“No,” Anteros said. “I didn’t.” Out of his periphery he saw Frankie roll over, push books out of her way, and crawl toward him.
He exhaled.
She was okay.
“You knew the rules,” Anteros continued as Frankie got closer. “My hands were tied.” It sounded weak, even to him, but it wasn’t about truth, it was about distraction.
“You could have broken the rules.” Crazy A laughed brokenly just as Frankie reached Anteros’s feet, falling to a heap with one hand loosely gripping his ankle. That touch at his ankle nearly incapacitated him with fury and murder. Those light little fingers always tore at his skin and ripped his flesh with passion, but now they only weakly grasped it. It took all his focus to remain steady.
Crazy A hadn’t noticed her yet. The look in his eyes was the same he’d had all those years ago.
He was blinded by pain.
“It’s pretty fucking simple,” Crazy A gritted. “The rules were unbreakable, until they weren’t.”
“You’re right,” Anteros said. “I’m sorry. It never should have—”
“Don’t try to distract me again with your fucking apologies,” Crazy A interrupted, thin hair falling over his face as he whipped his head in anger. His glare zeroed in on Anteros’s feet, at Frankie, and Anteros stepped forward, doing his best to shield her.
Adrenaline twisted his gut wondering if this would be the moment Crazy A cracked, but the man only took a few deep breaths, pushed his hair back, and grinned.
“Now that she knows the true monster you are, we can get back on track. So, Boss, mercy or pain?”
Gripping the gun, Anteros slowly turned back to Frankie. She got to her elbows, fireplace crackling to her left, dying flames illuminating her skin a soft orange. After loving Frankie, Anteros knew what a treacherous, terrible thing killing Alcide’s love—Joseph—was. Crazy A made it clear it was too late for reparation, though.
“What are you doing?” she asked, eyes flickering to the Glock. Anteros didn’t know the answer to her question. He couldn’t see a way out of this.
“We can come to a deal, Alcide,” Anteros attempted to negotiate, eyes still on Frankie. “Money, cars—name it.”
“There’s nothing you can give me that I want more than this,” Crazy A replied. “I’d end up lighting your collection of douchebro cars on fire, anyway.”
“Maybe—” Crazy A discharged a bullet into the floor beside Frankie, cutting Anteros’s words at the quick. She screamed, throwing her hands to her face.
“Jesus fuck I’m doing it!” Anteros yelled, but Crazy A let loose a barrage of bullets. Frankie scrambled backward until she reached the bookcase. She put her hands behind her back, realizing she was out of options. Crazy A shot bullets into the shelves above her head.
The books exploded, paper and leather bits flying into the air like confetti. When it was over, shreds of paper floated ethereally around them. Frankie peered through slits in her hands. Anteros whirled around, aiming his gun at Crazy A.
“What the fuck was that?”
“Mercy or pain, Boss, choose quickly.” Crazy A fired one more shot at the bookshelf and a single book exploded. Anteros ground his jaw, fighting the urge to raise the gun and shoot Crazy A. Crazy A raised an eyebrow, working out what Anteros was thinking, and in response, moved his arm a little to the left so his barrel was directly aimed at Frankie.
With a low growl, Anteros turned back to Frankie. Anteros couldn’t shoot her, but Crazy A wasn’t someone to gamble with. If Anteros turned on him, it would get bloody fast. If Crazy A killed Frankie, Anteros would go crazy, just like Alcide had.
Fuck.
For once in his life, Anteros didn’t see the next move. Anteros aimed the Glock at her head, buying more time.
“Wait,” she said, splaying a hand against the bookcase. She raised the other, pressing it to her chest. “Just wait a second.” Her voice was breathless, arm wobbly. The blood at her side darkened her scarlet dress, dripping onto the beads like a broken wine bottle.
“When I shot Joseph, he at least had the dignity to stay silent.” Crazy A’s cool voice drifted over Anteros’s back, frosting his shoulder. Frankie’s grim stare captured his while Anteros’s brows deepened, working out the problem in his head. If he turned and shot, Crazy A would immediately shoot him. He would shield Frankie, but they were so close the bullet would go right through him and pierce her. He could tackle Crazy A and throw off his aim, but couldn’t guarantee his death.
All the options were fucking shit.
“If you don’t finish it within the next minute,” Crazy A said, “I
’ll shoot you in the leg and make you watch.”
“I’m fucking doing it,” Anteros barked. He was so busy trying to work out the problem that he didn’t notice Frankie already had. The lines on her brow had smoothed and her watery eyes turned stone. She lowered a hand into her breast, slowly pulling out a small, gold gun.