Read Online Wiseguys: Blast From the Past by Aaron Michaels - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Aaron Michaels
Tags: gay romance
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code, so if they rented the house, they'd have to put up with the lights. Tony thought it was an odd sales pitch, but he and Carter were used to city living where there was constant light and noise. Tony found the lights soothing in the same way that Carter enjoyed lit candles.
None of their neighbors had turned on any outdoor lights. Maybe that meant none of the neighbors had heard the shots Tony fired through the pillow. Enough ambient light from the spotlights on the neighbor's trees shone through the back door window that Tony could see Carter with his back up against the wall to the side of the door. He'd be out of sight to anybody coming in through the door until it was too late.
"You okay?" Carter asked.
"Yeah. I got the guy's gun."
Carter made a soft sound, and Tony knew he was grinning. "Always knew you were a tough guy."
Tough guy. Coming from Carter, that was a compliment. Uncle Sid never thought Tony had it in him, one of the reasons he'd never had a closer relationship with his uncle. He didn't have enough of a killer instinct to be real family, not in his uncle's eyes.
It struck him then that if the hitter in the front room died, he'd be the first person Tony had killed. Would that finally make his uncle proud?
It didn't matter. His uncle was dead, he and Carter were alive, and Tony meant to keep it that way. "I got your back," he said.
"Never doubted it," Carter said.
It didn't take long before the other two guys made their move. They would have recognized Tony's muffled shots for what they were, and they'd know there was no longer any need to be stealthy.
A shadow blocked out part of the light coming in through the back door. The glass window in the door shattered inward, and a gloved hand felt around inside for the lock.
Carter let the guy unlock the door. As soon as the guy started to step through the open door, Carter grabbed his arm and pulled him all the way into the kitchen. Carter used the momentum to swing the guy around and slam him up against the wall.
The guy had a gun in his other hand, but when he slammed into the wall, the gun went flying. Carter quick punched the guy's face and belly, and he dropped to his knees. Carter clubbed the guy in the back of the head with the butt end of his gun, and the guy fell flat on the kitchen floor and didn't move.
Tony let out the breath he'd been holding.
Two down. One left.
That one guy left had to be the guy Tony had pegged as the leader, the man with the dark hair that would have been slicked back from his face in Jersey. Muscle always went in first on a hit. The last guy in would be the thinker. Tony was counting on that.
Chapter Eight
Tony almost didn't see the last of the shooters. He'd been too intent on Carter's fight with the guy who broke through their back door. When Tony turned back toward the hall, he saw a dark blur, and then a fist connected with his jaw.
Tony's head rocked to the side and backward, and he lost his balance.
The third guy had come in through the open front door. He'd waited until he heard the commotion in the kitchen, then made his own move.
By the time Tony got his gun up, the guy had a gun of his own pointed at Carter.
"Looks like we got a stalemate," Carter said. His hands hung loose at his side. He stood in the middle of the dark kitchen seemingly unconcerned about the red dot in the middle of his chest.
"Put the gun down," Tony said, his voice far calmer than he felt. He held his own gun steady, pointed at the center mass of the guy's chest. They stood close enough to each other that he didn't have to be particular about his aim.
"You put yours down," the guy said.
"I do that, you kill us both," Tony said. "Don't see the percentage in that. Do you?" he asked Carter.
"If I was you, I'd just shoot him now," Carter said.
"You'd be dead, too," the guy said to Carter. "You're the muscle here, not him. Even if he shoots me, I still get a shot off at you, and I'm pretty damn good at what I do."
"You got
None of their neighbors had turned on any outdoor lights. Maybe that meant none of the neighbors had heard the shots Tony fired through the pillow. Enough ambient light from the spotlights on the neighbor's trees shone through the back door window that Tony could see Carter with his back up against the wall to the side of the door. He'd be out of sight to anybody coming in through the door until it was too late.
"You okay?" Carter asked.
"Yeah. I got the guy's gun."
Carter made a soft sound, and Tony knew he was grinning. "Always knew you were a tough guy."
Tough guy. Coming from Carter, that was a compliment. Uncle Sid never thought Tony had it in him, one of the reasons he'd never had a closer relationship with his uncle. He didn't have enough of a killer instinct to be real family, not in his uncle's eyes.
It struck him then that if the hitter in the front room died, he'd be the first person Tony had killed. Would that finally make his uncle proud?
It didn't matter. His uncle was dead, he and Carter were alive, and Tony meant to keep it that way. "I got your back," he said.
"Never doubted it," Carter said.
It didn't take long before the other two guys made their move. They would have recognized Tony's muffled shots for what they were, and they'd know there was no longer any need to be stealthy.
A shadow blocked out part of the light coming in through the back door. The glass window in the door shattered inward, and a gloved hand felt around inside for the lock.
Carter let the guy unlock the door. As soon as the guy started to step through the open door, Carter grabbed his arm and pulled him all the way into the kitchen. Carter used the momentum to swing the guy around and slam him up against the wall.
The guy had a gun in his other hand, but when he slammed into the wall, the gun went flying. Carter quick punched the guy's face and belly, and he dropped to his knees. Carter clubbed the guy in the back of the head with the butt end of his gun, and the guy fell flat on the kitchen floor and didn't move.
Tony let out the breath he'd been holding.
Two down. One left.
That one guy left had to be the guy Tony had pegged as the leader, the man with the dark hair that would have been slicked back from his face in Jersey. Muscle always went in first on a hit. The last guy in would be the thinker. Tony was counting on that.
Chapter Eight
Tony almost didn't see the last of the shooters. He'd been too intent on Carter's fight with the guy who broke through their back door. When Tony turned back toward the hall, he saw a dark blur, and then a fist connected with his jaw.
Tony's head rocked to the side and backward, and he lost his balance.
The third guy had come in through the open front door. He'd waited until he heard the commotion in the kitchen, then made his own move.
By the time Tony got his gun up, the guy had a gun of his own pointed at Carter.
"Looks like we got a stalemate," Carter said. His hands hung loose at his side. He stood in the middle of the dark kitchen seemingly unconcerned about the red dot in the middle of his chest.
"Put the gun down," Tony said, his voice far calmer than he felt. He held his own gun steady, pointed at the center mass of the guy's chest. They stood close enough to each other that he didn't have to be particular about his aim.
"You put yours down," the guy said.
"I do that, you kill us both," Tony said. "Don't see the percentage in that. Do you?" he asked Carter.
"If I was you, I'd just shoot him now," Carter said.
"You'd be dead, too," the guy said to Carter. "You're the muscle here, not him. Even if he shoots me, I still get a shot off at you, and I'm pretty damn good at what I do."
"You got
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