by Kate Kessler
“You’ve got a choice to make,” she told him, leveling her gun at his head. “Walk away and forget we ever met, or die.”
He looked from her to Shannon. “You okay, baby girl?”
Standing a little behind Killian, Shannon nodded. “Please walk away.”
His attention returned to Killian. “He’s determined that one of you is going to die tonight. You or him.”
She nodded. Before leaving the house she’d considered the fact that she might not make it through the night. Now that she had Shannon, she changed her mind. “It won’t be me.”
Suddenly Story ran up out of the darkness. “The SOBs are here,” she announced, slightly out of breath.
As soon as the words left her mouth there was a whistling noise and the ground a few feet from Killian exploded. Shannon screamed as asphalt and dirt flew into the air. A piece of something nicked Killian’s cheek. It stung like hell, followed by a trickle of warm wetness. She didn’t bother to wipe the blood away. She grabbed Shannon by the arm and pulled her toward a Humvee parked nearby.
Her ears rang as they crouched behind the large vehicle. Story was with them, gun out and ready to return fire. She had a bazooka strapped to her back and several grenades on her belt along with a very large knife.
“Thanks for the warning, Rambo,” Killian quipped. “Maybe next time don’t wait until they’re shooting at us.”
The other woman shot her a wry glance. “How many times do I have to save your ass?”
Killian rolled her eyes. “You gonna return fire with that thing, or what?” She gestured to the bazooka.
“Not my first rodeo. I know what I’m doing.”
A wild volley of shots rang out, mixed with shouts and another small explosion in the middle of the courtyard. A car alarm began to blare.
“I need to get Shannon out of here,” Killian yelled.
Story nodded, gesturing to the back of the compound. The path was too open for Killian’s liking, but their only other plan of action would be to stay hidden and hope no explosives hit the Humvee—which was kind of like just postponing the inevitable.
Killian grabbed Shannon’s hands. “Look at me.” The girl did, her eyes wide with fear. “We’re going to get through this. I need you to run with me, as fast as you can, okay?”
Shannon glanced down. “Are you wearing doctor’s gloves?”
Killian shook her. “Sweetie, can you run with me?”
The girl lifted her head and nodded.
“Okay.” She released one of her hands. “Cover us?” she asked Story. “Then I’ll cover you.”
“Sounds like a plan,” the other woman replied. “Count of three? Three…two…one.”
Killian pulled hard on Shannon’s hand as she bolted for the side of the building. Shots rang out around them. One pinged off the light post above their heads. Another shot and the bulb exploded, leaving them in darkness. That had to be Story. Killian pushed Shannon ahead of her, into the pure black of the shadows by the old factory. Something bit her leg—a sharp, sudden pain that almost tripped her.
Fuck. She’d been shot.
Crouching in the dark with her niece—daughter—shivering beside her, Killian groped blindly at her lower calf. There was blood and what felt like a gash, but no bullet hole. Just a flesh wound. Good. From her pocket she pulled a small roll of duct tape. Starting above the wound, she wrapped a length of tape around the outside of her jeggings, pulling it snug. Once the entire area was covered, she ripped the end of the tape. The goal was to leave as little evidence behind as possible.
She raised her gun as she peered around the corner of the brick wall. She could see a couple of guns beyond the fence—silhouettes in the dark. Three of Rank’s men were in the parking lot now, behind various bits of cover, returning fire. A second later an explosion hit near the fence, then another took out the car, lighting up the entire area. Bits of hot metal rained down as men screamed. It was chaos.
Story was suddenly beside her.
“You okay?”
Killian nodded. “Just a graze. Was that you?” She noticed the other woman didn’t have the bazooka anymore.
“Yeah, but the damn thing jammed.” Not like she wasn’t still armed to the teeth.
“Where’s the car?”
“Out back. I found what looks to be a secret exit. Probably Rank’s escape route.”
The Sons wouldn’t know about that, probably, unless Wex had, but Killian doubted Rank had shared that information with the man he’d killed. The two of them had been friends once, but there had been a lot of animosity there years ago, and she’d heard it had gotten worse after she’d broken Rank down.
