The Sacrificial Lamb (43 page)

Working fast, he pushed the armchair and the couch to the front of the cabin, making a shelter of sorts against the wall. There were four points of entrance into the cabin—the front door, the window in the living room, and two windows in each bedroom. Domenic ducked past the front window and went to the kitchen. Grabbing the two chairs, he jammed them under the doorknobs of each bedroom door. If they planned to rush him from the back, at least he would hear them coming.

He crouched over and ran back to the barricade. Getting behind it, he rifled through the duffle bag and removed his guns and the ammo. Checking each gun, Domenic made sure they were loaded and ready to fire. His forty-five was in his left hand and the Magnum was in his right. The Glock and the Ruger were at his feet, ready for action. He crouched on the floor with his back against the wall. The window was to the left of him, just past the armchair. He sat still and waited for any noises as the men outside formulated their game plan and approached.

It seemed like hours passed before there was the faint tinkle of glass from the master bedroom. Underneath him, he felt the vibration of someone walking across the porch. It was subtle, but there. As he thought, they would come at him from opposite sides assuming he had the one weapon and would have to choose who to shoot first. Domenic gripped both guns in his hands and had shoved a third in his waistband to avoid having to reload.

Everything happened very quickly after that. Domenic saw the bedroom doorknob turn and get jammed on the back of the chair. In a second he was on his feet and pumping the door full of bullets. The Magnum’s bullets had hollow point tips that spread on contact, punching gaping holes into the door and smashing into the man standing behind it. Almost simultaneously, the front door crashed open, and Frank came barreling through in a crouch. Domenic already had his left hand pointed at the door and squeezed off a few shots as he dropped down behind the chair.

Frank had mistakenly thought the shots being fired were from Paulie’s gun, and his body was flung back viciously as one bullet struck him in the left shoulder. He raised his gun and shot at Domenic, who managed to duck behind the couch. Popping back up, Domenic pointed both guns at him and took off the top of his head.

By now, Sal and Tony would be on guard. They knew he was armed to the teeth, and they would have to come up with a backup plan since he’d just taken out their henchmen. Domenic crouched back down against the wall and reloaded his two automatic guns. He replaced the Magnum with the Ruger, looking for speed and accuracy over power this time. His heart was hammering in his chest, and his ears were ringing from the report of the gun blasts. He would have to calm down in order to hear what was going on around him. He took several deep and steady breaths preparing for the next onslaught.

Domenic was sure they wouldn’t try a similar tactic. If Sal or Tony went to the back of the house, they would see what had happened to Paulie and deduce fast enough that he had blocked the doors. That left one entry point—the front of the cabin. He could imagine them meeting and trying to figure out what to do next.

Once again time slowed painfully as he waited. Domenic welcomed the break because that allowed enough time for the ringing in his ears to go from an ocean roar to just a slight chime. Keeping his hands fisted around the guns, he wondered what the men were going to do now. If they came in one by one they would be easy pickings. If they came in both at once, firing, it would be more difficult. He stood a greater chance of getting injured that way. Possibly dying. Domenic was sure they would go with the latter and try to double team him.

“Hey, Dom!” he heard Sal call from outside. From the sound of his voice, he was on the left side of the door, crouched under the window. “Come on, man. It doesn’t have to be this way.”

Domenic remained silent. Sal was trying to draw him out and get a lock on his location so they knew where to point their guns.

“Just give us the girl. We won’t hurt her. We just want to keep her so her pops won’t testify.”

He snorted to himself, first because Sal thought he’d be stupid enough to reply to him, and second for thinking he’d believe
that
crock of shit. Domenic swallowed heavily. The adrenaline was pumping in his system, and staying still and trying to be patient was becoming more difficult. His body was screaming for some action. It was a good thing his brain had a lock on the situation, and he stayed put.

“Hah. Okay, Buddy. You got me,” Sal wheezed out in a chuckle when no response was forthcoming. “We’re gonna kill her. First we’ll kill you, but at least that will be quick. And then we’ll find that little bitch and kill her too. But not before I stick my dick in every sweet hole she has.”

