Hush Money

by Susan Bischoff

  The door to the construction office trailer opened and Kat walked down the few steps, regal as queen, with her girl-scarf fluttering in the breeze from the river and a video camera held in front of her.

  “Oh heck yeah!” she called, watching the screen as she strolled toward us. “You guys should see the replay. It’s awesome. Why Marco, what big muscles you have!”

  “What the fuck?”

  “I want to be sure you understand this, Marco, so I’ll try to talk slowly and use small words.” Cheesy movie line? Yes. But I was having a moment. “There is nothing worse than a person who destroys others’ lives for personal gain—except someone who does it by throwing his own to the wolves. You’ve been blackmailing Talents and getting them hauled off by NIAC—and you’re a Talent, you piece of shit. I don’t understand how you could do that. To your own kind! And you know what? I don’t even care. Because now we’ve got evidence. So you can back up off of Kat, my sister, Dylan—just keep your mouth shut. Because if anything happens to us, or if we hear of you threatening any other Talents again, that video goes straight to NIAC.”

  “Yeah. And the local news, and anyone else we can think of.” Kat added. She was almost to the edge of the concrete on the other side of what would become the lobby, when her ankle turned in her impractical shoe and she looked down to right herself.

  And that’s when Marco went for her. I knew then that I hadn’t thought this through and there was no time now.

  “Kat! Run!”

  She turned and fled, leaving the shoe and Marco caught up to her fast. I raced toward them, but he was on the point of reaching for the scarf that fluttered behind her. I was close, but not close enough to a guy who could break her in half like a twig. I did the only thing in my head: I took a nearby pallet of lumber and slid it between them.

  Marco skidded to a halt and crashed into the pile anyway. Wooden posts spilled down the stack, as he pushed himself up again, and I tackled him.

  Chapter 18

  Joss

  Oh my God, ow.

  That’s what I thought about my ill-conceived flying tackle at Marco that slammed us both hard against the stacked lumber. We slid down, losing our footing some, and then, before I stopped feeling the zinging shock of the impact through my arm and shoulder, he was already shoving me off him.

  Damn, he could shove. I planted my foot, focusing the air behind me into a temporary wall that would keep me from falling on my ass again. His face was a mask of rage as he lead with a punch that was designed to take me in the face and level me. But, like my dad had taught me, I stepped offline and grabbed his arm as it whizzed by my head. I pulled hard, using the incredible momentum that came with the awesome power behind his punch to yank him off balance.

  He went stumbling forward. He should have fallen flat from that move; physics should have made sure of it. But he had the same kind of super strength in his lower body that he had in his brawler’s chest and arms, and when he planted his foot, it stayed planted. He pivoted on it, turning back to face me.

  “I don’t care what you can do with your Talent, you bitch, I’m getting that camera. You can step off and I’ll go after Kat, or you can let me pound on you, which I’ll enjoy, and then I’ll get her. Your choice.”

  It’s not like I was standing there doing nothing during the moment it took him to deliver this speech. I was reassessing, getting the lay of the land. Figuring out what I could use. All the good stuff was too far away, so I reached out with mind for one of the wooden posts on the top of the stack and brought it down on his head for an answer.

  Marco’s arm arced through the air and practically sliced through the wood. It broke in half, and I turned my face away to avoid any splinters. That’s when he came at me with his fists.

  This was nothing like sparring with my dad in the woods, learning how to duck, weave, and use my Talent in a fight. No matter how hard we trained, it always came down to the fact that we really didn’t want to damage each other. We were both holding back. And even though Dad could sometimes be scary, I realized that I had never known what scared really was until Marco came after me with murder in his eyes.

