Seven Crows

by Kate Kessler

  Shouts rang out below them, followed by a loud crash.

  “They’re inside,” Dash said. More shots followed his announcement. They were definitely inside the house.

  Footsteps pounded up the stairs. Dash ran toward the door, pressing himself against the right wall so they both had a bead on the entrance. When the door flew open, both he and Killian fired at the intruder. The Reaper fell face-first onto the wooden slats, gun clattering. His partner shot at Killian, but she managed to roll out of the way. The bullet actually grazed the toe of her boot. She felt the heat and pull of it with her toes. Dash fired again and the second man went down hard. This was insane.

  A third rushed in, crashing into Dash and taking them both to the floor. Killian couldn’t get a clear shot as they grappled—she wasn’t that good. Dash drove his fist into the biker’s throat and face, ruthlessly bloodying him. A couple more punches and the guy was out. Dash pushed him aside, reclaimed his gun, and made for the exit. He shot another Reaper in the hallway. The biker didn’t make a sound—he just sank to his knees as the life bled out of him. They didn’t stick around to watch him die.

  Killian went after Dash, keeping low in case there was anyone still outside with an eye on the window. In the hall she found him fighting yet another Reaper. She watched as he punched and blocked, then finally delivered a kick to the guy’s sternum that sent him over the railing of the stairs. His body thumped all the way down. Through all of this, Dash had kept his cool while she’d almost completely lost hers. She’d never been around this much death before. It wasn’t the same as fighting—that was personal. This was just so…detached. Casual, almost. Callous. Like fucking a stranger and leaving before the condom even came off. This had nothing to do with skill, just luck and a fast trigger finger. There was no time even to think about what you were doing.

  Someone fired a shot up the stairs. Dash jumped back, scrabbling for ammo. Plaster dust rained down on his shoulder. He lifted his head. “Shit.”

  Killian heard it, too—sirens. Of course someone had called the cops. No one could hear that much gunfire and not call for help. They had to get out of there. If she was found in the middle of this fuckup, she’d get sent back to prison faster than she could say not guilty. She couldn’t go back while Shannon was with Rank. Couldn’t let Rank make Shannon think the worst of her without having her own chance to explain.

  “Run,” Dash commanded. He had blood splattered on his face and shirt and was still somehow beautiful. “I’ll cover you.”

  “You’d better come with me,” she replied, and started for the stairs. He moved behind her. They were halfway down when another Reaper appeared. Dash fired at the same time the biker did. The Reaper fell.

  So did Dash.

  “No!” Killian shouted, whirling and falling to her knees on the stairs beside him. Blood bloomed on his side.

  “Shit,” he swore, his teeth grinding together. “Fuck, that hurt.” He pressed his hands to the wound. Blood quickly seeped around his fingers.

  “Why aren’t you wearing a vest?” she demanded. Should he be bleeding that much?

  “I didn’t think I’d need one,” he shot back. “You’re not wearing one, either.”

  But she wasn’t the one who had gotten shot. “We have to get you to the hospital,” she said.

  “Get out of here. I’ll be fine.”

  She could slap him but they didn’t have time. “I’m not leaving without you. Put your fucking arm around my neck and let’s go.”

  He did what she commanded—probably because he knew it was the only way to get her to leave. He hissed in pain as she dragged him to his feet, his arm across her shoulders. She moved as fast as she could, leading him down to the first floor. She was stronger than most women, but he still outweighed her by a good forty pounds, and her injured leg didn’t like supporting her own weight, let alone his.

  They pushed toward the main door. One of the Crows’ prospects was dead by the pool table. The kid would be buried with an honorary patch to replace the one he hadn’t earned in life. Blister had a cut on his face and a bullet hole in his biceps, but he was still firing on bikers outside even as blood ran down his arm. Danny cracked a Reaper’s skull with the butt of a rifle. When he caught sight of them, his face fell.

  “How bad?” he asked.

