Page 21 of Play Dirty

“Nope. Quiet. DiMarco’s car is at the back of the restaurant. He hasn’t gotten out yet, though. Bennington’s only two minutes late.” Madi focused his scope on the car again. “I can’t check anymore. The door’s opening.” In a perfect world, Bennington’s arrival would’ve preceded DiMarco exiting his car by just enough time that Madi could snipe him before he even entered the restaurant while Az was taking care of Bennington inside. Instead, he forced his trigger finger to relax when no word came from Az about Bennington and sighed as DiMarco entered the restaurant and greeted his men.

He lifted his head and stared at the front of the restaurant, then checked the back again. Five past now. Where the fuck was Bennington? Didn’t he know Madigan had been banking on having enough time for Az to fuck him back at the villa before they had to return the keys? He tried not to check his watch as the minutes slipped by. Inside the restaurant, DiMarco’s men milled around him.

A glint off the car idling at the back of the restaurant caught Madigan’s eye, and a prickle of awareness lifted the hairs on the back of his neck as an icy finger of premonition dragged down his spine. The last time Madigan’s gut had talked to him like that, it was seconds before a rough hand had closed around his throat and choked him into unconsciousness.

He pushed back the sensation. “Something’s off,” Madigan spoke into the comm as he watched the driver enter the building and speak with DiMarco.

“Don’t jump the gun,” Az said calmly. “Tell me what you see.”

“Fuck.” Madigan watched through the scope as DiMarco glanced around, then nodded. Several of his men started toward the exit that led from the private area to the main dining room. A few other men clustered around DiMarco, and they headed toward the back exit. “Movement in your direction. Five men. Shit, they know something. Get out.” He spoke rapidly as he kept his gaze steady on the back door. “I’ve got to take the shot now or I’ll lose my chance. Leave out the front.Now.”

If Az spoke again, Madigan didn’t hear it. All his focus was on the door opening, blocking a clear shot to DiMarco as his men escorted him into the back of the car.

The second the door shut, Madigan burst into action, dropping the two closest men. A third scrambled for the driver’s side door, ducking the rain of fire Madigan squeezed off to take out the front left tire before he popped upright, slung his gun onto his back, and leapt from the roof.

He crashed down onto the closed top of a dumpster, a burst of pain shooting through his knee as he vaulted to the pavement below. Gunfire erupted around him as Madigan hugged the brick corner of the restaurant, taking a deep breath before ducking low and swinging around the corner. There were three bodies on the pavement and movement inside the car. Madi swung his gun up and shot at the front seat as he strafed to the right and sank down low against the back left side of the car. The door was locked, of course, so Madigan shot at the windows. Bulletproof glass worked great as long as an armored car was moving.

Victory thumped through Madigan’s pulse as the windows finally shattered with the onslaught. Saying fuck it to precision, Madigan unloaded the rest of the extended magazine inside the car, checked that all was still, and reached in to swipe DiMarco’s watch from the bloody mess, while he pulled a new magazine from his belt with the other hand.

He stuffed the watch in his pocket and jammed the fresh magazine into his rifle.

From inside the restaurant came the sound of chaos. Voices yelling, gunfire, dishes breaking.

“Az.” Madigan touched his ear as he spoke. Nothing. No fucking earpiece. Had it been jarred loose when he’d jumped from the roof? No time to figure it out, though. He rushed toward the door, back bowing as something heavy thudded against his spine.

Pain scorched across his shoulder blade as arms wrapped around him from behind and something cool and familiarly metallic pressed to his temple. Madigan kicked his heel back while tipping his head forward.

The gunshot going off next to his ear deafened him.

Twisting the barrel of his rifle around, Madigan jabbed it blindly backwards until it met resistance, then squeezed the trigger. The pressure around his shoulder fell away, and he spun to see the man sprawled on the pavement—one of DiMarco’s men possibly. He wasn’t sure. What he was sure of, though, was that he needed to get the fuck out of there.

The wail of sirens drew close as Madigan eyed the back door again.

Don’t. Stick to the plan. Trust him to take care of himself.

Madigan bit out a curse and took off.

9

Azrael

By the time Madi shouted at Az to get out, it was too late. Three men were advancing on him. There was no getting out the front. He hit the deck as bullets sprayed overhead, showering glass and wood over him as he made a crouching run for the blind hallway Madigan had begged Az not to use.Madi. Az’s heartbeat faltered as he did his best to keep focused on the task at hand. As long as Az could hear the steady cadence of Madi’s rifle hitting, that meant he was okay. He had to be okay.

Az sighed in relief as the bathroom door closed behind him, grateful for the wall that forced any who entered to do so with limited vision. He plastered himself against the tile, both his gun and knife within reach but not in hand. Az focused on the sound of glass, the sound of shattered lights and pictures crunching under booted feet. He only had one shot at this.

Hinges protested as the first man entered, arm advanced, gun in his hand. Az’s hand snaked out, yanking the man forward and wrenching his arm behind his back, using his own hand to shoot the men entering directly behind him, before landing a kick to the man’s knee that sent him to the ground with a scream as he clutched his leg. Az still held the man’s gun, so he put him out of his misery, grimacing at the slightly off-center bullet wound in his forehead.

Guns just weren’t his thing. He crouched beside the body, looking at the weapon resting on the tile, a custom matte black Glock 19 with a flashlight and laser scope. Madi would love that. He palmed Madi’s new present, slipping it in his waistband and shaking the glass and wood chips from his clothing before opening the bathroom window and deftly slipping into the alley. He stopped, pulling a small cylinder from his pocket and popping the barrier between the green and clear liquids, shaking them briefly before tossing it into the restroom and jogging away as fast as he could manage without drawing attention to himself. He made it a hundred yards before the small explosion rocked the block, setting off car alarms and causing another spurt of panic through the crowds gathering outside the restaurant.

Az headed in the opposite direction, weaving his way through back alleys, forcing himself to keep his stride casual. Just another tourist enjoying the city.Madi’s comm was silent. Az told himself it had slipped free during his sprint back to the villa. Nothing more. He refused to allow himself to worry about the man. He was more than capable of handling himself, and even this clusterfuck of a job was hardly the worst Az had seen. He could only imagine Madi would say the same.

Still, he’d be lying if he said his chest didn’t loosen when he entered the villa and saw Madi sitting at the kitchen table, his rifle laid out before him, like he was ready to defend himself against Az if necessary.

Az dropped down into the seat across from him, finally letting himself breathe. “Well, that sucked, no?”

“What the hell was that?” Madi snarled. “Where the fuck was Bennington? I thought you said you could trust that contact of yours.”

“You think we were set up?” Az had pondered the idea himself on his way home.