by Angie Sandro
Panicked, I try to spin around, but my foot slips on algae. Ferdinand grabs my hand and steadies me before I topple into the water. My heart races as I whisper, “Angelo, text him to get out. This guy’s dangerous.”
Angelo shoves his phone in his pocket and continues to walk toward shore. “He knows the risks. If the Russian wants you, he won’t waste time on Flaco.”
That’s what I’m afraid of.
I slide closer to Ferdinand and whisper, “Tell me about Ivanov.”
Both men have picked up the pace, but the water lapping at our feet and the lack of light limits how fast we can travel. The fact that Ferdinand clears his throat and begins to speak makes me believe he thinks we’re safe from Victor for now.
“The Russian and his mercenaries worked for Magnolia, and her Second, as enforcers. They handled the dirty side of the business while I strictly supervised her private security. The deal was Ivanov stayed out of Louisiana unless on a mission from the queen.”
“When the Second and Third went to war, Ivanov became a free agent.” He sways on the narrow plank, and I steady him this time. This must be ten times more difficult for him with his large feet.
He pauses, catching his breath, and then inches forward. “Ivanov works for whichever side pays the most. And I have no idea which side is paying him to go after you.”
“Does it matter?” I whisper.
His grip on my hand tightens, and I wince. “Information is power. If we knew who to fight, we could take the battle to them. I hate playing defense.”
“Yeah…I’ll worry about that after we get out of the swamp.” The faster I get out of here, the safer everyone else will be.
Angelo speaks with awe in his voice. “Ivanov’s guys are serious heavyweights, ex-soldiers, mercenaries with major firepower. Victor’s his right-hand man, a fucking legend. I ain’t gonna pretend like I’m not shitting-my-pants scared. If I’d known Ivanov’s people were the ones after you—let’s just say I’d have found a way to say no when Ferdinand called tonight.”
* * *
It’s a relief when we step off the bridge onto the bank. I scramble after the men up a steep hill, afraid they’ll leave me behind. Twigs and brush scrape across my bare skin. The muddy ground tugs at my shoes with each step. I’m breathing hard, more from fear than exertion. My legs tingle with the need to run, but I won’t abandon my rescuers. Any of them.
I gulp in a huge breath and hold it for a few seconds. Release it, then take another, trying to calm my racing heart. My eyes dart from side to side, studying each shadow for movement. Each creak and bump makes my skin itch.
Ferdinand follows Angelo into the woods. He hasn’t let go of my hand. I’m strangely comforted by the warmth of his long fingers. Part of me is afraid that, if I let go, I’ll lose him to the darkness.
Angelo cups his cellphone between his hands, limiting its flashlight’s glow to only a few feet. Clusters of thick vines snake across the narrow path, snagging at my ankles with sharp thorns. I keep my eyes focused away from the light so I don’t ruin my night vision. It doesn’t help to alleviate my fear. I really hate the dark.
When we reach a wooden fence, Angelo shoves aside two loose boards. Ferdinand twists his wide shoulders, barely squeezing his oversized frame through the narrow opening, then holds out his hand to help me through. I pause, looking over my shoulder toward the house. Did Victor get inside? Is Flaco okay?
Angelo pushes me, and I stumble forward. “Go on, it’ll be okay. A short run through the woods and we’ll be at Ferdinand’s truck.”
I let them take the lead, lagging behind to give the illusion I’m unable to match their speed, until there’s a significant distance between us.
Angelo and Ferdinand continue down the path, not noticing I’ve turned around. I know they’re more concerned with getting away from Victor than keeping an eye on me. Not that I blame them. I don’t want to put Ferdinand and Angelo in danger and, from their description of him, Victor isn’t the type to leave them alive. I need to distract him long enough for the others to escape. I just hope they’re right about Flaco being able to take care of himself.
A scream echoes across the water.
I freeze, stunned by the tortured wail that follows—a sound no human throat should produce.
“Flaco!” Angelo yells. He turns, running back toward me.
I meet him in mid-run. The impact of his body against mine knocks him backward. I grab him around the waist, halting his fall. “It’s too dangerous!” I holler. “Go with Ferdinand. I’ll get Flaco.”