  “Bad enough,” Killian responded. Her emotions had almost completely shut down at that point. She was well on her way to numbness. It was probably shock. “I need to get him to a hospital.”

  “You both need to get the fuck out of here,” he added. “Go. We’ve got you. Blis, give me a hand!”

  The two giants bookended them as they went out the door. Danny was in front, Blister in the back. Both of them had semi-automatic weapons that kept a steady stream of bullets flying. There were a couple of bikers hiding behind cars, but none of them were stupid enough to lift their heads with the shots spraying toward them.

  Killian got Dash to the Corvette and shoved him into the passenger seat. He was going to be pissed about the blood on the upholstery. Then she ran around the front and jumped into the driver’s seat. She had to adjust it for her shorter legs, and swore the entire time as gunfire continued around her. In the middle of it she had the totally ridiculous fear that one of those bullets was going to hit the car and ruin Dash’s paint job.

  She started the engine and put the car in reverse, turning the wheel so that the car whipped around, nose pointed toward the street. As she stepped on the gas, two Reapers appeared in her path, guns pointed right at the windshield.

  Killian floored it. The Corvette shot forward faster than it ought to have. Of course Dash had tricked it out. She should have known it wasn’t a normal car. It felt like time slowed, even though she knew everything was happening incredibly quickly. The bikers didn’t even have the chance to jump out of the way before she plowed into them like they were nothing more substantial than bowling pins. They bounced off the hood of the car with sickening thuds. One left a crack in the windshield. So much for worrying about bullet damage.

  “Asshole!” Dash shouted. He shot the guy out the window. Killian didn’t know where he’d gotten the handgun, but he kept it in his lap until they were several blocks away, then stored it in the glove box.

  “Give me yours,” he demanded.

  “You’re bleeding all over the place,” she told him. “Don’t worry about the guns.”

  “Give me the fucking guns, Kill.”

  “Asshole,” she muttered as she thrust them at him. He put those in the glove compartment as well. That’s when she noticed that he actually had a secret compartment inside it. Once it was closed, it looked like a normal glove box; there was no sign of the guns. The man really did think of everything, while she thought of almost nothing. She was all instinct—fight or flight. Mostly fight.

  “Did you just call me an asshole?” He grabbed napkins from the “normal” glove box and pressed them against his side. His hands were wet with his own blood. She didn’t like seeing his fingers shake.

  “You heard me,” she shot back. “Will you please stop moving around? You’re going to bleed to death before I get you to the hospital.” The thought made her shiver.

  He grimaced. “That’s because you drive like an old woman.”

  She ground her teeth. “I’m driving like someone who doesn’t want to attract attention from cops.”

  “You’re driving the fucking speed limit.” He closed his eyes. “You can go faster.”

  She did. The entire trip to the hospital was spent frantically trying to keep an eye out for cops while also paying attention to traffic as she wove in and out of it. Dash was quiet. Too much so. She kept glancing at him to make sure he was still conscious. Thankfully, he opened his eyes again.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, veering onto the off-ramp. The hospital wasn’t far now.

  “It’s still in there,” he replied, but his voice didn’t sound right—it was thin. Reedy. “I think it might have ruptured something.�
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  His color wasn’t good and he was sweating. Killian’s throat tightened. “Don’t you fucking die on me.” It would be the cruelest thing fate had ever done to her, to let her have him and then rip him away. Hadn’t she lost and sacrificed enough? He was the one good thing in her life that was just hers.

  He made a noise that was a cross between a laugh and a growl. At least blood wasn’t coming out of his mouth. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” He glanced at her. “You did good there today.”

  She reached over and took his hand. She held it as tight as she could and for as long as she could until she had to switch gears again. And even then, she shifted and grabbed him once more.

  When she pulled up in front of the emergency room doors, he turned to her. His pupils were dilated, and sweat dotted the skin under his eyes like damp freckles. “Keep your face out of sight of the cameras and get out of here.”

  “Dash, I can’t just leave you.” He would never leave her.

