Brody stood with both hands on his hips, smiling down at me. “You’re adorable when you put up a fight.”
Anger overrode my panic. I wanted to smack that smug smirk off his face. With an oomph, I threw myself forward with such force that my feet finally made contact with the floor. I stood, breathing hard.
“Adorable,” he repeated, reaching out to cup my nape. I jerked away. “No, Sunny,” he chided. ”You don’t get to push me away.”
The doors burst open. I whirled around. Kyle advanced into the room like an avenging angel, pistol drawn, and murder in his eyes. Brody snaked his left arm out and pulled me against his chest. In his right hand, he held his gun. He tapped the barrel against my temple.
“Glad you joined the party,” Brody called. “Put down the gun and kick it across the floor, or I’ll splatter your pretty girlfriend’s brains across the room.”
There had to be some evasive move I could make. Twist and roll out of the way, maybe. Or some slick trick with my hands like people do in the movies, but if there was a way out of this, I didn’t know it.
If Kyle dropped his weapon and Brody shot him, I couldn’t live with the guilt. I couldn’t continue to draw breath in a world where Kyle threw away his life to save mine. My eyes sought his. “Don’t do it,” I said quietly. Kyle’s eyes met mine for an instant. I jerked my head in a shaky nod, trying to convey a world of meaning with one small gesture.
I mean it, baby. Don’t put down your gun.
“What’s it going to be?” Brody demanded.
Kyle dropped his Glock onto the carpet, then kicked it across the room. It came to a stop at the feet of the brown bear, whose fierce eyes seemed to glint with reproach.
Why did you give that asshole your gun?
THIRTY-EIGHT
Kyle
“Glad to see you’ve still got some brains,” Brody sneered. “I was starting to doubt it after you hooked up with her.”
White hot rage surged through my body. I tamped it down. In a crisis, strong emotions make for stupid mistakes.
“You okay?” I asked Sunny, ignoring Brody’s taunt.
“Yes.”
Brody shoved Sunny into a leather chair so deep that her feet couldn’t touch the carpet. “You should see her try to get out of the chair with her hands tied behind her back. Fucking adorable the way she swings her feet.”
I swallowed back my angry retort and fought the impulse to smash in Brody’s face. He smiled and waggled his gun, reminding me who had the upper hand. For now.
“Seriously, man.” Brody dropped into a chair and waved a hand, indicating that I should do the same. I took the leather chair opposite him, next to Sunny. “Look how we live,” he continued. “Electricity. Hot water. Great food. Gas for our cars. Security. And we invited you in. Because you’re one of us. A gentleman. Born and bred to lead, like Dad says. We offered you the keys to the kingdom, and you spit in our face. Because of her.” He scowled at Sunny, who jutted her chin out defiantly.
“I didn’t turn you down because of Sunny,” I snorted, deliberately drawing his eyes away from her. If his attention wandered for just a moment, I could lunge for the gun. “I turned you down because I want no part of your batshit crazy regime.”
“Batshit crazy regime?” Brody pulled a face. “I’m pissed at Dad myself right now, but I wouldn’t call his plans batshit crazy.”
I sat forward in the chair, resting my forearms on my knees, ready to jump. “Why are you pissed at your dad?”
Brody shrugged. “He didn’t like the little party I planned for the execution. Said I created the opportunity for somebody to try to break Finn out. Told me to wait in the car like a fucking kid.” Brody shook his head. “But you know what? When he catches up to the traitor, when he finds out that you two were involved and that I captured you both single-handed, all will be forgiven. Me. Brody Allsop, I brought down the quarry.” Brody stood and pointed his gun at the mounted giraffe. “Pow. Pow. Pow,” he said, imitating the sound of gunfire.
I sprang up and dove at Brody, knocking the gun from his hand. We tumbled sideways onto the carpet. Brody kicked, missing me but sending the gun skittering under the sofa. He drove an elbow into my nose. Pain exploded and my eyes watered. I shook my head, trying to clear my vision. Brody scuttled backwards and managed to haul himself to his feet. He grabbed an antique sword from the display rack—one he’d stolen from a museum—and brandished it in my direction, standing between me and the wall of swords.
