Anti Hero

by Skye Warren

  Goddamn it.

  This was exactly what he was trying to avoid. This desperate yearning ache that always left him cold and disappointed and, once upon a time, laid up in the hospital with a blasted kneecap. Okay, so the last part wasn’t likely to happen with Sofia, but it illustrated the point. He’d once thought he was invincible, that if he believed and fought and cared enough that the world would bend to his will. All that had gotten him was twelve months of physical training before he could walk again and a Dear John discharge letter from the army. A soldier wasn’t much use with a bum knee. Thanks for your service, now get lost.

  He leaned back in his chair, running his hand through his hair. Damn, it was long. When had that happened? Shaggy and curling up at his shirt collar. He must look like a bastard. All the more reason Sofia would tell him to take a hike. But he was definitely going to see her.

  Before leaving the office, he loaded up his Sig. He didn’t usually carry it during his day job and never on a freaking date. There was really no good reason to now, except for that tremor in Sofia’s voice that he just couldn’t shake.

  Chapter Four

  Ten years ago

  Sofia pressed her hand over her mouth, fighting the nausea that came only at night. For weeks the numbness had cocooned her, and she hadn’t known to be grateful. Little by little, the real world had poked holes in her paper walls.

  First a strange pang in her stomach she finally realized was hunger.

  Then the suffocating heat of her clothes, her blankets, the scalding showers.

  Pain came last. She longed for the numbness to return, but she couldn’t make it. Abuela was glad that she was eating again and leaving her room. But she didn’t know about the pain.

  One night Abuela had found her throwing up in the middle of the night, so Sofia had had to put up with more doctor exams. She wasn’t pregnant, thank God. Hadn’t picked up any diseases, either. She supposed she should be grateful, but she couldn’t be, not as she retched into a bowl, knowing she’d already vomited all of it for the night.

  The TV helped distract her, late-night shows that numbed her mind.

  Books where girls had evil twins and handsome teachers.

  Right now she had none of that, the lights off, a ceramic bowl clutched in her shaking hands.

  Scuffs and scratching noises from the door startled her. She held the bowl harder, until her knuckles hurt, listening. What if they had come back? They would eventually. Her stomach clenched. Of course they would. It would never be over.

  There was no place to hide in the house. They would find her bedroom easy. Break the flimsy lock.

  Abuela was a heavy sleeper, and anyway, she couldn’t protect her.

  She grabbed her quilt and scooted to the floor, in the two-foot space between the Goodwill couch and the wall. All she had was her bowl as a shield, eyes wide in the familiar room.

  The door swung open, throwing moonlight across the vinyl floor. A long shadow drew closer. No no no. Saying no didn’t help. Tears leaked out of her eyes.

  A stumble. Then a thump as the body landed on the couch where she had just been.

  “I know you’re there, hermanita.”

  Relief poured over her, cool water on a sunburn. Even though she hated Diego. Even though he sounded drunk, which could end with shouts and fists.

  “Go away.”

  An unsteady laugh. “Go fucking where?”

  Back to your friends. To red bandannas. “I don’t care.”

  “Yeah, I guess you don’t,” he said flatly.

  There was silence as they both sat in the dark, her tucked into the corner beside the couch, hands around her knees. She imagined him sprawled out the way Daddy used to look, head resting back, tired and angry. Drunk.

  His voice was quiet, barely loud enough to hear. “I fucked up.”

  It was enough to make her peer around the arm of the sofa. He wasn’t sprawled back. His head rested in his hands. It shouldn’t matter to her that he looked sad. She hated him.

  At least, she was supposed to hate him. Part of her did.

  “I know I fucked everything up,” he continued, low and hoarse. “I’m sorry, Sofia. So fucking sorry.”

  Emotions were like hot oil in a pan; even from far away they could spatter and burn. She ran her hands over her shins, trying to brush it away. Failing. “Doesn’t matter.”

  Another laugh. “Nice try. You know how much Dad would kick my ass if he was alive?”

  “When he was drunk.” When he was drunk he’d hit anyone.