  His expression was determined. “Yeah, you can. You can’t be seen here, Kill. I’ll be fine, but we both know what will happen if the cops think you’ve been in a shootout. Go back to my place. You know where my gear is. Go get Shannon.”

  Then, before she could argue, he leaned over and kissed her, his fingers sticky against her face.

  “I’ll be waiting for you,” he whispered.

  Killian swallowed. She saw the truth in his eyes. He’d been waiting for her for years.

  “You better,” she said, voice hoarse. He kissed her again, and then he opened the door and got out of the car.

  “Go,” he said, then shut the door, leaving her with a blood-smeared seat and the taste of him on her lips. She wanted to watch him get inside, but every second she lingered was another that might land her back in prison. She settled for watching him step up onto the curb, then she pressed down on the gas and sped toward the exit.

  In the rearview mirror she saw him stagger, and her foot hit the brake. Heart in her throat, she waited, the metallic taste of fear cold in the back of her throat.

  He didn’t fall. He kept walking, and he didn’t look back.

  Killian gripped the steering wheel with icy hands and forced her foot back onto the gas pedal. The ’Vette’s tires squealed as she peeled out onto the main road.

  She didn’t look back, either.

  Fifteen

  The first thing Killian did when she got to Dash’s house was take Hank out to pee. The bulldog got agitated when he smelled the blood on her hands, but he didn’t get aggressive. Instead he whined and pawed at her until she finally sat on the step and let him lick the blood away. Dash’s blood. She didn’t know if it was right or wrong to let the dog do it; she just knew she couldn’t bring herself to stop him. They sat on the step for a while—long enough to realize the cops weren’t coming. No one was.

  The second thing she did—after feeding Hank—was get a shower. She found the med kit and numbed up the wound in her leg before checking the stitches. They looked good, so she bandaged the leg up good and tight. Then she threw her clothes in the washer to clean away any evidence of her having been with Dash when he was shot. Dressed in fresh clothes, she went out to the garage and cleaned the inside of the Corvette with the medical-grade cleaner she’d found on a shelf. She also wiped down the outside door handles. She should have gone through a car wash, but she hadn’t been thinking about cleaning, only getting out of there.

  The windshield would need to be replaced and there were at least four bullet holes in the back end. Oh, and a dent where one of the Reapers had hit. Dash could probably fix all of it in his sleep.

  The thought of him tightened her throat. He was okay—she had to believe that. He was getting the care and attention he needed and he was going to be fine. And that was all the time she could afford to give it, because if she gave it any more she was going to start crying and waste more time feeling sorry for herself.

  She went back inside and made herself an omelet. She used four eggs, a package of mushrooms, and an entire red pepper, plus a quarter of a block of cheddar. Hank watched her cook, and she tossed him chunks of pepper as a reward for keeping her company. She was going to need the energy for what was to come.

  Were the Crows okay? Were Danny and Blister in custody? Was it selfish of her to wonder who the hell she was going to get for backup now? She should have reconned Rank’s compound before this. She didn’t even know what kind of security he had. She supposed she could just show up and ring the buzzer, but he wouldn’t just let her in, would he? She could go in shooting, but what if the bastard kept his promise to hurt Shannon?

  There was only one way to find out exactly what he’d do.

  She picked up her phone and dialed Shannon’s number. She was just about to hang up when Rank answered.

  “Killian,” he said. “I thought we agreed—”

  “You’re not in charge anymore,” she informed him. “The Sons of Bitches have put a bounty on me and a kill order on you. They’re coming for you tonight and they’ll kill anyone within a hundred-foot radius.”

  Rank was silent for a second. “Really.”

  His surprise was obvious. “Yeah. I guess they had more loyalty to Wex than to you. Who woulda thought? Maybe you, before you put a bullet between his eyes?”

  “I don’t like your tone.”

  “I don’t like you, you crazy fucking asshole.”

  Another pause. An indrawn breath. “You obviously want your little girl to suffer for your mistakes.”