Domenic gritted his teeth together and bit his tongue. He wanted to jump over the barricade and rush out there, guns blazing. Sal was still trying to draw him out, and while Domenic recognized this, it didn’t stop the Neanderthal in him from wanting to shove his gun barrel down the other man’s throat.

“And when I’m done with her,” Sal continued, “Tony’ll get a turn. Only Tony? Well, he’s kind of a sick fuck. I’ve heard he’s carved holes out of some his victims and fucked those instead. He says it’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before. It’s especially good when they are still alive and squirming. How do you think your little girlfriend would like that? I think she’d
love
it.”

Try as he might, Domenic couldn’t get that sight out of his head. Sal was mind-fucking him and doing a good job. Domenic prayed that even if they killed him, they wouldn’t be able to find Alex before help arrived. He was almost glad the time was ticking away. Sweat was rolling down his forehead in large drops. Lifting his forearm, he swept them away before they got in his eyes. The last thing he needed was to be temporarily blinded at an inopportune time. Death by sweat. Wonderful.

Not falling into the trap, Domenic could tell Sal was getting angry. He had stopped talking, and Domenic wondered where Tony had gone. It was possible this wasn’t just to find out his location. He may have been trying to distract him from whatever Tony was doing. Domenic hoped that he wasn’t in the bedroom, searching for Alex. His paranoia kicked up a notch, and he leaned forward, listening for any noises coming out of the bedroom. The panic room was well hidden, and he hoped if Tony was in there he would think Alex was out here with him. Or maybe in the other bedroom. He heard nothing and thought it would be best to concentrate on Sal instead.

Like before, everything went from stock-still to intense action. A huge rock came sailing through the window beside him just as Sal rushed in the front door. Hoping Domenic would be distracted by the crash of glass, Sal took a moment to locate him. A moment was too long. Domenic had three bullets in the man’s chest before he turned in his direction. His body jerked like a marionette on its strings. Sal managed to squeeze off a few shots, and one sliced across Domenic’s arm, drawing a trail of white hot fire in its wake.

Tony popped up in the window suddenly and swung toward him. A bullet tore through Domenic’s cheek before he dropped to the floor behind the barricade. He squeezed himself against the wall as several holes punched through the armchair. Tony pulled away from the window as soon as Domenic jumped back up and started firing again, missing him. The rest of the glass in the window exploded outward and it was those same shards that saved Domenic’s life. He heard the crunch of glass under Tony’s feet as he stepped back in front of the window to presumably finish him off. Domenic was firing before Tony had a chance to start shooting. Blood bloomed on Tony’s shirt as the bullets struck him. He looked at Domenic, confused for a moment, before his face went slack, and he pitched forward through the window. Tony now hung half in and half out of the room.

Domenic stood in the middle of the carnage, the air thick with the scent of blood and acrid gun smoke. Bodies lay strewn around him—men he had known, drank with, laughed with, now devoid of life. His shoulders sagged with the magnitude of what had just happened. While he knew these same men would have taken Alexis’s and his lives without compunction, that didn’t stop the ragged sob that escaped his throat.

Both weapons—now empty of ammunition—went clattering to the ground at his feet. The wall and furniture around him were riddled with bullet holes. Large chunks were torn out of the upholstery, cotton batting and sponge spilling out all over the floor. Domenic stood in what felt like a sea of bullet casings. How he had made it out of this battle with surface wounds alone, he would never know.

The blood dripped down his face, onto the shoulder of his shirt. It grew sticky and wet. Reaching up a hand, he touched the gouge in his cheek and winced. Close. So close.
Too
close. A couple of millimeters up and he would be dead. The bullet would have shattered his cheekbone, instead of just laying the skin open. His arm stung as well, but that at least, was just a scratch.