  He was holding nothing back, slugging at me with a barroom brawl style of alternating punches that came too fast to dodge them all. But time was slowing, nothing but the moment-to-moment punches and blocks. My mind was working even harder than my body, concentrating on focusing the air around my fists to maximize my own impact. To me it felt like punching a fragile balloon, feeling the pop of the air dissipating before my fist struck flesh. To him, it would feel like I’d hit him with block of wood before my bloodied knuckles made contact. Even harder for me, probably because they were more important, were the cushions of air I formed to block his blows. It was all that kept him from punching right through me. He was past the point now of looking confused at the feeling of punching into a bag of water before he made contact with me. Now he was concentrating too, on trying to hit me so hard I wouldn’t be able to protect myself.

  I was letting him drive me back across the site, back toward the more active part of the work area where all the heavy stuff was. It was getting harder and harder to concentrate, harder to keep raising my arms to hit back, and the pain from even his muffled blows was starting to cut through the adrenaline. I knew that I was now fighting for my life and if I dropped, if I slipped, it was over. Panic started to nibble at the ends of my concentration and I started to feel desperate. I had to find some way to end this.

  From the corner of my eye I could finally see the dumpster. It was a huge, construction project container that might hold him—at least long enough for me to get away and hide for a few moments. If I could just regroup, get closer to something I could do damage with… I ducked to the side, unexpectedly disengaging and gaining just a moment to turn my gaze toward it.

  It shot up in the air, flipped over, littering the site with a trail of building scraps as it sailed toward us.

  Marco’s fist connected with my kidney and, even though I saw it coming, even though I automatically tried to save myself, it was like being hit by a car. I felt the hideous pain of impact, felt my body go airborne, heard the dumpster crash to the ground a moment before I did. I skidded in dirt, heard the tearing of my sleeve, but didn’t feel my body stop before the black at the edges of my vision took everything over.

  A heavy slap, like a bear with its dinner, brought me around. So much pain knifed its way through my head that I wasn’t even sure where it was coming from. Marco loomed above me, his features twisted with hatred and satisfaction as his hands closed around my throat.

  So that’s it, then.

  That’s what my last thought was going to be, knowing that he could snap my neck and that he wanted to. But that had been almost a minute ago. In this minute, with me trapped beneath him, my arms pinned at my sides by his legs, Marco wanted to squeeze.

  * * *

  Dylan

  “This is where I left the girls. They said they were going to go down to the river. Let’s go down and check it out.”

  “Yeah, ok.”

  Eric had picked up on the fact that I was really freaking out, but when I cut off his questions, he hadn’t pressed me. He drove like a maniac to get back over here, but we had hit rush hour and it seemed like no one was in any hurry to get home. Every minute I was beating myself up about not going with them earlier because, somehow, I knew something was wrong.

  That’s what I was thinking about when Kat came tearing through the tree line in a limping run, her hair a wreck, one shoe gone, looking absolutely terrified. We called out and raced toward her but she didn’t slow down until she had me by the jacket and was shaking me and talking way too fast.

  Eric came around behind her, wrapped his arms around her, separated us. “Slow down, Kat. We can’t understand you. Just take a breath.”

  “Where is Joss, Kat? What happened?” I demanded.

  “She—Marco—help her!”

  “Where?”

  Eric had lo
osened his hold, and Kat panted, “At the construction site. I think he’s gonna kill her.” She pointed back the way she had come, turning, but as soon as she took a step her ankle folded and she started to go down. Eric caught her.

  “I got this. Go on,” I heard him say, but I was already racing through the trees.

  They seemed so far off when I saw them, and even though I was running all out, it wasn’t fast enough. They were two dark-haired figures trading savage blows, and I couldn’t believe one of them was Joss, taking him on like that.

  She dodged and blocked like a professional fighter. Looking at Marco, I could see he wasn’t holding back, and that he was driving her backward across the site. He was landing blows that should have knocked her on her ass, worse, but she just kept going. Still I was terrified, thinking that he must be holding something back, he must be, and soon he’d get tired of playing with her…

  She dodged, moving out of the fight and turning, leaving herself open. Nearby, a huge dumpster shot up and flipped over as it whizzed toward them. Then it suddenly fell, bouncing once in the dirt and my eyes shot back to the fight.

