impressively hitting the body from five feet away.
“Thanks for the extra DNA.” I pulled Santiago up from the ground. “Damn. I can’t believe you hired someone for only ten grand. I used to be worth a lot more than that.”
“I had trouble finding someone who would take the job,” Santiago admitted, shrugging. “Three guys turned me down when they heard the hit was for you. They called you the