Domenic wasn’t sure how long he would have stood there, shell shocked, if one singular thought hadn’t pierced through the haze.
Alex
. That got him moving. He bent down to pick up his forty-five and slammed a magazine into the chamber. Paulie was surely dead in the bedroom, but he wasn’t about to be caught without his gun in case the man had lived and was lying in wait. After surviving this, he wasn’t about to get knocked off by a little pissant.

Moving with careful steps, Domenic went toward the bedroom. He kneeled down quietly, chanced a look into one of the large holes he had blown through the door, and pulled away, expecting a volley of shots. None came, and he’d had just enough time to see a dark mass lying at the foot of the door. Looking again, more carefully this time, he saw Paulie, face down on the floor in a puddle of blood. His gun was still clutched in his fist, but his hand was slack and waxy looking.

Removing the chair from under the knob. Domenic turned it, waiting to see if there was any movement. There wasn’t. Standing up, he wedged his shoulder against the door and heaved against it. Paulie’s inert body proved to be a formidable doorstop. Digging his feet into the floor, he continued to push until there was enough room to squeeze through.

Domenic entered the bedroom and shoved his gun in his waistband. Bending down, he felt for a pulse in Paulie’s neck. There was none. Grabbing him by the back of the shirt, he tugged the dead man against the wall so that the door would open all the way. He wanted to get Alex out of here as quick as possible. Once that was done, he yanked back the carpet covering the hatch and pulled it up, barely stopping himself from jumping down into the pitch black hole in his anxiousness to get to Alex.

Pausing long enough to turn on the light, he ran to the door and pressed his ear against it.

Domenic knocked and called out. “Alex? Scrabble.” The locks pulled back at once, and like before, the door slammed open and she threw herself into his arms.

“You’re alive!” she cried. “You’re alive!”

“Yes,” he said, smiling, holding her close to ward off the horror of the last half hour. She pulled back and gasped in alarm at his face.

“You’re hurt!”

“I’m fine.”

And then Domenic was kissing her. His hands were in her hair, holding her close to him. Alex’s arms were wrapped around his waist, and he could taste his blood mix with her tears as they continued to course down her face. For a moment he forgot about everything except her. He forgot where they were, why they were here, and about the four dead men upstairs.

Eventually it all came crashing back, and he pulled away reluctantly. “We have to get out of here.”

Domenic went up the ladder first, not that he was expecting anything bad to happen, but he wanted to be prepared just in case. He hauled himself out of the hole and then turned to help Alex out. She gasped at the sight of Paulie, and he hugged her to him, blocking her view. Keeping her face in his chest, he led her out of the bedroom into the living area.

“Don’t look,” he murmured, his hand against her face as they walked to the front door of the cabin. Opening it, they stepped out onto the porch.

“Freeze!” yelled several voices. “Step away from the girl! On your knees!”

His automatic instinct was to fling Alex back into the cabin and pull his gun, but Domenic had been expecting this. Alex’s head shot up, and she clung to him tighter as they came down the steps onto the grass. He hugged her to him one last time before prying her hands from his waist, stepping away and getting on his knees, hands behind his head. Alex stared at him, then at the policemen standing in the yard. Sudden comprehension flared, and she began shaking her head back and forth.

“No,” she called out to them. “You don’t understand! He was helping me!”

Two cops approached cautiously, one grabbing Alex around the waist and dragged her away, screaming. The other came up behind Domenic and kicked him in the middle of the back, sending him face first into the grass. He grunted as a knee came down on his back, pinning him to the ground, and a handcuff was clasped on his right wrist. The cop wrenched Domenic’s arms behind him, cinching the cuff tightly on his left wrist as well.

Alex was screaming and crying. She beat at the men restraining her and told them they were making a big mistake. Domenic wanted to let her know everything would be okay, but he knew she wouldn’t believe it. The cop frisked him and then flipped him over, finding the forty-five. The man cursed under his breath and removed it carefully, tossing it aside where one of his partners picked it up and took it to be bagged as evidence. Grabbing his arm, the cop hauled him up unceremoniously.