All Blues

by Marie Wathen

  That’s his final answer on the subject. Dropping back down into the chair, I stare at him for a solid minute. I agree that she needs protecting, but keeping her with Decks is the last thing that I want. Obviously, he is suffering from delusions if he believes that she will love him. What do I care if she leads him on, like she did with me? I am completely unconcerned with their relationship. Perhaps if I continue with this internal mantra, I will eventually believe the bullshit bouncing around in my dense noggin. I still don’t want him to have her, because she’s mine. I am an idiot.

  Before negotiating another option, our conversation is interrupted by a knock on the door.

  “Decks,” Angel’s soft voice calls as she pushes open the door. She cuts her eyes at me, shock washing over her. She quickly apologizes, “Sorry, I didn’t realize he was still here. I’ll be back later.”

  A goofy grin tweaks Decks’ lips. He halts her retreat, saying, “Angel, don’t run off.”

  She freezes, but I don’t think it’s all because of his instructions. I’d bet everything that she is disturbed by his choice of words, describing the cowardly way that she left me a week ago. Seeing that he is done with our conversation and since she’s being forced to stay, I stand and stalk toward her.

  The jackass in me makes an appearance when I repeat his words, “Yeah Angel, don’t run off…again.”

  I glide a finger under her chin, angling her face so that she has no choice except to look me in the eye. She lifts her gray glare hesitantly, clearly schooling her emotions. My restless mind is screaming loudly within my skull, demanding an explanation. I need to hear the truth about why she walked away from me and what we have. She offers nothing. Not one damn word to placate me. What did I really expect? A woman who chooses Decks over me clearly has an agenda above what I believed we had–a possibility of real love. God, I am just as delusional and pathetic as the other dumb schmuck in the room.

  With nothing else to do, I resign with a harsh, “Goodbye.”

  She flinches, and then whispers softly, “Goodbye Blues.”

  I still love you, my soul bellows. For sanities sake after that final sendoff, I lock that shit up for good.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Another crisp fifty dollar bill dropped into the wide-mouth goblet, sitting on the bar top, earns me ten more ounces of whiskey in my tumbler and a mega-watt smile from the sexy bartender with rich Mediterranean features. Her olive skin and light-colored eyes simmer hotly under the tinge of scintillating lighting in the dark tavern. Trying to avoid face-time with anyone from Nelson’s mafia, I located the nearly empty, partially dilapidated bar north of Atlanta to wash away some of the issues of my shitty day. I don’t think I recognize a soul, and I can only pray they don’t know me. The bartender, whose name I can’t seem to remember, tosses me a seductive wink before turning away, reaching thin fingers up toward the top shelf for a new bottle of my favorite beverage. She displays her gorgeous plump derriere, and I think, I could go for a taste of the exotic tonight.

  A supersonic level burp, which I am damn proud of, passes over my whiskey soaked lips, drawing the attention of the seductresses. Peering over her shoulder, she arches an eyebrow and then reaches for a beer mug, never breaking eye contact with me. So, I flash one of my famous panty-dropping smirks and invite, “Come back to my place and you can find out what other untold secrets I can do with my mouth.” I waggle my eyebrows alluringly.

  Mid-pour from the tap, she quirks that same sexy eyebrow, and then, through a laugh, she replies, “I’ll rate the burp a ten for quality. However, since that was your seventh attempt at luring me away by referencing how talented your mouth is, I’ll give that pick up line a solid zero.” A laugh burst from my chest, and she nibbles her bottom lip not really hiding her smirk as she passes the beer to a guy at the other end of the bar.

  Hunching over the railing about to ask for her phone number, I punch forward from a blow to the back of my right shoulder. I twist around finding no one there. “The fuck?” Scanning the immediate area for the dickhead who slugged me, I run my left hand over the top of my arm, feeling a twinge of pain. Unable to find the source standing behind me, I can’t understand why the hell it hurts. What the hell?

  A deep belly laugh to my left brings me face to face with my brother.

  “You stupid drunk bastard,” Attacus says. “Stop trying to pick up this beautiful lady with lies about your many boudoir skills.”