“How about we settle this like gentlemen?” I suggested, gesturing at the weapons. He’d used the word first. The Allsops had twisted the meaning of gentleman to something unrecognizable, but he might fall for my challenge. I climbed to my feet, wiping blood off on the back of my arm and positioning myself between Brody and Sunny. “I propose a duel.”
“To the death?” Brody’s startled expression quickly gave way to enthusiasm. “It would impress the hell out of my dad if I killed you in mortal combat, and we’d still have Sunny.” Brody spun his sword around in a flashy move that looked like something out of a video game. “Yeah.” He gave an exaggerated nod, obviously impressed with his own snazzy sword spinning skills. “I’ve been practicing.”
The two of us going at each other with antique swords in the middle of his man cave was probably the closest thing to combat Brody would ever see.
“I can tell you’ve been practicing,” I said, fake admiration coloring my voice.
“I’ve been training with some of the men,” he said. “I haven’t lost a contest yet. Jonesy says I’m a natural swordsman.”
Wow. Elliot Allsop’s men hadn’t handed Brody his ass when they played at sword fighting with him. Had it occurred to him to wonder why he always won against daddy’s men?
“A duel to the death,” I repeated.
He spun the sword again. It had to be centuries old, but the blade looked sharp. No way I’d permit him to get close to Sunny with that thing.
“Yeah, to the death,” Brody said excitedly. “Pick a sword.”
Turn my back on Brody while I peruse the selection? No thanks.
“I challenged you to the duel,” I reminded him, scrambling for an appropriate response. “That means that you have the right to choose the weapons. You’re a gentleman. I trust you to select my sword.”
Still better than turning my back on Brody.
“Okay.” Glancing away for only a few seconds, he chose a sword and slid it across the rug to me.
“We’ll be fighting with eighteenth-century cutlasses,” he said. “Like pirates on the Spanish Main.”
I picked up the short sword with a curved blade and a simple knuckle-bow hilt. Slashing at the air, I tested its balance. I’d been on my college fencing team for years, but sword fighting and fencing are different animals. My reflexes were good. I’d mastered speed, timing and footwork, but I was no swordsman, and unlike Brody, I knew it.
“Fighting makes me horny,” Brody said cheerfully. “After I kill you, Sunny and I are going to get to know each other.“
The threat against Sunny could have left me sputtering with rage, ready to rush headlong at the bastard. Maybe that’s what he intended. Instead of fury, a blanket of calm dropped down over me, smothering all violent emotion. I looked at Brody with cool, dispassionate eyes, full of quiet resolve. He’d never get past me to hurt Sunny. Regret and sadness mingled in my blood. After all the advantages life had bestowed on him, Brody had ended up a clueless, blustering bully. And now he was going to die.
My body automatically assumed the en garde position I learned from fencing, my right leg forward, knee bent, foot pointed at Brody. Brody faced me, grinning and bouncing on his toes. He lifted his sword in a mock salute.
“To the death,” he repeated, lifting the cutlass over his head and lunging forward, swinging the sword down in a vertical cut aimed at my head.
Raising my sword above my head and holding it parallel to the ground, I blocked the strike. Brody danced back, then struck again, a h
orizontal cut aimed at my shoulder. I parried, my sword in a vertical position as I deflected the blow. He tried again, aiming at the opposite shoulder. Once again, I parried the strike.
I was no expert swordsman, but even I could tell that the months of practice had taught Brody little more than the basic offensive strikes. He was like a man who learned how to waltz, then counted the steps one, two, three in his head, moving to the music in a graceless and plodding fashion. He’d probably be more dangerous if he was an absolute newbie, his movements less predictable. A natural swordsman? Jonesy hadn’t done Brody any favors with his unearned praise.
There was no honor in this, no glory in defeating such an opponent, but the bastard had left me no choice. The longer I kept evading his attacks, the greater the chance that I’d wear myself out or that he’d somehow land a lucky blow. Time to end this.
