The Slayer (Untamed Hearts #2)(121)

Chuito and Alaine ended up in the house again, this time with nine Russians. Alaine could hear her heart thundering in her ears as an icy-cold shiver of fear washed over her so potently she didn’t think she had taken a clear breath since she opened the door.

“Come out, Italian,” the Russian holding Chuito called, his voice echoing through the empty house. “Or the woman dies.”

Alaine looked at Chuito, who was still completely unreadable. His body seemed tight, like he was ready to spring, but what could he do with so many guns pointed at them?

“Kill the spic,” one of the other Russians suggested. “He’s useless. Fuck the Puerto Ricans. We owe them nothing.”

“No!” Alaine shouted. “Please—”

Her words were cut off when the Russian holding her slammed his hand down hard on her shoulder, making a scream burst out of her.

Her legs gave out, and at the same time, Chuito shouted, “?No la toques hijo de la gran puta!” and then grunted when the man holding him caught him in the back of the head with his gun.

Alaine watched him fall, his knees giving out like hers had, and for one terrible second, she thought he was going to pass out, because the sound that gun made against his skull was horrific, but Chuito just grabbed the back of his head, his fingers coming away bloody.

Then he tilted his head and looked at the man who had hit him, holding his gaze as if daring him to shoot him. There was something so profoundly scary about Chuito being willing to look death straight in the eye.

“Okay, okay, okay.” Tino appeared at the top of the stairway, his hands held high. “Look, maybe we can negotiate. I’m rich as hell and—” Tino stopped talking and looked down at his chest that was now decorated with red dots, as all the Russians but the two guarding Chuito and Alaine pointed their weapons at him. He stared down at the red dots and mumbled, “Wow, this feels like overkill.”

“He’s not the right one,” the one guarding Chuito said, knocking his gun into the back of Chuito’s skull as if he was talking to him. “They sent me the picture. This is the wrong Italian. This is the fool from the night before.”

“Man, I got money,” Tino argued, still standing at the top of the stairs. “You want money, motherf*ckers? You can disappear with the amount of cash I got. I’ll pay you twice as much as your boss. Just”—Tino’s voice caught in a way that was surprising—“don’t whack me.”

“He is spineless.” The man holding Alaine turned back to the other Russian standing with Chuito, because it was apparent he was in charge. “These two make better hostages than him.”

With his gun still to Chuito’s head, the boss used his other hand to fish his phone out of his pocket. For one tense moment, they all just stood there as he took Tino’s picture at the top of the hallway.

“Are you a soldier?” the Russian in charge asked as he did something on his phone, likely texting Tino’s picture to someone. “You don’t stand like a man who has power with the Italians. You’re weak.”

“Yeah, man, I’m not looking to die for the friggin’ organization,” Tino assured them. “Fuck them.”

“We’ll wait,” the boss said and used his phone to wave Tino down. “Come down here, soldier.”

“Why don’t you let the girl go?” Tino argued as he walked down the stairs, his hands still held up. “You got me. You got my bro. What the f*ck else—” One of the Russian’s grabbed Tino and yanked the gun out of the back of his jeans. He pointed it at Tino’s forehead, and Tino winced. “Cazzo, why—”

“Kneel.”

Tino dropped to his knees, lowering his head, and Alaine saw something in his gaze that was very different from his outwardly terrified demeanor. His eyes were narrowed in fury, but he didn’t argue when his captor said, “Hands behind your head.”

Tino laced his hands behind his head.

Then they made Alaine and Chuito do the same. The Russians had a quick conversation Alaine couldn’t understand as she sat there, kneeling on the dirty wooden floor, knowing this was likely how she was going to die.

She got the impression the Russians were discussing their fate.

The boss who still stood over Chuito lifted his gun and made a phone call, saying to the person on the other end, “We have one of yours.” Then he kicked Chuito. “What’s your name?”

Chuito quirked an eyebrow but didn’t answer.

“Name,” the Russian repeated.

Chuito tilted his head, looking at the Russian, and seemed to decide he didn’t have a choice. “Chuito.”

The Russian repeated it to whoever he was talking to and then asked, “The Slayer?”

“Sí,” Chuito confirmed.

Then the Russian hung up and said something curt to his Russian companions, before he turned to Tino. “Where’s your friend? The other Italian?”

Tino snorted. “Man, he’s not my friend. He’s just—”

“Where is he?” the Russian repeated.

Tino shrugged. “He went to get coffee.”

“Is he your boss?” the Russian asked and then looked at his phone when it beeped. He stared at the screen for a while and then lifted his head to study Tino with a look of bemusement on his face. “An enforcer? You? How old are you?”