  Joss’s body was just coming to a skidding halt several feet from where they’d been fighting. Her body went limp. It was a moment where the whole world seemed to stop, as if it just couldn’t keep going, and yet it was. Even my legs were still moving as if everything but my mind knew that the world was still turning.

  Marco fell on her, straddling her body with his knees on either side of her chest. He slapped her hard across the face. I felt a fresh burst of rage as he struck her, and on its heels a nearly overwhelming relief to see her move beneath him. Then his hands wrapped around her throat and relief and hope were obliterated by the return of panic.

  I didn’t stop to yell at him, I just poured what little speed I had left into my sprint, pushed off from the ground, and launched myself at him.

  * * *

  Joss

  It was a streak of moving air and dark colors that knocked Marco aside and brought oxygen back to my world again. For the barest instant I thought maybe I had done it, that in my last moments my mind had gathered the last of its power to reach out a find a weapon to save me. But as my head fell limply to the side I saw two bodies rolling in dirt. And when they separated, as they gained their feet, I saw that it was Dylan, covered in dust, and taking a quick step back from Marco, planting his feet and raising his fists.

  Dylan. Bent on suicide.

  “You sure you wanna do this, buddy?” Marco asked derisively.

  “I’m going to fucking kill you.”

  “How’re you gonna do that? Come on, Dylan. Give it up. We’ve been friends a long time, and I can use a guy like you. You know that. Let’s not do this. Not over a girl. Especially not over that girl.”

  Dylan’s fist flew. It connected with Marco’s face hard enough to send Marco stumbling back. They both stood there for an instant, stunned. Then Marco retaliated, a blow we all knew should have knocked Dylan out into the middle of next week. Without thinking I threw up a block, as though I’d been trained for it the way I’d been trained to protect myself. Marco’s swing hesitated as it hit my block, and by the time it actually pushed through, Dylan had dodged the worst of it. It hardly phased him.

  “Fucking bitch,” I heard Marco say as Dylan’s gaze flicked my way, questioning.

  And then they were in it.

  They circled each other, trading a series of quick blows. Dad had made me watch a lot of fights on TV, teaching me about telegraphing and what to look for, and it was just like that. From back here I could see nearly everything Marco was going to do before he did it, and throw up a wall to protect Dylan from the worst of it. I didn’t have it in me to pelt him with rocks or fly in even so much as a stout stick to help out. But by absorbing the force of Marco’s supernatural blows with my own Talent, I could make it more of an even fight between two boys who were really pissed.

  I couldn’t lend any more force to Dylan’s punches, but I didn’t have to. He was just whaling on the guy he was still calling his best friend a few days ago. He was taking some hard hits; I could tell he felt them from the way his body reacted, but he shrugged off the blows and kept coming back, harder.

  They didn’t speak to each other. There were no sounds but the scrape of dirt under boots, the thuds of flesh hitting flesh, and the grunts that accompanied. The sound of the blood pounding in my head as I fought through the pain to stay in it too, knowing that if I couldn’t help Dylan, it would be over for both of us.

  On and on they fought, with time stretching out, every punch I tried to block feeling like a giant screw turning in my skull, and every hit Dylan took feeling like a knock to my own heart until I almost couldn’t breathe. I promised myself I’d let myself cry about it later, when I was alone, if I could just stay with it a little bit longer…

  They were both wearing down, hurting. Marco was starting to weave, and I could actually see the moment when Dylan realized it, a new determination washing his features, and a new energy in his next attack. A few quick jabs and then he landed a vicious blow to the side of Marco’s head, one that whipped it sideways. Marco staggered away, righted himself. Spat blood. Dylan stepped in with a savage gut punch that drove Marco to one knee, gasping for air.

  Marco clutched his middle, breathing in ragged, shallow pants. Dylan could end it now. Another head shot from that angle would put Marco out. But he stood there, fists still raised, waiting.

  “You broke my goddamned ribs, Marco wheezed. “I can’t believe what a fucking traitor you turned out to be. I’ve called you my best friend my whole life and you turn on me for a chick. A freak chick. God damn you!”