“No!” Angelo cries, yanking on my arms, but he can’t break free of my grip. The look in his eyes when he realizes I’m holding him—the terror filling his face—it’s like a punch in the gut from Zombie Assassin Number One.
“You’re wasting time,” I say, trying to make my voice sound deep and dark. I’m totally shocked when it doesn’t squeak. “Go with Ferdinand. Get the truck and come back for us.”
I shove him in Ferdinand’s direction and run back down the path. The guys shout in surprise. From their viewpoint, did I move so fast it appeared like I vanished?
Flaco’s screams stop long before I reach the fence. I don’t want to be pessimistic and think the worst, but the slap of approaching footsteps moving at great speed reveals the truth. An explosion of boards fly through the air. I throw up my arms to protect my face and leap back. Wooden slats rain down around where I stood moments before. A shadowed hulk stands in the wreckage.
Holy hell! I’m out of here. I race back the way I came. Shadows fly past. The path opens into a clearing. Where the hell did Ferdinand and Angelo go? They said the truck was just ahead. Did they abandon me? I choke on a sob, slowing down. Which direction do I go in? Where’s safety?
Anders…Ashmael. Help me!
Fingernails dig into my shoulder, and I’m thrown into the air. My back slams into the trunk of a tree. Air shoots from my lungs in a choked scream. My brain goes dark. I clutch my chest with both arms and roll onto my side. The toe of Asshole’s boot slams into my spine, knocking me into a mud puddle. Everything from the neck down goes heavy. I can’t feel my arms and legs, my skin, or lift my head from the water. I’d be drowning if my lungs worked. The cold and wet don’t bother me, and neither does the pain. I almost cry in relief. Then every muscle in my body clenches. My back arches, and I grit my teeth against the agony from my regenerating nerves. I flop in the puddle like a fish escaped from a bucket.
Footsteps come toward me at a run. I roll onto my back, done with this fool using me as a soccer ball. Now that my legs work again, I can kick, too.
I wait until he gets close, then jam my heel into his knee. It dislocates with a pop, and he screams. He should’ve been labeled with a BEWARE FALLING DEBRIS sign, ’cause he topples like a demolished skyscraper. I lift my hands to protect myself from being pancaked, but I also lash out at him again, a double kick, like I’m stomping on cockroaches. Why? ’Cause payback’s an evil bitch named Waydene Acker.
The heel of my right foot jams his testicles so far up inside him that he can probably feel them in his throat. When he doubles over, the second kick slams into his jaw. Blood flies from his mouth, and his neck cracks, twisting his head to the side at an unnatural angle.
The moon shines through an opening in the foliage above, casting its light on his ugly face, and I want to puke. Angelo had been right to be scared. I know the man lying on the ground. Victor is the assassin who took several bullets to the chest and still escaped from Anders. He was badass even before he got juiced. Now he’s terrifying. A broken neck won’t stop him for long.
My breath comes out as a ragged sob. I scramble to get to my feet, but keep slipping in the mud. Every time I fall, my panic doubles, making it harder to think. My mind traps me in a loop, replaying the memory of Victor’s hands wrapping around my neck and squeezing. My chest aches as I relive how I struggled for a single precious breath.
I suck in air, but my lungs resist, expelling it in huge
puffs just as fast. My vision blurs. I’m lost to myself, but not gone. When Victor’s outstretched fingers twitch, I instinctively kick at the hand like it’s a tarantula skittering across the ground. His hand wraps around my ankle, but I twist free.
I hear the car engine before the lights speeding toward us penetrate my brain. Victor disappears beneath the undercarriage of the car with a loud squelching sound. My stomach heaves. I end up on my knees, with my head hanging over my hands as I spew vomit against a bloody tire. My insides feel shredded, leaving me gasping for air.
I guess I’m also crying, ’cause I can’t see—or maybe it’s Victor’s blood on my face. Hands wrap around my waist, holding me out of my own filth, until I finish emptying my stomach. I’m exhausted. The process of healing the injuries Victor gave me is sapping my energy.
A hand presses my face against a familiar, warm chest. I inhale his clean scent. “Anders,” I whisper and snuggle closer. “You smooshed Victor.”