  Quiet. “Yeah. When he was drunk. I’d deserve it this time, though. Deserve a lot worse than that.”

  She didn’t really disagree. In moments of anger, she thought about maybe punching him. Kicking him. The way she couldn’t do when it was happening. Just as fast the anger would change, and she’d be huddled on the bathroom floor, eyes leaking, heaving into the toilet.

  She set the bowl down on the carpet and crept out from the corner.

  He didn’t move while she sat beside him, leaving a foot of space.

  “Should have protected you,” he mumbled. “Those fuckers…those hermanos…they’re not my family.”

  She didn’t have anything to say back. Or maybe she had too much to say. Hate, love. He was her brother. It was his gang who had violated her, with their cruel smiles and red bandannas.

  Yes, she hated him. Even if he was sorry now.

  But if she had to sit on the couch, awake in the middle of the night, it was better not to do it alone.

  Chapter Five

  Instead of pulling into the extra carport like he used to, Nate parked down the street. A habit from his job. Stay out of sight. Blend in with the surroundings. Keep an eye out for anything suspicious.

  Like that white unmarked van beside the curb.

  It meant nothing. This was a pretty safe-pocket neighborhood despite its proximity to downtown. No reason to think anything was wrong.

  I just wanted to hear your voice.

  What if she was in trouble? No, it was just a stupid phone call. He told himself that even as he sped up, weaving through the wooded lawns so he’d be less visible on his approach.

  Man, he was going to feel like a chump if he showed up at her place only to find her in bed with some guy. He’d found so many of his clients’ wives that way, he almost expected it. But if there was even a chance she needed his help, if she were hurt… He couldn’t even consider that.

  His head pounded; his throat went dry. Skill only got a soldier so far. Beyond that, he’d learned to trust his instincts, and they were going haywire. A sunny day in a pleasant neighborhood, and everything was still, as if even the squirrels and the birds were in hiding, the whole street holding its breath.

  He paused behind a large oak, scanning the entrance and windows. A shadow moved behind the blinds in the bedroom. His mind could easily picture her gorgeous body, skin always bronze, dripping wet after a shower.

  Or had that shadow been someone else?

  Her patio and the one beneath it were identical, but unlike the bottom one, the vertical blinds to her patio were open, as usual. He’d always given her a hard time about that, how she’d give the neighbors a show if she padded to the kitchen for a drink of water in the middle of the night. There were no neighbors now, only him. And the person walking across her living room wasn’t wearing an oversize longhorn T-shirt.

  He was dressed in all black, with a matching ski mask.

  Nate knew what fear felt like. He’d belly crawled through the bug-infested jungle, watching bullets plunge into the mud beside his head. He’d been tied up and beaten in a shit-brick hut. As they brought a bat down on his knee, he’d thought I’m going to die here and he had come to terms with that. It was what a soldier did; he felt fear and pushed through it.

  None of those experiences prepared him for the sight of an armed intruder in Sofia’s apartment. His brain went fuzzy red with rage for a split second, his whole being consumed with the need to attack. Right the
fuck now.

  He didn’t care for himself. They could fill him full of lead, and through the pure force of his fury, he’d live long enough to strangle them personally. But Sofia would be up there. She could get taken hostage or caught in the cross fire. He couldn’t risk it.

  If they were at all smart, they were keeping a watch on the main entrance to the building and on Sofia’s door. Maybe it was dead bolted, and he couldn’t shoot through that without risking shooting her. Neither could he pick the lock without getting himself shot through the door.

  The best entrance was a surprise attack through the patio. Beside the stacked patios, yellow hydrangeas trailed up the sides. He’d climb the trellis that started from the bottom and hope it held his weight.

  At the base of the trellis he paused, hearing a faint sound from inside. He cocked his head. A muted scream of pain followed. Female. Sofia. And it was coming from the first floor. There was no time to analyze why the hell she was downstairs instead of up. Judging from the distance of the scream, she was farther inside the lower apartment, not near the patio door. He shot through the patio door, aiming toward the ground, and then kicked in the rest of the glass.