  Tricky bastard must have tracked me down with his wicked Stealth techy-expertise. “Let me guess, you pinged my damn cell phone again?”

  “For a smart guy, you play stupid quite a bit. To answer your question, I could have found you that way, but my abilities are much more impressive.” I narrow my eyes at him suspiciously, and he instructs the bartender, “Close out our tab, Wynn, he is thoroughly pickled. I’ll pour him into my car and save your virtue,” he winks, “for tonight.”

  Affronted, I defend, “You can’t just come up in here and tell me when I’m shitfaced. I don’t need your ass to swoop in and save the day.” Dismissing him, I wink at the cutie behind the bar and say, “Don’t listen to him, Lynn.”

  Crinkling her forehead, she corrects, “For the fifteenth time, my name is Wynn.”

  “Right.” I point at her while clucking my tongue. “As I was saying, Wynnnnnnnn, my magical baby brother, Merlin, appears out of thin air, and tries to turn you against me so that he can move in on my territory,” I snort at that ridiculousness while leaning back so I can grab my boys, and add, “like he has a bigger dick than me.” She chuckles and shakes her head while thrusting a credit card forward and glancing over at Attacus for confirmation. I insist, “He lies. Trust me, baby…”

  “That’s enough,” Attacus groans, accepting the receipt from my future ex-wife, and effectively shutting down my one-man revelry. Turning to face me, he says, “Eth, I’ve been sitting here beside you for two damn hours. I’m the one who brought your jilted ass to the bar, so that you could drown your miserable broken heart. Hitting on Wynn was a laugh the first hour, but grabbing your junk and teasing her ain’t cool.”

  “He isn’t bothering me, Tac,” Wynn interrupts.

  “Don’t encourage him, babe.” He scowls at her before jumping my ass again. “Besides, everybody here knows by now that you are still too hung up on Angel to jump into another woman’s bed tonight.”

  “The hell you say,” I dispute angrily. “Who in the fuck told you about her?” I still can’t speak her name. It’s so beautiful and fitting, but too damn painful at the same time. Love sucks!

  “What do I know? Well, let’s see.” Standing, he stuffs his wallet back into his pocket. “You fucked her, and then pushed her away. She pushed back and got under your skin. Some bad shit went down, and then your dumbass fell, head-over-balls right before she walked out on you. Right now, you’re being ridiculous denying that the attraction is still there, but it’s as plain as day that she still has your balls in her court.” Sick of his callous belittling, I growl, but he is far from finished, “And, oh yeah, you said that it all got fucked when she left because she chose Decks. Talking yourself through it, you claimed that it shouldn’t get to you, but it does. Apparently, she is sooooo perfect, too damn good for him. Then, you insisted that if she didn’t have her head shoved so far up the ass of your ex-cartel and using him to get ahead like Lourdes, she could be so fucking perfect. Does that about sum it up, brother?”

  “I said all that?” He nods. Damn, I word-vomited all my bullshit. Before I can come up with a believable argument, Attacus’ posture goes rigid beside me, his eyes glued on his cell. Suddenly, all the televisions inside the bar synchronize with a breaking news report. The air around us charges with some unknown mood shift. As much as my beer brain allows, I perk up and say, “I know that look. Some kind of shit is going down.”

  “We need to leave. Now!” With that, he grabs the edge of my collar, forcibly dragging me toward the exit. Passing the flat screen TV beside the door, I catch a s
nippet of the reporter’s live feed, along with a familiar name. Clearly, I mishear, because there is no way that Sportscenter is talking about Juan Arturo. Combatively, I try to break away so that I can hear the rest, while asking Attacus if he heard it too. Shoving me out into the nearly empty parking lot, he ignores me, and his hold on my shirt is a motherfucker.

  “Slow down,” I bitch, my feet tangling as he jostles me onward, “where’s the fire?”

  “Get your ass in the vehicle now.” He points forward, and I smack his arm away from the door handle of his car, jerking it open. “I’ll tell you all about the fire on the way.”