“Dena,” he sighs my name. He caresses my back with long, slow strokes.
I like how he makes me feel. Tingly and giddy. My arms slide around his waist. For the first time in what feels like forever, I feel safe. “Thank you for saving me.”
His body jerks, like he’s been stung by a jellyfish. Or he realizes he’s embracing me like he never wants to let go. Either way, it’s enough to give a girl a sliver of hope. And in his arms, I can’t deny the fluttering of my heart.
Anders loosens his grip enough that my head tilts backward. Our eyes meet. The vulnerability reflected in the jade and gold depths sweeps me up in an emotional tsunami that threatens to drown me.
His gaze shifts to my lips. He going to kiss me. I hold onto him, fists clenching in his shirt. The pulse in my throat races as his eyes dilate. I try to focus on the curl of his plump bottom lip, but it blurs. No…don’t pass out. Not now.
CHAPTER 21
Body Dumping 101
I’m cocooned in warm, fluffy clouds. I want to sink deeper, until no worries bother me, no fear. Memories edge around the drowsing corners of my awareness. If I open my eyes they’ll return, and I don’t want them to. I want to float. Is that too damn much to ask?
Of course it is. My eyelids flutter, sticky from sleep, then open. And like the light flooding in, so come my memories. Panic wings through my body. I roll over the side of the bed. The blanket goes, too, falling over my head. Everything I suppressed returns in a jumble of horrifying impressions. Flaco’s screams. Victor getting squished. And to top it off as one of the worst days of my life, I fainted right as Anders’s soft lips pressed against mine. Oh my God.
Fabric muffles my scream. I can’t breathe. The blanket has become smothering, rather than comforting. It won’t let me go, like it’s alive and determined to eat me. Fluffy clouds my left butt cheek. More like a cotton cannibal stuffed with downy fluff. I twist and kick, trying to find the edge. I’m all tangled up, which increases my panic.
What if Anders didn’t get me free? Victor’s out there, and I’m trapped.
Hands grab my arms. “No!” I yell, lashing out. I’m suffocating. “Get off!”
A heavy weight lands on top of me. No matter how much strength I use, he won’t budge.
“Stop punching me,” Anders says, pulling the blanket from my face. My nose gets flattened against his wide chest, and I inhale his familiar scent and return to my senses. I peek up at his face. Uh-oh, he looks all kinds of pissed off.
“Did you hear me, Dena? I said calm down.”
No, I didn’t hear you the first time. My mouth draws down in a pout. “I can’t breathe,” I mumble, scrubbing my face against his chest.
“This was my last clean shirt.” He rolls off and sits with his back against the side of the bed. Annoyance is stamped on his chiseled face. So much for the dreamy concern I remember from when he saved me. I could kick myself for fainting and missing that opportunity. It may never come again.
“How long was I unconscious?” I sniff and rub the back of my hand across my eyes. “Where are we?”
“Only a few hours. And my house.”
“Oh. Why?”
Anders gives his patented long-suffering sigh. “Because we’re hiding from the bad guys trying to kill you, Dena.”
I laugh. The sound comes from out of nowhere. There’s nothing amusing about what he said, but the exasperated way he said it tickled my funny bone.
I pull the blanket out and peek down. “So—uh—where are my clothes?”
“I thought it’d be easier to keep track of you if you were naked.”
“Wanted an excuse to see me in the buff, huh? I knew you liked me from the moment you checked out my ass in the hospital.” I wrap myself up like a burrito. The effort leaves me shaky and sweaty, and not at all sexy, in my opinion. Maybe Anders doesn’t feel the same. He watches me with a strange light in his eyes. I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart before I stroke out.
I’m also on the verge of tears. I should be outraged that I’m naked, but I’m not. I’ve wanted to get naked with Anders for a while now. It just sucks that I’m too messed up to enjoy his very obvious interest. Rather than test driving his bed during a round of hot sex, I’d rather snuggle in his arms and go back to the drifty place where nothing can hurt me again.
I sigh. Both ideas are selfish. I can’t hide from my responsibilities. “Where are Ferdinand and Angelo?”
