Page 10 of Fury
POP!
A single bullet pierced his forehead. Dead eyes stared up at nothing.
Killing was wrong. Carrera knew that. He also knew that justice doesn’t always win. Sometimes the bad guys steal the prize. He was righting the wrongs that society couldn’t.
Rules are rules are rules.
And then, there were the Santini Assassins.
“ALPHA’s here,” Luciano said through the comm. “Gotta fly, brother.”
Carrera strode out of the bedroom. “Don’t let these monsters win,” he said to the chained women. “Make it a good life.”
“Help us,” pleaded one of the women.
“The rescue team is here.” And with that, Carrera left the bedroom, and took off down the stairs.
In the living room, Luciano spoke quietly with a man people either loved or feared. Sinclair Develin, known in the DMV—DC, Maryland, and Virginia—as The Fixer.
Both men shifted their attention to Carrera, but no one in ALPHA knew he was working with his cousin. His face concealed behind a ski mask, he hoped Sin couldn’t ID him.
“Let’s go,” Carrera murmured to Teddy.
Luciano shook Sin’s hand before Carrera raced down the stairs, Teddy close on his heels. Once outside, Luciano caught up to them.
At the SUV, they removed their helmets. Carrera wiped the perspiration from his brow before getting behind the wheel. He eyed the two black SUVs and the white van as they drove by the house.
The drive back to Luciano’s was quiet. Once there, the men shook hands. That was how Luciano did business. A simple handshake at the beginning and end of each business transaction.
That’s all these hits were to Luciano—business.
While Carrera had a conscience, he was convinced his cousin did not.
Luciano retreated inside, then Carrera and Teddy hugged it out before Teddy took off. Carrera drove toward home, his thoughts floating from the chained women in the house to his sister, Mara. He wanted to think about happier times, but the image of her lifeless body crashed into his mind.
Instead of turning right into his Alexandria neighborhood, he took a left. Several short blocks later, he stopped in front of an end-unit townhome. While he couldnotstand its sole occupant, he promised his G-ma he’d keep an eye on her. Kinda hard to dofrom the outside, but he wasn’t going in, and hell would freeze over before he got an invitation.
Five minutes later, he was in his trendy neighborhood. Two turns, and he drove down his street. He tapped the garage door opener, pulled in, killed the engine, and got out.
With his go-bag in hand, he said, “Computer, close the garage door.”
The door rattled and squeaked on its hinges until it stopped.
The retina scanner cleared him and he made his way into his home office, retreated into his walk-in closet, and instructed his security system to open the panel door.
The back wall slid open, and he stepped into his inner sanctum. There, he set his go-bag on the bench, pulled out the Glock, and exited.
“Computer, close the panel door.”
The door slid closed.
It was just after four-thirty in the morning. He should sleep, but he was wound pretty tightly. Upstairs, in his bedroom, he set his weapon on the dresser before changing into a bathing suit. His beloved grandmother would have several choice words for him if she knew he swam alone, but she didn’t know. So, he dove in.
The water cooled his heated skin, and he swam the first several laps with ease. Forty minutes later, he’d tired himself out. He dried off while catching his breath and headed inside.
After showering off, he tugged on shorts and left the bathroom.
That’s when he heard glass shatter.