  Flopping down into the passenger side of his gun-metal colored Challenger, I lean against the console. When he jumps behind the wheel, his eyes shift toward me before he fires up the car, and I demand, “I asked did you hear that bastard’s name announced back there?”

  “Yes, I heard it, motherfucker,” he answers, speeding down a back road leading toward west Atlanta. “But at the moment, I have more pressing issues than some piece of shit drug lord getting capped.”

  Juan was murdered? Sobering, slightly, I level my eyes with the highway blurring through the front windshield before cutting my eyes toward the speedometer, clocking over ninety miles per hour. Swallowing down the confusion and dizziness, I push, “Again, I ask, where is the damn fire?”

  “There’s a SWAT call at the Children’s hospital on the other side of town. Some piece of shit has taken kids hostage.”

  “Fuck,” I mumble, scrubbing my hands over my face, like it will push out enough of the alcohol from my inebriated head so that I can be useful when we arrive on scene.

  Switching on the police scanner, Attacus grows silent while mentally logging all of the details of the scene unfolding only a few miles ahead. Apparently, a druggie busted up into the emergency room, grabbed a nurse and is holding several patients, and family members, hostage. The surrounding agencies have converged on the small town of Canton, awaiting the Atlanta Police Department Special Weapons and Tactics team to rectify the deadly scenario.

  “My pack,” Attacus shouts, thrusting a thumb toward the rear of the car, drawing my attention away from the scrambled radio chatter, “Grab it. Inside, I have a black, leather bag with entry tools, get those out.” I nod, climbing over the seat and picking up the black backpack off the backseat floorboard. I unzip the front pocket, and he says, “No, it’s inside the main part, but my stun grenades are in that pocket, so go ahead and take out a few of those, too.” I place three on the center console and then tug out a small bag with his other equipment. “Are you carrying a weapon?”

  “No,” I answer, “Do you have an extra?”

  “No, and I don’t think it will be smart to hand over my shotgun to your drunk ass, so just stay out of my way.”

  The glow of downtown Canton is only a couple of miles away now. Staring into the rear view mirror, Attacus cusses, “We’ve got a reckless one creeping on my ass end.” Two seconds later, a silver sports car swerves out of line behind us, revving the engine, and then shoots over into the oncoming traffic lane. Watching it swiftly easing up beside us, my heart stops beating completely when I look at the driver.

  I gasp in a lung full of air, breathing, “Angel…”

  Attacus’ head whips around, looking at me, and then follows my line of sight to the driver’s side of the Camaro as she comes along side us. “Are you serious? That’s her?” I nod, watching her race past us and the car ahead recklessly. His mouth hangs open for a second and then he scowls, just like me. He points toward the daunting building coming into focus. “Well, hell, it looks like she is heading there, too.”

  He’s right. She veers into the parking lot and leaps from her car, running toward the police barricade. Flashing red and blue lights add to the extra lighting, spreading across the block and surrounding the tall children’s hospital.

  “Motherfucker, we have to catch her before she does something foolish.”

  “I’m on it,” he promises, climbing out of the car and running toward the trunk.

  From this point on, everything slips into an odd slow-motion time warp. It’s like I have stepped outside my body and I’m watching everything unfold. Like a badass, Angel stands before a line of uniform officers near the emergency room doors, screaming in the face of one who appears in charge. I’ve never seen her so powerful, so out of control, and yet, completely focused. The sight of her like this is fucking turning me on like nothing else. Why is she here? When I stall to take it all in, Attacus grips my upper arm, propelling us forward. Something is different about her tonight, but I don’t have time to process exactly what it is. Shoving me behind him, my brother moves around Angel too, and takes over ripping into the lead officer. Unaware of who he is and why he is now raking this guy over the coals, Angel takes a couple of steps backward, positioning herself right in front of me. In a flash, she is in my arms and even faster, she revolts against me.

  During all the deadly chaos swarming around us and in my fifty-one shades of shitfaced, nothing can cause more pandemonium in my mind than learning that Angel is a detective for the Atlanta Police Department Drug Task Force.

  My gaze blazes a path from her badge to her gun and then up to her face, twice.

