BONNER COULD hear noises coming from somewhere. Hear people talking, smell… meat burning. Come on. Come on, man. Think. He touched cold tile. Not an arena.
No cow shit here. Okay. Up. Get up. His back screamed at him when he tried to move, but he climbed to his feet. There was a .22 at his feet, so he picked it up. Come on, Bonner. You know what you got to do. You got to help. You got to help Gianni.
He grunted, gritting his teeth. No, that was the kitchen. He turned around. The bedroom. Right.
Or left. What the fuck ever.
He felt like Jack Nicholson in The Shining, dragging his ass down the hall. His breath kept trying to hitch, but the back brace kept him upright, so he moved on. One of the bad guys stepped in front of the bedroom door, and he eased into the shadow. He didn’t know who was behind the door, and he sure wasn’t a sharpshooter. Not in this state. So he just reversed the gun and charged, swinging like a rusty gate and screaming to distract the guy.
Gianni opened the door into the son of a bitch’s muzzle, and Bonner slammed the gun and his arm down so the shot hit the doorframe and not his lover. Then he swung again, catching the guy on the jaw. Gianni finished the guy off with a well-placed shot. “Inside, caro.”
“I got to get outside to the others. Y’all stay in here.” They had two down.
“No way. Massimo and Mason can take this situation. I’m coming with you.”
“We got this,” Xavier called. He thought the guy was Xavier. The fake biker. He tried to stare Gianni down, but he was leaking energy like a bad battery. “Come on. Micah’s coming around the front.”
“Good deal. You hear that, Mason?”
“Clear as a bell.”
“Son….”
“No, Papà. Stay here.” Gianni followed him, the door closing behind them. “You okay, caro?”
“Fine. Let’s do this.”
Gianni nodded. He had his game face on, the one Bonner figured Gianni wore at work, and the fact that he didn’t argue said this was pretty damn dire. Together they moved through the house, finding Micah first, pale and sweating, a man dead in front of him.
“I shot him. Bonner, man. I shot him.”
“You had to. Cowboy up, buddy.” He snapped the words, and Micah nodded grimly. “How many more?”
“I think one, but they’re all wearing the same bandanas.”
“Okay. Okay, we can do this together.”
“Identify yourself before you shoot. The Rangers have been keeping watch. They’ll show up soon.” Gianni led the way toward the front door as they made a big circle. “Someone called 911.” Bonner knew it; he just couldn’t remember who.
“I did,” Micah said.
Gianni cursed when he peered out the sidelight window. “Three more out there.”
“Okay, what do we do? Just wait? Greg and Harrison are on the back porch.”
“No, we can’t just wait. Those boys need medical.” Gianni checked the pistol he held and tsked. “Any loose firepower from anyone we downed?”
Micah nodded. “The guy back there; he had a piece.”
“I’ll go get it.” Dammit.
“No, I got it. If those guys get in out there, you’re the ones who know what to do.” Micah ran off, leaving them looking at the front door, which was already busted out at the lock.
“I don’t like this, Gianni. I vote you make these fuckers leave you alone.”
“I agree, baby.” Gianni laughed, the sound humorless. “Dead or alive, this will give us enough of them to destroy the whole fucking organization.”
“Fair enough.” He was all over that.
“Okay. I have to go after those guys. We have to clear the scene so we can get help for the team.” Gianni moved to the other side of the door quickly, so it would shield him some when he went out, Bonner thought. That was what they did in Westerns.
That was when a muzzle pressed to the side of Gianni’s head.
Well, fuck-a-doodle-doo.