The Slayer (Untamed Hearts #2) (47 page)

“I guess you should’ve listened to your informant,” Tino growled. “Who’s weak now, motherfucker? Do I look like I’m standing with power? ’Cause I feel like I’m standing as a man with power.”

“Don’t kill them,” Nova called from behind them, his voice low and even as if he’d had this talk many times before. “We need ’em. They’re the only ones left.”

Against his better judgment, Chuito glanced behind him, seeing the sea of dead bodies.

Chuito killed one.

Tino killed five.

Then Tino shot the Russian in the kneecap in response to Nova’s warning, as if he couldn’t help himself, and Chuito realized Tino had aim that was crazy accurate. Like unflinching, military-sniper accurate. Not quite fast enough to take out nine Russians, but confident enough to knock out five in less than ten seconds.

“Valentino!” Nova shouted over the sound of the Russian’s screaming. “Stop!”

Chuito jumped up before he could acknowledge that his original assumption about Tino had been correct. He was genuinely one of the scariest motherfuckers out of New York.

But Chuito still hated him.

He ran to the stairs, shoving Angel so hard he fell. “Save him for me.”

“Chu!” Someone shouted from behind him, but he wasn’t listening as he flew up the stairs. “Junior—”

He didn’t hear the rest. He got to the bedroom and jerked open the door because it was so fucking quiet in there. His heart was thundering, and a part of him knew he was going to find Alaine’s raped, dead body.

He had to blink at what he found instead.

One dead Russian in the doorway that he had to step over, and Alaine sitting on the bed, wearing a hoodie that she had zipped up to the neck.

“Chu!” She jumped off the bed and into his arms before he could really process the rest of the scene. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he instinctively pulled her close, feeling that she was naked beneath that hoodie.

“I’m going kill you,” Chuito announced in Spanish as he looked at that Junior motherfucker in the corner, who was holding a gun on a bleeding Russian. “And I’m going to enjoy it.”

“That’s Chu Jr.,” Marcos said behind him, also speaking Spanish. “He’s one of my kids. He told me where you were. He’s the reason we’re here. You have to put your gun down.”

“He didn’t rape me,” Alaine said quickly, her entire body shaking when she also noticed that Chuito had his gun leveled at Junior’s back. “He was helping us. Then the Russians came in, and—” She pointed to Junior. “He killed that one over there, and I sort of missed, but—”

“Why are you naked?” Chuito growled at her as he kept his gun leveled at Junior’s back. “Why is
he
naked if nothing happened?”

“Chu—” Marcos started behind him.

“
Why is he naked
?” Chuito repeated, and he sure as shit didn’t lower his gun.

Junior tilted his head, looking at Chuito over his shoulder, and said in Spanish, “We got undressed to make it look like I was raping her. I didn’t want one of them to get her, but then—”

“I think I want you to die anyway,” Chuito cut him off.

“Chu,” Alaine said in a quivering voice, even though she couldn’t understand what they were saying. “He’s a baby. Lower your gun. You can’t kill him. He saved me and—”

“Did you like making her strip for you?” Chuito asked Junior. “Did you like seeing her? She didn’t need to be naked, cabrón.”

“I think she did,” Junior argued. “If we’d had clothes on, we’d both be dead right now. I needed the extra five seconds to get a good shot in. It gave me the upper hand. There were two of these motherfuckers. I wasn’t expecting that, and I
still
got it done. You need to step back and recognize.”

“Chu, he has been texting me,” Marcos cut in as if he sensed Junior’s challenge would just make Chuito angrier. “He protected her. He killed someone for her.” His voice was shaking as if he knew Chuito would shoot first and say sorry later. “Put your gun down. Leave my kid alone. He saved her, and you’re irrational right now if you can’t even see that.”

Chuito let out a manic laugh and turned back to his cousin. “
Your kid
made my woman take off her clothes and scream at the top of her lungs. I heard her begging, and they videotaped me crying about it. I want him to die. I think I need to see it.”

Marcos put a hand to his mouth, as if he alone understood what it meant for Chuito to break like that. Finally, he whispered, “It’s still not Junior’s fault. He didn’t rape her. He saved her. Do you understand that he could’ve actually raped her and not texted me? He chose saving her over siding with Angel. He risked himself for that. He risked his family. He has a fuckload of sisters, and there is no other man in his family to protect them. He didn’t know if we were going to get here in time when he shot those Russians. That’s a lot to risk for one gringa he doesn’t even know. You wanna kill someone, kill Angel. Kill this Russian motherfucker. Kill the one downstairs before your Italian bro does it for you.”

