Hating Beauty (The Vegas Titans Series Book 6)
Page 6
Behind me I hear the man rustle in the sheets.
“Fuck,” he moans. “Is that the right time? Is it nine? Shit! Shit! Motherfucker! Shit!”
He sits bolt upright, grabs the alarm clock, and throws it roughly back on the nightstand.
“It’s been twenty-seven hours,” he groans. “I missed the deadline. Stupid fucking dickhead move, Knox! Motherfucker. I missed the deadline? No! Oh god. I’m dead. I’m literally actually dead. Why why why god WHY! Ugh!”
I have no idea what he’s talking about and I don’t pause to ask, just keep looking for the gun. The gun is what matters most now. If I have the gun, I have a chance.
Where is it? Not in his crumpled jeans. Not under my shirt.
“I can’t believe I missed the deadline,” he repeats. “I can’t believe it. This is a whole new level of fuck-up. This is the end. This is the end of the world. There’s no way out of this one. Nine o’clock! There has to be a way out. Think, Knox. Think, dumbass. Jesus. Shit. Shit! Stupid, stupid, stupid –”
Whatever else he was going to say is lost when the door to my room bursts open, splinters of wood flying from the broken lock. Enormous men—two of them—pour in, but all I see is the barrel of a gun leveled at my face.
“Shit,” my overnight guest repeats. “Hello boys. You’re just in time for breakfast.”
The guerilla-thug pointing a gun at me looks like something out of a cheesy mob movie, with a big ugly cliché of a face and one eye that doesn’t open all the way. And just like in the movies, I know what comes next.
“Shut up Knox,” says one of the newcomers. “This isn’t a social call.”
“Look at this, Rex,” growls the blinky guy. “We got both of ‘em together, two birds in one basket.”
“Don’t you mean two birds with one stone?” I correct.
He snarls and slaps me across the face.
“Shut up, stupid whore.”
“Hey!” Shouts Knox, surprising both of us. “Don’t touch her!”
The toe-faced Neanderthal turns from me, leering at Knox with something like spite. Knox swallows and raises his hands over his head.
“Okay,” Knox says companionably, smiling. “That’s good, see? You’re not touching her, you’re not shooting me, this is good. Let’s stay like this for a while, yeah? No touching, no shooting.”
“I always knew you had shit for brains, Knox,” the other giant snickers. “I just didn’t figure you’d throw it all away just for a piece of pussy. Mr. Breslin ain’t happy with you, double-crossing him. He was the wrong guy to steal from. We’re taking you and your fuck-buddy back to the boss. You know what happens then.”
Knox rolls his eyes, his manner as casual as if these men weren’t here.
“Fellas,” he says, “Hey. Come on. Would I double-cross Jasper Breslin? I mean you’d have to be an imbecile to double-cross Jasper Breslin, you’d have to be a fucking wank to double-cross Jasper Breslin, you’d have to be suicidal to cross Jasper Breslin. And I’m not a wank.”
“You’d have to be dumber than Ox, that’s all. Which I can believe.”
Ox and Knox both growl at the same time.
“I’d never do something that crazy stupid,” Knox shouts, irritated. “I don’t have a death wish! This is not what it looks like. I tracked her down and just got…distracted. You know how it is.”
It’s the truth, I know it is, but it sounds so despicable, lame and ludicrous that I know no one else will ever believe him. He’s holding the sheet like a shield over his naked body, and the thug closest to him snatches it away, laughing.
“Oh yeah? It looks like exactly what I think it is.”
“Knox Cole has a dick for brains and no brain in his dick.” Says Ox.
Knox is sputtering now. “No, Rex, I swear, I tracked her down, I was looking for Breslin’s computer, and then, I, it, we, I mean –“
“Oh for fuck sake,” I shout, rolling my eyes, “Get on with it!”
This Knox of mine can’t seem to put words together under pressure. He glares at me, his hands flying for emphasis.
“This is all just a big misunderstanding!” Knox spits out.
But Rex and Ox smile cruelly.
