The Viper

by Velvet Vaughn

  Bixby took a deep pull from a cigarette before blowing the smoke out through his nose. He flicked the butt to the ground and crushed it with his boot. “Well, well, well, my lovely Annabelle, we meet again.”

  “I’m not your anything, you bastard,” she tossed over Kellan’s shoulder. “You set my house on fire.”

  “Now why would I do something like that?” he asked with feigned innocence.

  “How did you find me?”

  “I have contacts everywhere. Don’t even think about it,” Bixby warned as Kellan slowly reached for his weapon.

  “Get out of the way, Melvin.” Kellan drug out his name, much to Bixby’s annoyance, if the muscle ticking above his right eye was any indication. “There are at least two dozen police officers a shout away.”

  “Try it and die. She’s coming with me. I own her now.”

  “Like hell,” he and Annabelle spat at the same time.

  “You disgust me,” Annabelle added. “I won’t go anywhere with you.”

  Bixby’s pockmarked face reddened in anger. “You come with me now, bitch, or I’ll not only kill this man but your dear brother, too.”

  Kellan tightened his grip, afraid she’d do something rash like offer herself to the scumbag to keep him from getting shot again. He wasn’t about to let her go anywhere with this sorry excuse for a human.

  “Fine. You want to play hardball?” The two men beside him raised their guns and pointed them at Kellan.

  “Look out behind you!”

  All three goons spun around at the yell, giving Kellan the opportunity to launch himself at one of the armed men, catching him unaware. Having successfully distracted them, Ethan dove for the other one. Normally Kellan would have no trouble taking the guy down, even if he did outweigh him by a good thirty pounds. But his wounds hampered him and the man was putting up a good fight. Using what little strength he had in reserve, he gripped the man’s head and bashed it against the concrete. He went instantly limp. Ethan, former Navy SEAL, had easily overpowered the other man, who was now unconscious with his hands bound behind him.

  “Kellan!”

  His head snapped up at Annabelle’s panicked shout. Bixby had her in a headlock with a gun jammed against her temple. Her hands were clutching desperately at the arm around her neck. Kellan saw red. Pushing to his feet, his fists clenched in anger, he took one step when Bixby’s gun fired. Ethan stumbled backward and fell to the ground. Then Bixby turned the gun on him and pulled the trigger.

  Chapter Eleven

  “No!”

  Annabelle watched in horror, her knees giving out as first Ethan and then Kellan reeled from the force of the bullets Bixby fired at point blank range and they both collapsed to the pavement. Only Bixby’s grip around her neck kept her from crumpling to the ground with them.

  “Get up, bitch.” Bixby jerked her upright and drug her to his car, her feet scraping along the concrete. Her steps couldn’t keep up with his rapid pace and one shoe pried loose. She would put up a fight, but it felt as if the bullet that hit Kellan had pierced her heart. She was numb. He was probably dead. Ethan, too. She didn’t know the other agent, but she was sure he had a family, people who loved him.

  Before she could rouse herself from shock, Bixby bound her hands together. Then he opened the passenger door of his car and shoved her inside. She landed awkwardly in the floorboard. He jumped behind the steering wheel and started the engine.

  “Try anything and I will shoot you.” He pointed the gun to make sure she understood. She clambered into the seat just as he stomped the accelerator, throwing her against the padded back. With her hands tied, she couldn’t fasten her belt. He took corners at breakneck speed, flinging her against the door. She would be bruised and battered but what did it matter? How could she live with herself for getting two good men killed?

  She clutched the armrest to keep from landing on him when he took a right turn without slowing. No way was she going to touch him. Then they were speeding up a ramp to the freeway. He merged into traffic, easily topping ninety miles an hour. Maybe if she held up her bound hands, someone would see and realize she was being kidnapped and call the cops.

  “Get your hands down now,” Bixby ordered.

  Dammit.

  The numbness was wearing off, replaced by stone cold fury. She would not let this man get away with what he’d done. She refused to be a victim. Breathing deeply to calm her heart rate, she formulated a plan. She would get out of this and she’d see that Bixby paid for his crimes. She’d avenge Kellan’s murder if it was the last thing she did.

