It’s just past seven in the evening when we enter the carpark at the back of the Academy. Madame Tuillard’s car is still parked there, otherwise the place is empty. All of the students would’ve left by now, which is just as well because I have no doubt that tonight is going to get bloody. York knows it, so does Zayn, and given the way Hudson keeps touching the gun tucked in the back of his jeans, he does too. Apart from D-Neath, who I don’t trust with a weapon right now, we’re tooled up and ready for a fight. Santiago and David might be out of the way at Duffers, but that doesn’t mean jack when there’s a BMW X5 SUV with blacked out, reinforced windows parked in front of the Academy. That sure as shit ain’t no Uber.
“Did you see that car?” Zayn asks as we enter the building.
“Yeah, I did,” I reply curtly. “We need to make this quick, because whoever Santiago sent to pick up Sophie isn’t going to wait for too much longer.”
“Agreed. Which way are we headed?” Hudson asks, flicking his gaze along the corridor.
Jerking my chin, I indicate left. “There are two entrances to the theatre. One further along this corridor,” I say pointing down the hallway, “And another on the other side of the theatre, in a corridor that runs parallel to this one.”
“Got it,” Hudson says.
“York, Zayn, I want you to head around to the other side so you can cover that entrance just in case Sophie bolts or we get an unwanted visitor or two from our friends in the BMW.”
“On it,” Zayn says, and with his hand resting on the knife at his hip, he strides down the corridor and hits a left, disappearing from view.
“See you in a few,” York dips his head, winking at me, before he jogs off, pulling his gun out as he moves. He doesn’t need me to tell them that I want a sweep of the floor, and heads off in the opposite direction to Zayn in order to do just that.
“If shit’s about to go down, then I’m gonna need a weapon,” D-Neath says, flicking his gaze between me and Hudson. One eye is steadily swelling shut, and a deep purple bruise is beginning to form around it. Beast punched him hard, and it wouldn’t surprise me if he’s got a fractured eye socket. Not my problem.
“Do you honestly think I’m going to put a weapon in your hands after the bullshit you pulled?”
“I fucked the wrong girl. I didn’t snake you out. I don’t want to go back to prison and I sure as fuck don’t want to see mi cielo get hurt. Let me help.”
“Fine, but you don’t get a gun.” I pull out a four inch flick knife from my back pocket and hand it to him. “Knock yourself out.”
“What am I supposed to do with this if someone’s firing fucking bullet at me, use it as a shield?” he asks, flicking the knife open and pulling a face.
“It’s all I got. Take it or fucking leave it,” I retort, striding off down the corridor.
“Fuck’s sake,” he mutters as we head towards the back entrance of the theatre.
“You should wait here,” I say to them both. “I’ll head inside. If Sophie bolts and I can’t get to her first, you’ll be here to grab her. It’s the nearest exit to the stage.”
Hudson cuts me a look and nods. “Got it.”
D-Neath jerks his chin. “Let’s get this done.”
Pushing open the door, I step into the backstage area. It’s dark in this portion of the theatre, there are stage props dotted around, and hanging rails full of costumes from past performances. Dim lighting penetrates the gloom and allows me to traverse through the semi-darkness without banging into something. Heading towards the side of the stage, I peer around the black curtain that wraps around the stage in a semicircle. From my position, I have a good view of Sophie, but not of the stalls where Madame Tuillard is sitting. It’s difficult to look out into the audience area without the possibility of being seen, and I’m wise enough not to walk out onto the stage without knowing who else might be in the audience. Right now my gut is telling me that I need to be cautious, I never ignore my gut.
For a moment I stand and watch Sophie dance to Paradise sung by Dermot Kennedy. She’s caught up in the music, her skin is covered in a sheen of sweat as her plaited hair flies around her head like a whip as she moves. She’s a natural hip-hop dancer, full of fire and precision, but right now she’s dancing street mixed with contemporary. It’s a well thought-out choreographed routine and a more appropriate style of dance for the song. Standing here watching her, I can see why Madame Tuillard picked her to dance in the troupe for the final show. Perhaps her light hasn’t shone as brightly under the blinding star that is Pen, but she’s still talented. The dancer within me appreciates her passion as she moves, but the man I am doesn’t give a fuck if I’m about to destroy her dreams. It’s her for Clancy, because it sure as fuck isn’t going to be Tiny that we’re trading to that cunt.
