The Brit

I look over my shoulder and see the men still loitering in the lobby. “I need the restroom.” I stand on shaky legs, placing my napkin on the table. “Please, excuse me.”

Ernie pauses with his tumbler midway to his mouth as he watches me, and Danny rises from his chair. “Would you like me to show you where the bathroom is?”

I falter, glancing at Ernie who mildly shakes his head, a thousand death threats in his stare.

“Second door on your right through the lobby.” Ernie points, resting back in his chair.

“Thank you,” I say robotically, leaving my purse on the table and walking away on numb legs. I’m not surprised when one of the men lurking in the hallway follows me. I slip into the bathroom and close the door behind me, falling against the wood. “Oh my God,” I whisper, looking around, trying to kick-start my brain. What the hell am I going to do? I try to straighten out my head, try to recall things I really need to remember. Danny’s uncle? Or cousin. Or whoever he is. He’s working with Nox. My hands come up, my fingertips pushing into my forehead. There’s too much information bombarding my head, making it impossible to think clearly and unravel everything.

A tap on the door startles me. “Make it snappy,” a man grunts.

I dash to the mirror to check my face. I’m flushed. My eyes are stressed. I frantically search my mind for a way out of this, coming up blank. Brad and Ringo aren’t here. There’s nothing I can do but hold my breath and pray. I need to be cool. Then we might just walk out of here alive. I’ve handled many situations over the years where I’ve held in my disgust, my fear, my anger, and let self-preservation and hatred for my situation fuel my confidence and bravado. And that’s what I need to channel now.

Composing myself, I exit and make my way back to the table, being tailed again by one of Ernie’s apes. Danny’s laughing when I sit down, swirling his drink in his hand. His obliviousness kills me. I’m screaming at him in my head. It’s all a waste. How can the man who’s been dubbed evil and an assassin not know how much of the devil lurks beneath the skin of the man in front of him? Because Danny isn’t evil.

Turning smiling eyes onto me, Danny motions to his uncle. “We’re reminiscing.”

“Yes,” Ernie chirps. “I was just reminding Danny of the time he stole a cop car downtown.”

I strain a smile as a bowl of tomato soup is placed in front of each of us. I don’t see tomatoes. I see blood. “I don’t feel too well,” I blurt, desperation taking over logic. I turn to Danny. “I’m sorry, do you mind if we go home?”

His face falls somewhat, an epic frown creeping onto his forehead as he looks me up and down. “Now? You want to go now?”

“Yes, now.”

“Nonsense.” Ernie chortles. “You just got here.”

“You’re pale.” Danny scans my face as he places his spoon down and reaches for my forehead. He retracts his hand when he touches me. “You’re burning up.” He goes to stand, pulling me up by the hand. “Sorry, Unc, I should get her home.”

“Sit down,” Ernie orders flatly, pulling Danny’s attention back his way.

“What?”

“You deaf, boy?” he spits. “I said, sit down.”

A confused half-smile creeps onto Danny’s lips. “I’m sorry?”

“Sit down,” I murmur, lowering myself and pulling Danny down with me. “Just sit down.” Ernie had no intention of letting us leave tonight. None at all.

Danny’s confused look passes between me and Ernie, and then he turns, looking over his shoulder. I follow his gaze, finding two handguns pointing our way.

“What the fuck is this?” Danny’s confusion soon moves aside for anger.

“This, dear boy, is the beginning of your end.” Ernie takes a condescendingly casual sip of his drink. “Cheers to that.” He nods past us, an order of sorts, and I hear the sounds of safety catches disengaging. “Kill them.”

My heart lunges.

“What the fuck?” Danny roars.

The first bang sounds, and I slam my eyes closed on a flinch, waiting for the pain to kick in, just as the second shot fires. But the sounds aren’t nearly as loud as I’ve heard before. Silencers.

And I feel no pain.

I swing around on my chair to find the two men in the lobby face down, Brad and Ringo standing over them. Danny’s men are looking past me. Cool as cucumbers. What the hell? I shoot back around and nearly pass out from shock at what I find. “Oh my God,” I breathe, flying up from my chair, holding the table for support. Danny has a steak knife held at Ernie’s throat. There’s no confusion on his face now. There’s not even anger. All I see is a calm, stable psychopath, with a whole load of crazy in his eyes.