Both doors splinter as they’re kicked in. Natalie screams. For a moment, I’m caught. I see her lying on the bed, arms over her head, cuffed to the headboard. A huge man moves much faster than I think he should be able to considering his girth and he’s got his gun pointed at me before I know it. I’m still faster though and the bullet he shoots ricochets off the wall behind my head when mine catches his gun arm. He stumbles backward, his pistol flying through the air, landing three feet from him.

More gunshots go off next door and Natalie’s screaming again, climbing to her knees.

“Stay down!” I call to her as I stalk to the giant who’s fallen to his knees to retrieve his weapon. It’s stupid. He could take me—or try to. We’d be matched.

“Close your eyes, Natalie.” Déjà vu. I’ve told her exactly this before. The past is repeating itself.

I cock my pistol and taking aim at the back of the big guy’s knee.

I pull the trigger and he screams, falling over onto his side, clutching his shattered kneecap. Although there’s a silencer on my gun, it’s still deafening. The sound of a gun firing is always that.

I stand over him, put my foot on the bloody crook of his arm and press. I know this idiot isn’t the one responsible for taking her. He’s a hired gun. Expendable.

“Who the fuck hired you?”

He screams, blubbers like a fucking girl. I hear footsteps behind me.

“There were two in the next room. Both down,” Salvatore says.

“I want to know who hired the fuckers,” I spit at the man without looking at my brother. When he doesn’t answer, I cock the pistol again.

Natalie’s crying. I hear her. She must know I’m readying to murder this guy.

“Watch him,” I say to Salvatore, going to her. I look her over. She’s messed up, a bruise at her temple, a cut that will scar. I’m getting more and more pissed off as I sit down, touch her. “Are you okay?” I say, trying to level my voice.

She shakes her head no, fresh tears starting.

“Physically. Are you okay?” I need to know. The other shit I’ll deal with later. Right now, I need to know she’s not physically hurt. But she just stares up at me, sobbing. “Natalie, look at me. Did he hurt you anywhere else?” I barely get the words out. “Did that fucker touch you?”

She stares at me, registers my meaning, shakes her head. “I want to go home.”