“We’re going to run again,” she told Shannon. “If something happens and I fall back, I want you to keep running, okay? Story will get you home.”
“I’m not leaving here without you,” Shannon retorted, eyes wild. “No fucking way.”
“Listen to me, I’m the one Rank wants, not you. You have to make it through this, otherwise it’s been for nothing. Promise me you’ll run.”
The kid wanted to argue, it was obvious, but it was also obvious that she was afraid and wanted to go home. “Okay.”
“Where’d you get a cane?” Story asked.
Jesus, Killian hadn’t even noticed what Shannon had a death grip on. She’d thought it was a stick or bar. “Is that Rank’s?”
Shannon’s head jerked up and down. “H-he h-hit me with it. I grabbed it and hit him b-back.”
Laughter bubbled up from Killian’s throat. She wrapped her arms around Shannon in a fierce hug. “That’s my girl,” she praised, pride swelling in her chest.
She could feel the kid shaking, so she pulled off her jacket and made Shannon put it on. The night was cold, but Killian barely felt it beneath the armor of her vest. “Wait.” Then she took off the vest as well and shoved that over her daughter’s head, pulling the tabs snug around her.
“Okay, take my hand again,” she instructed. “Ready?” At Shannon’s nod, she pulled the girl to her feet. The three of them stayed low as they ran along the wall. Story took point and stopped just before the end of the rough brick. Killian came up behind her. Story gestured for Killian to look. Just beyond the harshly lit backyard, there was a parking garage or storage unit. She caught a glimpse of a back bumper in the shadows beside it. Two men dressed entirely in black stood between them and freedom. They were heavily armed and wearing body armor.
Why were they just standing there and not fighting with their buddies?
“Rank’s making a run for it,” she surmised out loud.
Story attached a silencer to her gun with the agility of a pro. More than a driver, all right. Killian watched as the woman took aim and fired—two gentle pops. One man went down. The other whirled in their direction. Another pop and he fell, too.
“Are they dead?” Shannon asked, her voice a strangled whisper.
Story glanced at her. “They are.”
The girl’s eyes narrowed. “Good.”
A chill settled around Killian’s heart. This was what she’d wanted to avoid by giving Shannon up. She hadn’t wanted this kind of life to ever touch her kid, and instead she’d ended up molested by it.
“Let’s go,” Story said, taking point once more. They ran for the car as fast as they could. Killian’s heart was pounding when they reached it. Her hand was on the door handle when the hair on the back of her neck rose. She turned as the door opened, using it as a partial shield.
Standing in the light, flanked by two more men with guns drawn, was Rank. He’d gotten another cane and was leaning on it, she noticed. Shannon had hit him hard—he had blood in his hair and on the side of his face.
“Hello, Killian,” he said clearly. In the background, the continuous exchange of gunfire went on. The rest of his security team was fighting off the SOBs while he made his getaway. Why weren’t the cops there yet? Were they waiting, hoping that everyone involved would have killed each other by the time they arrived?
“Rank,” she replied.
“Were you going to leave without saying hello?” he asked.
“Weren’t you?” she challenged. “I thought I’d just let the SOBs take you out.” It had been one of her options. The other had been to put Shannon in the car, send her somewhere safe, and then go inside and blow Rank’s brains out. She was starting to understand why people were so horny for guns. They might be cheating, but they were efficient.
“That wasn’t what we agreed on.”
“Yeah, well, you said you wouldn’t hurt her, you sorry sack of shit.”
“I lost my temper. My apologies.”
“Fuck you, asshole,” Shannon hissed from behind both Killian and Story.
Rank smiled. “So much like her mother.” His gaze glittered as it met Killian’s. “You must be so proud.”
“I am,” she replied. “Especially of how she whacked you upside the head with your own cane. You must be embarrassed, bested by another girl. But then, I guess the apple didn’t fall far.”
