My insides scream that it’s Massimo.
The man darts into the woods, and I dash between the vehicles, bullets firing, and I swear I feel the heat of one graze me.
There’s no pain.
And whether it’s adrenaline or a close call, I don’t have time to slow down and check myself over to see if I’ve been shot.
The assailant runs down the mountainside, and I’m tearing up the ground, chasing after him, catching up.
I’m faster, but the mountain is steep and unforgiving.
Gunshots ring out above us, and the farther we get, the fainter they sound, but there are not any less.
Hopefully, our men are holding their position if not overtaking them.
It’s too difficult for me to shoot a moving target, and I can’t aim while running. My best option is to catch the bastard who fled.
I lunge at him, tackling the man to the ground, my fist pummeling his face.
His chest erupts in laughter.
It’s dark.
Seedy.
He turns his head slightly, so his face isn’t shoved into the ground. “Do you really think you’ve won?”
That voice. It’s impossible not to recognize it, as it haunts my dreams.
Massimo.
Of course, he ran.
He didn’t want to wind up dead in the gunfight.
His men are disposable.
The girls probably are, as well, to him.
Disgusting.
I straddle his frame, landing blow after blow to his face.
Blood coats my knuckles and my clothes as I keep pounding the shit out of him.
“You threatened my family!” Another swing at his face.
Where is my fucking gun?
I had in when I was running and chasing him, but somewhere between lunging at him and pouncing on him, it’s not in my grasp.
There are leaves and broken branches. Trees and shadows dancing over the ground. There’s no sight of my gun at first glance, but it could be anywhere.
Does Massimo have a weapon?
There isn’t one on him that’s noticeable to me, as I have him pinned under my weight, his face down in the dirt, his arms restrained behind his back.
There’s another round of heavier gunfire above us, and then it settles to a quiet nothingness.