Frank pulled the black Escalade up to the curb and waited as all of us girls piled in. We were safe with him. He wasn’t just Trace’s grandpa; he was the boss of the Alfero family. He was also old enough to let the younger generation run in, guns blazing, but not too old to not be able to protect us. He was in his seventies but looked more like his fifties.
“You girls will listen to me,” he said, his voice slightly accented. “You will not run into the building when you hear gunshots. You will not cry when you see blood. If need be, you will kill. You will kill swiftly. You will kill smoothly. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” we mumbled in unison.
“Do you all have ammo?”
“Yeah,” I said.
Trace and Mo repeated the same thing.
“And knives?”
Mo grinned. “My specialty.”
“Fantastic.”
Weird. It was like he was proud that we were heavily armed and ready to kill on a dime. What a life.
I sent a quick text to Joe, telling him what was going on. Not to put us in more jeopardy, but because I figured that the guys would need all the help they could get.
Me: If you don’t hear from me in 40 minutes. Come to this address, guns blazing.
Joe: How many men do you need?
Me: Every last one you have.
Joe: Should I be concerned?
Me: We found Campisi. I wouldn’t be against you bringing hell to his doorstep.
Joe: And to think I wanted to kill you a few days ago.
Me: Um, thank you?
Joe: It was a compliment. Keep in touch, boss.
“Do you trust them?” Trace whispered next to me.
I nodded. “Right now? We have no choice but to trust them. And if they turned on us, they’d bring four of the most powerful families down onto their heads. They have more to gain by joining us than going against us.”
Trace squeezed my hand. “Good thinking.”
Mo leaned forward so that she was touching both of our shoulders. “Girls, I love you both but I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Nerves?”
Mo shook her head. “He could be dead.”
“He’s not dead,” Trace reassured her instantly. “You know Tex. He’s smart. He’s very, very capable.”
“That’s just the problem,” Mo grumbled. “He talks way too much.”
“But he’s good, right?” I asked lamely. “I mean, he can hold his own?”
The girls both burst out laughing.
“What am I missing?”
“Don’t get me wrong,” Mo said. “It’s scary as hell that they have him. My heart hasn’t stopped racing since I saw the exchange, but Tex kills people. It’s what he does.”
“Don’t they all kill people?” I asked confused.
“They do.” Mo nodded. “But to Nixon and Chase, it’s a necessity. Nixon likes hitting things, Chase likes shooting things, and Tex? He’s like an artist. It’s not a profession to him. It’s a lifestyle, something to perfect. He would do well as a gun-for-hire because nobody could trace him.” Mo laughed. “I remember the first time I watched the stupid Jason Bourne movies I asked Tex if he was taking special serum.”
We all giggled.
“Is he?” I asked.
“Negative.” Mo shook her head. “Though he did say they should make a serum out of his genes.”
“Of course.”
“Almost there, ladies.” Frank said from the front seat. “Be sure to keep alert, and remember, shoot first, ask questions later.”
“You’re a great grandpa.” Trace patted his shoulder.
“Trying to soften me up before battle?”
“Never.” Trace swore. “Just glad you’re finally okay with me shooting things.”
“Well, let’s hope those lessons with Nixon paid off. A shotgun is a hell of a lot different than a pistol.”
“Me and Annie will be just fine.” She patted her own gun and smirked.
“You named your gun?” I asked.
She nodded. “Makes it seem less violent.”
“Women,” Frank muttered under his breath.
Chapter Forty-Five
Tex
We arrived at our destination. A nice little warehouse that had a possessed-looking bird on the side of it. The paint was chipping and, as I’d predicted, the location was next to water. Great. Were they going to drown me or just shoot me? I wonder if I’ll be given a preference? Probably not.
“Out.” The man opened the door, pointing the gun at my face. I lifted up my hands and blew him a kiss.
I strutted in the middle of the two remaining men. They knocked three times on the door. It flew open and I was pulled inside. A bag was put over my head — it smelled like the man I’d just killed and had to sit next to for a few minutes. Lucky me. Even in his death, his stench was haunting me.
“So,” a gravelly voice said. “This is—”
“The man who shall not be named.” I tried to sound bored. “But everyone just calls me Tex. I wonder if they’re afraid of the curse.”
“The curse?”
“Yeah, the one that says that whatever family who is responsible for my death has blood that can’t be cleansed from their hands — their souls will rot in hell for eternity. Their children, their families — completely killed off.”
“Lies,” the voice spat. “We made that up for our pride.”