  I am utterly blown away, and fucking speechless. Angel is one of the good guys, and apparently, she has been undercover all this time. Or at least that is the conclusion that I’m trying to reach while continuing to embrace her like our lives depend on me keeping her right here in my arms. There is no way that I can ever let her go again. I can’t wait to get my hands around Max’s throat. He knew all along. I guarantee that he intentionally kept this from me, too. That son of bitch is making it really difficult for me to trust his ass. How do I continue working with him if he is always going to omit important details, like the fact that my woman is on the same side of the law as I am? But, she doesn’t know the truth about me yet, my sobering mind whispers. The time it takes for me to connect all the dots, her face has sorted through various emotions too. Seeing her set on hating me, since she still doesn’t know about my under cover job, I decide to go along with my lie. Surely, she will understand when I do finally come clean.

  Finally, I declare angrily, “You’re a cop!”

  “Get the hell away from me.” Again, she hates me being clinging so she rips away and turns her back on me, coming face to face with my brother. God, I do love her pissy attitude.

  Still on an adrenaline high from chewing out some ass, his eyes shift from me to Angel before he demands, “What’s the plan?”

  Without hesitation or concern over who he is and why he is with me, she says, “My plan is getting the fuck inside there and his plan is getting the hell away from me.” His eyes follow her hand gesturing at me, standing behind her. After spilling my guts about her to him all night and expressing how deeply my feelings run it only takes a split second for my exceptionally perceptive brother to reach the same conclusion that I have about her. A big ass grin extends across his face and he says, “Fucking perfect brother.”

  Chapter Forty

  Turns out that Mark Hatfield, aka Mad Hatter, is the piece of shit that strolled up inside this kiddy hospital, and is currently holding out for someone to end this fucked up scene. Dread sinks into my gut, finding out that Angel’s best friend and her friend’s brother are possibly hostages. Knowing that she’s going in after them scares the living hell out of me. I’m not sure what the price will be to coerce his ass out while saving everyone, but Attacus and Detective Samantha Walker (that’s the name that Angel just gave a few moments ago) are hashing out a plan to gain access inside the building.

  “Right, well let’s do this. From what I heard over the SWAT channel Hatfield is holed up in the C corner,” my asshole brother indicates with a head shake and shrug that he realizes he is talking like a stealth member, so he decides to speak plain English for the two regular cops standing in front of him, “He’s in the southeast corner with thirteen hostages. S
eeing that you’re so determined to gain access in that way,” he points toward the emergency room doors, “I’m going around that part of the building and entering through the side door.”

  Sam listens intently while glancing between the two areas that he mentioned. When he’s through, she says, “Sounds good.” With that settled, Attacus starts toward the back of the building, but she yells at him. “Wait. Who are you?”

  He turns back around, reaching out a hand. “Shit, sorry. Tac.”

  “Tac?” she repeats, sounding confused.

  “Attacus Sloane,” he explains with a gesture toward me, and I can see the wheels spinning. She remembers when I told her about my very talented younger brother who does specialty work for the secretive military group known as Stealth. Instantly, her eyes connect with mine, and who knows what the hell she wants to say about all of this. Attacus leaves us standing in the midst of a crazy staring contest. I still can’t read her damn expressions. One thing I’m certain that I see is hatred glowing in her eyes. If I’m not mistaken, I think she might actually blame me for all of this happening.

  “Detective?”

  “Yes, Detective,” she snaps, “and I don’t have time for your bullshit.”

  How can I stop her? Any protectiveness or gentle emotions from me will tip her off that I am not pissed about her deception to the X’kapz. Must play this one smart, I decide. However, I will do everything in my power to protect my girl. Really playing up my part, I force my hands to remain clenched at my sides while watching her slip inside the hospital, which has the potential to become the place of my worst nightmare. If something happens to Sam now that I know who she is and what she stands for, before I get a chance to make everything right between us, I’m certain that I won’t survive.

  Only one thing that I can do now. I’m going in. She freaks a little when I grab her and shove her back against the tiled wall, which she is crouching in front of, next to an open door. Hatfield’s voice barks out orders for the hostages to shut up.