  The stench of cheap cologne, cigarette smoke and body odor assailed her nose. Though he drove a Porsche, the interior looked like the inside of a garbage truck. It was in serious need of a cleaning. She wouldn’t be surprised to see a rat scurry out from under the dozen or so fast food wrappers, coffee cups and crushed soda cans cluttering the floor.

  Bixby drove the same way he looked: ugly. He wove in and out of traffic, cut off other cars whose drivers either laid on the horn or flashed their middle fingers. A minivan driver had to swerve to the shoulder in a squeal of tires when Bixby nearly sideswiped him in order to veer to the off-ramp. At the bottom, he turned right at the intersection without signaling. Where was a cop when you needed one?

  A few miles down the road, he turned again. She looked for any landmarks or familiar buildings, but she didn’t recognize the area. He slowed and turned down a dirt path riddled with potholes, one so deep that when she bounced, her head practically hit the roof. A black metal gate stood open and he motored through in a cloud of dust. A house came into view and in anticipation of stopping, she braced for impact with her bound hands on the dash. He didn’t disappoint, slamming the brakes so that she still jerked forward and almost knocked the breath from her lungs. He cackled evilly.

  The door was wrenched open and he yanked her out, grabbing a chunk of hair in the process. It felt like he was ripping off her scalp and she screamed in agony. He dumped her to the ground and she cried out at the sharp pain in her side where she landed on a rock.

  “Pick her up and bring her inside.”

  Hands grabbed both of her arms and she was hauled roughly to her feet. Two men dragged her to the one-story blue house with black shutters. It needed a new paint job and some serious curb appeal. Maybe Bixby wasn’t as successful as he wanted people to believe.

  “She’s a looker, boss,” one of the bruisers said when they entered the house. “Can we have a go at her?”

  “Hands off, she’s mine,” Bixby snarled. “Tie her to the chair and then go stand guard outside.”

  The two men shoved her none too gently to a ladderback chair. One cut the tape on her wrists and then secured them behind the cross rails with rope. Then they lumbered out the door, leaving her alone with Bixby.

  Walking slowly around her, he studied her with a predatory grin. Her eyes followed his movement. She really wished looks could kill because he’d be so dead. She didn’t like the lecherous gleam in his eye, so she tried to distract him. “Is this where you keep the girls before you sell them?”

  He didn’t stop his deliberate circle around her chair. “What are you babbling about?”

  “The women you and Robbie smuggle inside the country to sell to the highest bidder. I know all about your operation,” she lied. “You have to stash them somewhere before you traffic them.”

  “Doll, it’s a good thing you’re smoking hot because, upstairs,” he tapped his head, “you’re a few French fries short of a Happy Meal.”

  Pot—kettle. “That’s why Robbie owes you so much money. You kidnap defenseless women and sell them.”

  “Don’t know where you get your information, but someone fed you lies. The only females we smuggle into the country are bitches.” At her look of outrage, he chortled, “Relax, Gloria Steinbeck. Bitches as in pit bulls—well, the female ones.”

  Gloria Steinem, idiot…and dogs? “Dogs? That’s what you and Robbie import?” No way would she believe
her stepbrother developed an interest in breeding canines. He’d hated them as a kid. “Why?”

  “There’s serious scratch to be made in dog fighting.”

  The words made her shudder. The only thing she knew about it was from the arrest of a National Football League quarterback a few years ago who ran an illegal dogfighting operation. She’d been appalled at the report of how violent and bloody the fights were and how the animals were methodically tested, the poor performers executed. The tests included torture like drowning and hanging. How any person could do that to an animal was unconscionable.

  She didn’t want to know the details, but she needed to keep him talking so he wouldn’t come after her. “If that’s the case, how did Robbie rack up such a huge debt?”

  He scoffed. “Because your brother’s a moron.”

  “Stepbrother,” she muttered. She was getting pretty damn tired of reminding everyone of the fact that she wasn’t related to Robbie by blood.

  “He started off betting on the fights. He won a few hundred thousand, got cocky, bet more. Then he wanted in on the action, promised he’d be coming into money soon to expand the operation. Plans were made, but he didn’t hold up his end of the bargain.”

  Robbie truly was a moron. “Where do you hold these dog fights?”