Rank’s jaw tightened and she knew she’d struck a nerve. Rank’s pride had always been his downfall. It was what had allowed her to leave him disfigured in the first place. It was what made her reputation what it was. She didn’t know if anyone would know her name if she’d actually killed Rank, but leaving him humiliated and alive? That had earned her some infamy.
“Too bad she’s going to have to see you die.”
“We all gotta go sometime.” Killian shrugged, pretending indifference. It’s what would enrage him the most.
“Kill them,” Rank ordered.
Killian shoved Shannon into the car. “Get down!” Then she slammed the door and dove into the space between the car and building as bullets tore through the air toward her. Another one grazed her arm. She swore, pressing her hand to the wound as she slid to the ground.
From behind the car, Story returned fire, taking one of the men down. The other grabbed Rank and shoved him into the garage.
Killian whirled on Story. “Get her out of here.”
The woman looked offended. “I’m not leaving you.”
“I’ve got this. I need you to get her to safety, please.”
“Dash will be pissed at me.”
“No, he won’t,” she assured her. “Please, Story.”
It was obvious Story wasn’t happy about it, but she nodded. “Fine. I’ll take her somewhere safe.”
“Thank you.”
They stared at each other a moment, then Story got in the car and started the engine. Shannon looked surprised, then angry. She rolled down the window. “Aunt Killy?”
Killian grabbed her face and kissed her cheek. “I love you,” she murmured. “More than anything. You are the only good thing I’ve ever done.” Then, before the tears could come, she looked at Story. “Go.”
The woman didn’t hesitate. The car lunged forward with a squeal and the smell of hot rubber. Shannon leaned out the window, arm outstretched for a second, then disappeared back inside. Killian turned away.
Taking a cue from Story, she raised her gun and shot out one of the overhead lights inside the garage before venturing inside. She crouched in the dark and taped up her arm before creeping farther in.
The area was lined with cars, at least a dozen. None of them had their lights on and she couldn’t hear an engine, but that didn’t mean Rank and his man weren’t in one of them. She kept as low as she could as she crept through the structure. The stitches in her leg pulled but held, and the area was still numb enough that the pain wasn’t a distraction.
She looked under cars and behind them. She peered inside windows and checked trunks to see if they were locked. Nothing. Then she heard something on the floor above her head. She glanced up. Why had they gone up rather than taking off in one of the vehicles?
The stairwell was metal—almost impossible to climb without making noise. Killian kept her head low and her gaze up as she ascended, searching for sign of her nemesis. She shot another light—turning her head to avoid the spray of glass—giving herself a little cover.
Just as she reached the top of the stairs, a shot whizzed by her head. She dropped to the floor as it ricocheted off a pillar. It would have hit her in the face, she realized, heart pounding. Slowly, she inched toward the wall, wincing as her weight came down on her left foot. Fucking fantastic—she’d sprained her ankle. Idiot.
Limping, she moved toward the direction of the shots, taking out the overhead lights as she went, arm up to shield herself. Within seconds, that entire section of the garage was dark.
“I thought you wanted to do this just the two of us, Rank!” she called out. “Why not call off your lapdog?”
The only reply she got was another shot in her direction. This one missed her by at least a foot. It was tempting to shoot back, but she didn’t want to give her location away. She kept moving, pain vibrating from ankle to knee with every step. She pushed her focus past the discomfort. She’d had worse injuries before and had gone on to finish a fight.
A door opened and closed with a screech and a heavy thud. She turned her head and saw it at the far end of the floor, maybe another thirty or forty feet away. Where the hell did it go? Footsteps on more stairs—slow and labored. Rank wasn’t any more agile than she was at the moment. He couldn’t move as fast as his man.
Killian pushed herself to move quicker, threading between the equipment and crates that filled the space. Obviously the second floor was used as some kind of storage facility—there were pieces of furniture, appliances, even parts of old cars. And crates. Lots of crates. She didn’t want to know what he used the large freezer for, or the dentist chair, but there was a car battery nearby and cables, so she could guess.
She reached the door and opened it a crack. The bright light blinded her and she blinked, ducking back in case there was someone waiting for her. Once her vision adjusted, she looked again—nothing. Just another set of stairs that led up. Fuck.
