Unshackle (Deliver #7) - Pam Godwin Page 0,84

paled, and she shot a deadly look at Luke. “Oh, my God. You swapped it on the veranda. That’s why I couldn’t get into my room tonight.”

“This is bullshit.” Omar charged toward Vera.

With one hand on the grenade, she adjusted the gun’s aim on him, let out a screech, and squeezed the trigger.

Nothing happened.

Omar froze, and the room went still.

“Well, shit.” She rattled the Glock side to side. “Is this thing on?”

The brothers erupted in mocking laughter.

She laughed nervously with them, sobered, and retrained the gun.

“Just kidding.” She fired off a shot with a yelp of surprise.

Holy fuck. Luke jerked as if he could dodge the bullet.

It missed him, missed Omar, too, and hit the concrete wall. The men moved, rushing at her, and she fired again. Over and over, rounds pinged through the room, until one finally hit Omar in the chest.

Silvia wailed as he hit the floor, dead before he dropped.

The beautiful part? Vera had shot him without letting go of the grenade.

She’s incredible. Ferocious. And mine.

Outrage and grief poured off Marco and Miguel, but it was Alejandro that kept Luke’s attention. The only reason the muscle head hadn’t fired yet was because of that grenade. But if he inched close enough, he could wrestle it from her hand. If she shot him, he would shoot back, to hell with the grenade.

Luke burned with the urge to shout commands at her.

Don’t take your eyes off Alejandro.

Keep Romero beside you.

Don’t let anyone take the kid’s weapons.

The Glock only has one bullet left.

Don’t drop that fucking grenade.

But she was already doing everything right. For someone who hadn’t been trained for combat, she was killing it.

There was only one problem.

Alejandro.

“Give me the grenade.” He stepped toward her, gun aimed, patience gone. “Right now!”

CHAPTER 27

I don’t know what I’m doing.

I don’t know what I’m doing.

Oh, Lord Jesus, what the hell am I supposed to do?

Vera’s pulse bellowed in her throat, and her hands grew clammy around the gun. It was hard to think with all the screaming coming from Silvia, who lay prone across Omar’s dead body.

The weapon that Alejandro aimed at her head didn’t help her focus, either.

She couldn’t even look at Luke and his position on the table. Or the strap-on on the floor. She was going to kill that fucking bitch. But first, she had to deal with Alejandro.

He pressed forward, forcing her to retreat.

“Stay at my side, Romero.” She veered, angling toward Luke without a plan in sight.

Romero clung like velcro, souring her inhales with his fear. The computer whiz kid had been reluctantly instrumental in helping her get here. He also served as her pack mule. She could only carry so many guns, and she expected a war.

Silvia hadn’t left Omar, her wails grinding into blubbering sobs as Marco and Miguel crept closer.

“Get back.” She waved the pistol between them and Alejandro. “Move to the wall.”

Holy shit, they were angry, their expressions crimson, veins bulging, hands flexing at their sides.

Good for them. She was pissed, too. And tired. Her fingers quivered around the grenade, and her arm flagged from training the gun one-handed.

When she reached the steel table, she glanced at the restraints. Latches on the chains. A key jutted from the locking mechanism on the handcuffs. Easy peasy.

Except she had no spare hands.

“Romero.” She jerked her chin. “Free him.”

“If you do,” Alejandro said coldly, “you’re dead.”

“Remember my promise, Romero. Your tech skills are destined for better things. You’re too smart to make the wrong choice here.”

“She’s out of bullets and won’t be able to fire those rifles one-handed.” Alejandro sneered. “She can’t protect you.”

“Oh.” She played dumb, knowing she had one left in the chamber and a loaded Glock wedged in the back of her jeans. “Romero, I’m going to need you to get moving on those shackles now.”

Her heart went ballistic as she waited for him to obey. She only had one chance at this. One try.

Aim at the chest. Don’t let go of the grenade.

Romero shifted. Alejandro turned his gun toward the kid, and she fired.

A direct hit in the chest. As he stumbled back, she dropped the empty Glock, grabbed the second from her back, and sprayed bullets in the direction of Marco and Miguel.

Don’t drop the grenade. Don’t drop the grenade.

She silently chanted the reminder and counted off the rounds as she fired through the room. Mostly, she missed her targets, but at least two of the shots were fatal. As Marco and Miguel slumped to the floor, Silvia’s ear-splitting shrieks rent