“Don’t—” Nova cut in from behind them as he came into the room, looking down at the Russian he had to step over. “Holy shit. Another fucking dead Russian.” He glanced over to Junior. “Don’t kill this one. I need him alive. Can he talk?”

“Talk, motherfucker.” Junior shoved his gun at the Russian, who was just sitting there, silently watching the exchange. “He can talk. He’s being difficult.”

Nova walked over and looked at the Russian. “Is he just shot in the leg?”

“Yeah, the gringa’s aim sucks.”

“Motherfucker,” Chuito started with a bark of furious laughter.

“Junior,” Marcos warned him. “My cousin’s had a bad fucking day. Save your shit.”

“He can kiss my ass,” Junior shot back. “I protected his chica and—”

“She’s naked,” Chuito reminded him. “You should die just for seeing it.”

“This is so much fun,” Nova said sarcastically in Spanish. “This makes my day, and I haven’t even had my coffee yet. Look, Chuito, you want to maim and torture some motherfuckers, that works for me. I got a Russian down there with a bullet in his kneecap who
still
isn’t talking. I got this motherfucker who’s clammed up too. Go crazy, but leave this kid alone. I like to keep my allies healthy.”

Junior turned and looked at Nova in surprise. “You sound Boricua.”

“Yeah, I’m awesome like that,” Nova agreed.

Chuito finally lifted his gun off Junior, because Nova had a point. He had other motherfuckers to deal with. He turned Alaine in his arms and asked, “Are you okay, mami?”

“I just shot someone,” she whispered, her voice quivering. “But I’m not hurt. Are
you
okay? I heard the gunshots downstairs, and I thought—” She swallowed hard. “Junior told me to wait, but—” She shook her head as tears rolled down her cheeks. “I thought you were dead. No, I don’t think I’m okay. I’m definitely
not
okay.”

He hugged, her because she was shaking and in shock, but he was too, and he didn’t trust himself to be around her just yet. “Get dressed.” He pulled back and looked down at her bare legs, though the hoodie hung almost to her knees. “Where are your shorts?”

“He’s bleeding on them,” Alaine said as she pointed to the dead Russian behind them. “I could only save the hoodie and—”

“Fuck it.” Chuito turned back to Marcos and said in Spanish, “Take her to my mother. Don’t let her see what happened downstairs.”

“I can’t leave you,” Marcos argued. “I’ve got Luis, Miguel, and Neto with me. Let them take her and—”

Chuito raised his eyebrows pointedly. “I want you to leave.”

“But—”

“Leave, Marc,” Chuito cut him off as he continued to speak in Spanish, because he didn’t want Alaine to hear. “Protect her. You’re the only one I’d trust to get her home. Please do this for me. I protected your chica. Now it’s your turn. Get her out of this house.”

“Let me take Junior,” Marcos argued.

“I don’t want him in the car with her,” Chuito said as he shook his head. “No. Junior stays.”

“I need to talk to Junior,” Nova agreed. “Preferably after he gets dressed. I’ll make sure Chuito doesn’t hurt him.”

“And why the fuck should I trust you?” Marcos countered. “You’re not my favorite person, cabrón.”

“Wow, that’s some shit.” Nova snorted. “I’m the one who got you out, motherfucker.”

“Yeah, I’m feeling really
out
right now.”

Chuito put his gun into the back of his jeans and swept up Alaine in his arms, because he didn’t want her standing in this room with arguing gangsters and dead and maimed Russians for one more second.

There had been a lot of gunfire.

A lot of fucking screaming.

He didn’t rule out the heat pulling up at any second, and he wanted Alaine gone.

He wanted Marcos gone too.

“Don’t look, okay?” Chuito said as he stepped over the dead Russian. “Marcos is going to take you to my mother’s.”

“You’re not coming?” Alaine sounded frantic, because she hadn’t understood them discussing Marcos leaving and Chuito staying. “You have to come!”

He pulled her tighter against him when he got to the top of the stairs. “Hide your face. Do that for me, mami.”

Alaine did it without arguing. She buried her face against his chest as she tightened her hold on his shirt. He could feel that her body was shaking, and he suspected she was in shock.

He was shaking too, physically quaking in rage and horror and a whole host of other things he couldn’t sort through because all he could think about was getting Alaine out of this house.