Crouching low to the floor, I wrap my fingers around the curtain and take a peek into the audience. I see Madame Tuillard first, her gaze fixed on Sophie dancing on stage, but my attention is quickly pulled to the man sitting directly behind her with a gun pressed to the back of her head.
“Fuck!” I exclaim under my breath. From this angle there’s no way I can get a clear shot of him. He’s whispering something into her ear, and she nods imperceptibly at whatever he’s saying. I have to give her props, despite the fear in her eyes, she’s not falling apart like someone else might do in the same situation. She’s got balls, I’ll give her that.
Rising slowly, I step back into the shadows trying to figure out how I’m going to play this. With my gun cocked and ready to fire, I look around me, trying to see if there is anything I can use to stand on so that I can get a better shot at the fucking prick threatening Madame Tuillard’s life. To my left are more stage props and discarded dance shoes from whatever rehearsal has taken place here recently. The song is coming to an end, and if I don’t act soon then I’m going to lose the element of surprise.
“Fuck. Think, Xeno,” I tell myself. Then I remember that there’s a ladder backstage that leads up to a walkway that hangs above the stage. It’s used to access the lighting and will give me the perfect platform to get a good shot. Stepping back into the shadows, I move as quickly as I can and climb up the ladder as quietly as possible. Once I’m safely in position, I hunker down, flick off the safety on my gun and line up the sights. Drawing in a deep breath, I wait for him to move positions. When he does, I blow the air out of my lungs evenly, blocking out all other thoughts before pulling the trigger slow and steady, just like I taught Tiny to do.
The guy never stood a chance.
The bullet hits him right between the eyes and blows his brains out of the back of his head, the force throwing his whole body backwards alongside fragments of skull, half his brain and a shit ton of blood. Madame Tuillard screams, flinging herself forward and dropping down in the space between the row of seats.
“Stay the fuck down!” I roar, as the door to the theatre bursts open and both York and Zayn come running in. Below me on the stage Sophie falls to her knees, her hands covering her head.
“Xeno!” Zayn shouts, as he races down the central aisle towards the stage.
“I’m up here. Grab Sophie!” I shout, running along the walkway and climbing down the ladder just as Hudson and D-Neath enter backstage.
“You good?” Hudson asks me, giving me a quick once-over.
“I’m good, but we need to split.”
“Where’s mi cielo?” D-Neath asks, panic rampaging across his face.
“She’s here,” York replies as he steps around the curtain with Madame Tuillard. She’s pale, leaning into York’s side. Shock rendering her speechless.
“What the fuck happened?” D-Neath asks, traversing around us both. He takes Madame Tuillard from York’s arms, sliding his arm around her waist. She allows him to help her, too in shock to do much else.
“One of Santiago’s men had a gun pressed against Tuillard’s head. We need to get out of here, right the fuck now, before anyone else turns up,” I say.
“Let me go!” Sophie shouts, struggling in Zayn’s hold. She elbows him in the stomach, but the fucker’s got a six pack that’s hard as a rock. He barely flinches.
“Keep still,” he demands, pulling her back against his chest, his thick, tattooed arm holding her firm. “Don’t make this difficult for yourself, Sophie!”
“Fuck you, arsewipe! When he gets his hands on you, you’ll be fucking sorry! He’ll kill you like he kills everyone who fucks him off,” she screams, confirming what we already believed to be true. Sophie isn’t an innocent bystander. Zayn’s arm tightens around her, his jaw gritting.
“What’s going on? What’s happening?” Madame Tuillard blurts out, Sophie’s outburst forcing her into action. “Let Sophie go, she hasn’t done anything wrong.” She’s visibly shaking now, the cool calm she managed to maintain with a gun pressed to her head, gone. “That man just came into the theatre and threatened my life. He said that I’d fucked with the wrong family and watching Sophie dance would be the last thing I’d ever see.”
“Mi cielo, be calm. We need to leave,” D-Neath murmurs against her ear, but that only seems to spur her into action and she forcefully shoves him away.
“This is on you, Duncan! Bringing trouble to my door. I should never have trusted you, any of you!” she shouts, glaring at us each in turn. “How dare you do this to me! What the hell has Sophie got to do with any of this?”
“We haven’t got time for this shit! Get to the motherfucking—” My order is cut short when my phone vibrates incessantly in my back pocket with an incoming call. I snatch it up, answering the second I see who’s calling. “Dax, what’s up?”