Rex, the smarter goon, shakes his head. “I said to Ox, Knox Cole’s is in on it, the whole thing. We find the girl, we find Knox. And was I wrong?”
“You’re wrong!”
“It’s over, Knox. You’re a fuck-up, and you’re done. Breslin was the only guy in the world that would touch you, give you another chance you at a job. And being the low-grade piece of shit that the rest of us knew you were, you pay him back by pissing in his face. Tell us where the laptop is.”
“No no, Ox, come on! I don’t know where it is! I’m not in on it! Rex! Guys!”
But apparently the conversation is over, short as it was. Ox swings a meaty fist that Knox takes in the face before careening over like a cartoon, smashing onto the ground naked and groaning. The sudden violence makes me gasp.
Rex grins at me and gestures at the floor with his gun.
“Why don’t you join your little boyfriend, sugar? I like to tie up loose ends.”
I don’t have a gun.
I don’t have a chance.
There’s no way I can run past them to the door. There’s no other way out. With my heart hammering in my mouth, I take an uncertain, faltering side-step away from the corner I am in, edging towards Knox.
As I edge past the gunman, he stops me by pressing the barrel of the weapon against my bare belly. A lewd grin spreads across his face.
“Can’t exactly blame you, though, Knox,” he grumbles. “She’s definitely fuckable. Too bad we don’t have any extra time.”
Rage, impotent and endless, coils in me. I remind myself that it’s useless to show my feelings any time, but especially now. All that matters is finding an opportune moment to gain the upper hand.
Don’t show weakness.
Don’t show anger.
Overcome.
“That’s enough,” Knox growls, to my surprise. “I’m pretty sure Breslin wants all the sexual harassment to himself. Do what you came to do, Rex.”
“That’s all?” I mutter. “That’s your fight for your life and you’re giving up just like that? You know if they think you’re with me, you’re in just as much trouble as I am.”
Rex nods at his partner, and Ox shoves me forward. I stumble to my knees beside Knox.
“Take a deep breath Katja,” Knox whispers. “Just be calm.”
“How can you say that?”
“Shhh.”
The cold barrel of Ox’s gun presses into my temple and a whimper rises up from my throat, a reflex of instinctive fear that I can’t control. My legs start shaking.
“Wrists,” Ox growls.
I blink. “What?”
It seems nonsensical. I don’t understand what Ox means until Knox calmly raises his right hand in the air, the one closest to me. Our captor grabs Knox by the wrist, twisting it down and slapping on the ring of a handcuff. The brisk metal click sends a spiral of fear down my spine. Ox turns to me.
“Wrist,” he repeats.
Swallowing, I follow Knox’s example and raise my left hand. Ox’s rough fingers encircle my wrist, and then the biting steel. Knox and I are cuffed together like links in a chain. The moment the handcuffs lock around my arm, our eyes snap together like magnets.
“Stay calm,” Knox whispers to me again. “Follow my lead.”
“Fuck you,” I hiss. “You led them here.”
“Lady! You got this backward! You’re the one who stole from Breslin! What the hell did you think was going to happen?”
“They never would have found me without you. This is your fault.”
“Shut up!” Rex bellows over us. “Hands on your head.”
Suddenly my breath catches. We are kneeling on the floor, our hands on our head; Ox has us sitting execution-style, the gun only inches away from my forehead.
I am going to die.
Katja/Jana/Mystery Girl
Death is coming. I squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting to see its face. Huddled on the floor here in this room, before I’ve even had the chance to finish my life’s work, I will die.
Any second now there will be an explosion. The bullet will come, the light will go out, and all will be lost.
“Mamao chveno,” I hear myself whisper.
It is time to pray, to ask forgiveness. My lips form words in my native tongue, the Our Father tumbling out as if of its own accord.
“Romeli khar tsata shina, tsminda iqavn sakheli sheni –”
Before I can finish the prayer, the explosion comes.
This is it.
I am jerked forward and to the side, lurching upwards away from the floor. Lifted and propelled, I am rising as the floor drops away from my shins.
