Nora rolls her eyes and sighs miserably as if the boredom from waiting is killing her.
“So, tell me what Victor’s like in bed,” she says so casually it catches me off-guard—and puts a territorial knot in my stomach.
“Huh?” It’s all I can manage, I’m so blindsided by her question.
Floor seven.
She laughs lightly, glancing over at me, but keeping most of her attention on the elevator doors.
“Hey,” she says, gesturing the hand without a gun as if to calm a storm before it stirs, “I’m only curious because he’s Niklas’s brother. Can’t very well ask you how Niklas fucks seeing as how I doubt you’ve ever treaded those waters.”
I shake my head with amazement. “You are one strange woman,” I say, trying not to laugh myself.
“Nah,” she says, “I just have better communication skills.”
I do laugh this time.
“Really?” I say with disbelief and sarcasm. “I’d say your communication skills need some work—you’re too blunt in my opinion. For all the shit you are good at”—I point at her briefly—“communication isn’t one of them.”
Floor eight.
Nora shrugs. “I think so,” she disagrees. “I tell it like it is. Why—forgive the cliché—beat around the fucking bush? I say just get on with it.”
“Get on with it meaning you want to know what Niklas is like in bed?” I can hear the elevator moving closer now, the sound of metal moving against metal. “Well if you’re so pro-getting on with it, I’d assume you’d bypass asking me and just ask Niklas if he’d show you how he fucks.”
Floor nine.
The elevator doors slide open very slowly, revealing the man from the surveillance room a piece at a time.
“Yeah well that’s hard to do when we can’t find him,” Nora says. “Think of this as you and me bonding.”
The plump man in an ill-fitting sloppy suit looks back at us from the elevator with rounded eyes. He reaches for his gun. With my eyes still on Nora, I raise my gun at him and squeeze the trigger. “Bonding?” I say as the heavy weight of the man’s body hits the elevator floor with a thud. A bag of chips and some other vending machine food falls from his hand. I holster my gun in my boot, and Nora and I both each take an ankle and start to drag his body out.
“Well yeah,” she says, struggling with his dead weight as we slide him across the tile floor. The elevator dings and the doors close. “We spend all our time training and taking everything so seriously, I thought it’d be nice to get to know you—what the hell did this guy eat, a Buick?”
“By asking me how Victor is in bed?” I say as if making a statement.
“Sure,” she says with another shrug, drops the leg in the empty office and stands upright. “Why not?”
“Because it’s private,” I say, drop the leg and stand upright too.
We leave the room and make our way to the stairwell.
“And why the interest in Niklas all of a sudden?”
The stairwell door closes behind us with hardly a noise.
“Oh, the interest has been there for a while,” she admits. “I was curious to know when my sister was fucking him—she screamed a lot.”
I raise a brow.
“Like I said, you’re one strange woman.”
We take the stairs quickly to the eighth floor, seeing the tall metal door out ahead.
“There are two men in the hall guarding the entrance to the room,” I hear Victor’s voice in my ear. It stuns me a little this time considering the nature of my and Nora’s conversation, and the fact that for a moment I had forgotten he was listening to everything we were saying. My face flushes with heat.
“And by the way,” Victor adds, “how I fuck Izabel is none of your goddamned business.”
Nora grins at me. I grin back. We burst through the stairwell door with guns drawn and take out both men standing guard before waltzing into the room with our targets as if we own the place.
Because at this point, we kinda do.
Izabel
The room is rife with silence as the targets look back at us from a long table positioned horizontally across the back of the room. Suits. Rolex watches. Clean-shaven. Hair slicked back in a sort of chocolate wave on Pinceri, the man in the center, like some gangster crime boss. Though he’s no gangster anything—he’s a professional thief.
I move right as Nora moves left, both of us heading straight for the table with our guns pointed at the two men on either side of Pinceri.
Pinceri stands slowly, moving his hands, palms up, out to his sides in a surrendering fashion, though calmer than I expected.
“Now let’s talk about this,” he says in a charming, relaxed voice, the kind of voice that has mastered the art of seducing women. “No need for violence. How about you put the guns down and let’s have a civil conversation.”