Hobbling closer, Killian glanced up just in time to see yet another door close above her. Jesus Christ, she hoped that this was the last staircase she’d have to climb. She moved as quickly and quietly as she could, but if anyone was listening for her, she probably sounded like a pack of elephants.
At the top, she opened the door, using it as a shield as shots rang out. She felt them hit the reinforced steel, denting it. She leaned around it and fired several shots of her own. Then something slammed into her, knocking her down. Her thigh—the same one Brand had ripped open—was bleeding again, but now there was a bullet hole in her leg.
“Fuck,” she spat. There was blood on the back of her thigh as well—the bullet had gone right through. Quickly, she pulled out the tape and wrapped more around her leg. That was the end of the roll. She tossed the cardboard aside, then, using the railing, pulled herself to her feet and opened the door again.
Cold wind blasted her. It had started to rain. A few feet ahead, a helicopter sat on the roof, beneath bright lights. The man who shot her was trying to get Rank into the chopper.
Killian raised her arm and fired. The guy jerked as the bullet hit his back, but he didn’t fall. Instead he turned and raised his own weapon. Shit. She’d hit his armor. She fired again just before he did. She managed to fall back against the doorframe and avoid the bullet, but he wasn’t so lucky. Blood spouted from his shoulder. He raised his gun again…
Killian fired. This time she got him in the throat. She’d been aiming for his head. He looked shocked as his hand flew to his neck, trying to stanch the blood gushing over his fingers. Then he fell. Behind him, Rank—half in the helicopter, half out—fumbled to pull a gun from the shoulder holster he wore beneath his jacket.
Killian pointed her gun right at his head as she limped closer. She stopped a few feet away from him and smiled.
“Hey, Rank. Looks like it’s just the two of us. Unless, of course, you can fly that thing.”
Slowly, he turned, as though he trusted her not to shoot him in the back. The gun
was in his hand now.
“What, no comeback?” she challenged.
“I’m considering where I want to shoot you,” he replied. “Maybe your other leg?”
“And then I’ll shoot you in your pretty face. C’mon, Rank. You don’t want this to end that quick, do you?” At his startled expression, she continued. “We’ve both waited years for this moment. I want to savor it, don’t you?”
He hesitated. “What do you propose?”
“I say we lose the guns and go at it the way we did before.”
“You have a bit of an unfair advantage, being the one of us that is able-bodied.”
“Dude, I’ve been fucking shot. And you have a weapon.” She gestured to his cane, which just barely peeked out of the cabin. “You used it on my niece, remember?”
“Your daughter,” he corrected.
“I gave birth to her, but you and I both know I’m no mother.” She didn’t feel shame in admitting it. Shannon had been raised by exactly the right person, and she’d been gifted with the privilege of being part of Shannon’s life. What more could she ask for?
“You feel no remorse for what you did.”
“Do you feel any for killing Jason?”
“No. I don’t. He betrayed me.”
“Well, I would have betrayed Shannon if I’d kept her.”
He watched her for a moment. “I have never hated anyone the way I despise you, but I also respect you, Killian Delaney.”
“I suppose the feeling is somewhat mutual,” she replied as a drop of water slid down her nose. Though whatever respect she had for him was grudging at best.
She watched as Rank eased out of the helicopter. He set his gun on the seat. “Now you,” he said. Killian set her gun on the ground, along with the other weapons she had on her. The rain was starting to soak through her sweater and the night chill plucked at her skin.
They limped toward each other, stopping with a few feet between them under the glaring light.
Rank chuckled. “I’ve thought about this moment so many times I don’t know where to start.”
Killian smiled slightly. “I know. You want first punch?”
He didn’t hesitate. He hit her in the cheekbone with a solid left hook that sent her staggering back. Her wounded leg threatened to buckle, but it held. Shaking it off, she came back with a jab-cross combo that snapped his head like a Pez dispenser. He caught her in the hip with his cane, then the thigh—right across the bullet wound.
