Chapter 2 - The Exit Strategy
Muffled pops echoed from the entrance of the VIP hallway, immediately followed by the terrifying sound of automatic gunfire tearing through mahogany wood and high-end upholstery.
screams erupted. Patrons threw themselves onto the floor, overturning tables and shattering expensive crystal.
Penny stood frozen, her brain struggling to catch up with the sudden shift from a petty altercation to absolute war.
Before she could process the muzzle flashes reflecting off the brick wall, a heavy hand grabbed her by the belt of her fitted uniform.
"Up," a voice growled.
It was Matthew Cole. Without waiting for her consent, he hauled her off her feet, hoisted her broad hips over his broad shoulder, and hauled her straight up as if she weighed no more than a bag of laundry.
"Hey! Put me down!" Penny yelled, her head dangling near his lower back.
"Shut up," Matthew commanded smoothly, stepping over broken glass as Liam Cross fired three rapid shots back down the corridor with a silenced pistol.
Cole didn't stagger. Despite carrying over two hundred pounds of curvy waitress on his right shoulder, he moved with terrifying speed and balance. He used his left hand to draw a heavy dark handgun from beneath his ruined jacket.
A bullet hit the marble column two inches above where Penny’s head had been standing a second before. Stone dust rained down on her hair.
"Okay! Keep carrying me!" Penny shrieked, clutching the fabric of his trousers.
Matthew turned a sharp corner into the kitchen service corridor. Gordon Pike was huddled beneath a tray rack, trembling violently.
"Back door," Matthew told Liam, ignoring the restaurant manager entirely.
They burst through the heavy steel doors into the damp alleyway behind the warehouse. A sleek black SUV was idling near the dumpsters, its rear door already swinging open.
Matthew practically threw Penny into the leather interior of the backseat, sliding in right behind her as Liam hopped into the front passenger seat and slammed the door.
"Go!" Liam ordered the driver.
The SUV lurched forward, tires screaming against wet asphalt, tearing out into the Boston night just as three armed men in leather jackets burst into the alleyway firing wildly into the dark.
Penny sat gasping on the floorboard between Matthew’s knees, her thick chest heaving against her tight uniform top, her hair a wild, chaotic cloud.
Matthew reached down, grabbing her by her upper arms, and lifted her onto the plush leather seat beside him.
He casually wiped a spot of whiskey off his lapel, his dark eyes fixing onto her face with terrifying intensity.
"You have remarkable nerve for a woman who weighs less than my favorite rifle," Matthew said, his voice deep and smooth.
"I weigh considerably more than a rifle, you maniac!" Penny gasped, adjusting her top in a panic. "Who shoots up a cocktail lounge on a Thursday?!"
"Men who want me dead," Matthew replied simply. He turned to Liam in the front seat. "Who were they?"
"The O'Leary crew from Southie," Liam grunted, checking his side mirror. "They knew you'd be at the Lantern tonight."
Matthew’s eyes returned to Penny. He took in her flushed cheeks, her wide hazel eyes, and the lingering scent of cheap tequila mixed with eighteen-year Scotch.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Penny," she stammered. "Penny Hayes. And I want to go home right now. My shift is over."
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Matthew looked out the rear window, watching two dark sedans pull out of an alley three blocks behind them, following their tail.
"Going home isn't an option tonight, Penny," Matthew said calmly, pulling a fresh magazine from his jacket and slamming it into his pistol. "Because as of three minutes ago, you're the only civilian who saw the face of the man who led that hit squad."