Brody lifted his sword above his head, practically inviting me to attack his vulnerable midsection. Certain of victory, I swung my sword. Instead of completing the downward arc, Brody blocked my strike with his sword, holding my sword in place while he lifted his foot and kicked toward my groin.
Fuck! He faked me out. All that practice with Allsop’s men had taught the little shit some tricks after all. Guess I was the one who was too cocky and sure of myself.
I twisted in the nick of time, so his foot struck my hip instead of my groin. Staggering back, I fought to regain my balance.
Brody threw back his head and laughed, delighted by his little trick.
Couldn’t resist gloating, could you, buddy?
That was all the opening I needed. I feinted left, aiming a downward swinging cut to Brody’s left leg. When he swung his sword down to parry the attack, I shifted direction. Lunging forward, I thrust my sword into Brody’s chest. I threw all of my weight into it, hoping to slice the major arteries that supplied blood to his liver. A slow and painful death wasn’t my goal. I wanted Brody dead, but I didn’t want him to suffer.
My blade disappeared into his upper torso and blood spurted from the wound—a sight so fundamentally wrong that I gaped at his chest and then at the sword clutched in my hand. He’d left me no choice, but I’d done this. This was my handiwork. Nausea tickled the back of my throat.
Eyes wide with shock, Brody collapsed to the floor.
I stepped backward, breathing hard as I looked down at Brody’s crumpled body. What a fucking waste.
“Kyle.” I turned my head and shifted my attention to Sunny. “We need to get out of here before Mr. Allsop comes back,” she said gently.
Shit. “Yeah. You’re right.” I pulled her out of the deep chair. She turned her back to me and held out her bound hands. I wiped the cutlass blade on my jeans, carefully sliced open the zip tie, and pulled the plastic strips from her wrists.
“Better. Thanks.” Sunny rubbed the red marks left behind by the zip ties.
I dropped the sword onto the carpet, then touched the abrasions on her wrists. “Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”
“I’m okay. I kept him talking about his favorite subject, all the ways the world had done him wrong.” Her smiled faded and she clutched at my arms. “I was scared, but I knew you’d come for me.”
I cupped her cheeks, staring into her beautiful amber eyes. “Always. I’ll always come for you. You’re my world, Sunshine.”
She pulled my head down and kissed me, a quick celebratory kiss full of the promise of many more to come.
“Finn? Is he okay?” she asked.
“He’s beat up, but he’ll survive.”
“Thank God,” she breathed. “But now we really need to jet.” She grabbed my hand. We ran from the room and up the stairs to the main floor. On the landing, Sunny paused and turned to me, her eyes bright with excitement. “I just thought of something. If we have time, we should grab some of Mr. Allsop’s files. Anything we can bring back to Marcus would help his war against the Allsops.”
“You’re a genius, Sunny.” I ran to the deck and scanned the surrounding streets. I couldn’t see any moving lights. That was no guarantee that we were safe, of course, but Elliot Allsop and his men weren’t bearing down on us. “The war room is right across the hall from the armory. Let’s take five minutes. You go into the war room and grab anything that looks promising. I’ll go into the armory and pack up a few weapons and as much ammo as I can carry.”
We grabbed a few empty hampers from the laundry room and rushed toward the war room and armory. While Sunny stuffed files and maps into her hamper, I swept box after box of ammo into mine. When both of my hampers were full, I tucked two AK-47s under my arm and stepped into the hall.
“Time’s up,” I called.
Sunny emerged from the war room, dragging a hamper filled to the brim with papers.
“Let’s go out through the garage,” I suggested. Sunny didn’t need to see the bodies on the front porch.
“There’s gasoline in the garage. We could set a fire,” Sunny said. “Losing his headquarters would be a real setback for Mr. Allsop.”
Burn down the Allsop headquarters? For five seconds, I indulged in the fantasy of setting the place ablaze, imagining Elliot Allsop’s helpless fury as he watched his castle burn. Memory squashed that happy fantasy.
“I saw Portland burn,” I said. “Odds are the fire wouldn’t spread beyond the ridge, but there’s a chance embers might carry the flames to other structures. We can’t risk setting the city on fire.”