  The last few days suddenly fell hard on Killian’s shoulders. She was sitting alone in Dash’s house and she didn’t even know if he was still alive. “Hurt her and I’ll make sure you live a long and suffering life. You’ll have full brain function but nothing—nothing—else in your body will work the way it’s supposed to. I’ll destroy your arms, your legs, your face. I will leave you unable to even wipe your own ass. I’ll cut out your fucking tongue so you won’t be able to beg someone to kill you. Do you understand me?”

  “You’re only one woman, Killian.”

  “I’ve gotten to you before, Rank. I can do it again. You think I was pissed about Jason, you just imagine what I’ll do to you for her.” She let that sink in.

  “Does she know what a monster you are?” he asked. He tried to keep his tone light, but she heard the strain. “I wonder what she’d think of you if she knew how you’ve manipulated and lied to her.”

  “I’m done fucking around with you.” And she was done feeling guilty for something she’d done years ago. It was her secret, damn it, and she could keep it as long as she wanted. “You do what you have to do, Rank, but I’m coming for that kid and I’ll kill any SOBs and any of your little soldiers who get in my way.” She hung up. She stood there for a couple of seconds, then ran to the bathroom and vomited up the omelet she’d just eaten.

  She crouched on the tile floor, elbows resting on the toilet seat as tears began streaming down her face. Had she gotten Dash killed? Had she just gotten Shannon killed?

  “Oh God,” she whispered with a sob. Her shoulders began to shake. She cried until her face filled with snot and her head began to ache. And then, she stopped. She was sobbing over a bowl of her own sick.

  “Get ahold of yourself.” She tore off a length of toilet paper and wiped her eyes and blew her nose. Then she flushed it down with the puke and pushed herself to her feet. She brushed her teeth and splashed cold water on her face, and looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were swollen and red, her nose pink. She’d looked worse after fights, so who cared? She felt better than she had since Shannon first disappeared. Sometimes the only thing to do was let it out.

  Eye drops got rid of the redness. Only time could fix the swelling and snotting. She brushed her hair back into a high bun and cracked her neck. Then she went to Dash’s bedroom and opened the closet. She knew the code for the secret door instinctively, punching in a date from years ago—a date that had bound the two of them together in a secret
neither of them had ever revealed.

  The lock clicked as it released. Killian stepped into the small room and turned on the light. Her gaze went to the trunk on the lower shelf. Tempting as it was to open it and look at the memories inside, she ignored it. No more living in the past. The past had brought her nothing but torture for years. The past had brought her to this and she was sick of it.

  She wanted her future, damn it.

  Running fight drills in her head helped her focus as she geared up—armor, guns, knives, grenades…It felt awkward and a little heavy, but if she was going to make this work, she couldn’t do it with just her fists and a knife. She needed all the help she could get.

  She called Danny from the house phone—it went to voice mail. He had to be in lockup. She would have heard if he was hurt, wouldn’t she? Someone would have let her know. Someone would pick up his phone. She considered calling Donna, but sanity returned before she could dial. Donna couldn’t help her, and if she did it would be trouble for them both.

  Okay, she was on her own—the way it should be.

  She left extra food in Hank’s bowl in case she didn’t make it back, and left the toilet seat up so he’d have water if his fountain ran out. Then she grabbed her jacket and keys.

  The doorbell rang just as she reached for the knob. She hesitated. There weren’t any windows by the door—she couldn’t see out and no one could see in, but that didn’t stop her from feeling exposed.

  “It’s Story,” came a familiar voice. “I know you’re in there. Open up.”

  Killian opened the door. Story stood before her, dressed entirely in black, her hair back in a long, sleek ponytail. She even wore dark eyeliner to balance her glossy lips. From soccer mom to badass with a trip to Sephora.

  “What are you doing here?” Killian asked.

  “Stopping you from doing something stupid, like going after Rank alone.” The woman elbowed by her into the house. Hank came at her, tail wagging. She stroked his broad head. “Hey there, good boy.”

  Killian turned to watch her. “I really don’t see how you think you can stop me.”