“Jefferson just called. They’re on the move, left about five minutes ago. Santiago and Clancy are in one vehicle. David in the other.”
“Why would Santiago take Clancy and not David?” I ask.
“Your guess is as good as mine. Either way, you need to haul arse.”
I look at the guys and jerk my head. They know me well enough to know that things are hotting up. Zayn shifts Sophie in his hold and walks her towards the exit, the rest of us follow. “We’ve secured Sophie. We’re leaving now,” I reply as we all head down the corridor and towards the door that leads out into the carpark.
“Any trouble?” Dax asks, his voice tight. Stressed.
“Santiago sent one of his men to collect Sophie. He’s dead.”
“Anyone else?”
“No, and we’re not sticking around to find out if there are any more on the way.”
“Good…” Dax hesitates.
“What is it?”
“Fuck!”
“Dax?” Holding my hand up, I indicate for the group to stop walking. I’m straining to hear what’s happening over Sophie’s incessant muffled screaming. I glare at Zayn and he lifts the gun to her temple.
“Quiet,” he snaps. She instantly shuts up.
Madame Tuillard’s face pales further. I see the questions in her eyes and the disgust. So be it. This isn’t about who’s morally right or wrong, and I switch off that part of me that allows the emotions in. Sophie is Santiago’s daughter, and therefore the enemy. That’s all I need to know in the moment.
“Dax, talk to me. Right the fuck now!” I put him on loudspeaker so the others can hear.
“We’re under attack. There must be at least thirty men surrounding Tales.” He’s running, that much I can tell from the heavy breathing coming down the line.
“We’re coming. Keep her safe!” I yell. The line goes dead and in that fraction of a second I snap out of the fear that’s suddenly clawing at my heart, I become the cold-blooded gangster I need to be in order to get through this.
“He won’t fucking take her, Xeno, and no one is dying tonight,” York says, reading my mind. His ice-blue eyes strip through the rapidly growing armour I’m erecting around myself with that one look. I grit my teeth, refusing to acknowledge how he’s managed to uncover my fears.
Instead I turn my attention to Hudson.
“Call the cavalry. They’re needed at Tales.”
“On it,” Hudson replies, pulling out his phone and barking out orders as we step outside into the carpark. I’ve never trusted the cops, and given how they fucked us over not telling us about Sophie, I trust them even less now, but I’m also a realist. They can’t fight off thirty men on their own and we might not get there in time. We need the police.
I turn to D-Neath and Madame Tuillard. “Lay low until this is over. You’ve done enough already,” I say to D-Neath, and I don’t mean it as a compliment. He knows it, and so do I. Frankly I’d rather he was out of the fucking way. Besides Madame Tuillard looks like she’s about to collapse. D-Neath wanted to take care of her, well now he could. Gritting his jaw, D-Neath nods, then guiding a still shell-shocked Madame Tuillard out of the carpark, flags down a passing Taxi and gets in.
“Where are you taking me?” Sophie grinds out, her dark eyes flashing with anger.
“To your father.”
“He’ll kill you all for this. No one threatens me. No. Fucking. One,” she snarls, revealing the true nature of the beast right here in the backseat of my car. “That bitch, Tiffany, trying to force me into doing what she wanted? Fuck her. Fuck that. You’ll all die too.”
“Wow. You really are your father’s daughter, aren’t you?” Zayn remarks, keeping the gun pressed into her side.
“You know nothing about me or my father.”
“We know enough,” Hudson says, casting a look over his shoulder at her before looking at me. “They’re on their way.”
I nod. “Good, because this ends tonight.”
“He’s untouchable and he’ll kill you all,” Sophie spits, her face twisted up with rage and spite as she shifts forward in her seat, totally ignoring the fact she has a gun pressed to her side. York throws his arm across her waist preventing her from launching herself at me.
“We’ll see about that,” I reply, flicking my gaze to Zayn in the rearview mirror and nodding sharply. He lifts the butt of the gun and gives her a sharp tap to the base of her skull, knocking her out cold.
Putting the car in drive, I press down on the accelerator, my wheels spinning as I shoot out of the carpark. On the radio Arise by The Siege is playing. It couldn’t be more apt. Turning up the volume I drive like a bat out of Hell, breaking every fucking rule and law in the book as I traverse the streets of the town I grew up in.
Tonight we’re going to fight for our lives, and we will survive.
All of us.