  “I’m done talking. I’m going to put that smart mouth of yours to better use.” He grabbed his crotch.

  Annabelle gagged. No way in hell.

  “You’re mine, sweet thing.” He reached for her but she flinched. “You will not turn away from me!” he roared.

  The blow caught her off guard, snapping her head to the side and throwing her off balance. The chair teetered on two legs before tumbling over and crashing to the floor. She landed hard on her shoulder. Stars danced in a cloud of blackness and her cheek throbbed in tune with her pounding heartbeat. She tasted blood from having bitten her tongue.

  “Get up.” Bixby yanked the chair upright. She gasped as his jerky movements shook her so hard, it felt as if her brain was rattling around inside her skull. His hands moved to the collar of her shirt and she inhaled sharply when he savagely ripped it apart, leaving her in a lacy black bra. Why hadn’t she taken the time to grab the Kevlar vest Kellan went out of his way to purchase for her? She’d left it in his room last night, having taken it off to sleep. She hadn’t put it back on this morning because she didn’t plan on sneaking away so soon. Now it was sitting on the floor of Jade and Logan Bradley’s house, useless.

  Bixby’s eyes locked on her chest and his grin turned lewd. He licked his lips. “Nice.”

  Oh, no. She would not let this man rape her. She’d wait until he came close enough and then she’d jump up and slam the legs of the chair against his stomach.

  He took one step and she prepared to act, but a ringing phone stopped him in his tracks. He grabbed the cell from his pocket and a look of fear crossed his face before he turned his back to her and answered.

  While he was distracted, she worked on the ropes, frantically trying to free her hands before he came back and attempted to finish what he’d started.

  #

  “Ethan?”

  There was a groan and then, “Yeah.”

  “You okay?”

  “Trying to regain my air.”

  “Me, too.” Kellan might not have enough oxygen to fill his lungs, but breathing wasn’t his first priority. Bixby was getting away with Annabelle. His whole body protested when he struggled to a seated position. Ethan was upright, inhaling gingerly. The man whose skull he’d bashed was still out, a pool of blood forming around his head. The man Ethan incapacitated was rousing. When he blinked his eyes open, panic flared before his face twisted into a mutinous glower.

  Kellan pushed unsteadily to his feet and craned his neck around the area, but Annabelle was nowhere in sight. Marching over to Bixby’s man, he crouched down and informed him, “Your boss left you to take the fall. He told us to kill you or arrest you, he didn’t care what the hell happened to you.” A lie, but desperate times and all that.

  “He wouldn’t do that,” the man gritted out.

  “Afraid he did,” Ethan confirmed.

  “Son of a bitch,” the man muttered. “I’ll kill him. And he’s not the boss,” he added under his breath.

  There was the reaction Kellan was hoping for. “You want him dead—we want the same thing. We work together and you have my word we won’t turn you over to the police.”

  The man thought it over for a few seconds before nodding. “Deal.”

  Kellan stood and helped Bixby’s man to his feet. He adjusted the vest beneath his t-shirt. His chest felt like he’d been squeezed in a vice, but he didn’t think any ribs were broken. He glanced around the area again, his gaze landing on something lying in the middle of the sidewalk. A white canvas sneaker—Annabelle’s shoe. He picked it up as Ethan hefted the unconscious one and dumped him in the back of the SUV before climbing inside to drive. Bixby’s man rode shotgun. Kellan wasn’t turning his back on the guy, even if the man’s hands were still bound. He wanted a clear shot if he tried to deceive them.

  “Name’s Thompkins,” the man said. They gave him their names and they were off with Thompkins giving directions to Bixby’s hideout. “You said you wouldn’t turn me over to the police. Aren’t you guys cops? You sure as hell act like it.”

  Kellan took that as a compliment since he’d been one for years. “No, we aren’t cops. We’re private security.”

  “Here in Los Angeles?”

  “No, we’re based out of state.” And that’s all he was getting. There was nothing in the car that would tie them to COBRA Securities. They’d purposefully not worn shirts with logos, either. He didn’t want to leave any crumbs for Annabelle’s stepbrother or Bixby to follow when he spirited her away from LA.

