Man of the House: A Dark Bad Boy Romance(121)

But I had to find out. I wasn’t the type of man to sit around and wait for answers.

I went out and I took what I f*cking wanted. That was how I lived my life, fast and loose and deadly. I wanted Kaley; I cared about her. I cared about the kid, too. I wanted to help raise my son, although if Kaley wanted me to disappear, I would. But I had to hear it from her, not from some f*cking note she left on the pillow because she couldn’t face me.

It took us twenty minutes before we found her block. It was a normal residential street, pretty quiet, the sort of place you saw all over Chicago.

I parked the truck at the end of the block. “They’re number eleven thirty,” I told Rafa.

“Shit,” he said. “These row homes are rough.”

“We’ll go in the back,” I said.

“Got it.”

We slipped out of the truck and made a right at the cross street. A small alley ran down between the houses, which made it easy for people to come in and out through their backyards. We moved silently down the alley, keeping at a crouch, all dressed in black.

It was totally silent. It was past one in the morning on a weekday, and so I figured most people would be sleeping. Most of the normal, working people at least. Who knew what was happening at Kaley’s house.

We stopped when we made it to her place. I double-checked, doubling back and counting the yards again, just to make sure we had the right place. Rafa nodded at me.

“Quiet,” he whispered. “Nobody around.”

“Come on.” I hopped the fence and he followed. There was a short expanse of grass, some lawn chairs, a grill, and nothing else. The back door looked like every other one on the block.

“Pick it,” I whispered. Rafa nodded and got out his lock pick set, quickly going to work. I watched the window but couldn’t see in past the curtains.

No movement inside, though I thought I saw the glow of a TV flickering in another room.

I heard the door click open and turn softly. I quickly aimed my rifled ahead as Rafa flung the door open.

Nothing.

Just a normal kitchen. We moved inside, me in the front, stepping lightly. The kitchen looked normal, just a regular suburban kitchen. Rafa pointed at something on the refrigerator.

It was a school picture of Kaley. She was a lot younger, but I recognized her.

I nodded. We had the right place at least.

Ahead, I saw I was right about the television. It was on softly in the front room, the volume turned low. I moved forward, motioning for Rafa to follow. We slipped into a dining room that was attached to the living room.

I peered cautiously into the living room. Inside sat three men and a single girl, probably around Kaley’s age. They were staring at something on the TV.

I unhooked a flashbang from my belt and motioned to Rafa. He backed off, ready to watch the kitchen.

I uncapped the flashbang and tossed it into the room.

“What the f*ck?” one guy said.

And then it exploded.

The flashbang went off with this blindingly bright light and an incredibly loud boom. The girl instantly started screaming, and the guys began shouting, scrambling around.

I uncovered my eyes and stepped around the corner. Two of the men had guns out, and I killed them instantly, putting bullets into their chests. The third man reached for something, but I killed him too.

Rafa followed close behind me. “Stairs,” I whispered.

He nodded, covering the stairs. I walked over to the screaming girl.

“Quiet,” I said, holding the gun to her skull. “Where is Kaley?”

She started to cry.

“Where is Kaley?” I repeated.

“Upstairs,” she said.

I looked at Rafa. “Cuff her.”

He took out some handcuffs from his belt and tossed one on the girl’s wrist. He dragged her across the room and slapped the other cuff onto the radiator, quickly making sure no weapons were within her reach.

I nodded at him. “On me.”

We moved toward the stairs.

Bullets rained down on us.

We quickly fell back.

“Who the f*ck are you?” someone yelled from upstairs.

“Wait,” I called up. “We just want to talk.”

As soon as I said it, Rafa jumped around the corner and opened fire. He fell back when someone began to shoot back.

“Fuck you,” he yelled. “That won’t work.”

I grinned to myself. “Let us come up,” I yelled. “I’m here for Kaley.”

“You’re that f*cking Italian shithead she ran off for, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am. And who I am speaking to?”

“Her father.”

I laughed. “Anatoli.”

“Vince Mori. You should leave. My men are already on the way.”

I nodded at Rafa. He pulled a grenade, a real one this time, and tossed it upstairs.

“That flash trick won’t—”

The grenade went off with a deafening boom.

I stumbled back, my ears ringing.

“Holy shit,” Rafa said, though I couldn’t hear him.

“Come on.”

I charged at the steps, or at least what was left of them. I scrambled up and had to jump the last few feet, landing on badly blasted wood. There were flames raging everywhere, but no sign of Anatoli.