The scene downstairs, on second glance, was much more horrific than he had taken in the first time. Dead bodies and blood everywhere. The Puerto Ricans standing off to one side, in jeans and T-shirts, their arms folded over their chests as they eyed the Italians on the other side of the room, in their expensive tailored suits, with their guns out.

In the middle was the Russian that Tino shot in the kneecap, now writhing on the floor but oddly silent. Next to him was Angel, on his knees with his hands laced behind his head, and the motherfucker was crying.

Actually crying as he begged Tino to spare him.

Which looked sort of pointless, because Tino was just sitting on the stairs, filming Angel and the Russian with his phone in an act of wild vindictiveness Chuito knew Nova would lose his mind over the second he saw it.

Luis, Neto, and Miguel all looked to the top of the stairs, their eyes wide in silent communication, because Tino sitting there filming this massacre was clearly freaking them the hell out.

“I don’t know who his informant was, man. Please, just—” Angel stopped and lifted his head, looking at Chuito at the top of the stairs. “Ay Dios mio, no. Don’t—”

“Shut up, motherfucker,” Chuito said in Spanish, because this idiot was speaking in English, and he didn’t want Alaine to hear his begging. “Or I will make it twenty times worse.”

He walked down the stairs. He had to step past Tino, who glanced up at him. The look on Tino’s face transformed from hard and terrifying to anguished and concerned as he asked, “Is she—”

“Don’t fucking talk to me, Tino,” Chuito growled as he left Tino there, ignoring his look of hurt. Chuito glanced to his old crew, who were now staring at Alaine in his arms, and said in Spanish, “Come on.”

He didn’t need to ask the Boricuas twice.

Neto opened the door for them as Chuito cautiously stepped around the dead bodies, trying not to slip on the pools of blood and gore, because that was the last thing he fucking needed.

Outside was just as shocking as inside.

A sea of black SUVs lined the road as Italians surrounded the house like they were protecting Fort Knox. There were cop cars too, three that Chuito counted. He practically ran into Neto at the door because he was stopped there with a look of horror on his face.

“They’re in the mafia’s pocket.” Chuito knew it without asking, because the guys leaning against the cop cars weren’t in uniform. They were clearly off duty and there to detract anyone from calling the heat. Not that there seemed to be anyone around. Angel clearly picked this street because it was mostly abandoned, likely due to massive crime and the warehouse on the corner. “It’s fine,” he assured his crew in Spanish. “They’re all dirty.”

Neto and Miguel still weren’t moving, because like Marcos, they also had records and weren’t too inclined to trust that three cop cars was
fine
when they just walked out of the nightmare inside.

“Coño,” Miguel whispered as he gave Chuito a look of disbelief.

“Yeah,” Chuito agreed, because knowing how connected the mafia was and actually seeing it were two different things. The Russians were insane to try to take Nova down. That was beyond fearless—it was a death wish Chuito didn’t have a name for. “I want you all out of this mess. Protect my chica. That’s all I need from you.”

Luis was the one who ran ahead and opened the door to Marcos’s truck parked in the driveway next to Tino’s GL.

“Is she hurt?” Luis asked in Spanish as he eyed Alaine in his arms. “Do we need to take her somewhere?”

“Marc is taking her to my mother. You guys follow,” Chuito said as he got to the car. “Protect the house. Lock down the street. We’ll meet you there.”

“You’re not coming?”

“No.” Chuito gave Luis a hard look. “I got something to take care of first.”

Luis glanced away, because he knew exactly what that meant.

“Where’s Junior?” Neto asked from behind him.

“He’s staying here.” Marcos still sounded really pissed off about it. “Chu—”

“He’s fine. I promise I won’t hurt your kid,” Chuito said as he put Alaine in the car, finally forcing her to see the chaotic sea of armed mafia gunman outside. Alaine looked behind her, but Chuito grabbed her face and met her gaze. “Listen to me, mami. Marc is taking you to my mother’s. She has clothes. Katie is there—” He turned back to his cousin. “Is Katie there?”

Marcos nodded. “Yeah, she’s there.”

“Okay.” Chuito turned back to Alaine, finding that he was fighting tears all of a sudden, in front of his crew, but what did he care. “I love you.”

“I want you to come.” Alaine grabbed his hand, squeezing it tightly. “Come back with me. Don’t stay here.
Please
don’t stay here.”