Oh, my, God-Esme moved even faster down the side of the building, heading for the corner, which she hoped would provide her with some cover. She’d just gotten Eliot lined up in her sights, when the other shot had been fired and Eliot had disappeared from her field of view.
“Esme,” a voice called out, and she stopped cold.
Oh, my, God-relief flooded through her. It was Johnny.
She started forward, running toward the van, when his voice stopped her.
“Go get Solange, bring her around. I’ll get your mom.”
“Is she-”
“Fine,” he said. “She’s fine, but we need to leave, now. Oh, hell.”
“What?” she called out, backpedaling for a moment, but still heading around the corner for the Cyclone. With Bleak out cold and Eliot dead, she couldn’t imagine that Dovey or those other guys were going to give them too much trouble about getting her dad and getting the hell out of here.
“I can smell the cops coming, that’s all. Come on, Esme, move.”
She did, breaking into a run. He’d left the keys in the ignition, and she didn’t have any trouble firing the Cyclone up and finding reverse. She hit the lights, and after a few feet, spun the wheel and eased back around the corner, until she came to a stop at the van. She threw the shifter into neutral and pushed down the parking brake.
Eliot was everywhere, literally, but she didn’t dwell on it. Snap her mother’s neck? She didn’t think so, and she was oh, so grateful to Johnny for keeping that from happening. If he hadn’t, she would have-and there still would have been Eliot everywhere.
Between the two of them, they got her mom into the passenger seat, and Esme was about to crawl into the backseat, when the warehouse door opened and another shaft of light fell out on the Cyclone.
“Are we clear?” Dax asked, his gaze catching hers.
“Clear,” she said.
“And the money?”
“Up the stairs behind you. In a duffel on the floor in Bleak’s office, next to him.”
The door closed again, and she and Johnny both got in the rumbling Cyclone.
“Where’s my dad?” she asked.
“On his way to the hospital in Duce’s Escalade.”
Thank God. Esme allowed herself another moment of relief. Now all they needed was Dax and to get the hell out of here.
Dax ran up the stairs, burst through the door, and immediately saw Bleak bleeding and tied on the floor, out cold.
He couldn’t help but grin. His bad girl was so good, and he was so proud of her.
He snatched up the duffel and turned to leave, when the other door in Bleak’s office opened, and suddenly, there he was in a true Mexican standoff. Duce stood in the doorway, his.357 in his hand, and a whole lot of “what the fuck am I gonna do now” on his face.
“You let those guys go?” Dax asked, and Duce shrugged, but he still had his.357.
Yeah, that’s the way this was going to go down. Goatfuck all the way. He didn’t want to kill Duce, not for money, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to let Duce kill him.
“Let’s call it good,” Dax suggested, unzipping the bag and without a moment’s hesitation or even bothering to look, he reached in and pulled out ten thousand dollars. He’d counted it. He knew exactly what was in each bundle and he had four bundles of twenty-five hundred in his hand.
He put the cash on the floor.
“Let’s call it good,” he repeated, and at Duce’s short nod, he turned and left-a done deal.
He all but slid down the stairs, crossed the betting room on a running stride, and hit the door with enough force to knock it back on its hinges, and he no sooner cleared the door than he heard two things-the rumbling roar of Johnny revving up the Cyclone, and the sound of sirens closing in.