  Pushing through the blinds, he took in the scene. Sofia was on the ground, holding the side of her face. Another man lay beside her, wounded or dead. A man dressed in black stood over her, armed.

  A single tap to the head and the armed man went down.

  Sofia shrieked, but his attention was diverted when another asshole thundered down the stairs. Retrieving the knife from his boot, Nate ducked behind the divider wall and waited.

  The man rushed into the kitchen, and Nate grabbed him by the neck, sticking him in the back. The liver, he judged based on the height. A fatal blow. The man choked on his own vomit, and Nate let him slide to the floor, turning him over and straddling his neck.

  “Who sent you?” he demanded.

  The man’s eyes were already rolling back in his head. Damn. He hadn’t meant to kill this one, at least not so soon. Not when he still needed information. He shook the man, and the bastard’s eyes slowly focused on him.

  “That’s right. Who sent you?”

  “Fuck you,” he spat.

  “Come on, I’m trying to help you here. We can do this easy or hard. Easy means I end this quickly. Hard means I let you bleed out. That pain you’re feeling now? It only gets worse. Now tell me who sent you.”

  “I don’t know anything, I swear. They don’t tell us anything.” Far too late, panic entered his eyes, but Nate hadn’t been lying about the pain.

  He’d seen enough men die this way—too many men.

  Nate cocked his head. The soft sound of booted footfalls came from upstairs. A third intruder.

  He looked at the man beneath him with pity. “Wrong answer.”

  A smooth cut sliced open his throat and put him out of his misery. Despite Nate’s threat to make him suffer, he’d never been comfortable with animal abuse.

  During the scuffle, Sofia had crawled into the corner. Now she huddled against the refrigerator, her cheek already swelling. Goddamn it. That son of a bitch had hit her. Now he wanted to kill the fucker all over again. The fear in her eyes wrenched his gut, but he couldn’t focus on that now.

  He handed her his Sig. “Anyone comes in here that isn’t me, shoot ’em.”

  She stared at the weapon, nostrils flared. Finally, she took it with a tight nod. Good girl.

  Not sparing another second, he cleared each room in the downstairs apartment and then made his way upstairs. He only had his knife now, but on a good day, he was more lethal this way. And this would be a good day. Blood pumped fast and hot through his veins, imbuing him with speed and strength. Rage tightened his vision. They came after his girl? The last thing they’d see was his face, bidding them good night. Simple as motherfucking pie.

  The third man was searching her closet. He didn’t even detect Nate’s approach until the knife was resting against his jugular. Nate used his free hand to lock the man’s elbow behind his back.

  “Your friends are dead,” Nate murmured against the man’s ear.

  The acidic stench of urine suffused the air as the man wet himself.

  Nate chuckled softly. “Tell me what you know, and I might let you live.”

  “I can’t… I don’t… Please, I don’t…”

  The man babbled incoherently. Nate let the knife cut into his skin, just a nick.

  “Now, now,” Nate said. “This is important. I need you to focus. You can do that for me, right?”

  “I don’t know anything. They just paid us to bring them the laptop.”

  “And?” Nate twisted the man’s elbow.

  “And the girl,” he gasped out. “Leave her body. Take a picture.”

  A picture for proof of death. His girl, dead. Rage blackened his vision. Nate forced himself to calm. “Tell me about the man who paid you. Who is he?”

  “I swear I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.”

  Disgusted, Nate shook his head. Dark impulses tugged at him. He could make this man talk. Nothing was more persuasive than pain, and Nate knew how to apply it. But Sofia was waiting for him downstairs. Lovely, pure Sofia who shouldn’t be anywhere near this.

  With a clinical blow to the man’s temple, he knocked him out. Dragging the bulky man downstairs, he felt the first twinges in his knee. The pain couldn’t touch him now, flying high on adrenaline, but if he pushed too hard, the joint was liable to give out. He forced himself to slow down as he returned to the kitchen and tossed his charge into a kitchen chair.

  Sofia was waiting where he’d left her, her back against a corner, clutching the gun. He hated that she saw him as a killer now, the way he saw himself, but he couldn’t focus on that now. The bruise on her cheek had swelled, making his blood burn hot. Her bright, fear-stained eyes watched the man’s head loll back in the chair.