My brain spins to catch up: this is all backwards!
If I were shot, I would have fallen down onto my back, my brains splattering over the window. Instead I am in one piece and I can feel the metal handcuff biting into my wrist. My arm is wrenched in its socket, and I am falling up towards Ox’s gun.
What is happening?
There’s a roar, but it is not the roar of a gun—it is Knox, shouting like a tiger in attack. My eyes spring open. He’s leapt from the ground so suddenly that none of us can keep up, but because of the handcuffs he’s taking me with him, my entire body pulled and guided by his explosive, powerful movements.
“Follow me!” He roars.
I have no other choice but to follow, attached as I am by the handcuffs. Knox is a force of nature, diving at Ox like a kamikaze pilot. Ox stares, mouth open, too shocked to move out of Knox’s path.
Knox hits Ox and we all lurch together like drunkards, Knox’s elbow finding Ox’s nose. Ox grunts but rallies, smashing his face against Knox’s. The two men sputter and spit as Knox wraps his hands around Ox’s gun and tries to snatch it. They are locked in a tug of war.
I squeal as a shot is fired, but it misses, striking the glass and passing through the window behind me. The men freeze for a moment, unsure who shot what, and then resume their struggle.
“Asshole,” Ox grunts.
Knox ignores the insult, instead driving his knee up into Ox’s crotch. The goon stumbles, winces, and turns pink. But he doesn’t let go of the gun.
Now Knox is wrestling with him over it, both grunting and hissing, and I am there in the middle like a shadow. My arm and body follow Knox’s movements clumsily, like a puppet attached to his strings.
“Son of a bitch,” Rex curses, ducking towards us. He’s making a big show of raising his gun. “You’re more trouble alive than you’re worth, Cole.”
But Knox is faster. His face is impassive as he uses his grip on Ox’s gun to aim and fire a shot into Rex’s thigh, then another into his shoulder. Just like that—boom, boom, as casually as if he were swatting a fly.
Rex falters immediately, blood soaking through his clothes. My pulse thunders, my own blood leaping in its veins as if it too needs to escape.
“Bitch,” Rex repeats, blinking in shock.
Knox watches only long enough to see that Rex tumbles to the floor, his gun clattering away. Knox kicks it further and uses the momentary shock in the room as a chance to send Ox’s gun handle backwards into Ox’s face. It makes a sickening, thick sound and Knox repeats the hit one, two, five times in rapid succession, my left dummy arm following his movements stupidly.
How can anyone punch so fast?
Who is this guy?
Ox drops to the ground, unconscious.
In the space of half a minute, Knox has taken out both our assailants.
“What the hell,” I cry, “How did you do that? Is he dead?”
Knox doesn’t answer me. Instead, he turns and fires two more shots through the window. He grimaces, watching as the glass splinters into a broken pattern like a delicate spider’s web. Then he drops the empty gun to the ground.
“Come on,” he orders as he climbs onto the bed, the handcuffs that connect us yanking at my arm.
I look from him to the window. Realizing what he means, I shake my head.
“You’re crazy!”
“God damn it, Katja, come on!”
“I’m not jumping through the window!”
Knox glares at me. “We can’t just walk out the fucking front door! Someone heard those shots and the police will show up any minute, that or Ox and Rex’s backup. Which would you prefer?”
I hesitate. Knox’s face shows the first ripple of anger.
“Let’s go Katja!”
“No! We’re on the second floor! It’s too big a drop.”
There’s a groan behind me. I glance back and see Rex, slipping in his own blood, struggling to his knees. He’s reaching for his gun.
“Come on!” Knox yells. “Now!”
He doesn’t have to tell me again. Nervous, I clasp his outstretched hand. The chains of our handcuffs rattle and pinch, but I squeeze onto him even tighter. He pulls me into his body, wraps his arms around me, and turns his back to the window. Gulping, I try not to think about the hard concrete down below us. I can feel Knox’s breath in my hair, his sweat against my skin.
“You’re gonna have to jump with me, girl. Ready?”