  “I didn’t turn on you, Marco. You turned on me when you decided you owned me. When you decided that what you couldn’t get by playing on our friendship, you should try to get with threats and intimidation. You’re out of control, and it’s not just about Joss or me, it’s Rob, Krista, Kat—everyone and anyone else you’ve tried to destroy. You’ve got to be stopped.”

  “And you think you’re the one to do it? You think you can stand in my way?”

  “I should have tried, a long time ago. Maybe if I had stood up to you years ago you wouldn’t be who you are now.”

  “Puh-leez. Don’t overestimate yourself.”

  “What I’m finally finished doing is overestimating you. You’re not even capable of being a human being anymore and I’m done.”

  Marco pushed back to his feet, pale and holding onto his ribs. He swayed and then steadied.

  “No you’re not. I’m just getting started, and you’re going to find that you can either do things my way, or this is just going be round one, and next time—”

  “You wanna go for round two right now?”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Don’t think a few broken ribs or that stupid video changes anything,” he said, turning slightly to include me in the conversation for the first time. “I’m gonna own this town and everyone in it. And it’s gonna happen sooner than you think.”

  “How did you get so completely deluded?” I asked, trying to get enough venom into it that I wouldn’t sound so weak.

  He actually grinned, showing a mouthful of bloody teeth. “Time will tell, won’t it?” He wheezed. He started backing away, then just turned and started to limp off.

  I watched Dylan gather his reserves of strength and take the first few steps to follow. Hadn’t he had enough? He had to be punch drunk crazy. “Dylan,” I called, even though it hurt to take in enough air to make myself heard. I was so scared he wasn’t going to hear me or wasn’t going to listen to reason.

  The next moment he was kneeling beside me, yanking me into his arms so fast the world grayed again.

  “Ow!”

  I’ll admit I had fantasized about Dylan’s fingers in my hair but…

  “No blood,” he said, looking at his hand. “Your pupils look about the same size, that’s a thing, right?”

  That would be the him stari
ng into my eyes part.

  “How many fingers?”

  “Would you leave me alone? I’m fine.” At his doubtful look I added, “Mostly. What about you?” I wanted to reach out to touch him, but, yeah, head injury or no, I just didn’t have the guts for that. Something inside my head was wanting to replay the whole scene and point out how Dylan had charged to my rescue. Which I think explained why I kept wanting to faint. And since that was too girly to contemplate, I knocked that something around until it shut up.

  “I’m ok. A couple bruises. Nothing cracked, nothing broken. I can’t believe how—”

  “Yeah,” I interrupted. “I can’t believe he held back like that. In the end I guess your friendship meant more to him than we thought.”

  Dylan gave me a searching look. I wondered if he could guess that I’d been protecting him, or if there was any hope he’d buy the Marco’s Mercy angle. You’d think by that time I would have totally trusted him. Maybe I did. Maybe it was just that I didn’t want him to know I was a freak. Not for sure. Or maybe it was just habit.

  “You scared the crap out of me,” he told me. His demeanor had changed. His voice was lower, slower. He was stroking his thumb against my cheek for no reason I could figure out, and even looking at me differently, like softly, but still intense. His eyes dropped to my mouth. “I can’t believe you took him on like that. What were you thinking?”

  I was thinking about you.

  I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t breathe.

  Then my eyes fell closed when his mouth touched mine. Brushed, then lightly pressed. I had no idea a kiss would feel like this. The world seemed to tilt and everything slid away. There was nothing but Dylan, his arm around me, the hand that cupped my face, the hardness of his chest, and the crazy beat of his heart under my hand. The incredible softness of his lips as they moved against mine.

  A car horn made us both jump, and we saw Eric’s car bouncing across the dirt. That explained how Dylan had found us. And if they’d started looking where Eric had dropped us before, he would have had to drive all the way around the trees that bordered the southern side of the site. The car braked and Kat jumped out, stumbled, and caught herself on the door. Then she hurried, a bit more carefully, toward us.