Anders glares in my direction. “Why do you care?”
This snaps me out of my lusty haze. “Because they’re my friends, Anders. They were trying to help me!”
“If they’re your friends, then where are they?” He climbs to his feet and begins to pace in front of me. “I’m the one who’s here, not them.”
“That’s what I’m asking.” I force my voice to sound calm, soothing. I refuse to engage in unbecoming behavior, despite how many buttons Anders pushes. “Where are they? What happened after I passed out?”
“What do you think happened? I rescued you—again. I killed a man for you. Don’t you get that? I’m a cop, and I murdered a man to save you.”
What’s up with everyone blaming me for murdering people? “I appreciate the fact that you rescued me, but I never asked you to murder anyone!” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “And if you’re talking about Victor, don’t worry. You didn’t kill him. Not any more than you killed him the last time you shot him. He didn’t stay dead then, and I seriously doubt that running him over killed him this time.”
Anders stops pacing. “What are you saying? That this is the same guy that broke into your house?”
“Yeah, the one you kept shooting, but he kept on kicking like the Energizer bunny on steroids. It takes a whole lot of damage to kill him.”
“Shit! You’re serious.” Anders’s eyes widen, and he runs from the room.
“Wait—” I jump up and tuck the blanket securely around my body and then chase him down the hallway, through the kitchen, and into the garage. He’s reaching for the trunk of his car when I grab his arm. “Is Victor” —I close my eyes—“in your trunk? Please, please tell me you didn’t—”
“I thought I killed him.”
“But your car? What the hell were you thinking?”
In a swift move, his hands lock around my wrists. He jerks me forward, and I fall into his arms with a sharp gasp. He wraps his arms over mine, pinning them to my sides, like he’s afraid I’ll pull away. Not a chance.
I lay my head against his chest. My heart races, but it’s nothing compared to the rapid beats beneath my cheek. My hands lift to his hips, settling on the v-juncture between his waist and pelvis. I tilt my head back and meet his haunted eyes. “Anders—”
He brushes a finger across my cheek. “What was I thinking?” He slides his fingers into the curls at the nape of my neck. “Nothing.”
His head dips down, and he brushes the tip of his nose down mine, and I forget to breathe. “I saw you lying in the field, bleeding, crying…I don’t know what came over me. Or how
I could…” His arms tighten around me. “The next thing I know, I’ve run him over with my fucking car.”
“You saved my life.”
“I almost died myself when you passed out. I thought I’d gotten to you too late. I wasn’t thinking about the consequences at the time. I panicked and stuffed Victor in my trunk. I figured I could throw the corpse in the swamp later.”
My body warms. I want to believe what he’s saying and run with it. But he’s gone cold on me so often that I can’t let my guard down all the way. I give his waist a tickle. “Wow, Anders likes me enough to dispose of a body for me. I’m flattered.”
His jaw clenches. “Stop teasing.”
I give him a lopsided grin and pull him away from the trunk. “Look, you won’t win Detective of the Year for this save, but thanks to your quick reflexes, I’m alive. I owe you. And I pay my debts. We’ll take care of Victor together.” Damn, that speech was badass. He’s impressed, I can tell. An ax hangs on the wall, and I go over and grab it.
“What’s that for?”
“In case he’s not dead.” I secure the ends of the blanket before giving the ax a test swish. It whistles through the air. One good chop and, like a vampire, Victor will be dead without a head. I take a deep breath and move to the trunk. “Open it and move out of my way—fast.”
Anders twists the key, throws open the trunk, and jumps back. I leap forward, swinging the ax. The sharp blade slices into Anders’s spare tire.
“He’s gone,” I state the obvious. My legs waver, and I catch my fall on the edge of the trunk. My hand feels wet. Blood. I scream, holding my palm out to Anders. So much for my tough girl act.
Anders uses the edge of the blanket to wipe off my shaking hand. “It’s okay.”
“No, no it’s not.” How long before I stop seeing the red stain on my hand? Months? Years? Ugh. I double my fingers into a fist. “You’re an amateur, Anders. I bet Victor remembers to disable the emergency release whenever he transports corpses in his trunk.”