I nod, disbelieving myself. “Mamao chveno,” I whisper again, “Romeli khar tsata shina, tsminda–”
“One,” says Knox, “Two…”
There is no three.
Knox’s arm tightens around my belly, snatching me off my feet. I gasp as I feel him pull me backward through the window, the glass shattering around us like glitter, ringing and tinkling like bells, and we are falling…
…falling…
…down.
Chapter Ten
Katja/Jana/Mystery Girl
Impact on the street is shockingly hard, but Knox takes the brunt of it. I land on top of him, his body and arms shielding me from the concrete.
“Gah!”
I wail as the air is forcefully knocked out of my lungs, making my sides and throat burn. My senses are scrambling to keep up with all that is happening, but it’s too surreal. I feel Knox pull me in tighter as he throws our bodies sideways.
Now we’re rolling, rolling along the ground, the hard scratchy surface of the sidewalk alternating against my skin with the hard, warm yield of Knox’s abs. We don’t stop the crazy careening roll until we slam into something cold and hard.
“Jesus,” Knox groans.
It’s a fire hydrant. We’ve jumped out a second story window and rolled into a fire hydrant.
Of course.
Why not.
Typical day.
“Oh god. Are we dead?” I rasp. “I wish we were dead.”
And then we lay there, agonizingly still, as the numbing shock gives way to sensation. Pain fires through everywhere. Knox groans, takes in a shuddering breath.
“I’m getting too old for this shit,” he moans.
“Was there a time where you enjoyed this kind of thing?” I groan, “You’re sick.”
I force myself up. My skin is peppered with cuts from the broken glass, my bare feet are scuffed, and an ankle seems to be sprained. But somehow, other than that, I am all right. It’s a miracle.
Knox isn’t far behind me. He sits up and I slide awkwardly off his chest, bumping onto the ground, dazed. He grimaces and sucks in his breath as he forces himself to stand, blinking at the street. A few people are staring at us while others continue their blind New Yorker walks, painstakingly minding their own business.
“Let’s go,” he grunts.
I stare at him. “What are you, Rambo?”
“We can’t stay here.”
“No? But I’m so comfortable.”
He only grimaces at my sarcasm and pulls his handcuffed arm until mine rises, dragging me a step or two behind him like a limp doll. My ankle pops when I try to put weight on it. Knox looks at it angrily, but doesn’t stop walking.
“No shit, Sherlock. Ok, genius, since you know so much about them and what is going to happen, got a hideout in mind? Another brilliant idea, like jumping out a window? Or hiding in another girl’s closet and ruining her life?”
“Not really. At this point, I’m basically winging it. Or couldn’t you tell that fucking my mark and getting half the blame was not in the plan!”
“Wonderful.”
“All because I had to think with my dick.”
“Hey! I didn’t ask you for your dick, or your help. You came for me, remember?”
“Well fuck, sugar. You don’t have much of a choice at this point. I don’t wanna die just because Breslin got the mistaken impression that I’m on your side, but at this point, that’s what’s gonna happen if I don’t fight back. So you’re stuck with me, and my bright ideas. Now shut the fuck up and help me blend in.”
Mad as hell and limping after him, I suddenly can’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. “We’re not exactly inconspicuous.”
Once I start laughing I can’t stop.
“What’s your problem?”
Knox shoots a look over his shoulder, taking me in. I’m in my bra and underwear, and that’s all. There was no time to get dressed between waking up and getting attacked. Knox somehow managed to pull on boxers at some point, but that’s it. We are both barefoot and covered in scratches, our hair wild, our faces groggy.
As if that wasn’t enough to attract attention, there are the handcuffs.
I jingle the chain between us to prove my point.
“We’re handcuffed together,” I say, as if I was talking to a child. “How far do you think we’re going to get before a cop stops us?”
He shrugs, continues marching. “It’s New York. They have better things to do.”
But I notice his eyes darting around as he leads us toward Seventh Avenue, eyeing the passersby and frowning. He winces every time someone looks at us. It makes us look even more suspicious.