  Bixby’s hideout turned out to be a house surrounded by a black security fence that was a complete waste of money since the gate stood wide open. “There are two other men on guard,” Thompkins said. “Fred and Ronnie. Don’t kill them if you can avoid it.” He pointed to a spot beside a large tree. “Park here. They won’t see us approach.”

  Ethan followed directions and shut off the engine. Kellan got out first and then opened the passenger door. When Thompkins slid out, Kellan cut the bands around his wrists and handed him his weapon, making sure to keep his finger on the trigger of his own gun, just in case. “Lead the way.”

  Thompkins jogged to the side of the house with Kellan and Ethan following and peeked in a window. “Bixby’s on the phone and—”

  “Thompkins? What are you doing? Who are they?”

  Ethan had the man who sneaked up behind them—either Fred or Ronnie—disarmed and unconscious before he knew what hit him. The other man rounded the house and Kellan took him out of commission. They tied them up and gagged them before heading inside.

  “Peters, I told you to wait—” Bixby glanced up from his phone and froze. “What the hell? I shot you.” He pointed at Kellan and Ethan. “I shot both of you.” His eyes widened and his gaze jerked to his weapon—five feet away on a table. Then he leaped for Annabelle and wrapped his arm around her neck. His shoulders relaxed when he noticed his own man enter the house. “Thompkins. Thank God you’re okay. I thought you were dead.” He nodded his head at Kellan and Ethan. “Shoot these bastards. Make sure to actually kill them this time.”

  “Kellan,” Annabelle breathed, tears shimmering in her eyes. Her shirt was ripped in half, her lacy black bra exposed. Kellan gritted his teeth. It took every ounce of willpower he possessed to refrain from charging Bixby and killing him with his fists. Instead, he flashed her a reassuring smile and then focused on Bixby.

  “Let her go, Melvin. You’re outnumbered.”

  Bixby glanced nervously at the window. “My men will be here any minute. You will die this time.”

  “Afraid not, Mel,” Ethan drawled. “Your boys are out of commission.”

  “Thompkins, what the hell are you doing standing there like a b
ig, dumb statue? I told you to shoot them.”

  Thompkins’ jaw tightened. “Tell you what, boss,” he sneered the title, but Bixby didn’t seem to notice, “I’ll take over guarding the girl and you can have the pleasure of shooting them.”

  “Yeah, yeah, good idea.” Bixby bared his nicotine-stained teeth. “It’ll be my pleasure to end their sorry lives.”

  Thompkins rotated and aimed his weapon at Kellan and Ethan. “Drop them,” he ordered.

  Kellan narrowed his eyes, looking for any sign of betrayal. The hatred Thompkins felt for Bixby had been real. Either that, or he was a hell of an actor. He hoped he hadn’t made a fatal mistake trusting this man. Kellan tossed his weapon to the ground and Ethan did the same. Tompkins took out a knife and sliced through the ropes binding Annabelle to a chair. Then he helped her to her feet.

  Bixby smiled smugly and held out a hand. “Give me your gun, Thompkins. This will be fun.”

  “Oh, you want this? You can have it...just as soon as I’m done with it.”

  Thompkins shoved Annabelle at Kellan and he caught her, wrapping his body protectively around hers as three gunshots exploded.

  Chapter Twelve

  Kellan shielded Annabelle while Ethan dove for their discarded guns. He surged up with one in each hand pointed at Thompkins, whose pistol was still aimed at Bixby. Then Thompkins turned to face them and lifted his hands in the air.

  “I’m not going to shoot you,” he insisted. “Just that bastard Bixby. God, I’ve wanted to do that for a hell of a long time.”

  “Damn,” Ethan uttered, staring at Bixby’s corpse. “You Mozambiqued him.”

  “He did what?” Annabelle lifted her head from Kellan’s chest and tried to glance over his shoulder, but he blocked her view. She didn’t need to see the carnage. Headshots up close and personal weren’t pretty, especially the exit wounds.

  She blinked up at him. “What does that mean?”

  He winced. She was so sweet and beautiful. She shouldn’t be touched by the evil of the world. “It’s called the Mozambique Drill or the Failure Drill,” Kellan explained. “Two shots to the torso, followed by one to the head.” The technique was intended to ensure the target would be stopped immediately by a double tap to the larger area of the torso followed by the more precise shot to the head.