  Nate crouched over the man who’d been on the floor since the beginning, blood staining his shirt. He vaguely recognized him as her landlord—what was his name, Ernie? He was always sniffing around Sofia’s skirts. He touched his fingers to Ernie’s pulse: dead and cooling. Well, he wouldn’t need his belt then.

  Nate removed it quickly and twined it through the back of the chair, binding his unconscious captive’s hands behind his back. He stuck the top of the chair underneath the lip of the counter for good measure. The intruder probably wouldn’t wake up for hours, but if he did, he’d be trapped.

  When he turned back, Sofia held out a circle of duct tape. For reasons unknown, speech was beyond him at the moment. He raised an eyebrow.

  “For…” She bit her lip. “For a blindfold. If you wanted.”

  Jesus. Her eyes were wide as saucers as he took it from her and tied it around the man’s head. This had to be freaking her out, but she kept up just fine. But that was Sofia, capable and so damn gorgeous she made his heart squeeze painfully. He had the trained ability to shut off his emotions and become this violent machine. She didn’t have that—just an innate sense of right and wrong and a courage that continually stunned him. Even after what she had been through, she wanted to fight for other people.

  He bound the man’s ankles to the legs of the chair for good measure. The homemade binds would keep the man contained until police arrived. He stepped back and surveyed the man. Black T-shirt, black cargo pants. No identification. He may not have been the highest quality, but there was no doubt he’d spoken the truth—he was a paid mercenary.

  In Sofia’s closet, a paid mercenary.

  Using the kitchen phone, he placed a call directly to his buddy on the Austin police force. The man had been Special Forces before Nate’s time, but the respect was mutual. They’d had an off-the-records understanding, with Jed providing information when Nate needed it and Nate following up on leads when Jed’s hands were tied up with red tape.

  “This is Lieutenant Commander Patterson.” The answer was clipped.

  “Jed. It’s Nate.”

  “Na
te.” His voice sharpened, detecting the thinly veiled violence in Nate’s voice. “What’s wrong?”

  “I need some uniforms over here.” He rattled off the address. “A few men down. Another one’s my gift to you. They broke into Sofia’s place. Assaulted her. Killed her landlord.”

  “Shit.” There was rustling. “I’ll put in the call, but it may be a while.”

  Seriously? “I’ve got a prisoner in fucking leather bondage and duct tape. Not to mention a few cooling bodies. Let’s make this sooner rather than later.”

  “I hear you, but we’re drowning. Code fucking red. Haven’t you heard?”

  “Tell me.”

  Nate’s blood ran cold as he listened. An explosion at the Austin Daily, where Sofia worked. He stared into her fathomless dark brown eyes across the few feet of kitchen tile that separated them while Jed told him all about the blast that could have killed her. That darkening bruise on her cheek was nothing compared to what a bomb could do to her. He had no idea what had happened to make her a target, but he was going to keep her safe.

  He didn’t take his eyes off hers when he spoke. “Jed? I’m leaving the prisoner for you, but when your guys get here, we’ll be gone.”

  “You need to remain there. Someone will need to take your statement—”

  “This is my statement, Jed. These fuckers were in her apartment. Her motherfucking closet. And now you tell me they bombed her work? I’m not letting her stick around to give them a third shot at her.”

  The line was quiet a moment; then Jed said, “Yeah. Okay.”

  And yeah, okay because Jed knew who Sofia was to him. Which meant he also knew that Nate wasn’t going to let a damn thing happen to her. An explosion at her work and three mercenaries in her home? Jesus.

  He hung up the phone.

  On impulse, he strode over and pulled her into his arms. He was dirty and she was clean, but he couldn’t resist holding her tight, breathing in her hair and feeling her pulse beat beneath soft skin. Her breath came in rapid puffs against his shirtfront. Alive. She was alive. And yeah, he was trembling; he could own that, because if he hadn’t been here, if he’d never seen her again, he’d have lost it.