“You’re right,” Sunny conceded. “We don’t want to be responsible for hurting innocent survivors. I feel bad enough already about leaving people behind in the city.”
We lugged the hampers through the kitchen and down the hallway leading to the garage. Outside of Hildy’s room, Sunny paused. “Was Hildy at the prison? Did you guys rescue her, too?”
“Yeah. Hildy is on her way to Pendleton with the others.”
Sunny held up a finger. “Ten seconds. I promise.” She dashed into Hildy’s room and emerged a moment later carrying a Bible, a rosary, and a framed photo of a smiling family. “These were on Hildy’s nightstand,” Sunny said, dragging the hamper over the hardwood again. “She should have something to remember her old life.”
“You’re a sweetheart, Sunny McAllister,” I said, grateful beyond words that fate had brought this kind woman back into my life.
I headed toward the SUV that was parked in the driveway, the one Brody had used to bring Sunny to the house.
“Can we take Daisy?” Sunny asked. “It feels wrong to abandon her to the Allsops if we have a choice.”
I opened the driver’s door on the SUV and felt around for the keys. No sign of them. Shit. They must be in Brody’s pocket.
“I threw Daisy’s keys into the cup holder,” Sunny said. “She’s good to go.”
If I was going to pick my dream getaway vehicle, it wouldn’t be a twenty-year-old, blindingly white van covered with flower decals. The late model black SUV was a much wiser choice, but maybe it held bad memories for Sunny. And I really didn’t want to take the time to run downstairs and dig through Brody’s pockets for the SUV keys.
“All right,” I said.
Sunny opened the door to the Refrigerator and waved the keys at me. I put the hampers into the back of the van, then quickly grabbed a few five-gallon gas cans from the garage. It was tempting to take more, but Daisy had trouble accelerating under the best of circumstances.
“You mind driving?” Sunny asked. “I didn’t sleep last night and I’m too tired to be safe behind the wheel.”
I held out my hand and she tossed me the keys. We buckled in and I fired up the engine.
“I don’t want to go into the city,” I said. “How about we head into the hills on Highway 21, then work our way west? It’ll be slower, especially in Daisy, but we’ll be less likely to run into Allsop’s people.”
“Sounds good,” she said, stifling a yawn.
At the bottom of the driveway, I peered to the right. Still no sign of the SUVs, thank God. I turned left, navi
gating toward Highway 21.
“We’ve got a long drive ahead of us,” I said. “Why don’t you take a nap?”
“No way,” Sunny said. “I’m going to stay awake and keep you company.”
Ten minutes later, her head lolled to one side and she was snoring.
I grinned into the darkness, so happy that I thought my heart might burst.
THIRTY-NINE
Sunny
Driven by a potent mix of sleep deprivation, giddy relief, and a body worn out by too many adrenaline spikes, I fell headfirst into deep sleep. When I awoke, jostled by Daisy coming to a stop, the first rays of pink-hued morning light were brightening the horizon.
My eyelids slid open, and I turned groggy eyes toward Kyle.
“Good morning,” he said, smiling. “We just pulled onto the exit for downtown Pendleton.”
I sat up straight, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. “Oh, crap. You mean I slept the entire trip?”
“Yep.” Kyle rolled down his window. I squinted at the armed man jogging toward us from the cars blocking the exit ramp. “Not a problem. You needed it.” Kyle leaned out the window and spoke to the guard. “Kyle Chamberlain and Sunny McAllister to see Marcus Havoc.”
The man lifted a radio to his mouth. “They’re here.” Whoops of joy sounded through the radio. Smiling, he signaled for the cars to clear a path for us. “Havoc wants to see you at HQ.”
We drove downtown and parked in front of city hall. The double doors to the building flew open. Marcus, Justin, Rachel, and Georgia rushed outside. I jumped from the van and ran to Georgia.
“Holy shit, I was afraid I’d never see you again,” she cried, throwing her arms around me. We’d known each other for only two days, but we’d bonded during our mission, and I hugged her like the long-lost friend she’d pretended to be.
Bedlam Page 29
