Candi’s Debt

by Aubrey Cara

  “Still nothing?” His voice is a low rumble in the quiet room. Warm and comforting. I have to fight the urge to turn into that comfort and bury myself there, sobbing. It’s too tempting.

  “Yeah, still nothing.” My voice is flat and dead. Calm. But my heart is racing, my stomach feeling sick. I’ve never been more scared for my brother.

  “Hopefully my guys find him.” It’s meant to be reassuring, and I’m grateful for that, but his tone says he doesn’t believe it. Then my mind catches and snags on his words again.

  My guys. “Hank, why were you at the strip club as Colin McGellan, the partial owner of Muchachas? Is that a real person? And who exactly are your guys?”

  Hank wraps his arms around me from behind, his legs hugging either side of mine, as he drops a kiss to the side of my neck. “If I tell you something, you can’t tell anyone, not even your brother.”

  If my brother even survives this. I keep that morbid thought to myself. It doesn’t pay to start thinking that way. “Ookay,” I drawl, hesitantly.

  “I’m, or rather I used to be…the thing is.” Hank pauses. “I take contracts. Government contracts.”

  I can feel my eyes bug as I turn in his hold. “Like an assassin?” I fairly screech the question.

  “No. Like a security contractor.”

  “Is that just a fancy way to say assassin?”

  He chuckles. “It’s a fancy way of saying mercenary. We don’t usually shoot unless we get shot at first.”

  “Unless you’re stealing a girl from a drug boss.”

  “Yes, unless that.”

  I settle back against his chest again. “Huh.” I thought I knew what mercenaries were but now I’m not so sure. “Is what you do illegal?”

  “No. At least not the jobs I take.”

  “Huh,” I say again because I still have no clue what it means to be a mercenary. “So are you on a contract now? Is that why you were at the poker game?”

  “A guy I’ve worked with a couple times, he’s DEA. Two years ago he did me a solid when I’d been up shit creek. He called me a few weeks ago, asked me to come out here in an unofficial capacity. I was supposed to be a fill-in. Then it turned out they just needed me to offer a bit of a distraction while they closed in on his operation.”

  “You certainly did that.”

  “Yeah,” he says going very still behind me. He cocks his head a second before there is a knock at our door.

  Hank eases off the bed, stone faced, with a finger over his lips as a sign for silence. Never taking his eyes off the door he creeps over to his discarded clothes grabbing his gun.

  I glance over at the clock, my heart hammering. It’s one-thirty in the morning. Room service isn’t going to be on the other side of that door.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CANDI

  Hank soundlessly makes his way over to me. There’s another more insistent knock and a rattle of the door. “Say, just a minute,” Hank whispers.

  “Just a minute,” I call out, my voice shaking.

  Hank motions me up and steers me to the bathroom. Get down, he mouths silently. When I crouch down under the sink he motions for me to stay and closes the door without a sound.

  I tense, curling into a tight ball on the cold tile as I hear a rustle and a thud, followed by another thud, and another. There’s some kind of scuffle going on out there and all I can do is pray Hank is winning. I want to creep to the door and see what’s going on, but as quickly as the noises began they stop. My breathing sounds so loud in the silence I cover my mouth. Now the only thing I hear is my racing pulse. My ass is numb from being curled up on the cold tile but I can’t move. I’m afraid of making a sound.

  The door is thrown open and my scream is muffled behind my hand. Hank’s standing in the doorway, his lip bloodied. Relief courses through me so quickly I feel lightheaded.

  “Come on,” he says motioning me up.

  I throw my arms around his neck clinging to him for dear life. He squeezes me tight in his embrace, dropping a kiss to my head before pushing me back. “I need you to get dressed. We’re not safe here,” he says calmly.

  I nod my head, but I’m still feeling panicky. I turn in a circle not remembering where my clothes are. That’s when I see him. There’s a hulk of a man lying face down. He’s gagged by a torn sheet. His arms tied behind his back. His ankles bound together. Holy shit.

  “Hey, look at me.” Hank steps in front of me, blocking my view of the stranger passed out and bound on the floor. “I need you to keep it together for me,” he says gently. He picks up my clothes off the floor and begins efficiently dressing me. He’s already completely dressed. Even his boots are on. I lift my leg, then my other as he puts my skirt back on me. “That’s a good girl,” he murmurs.

  He snatches my hand as we go toward the door.

  “What about the pants?” I don’t know why I ask. They just seemed lonely laying crumpled on the floor.

  Hand on the doorknob, he glances back at me. “You need to be able to run.” With that ominous statement, he eases open the door, looking both ways down the hall before motioning me out. We make our way to the back stairwell and start our way down. He surprises me when we go through the door of the second floor landing and take the back elevator to the first floor.

  Hank looks calm and cool if intensely focused and I wonder who the hell this guy is. He’s like the Terminator. I trip out of the elevator and hear myself whimper. I’m more like the whiny, screaming girl in the movie. The one who always has to be saved. Dang. I hate that girl. She’s so annoying.

  Squaring my shoulders, I try to harness my inner badass. I thought we’d head for the back door. Instead, we go around the corner to one of the side doors. With an arm out, he holds me against the wall while he peeks both ways out of the glass. Whatever he sees makes him curse.

  Grabbing my hand, we’re running down the hall and around the corner. With our backs to the wall, we wait. I have no idea what we’re waiting for and I want to ask. Hank sees the question in my eyes and shakes his head.

  I’m huffing like I just tried to run a mile. If Hank is breathing I can’t tell. It’s like he doesn’t need oxygen. He’s moved into Chuck Norris mode.

  The unmistakable sound of the side door opening echoes loudly down the hall. Then the stairwell door. Whoever just came in isn’t trying to be quiet.

  Hank doesn’t even wait a full minute before he’s pulling me down the hall the way we’d just come. We’re out the door, running hunched over, low to the ground like we’re in some spy movie. Squatting low behind a big black SUV we ease around to the driver’s side door.

  Gun in hand, Hank whips open the door, yanking a man out. He knocks him out with the butt of his gun in one smooth move. The sound of a gun cocking into place rings in my ears before cold metal is pressed to my head.

  “Hank?” My heart’s racing a sickening beat as a tear trails down the side of my face. I’m not the badass. I’m definitely the whiny girl who needs to be saved.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  HANK

  “Hank?” A chill goes down my spine at the tremor in Candi’s voice.

  I swing up and around from securing the guy on the ground. Gun drawn, finger on the trigger. In combat, I wouldn’t hesitate. If this were a normal job, the asshole standing behind Candi with a gun to her head would be dead. Shot between the eyes. But I do hesitate. What-ifs fill my head. What if I miss? What if this fucker’s gun goes off? I’ve seen brains splatter across a room at the impact of a bullet.

  My stomach rolls as an image of her beautiful blonde hair and face blown wide open runs through my head. Shit. This is what it feels like to lose your edge. I’ve gone soft. Soft is not an option at the moment.

  “It’s over. Lower your weapon or she dies,” he says.

  My heart’s beating like a hammer against my ribs as I pull the trigger. The report of the gun echoes loud in the night. Candi jumps but doesn’t scream. She turns, staring at the dead guy at her feet, a pool of blood
spreading out beneath him. I grab her up, shoving her in the SUV and climbing in after her. We’re tearing out of the parking lot as two men come running out of the side door of the hotel.

  Candi’s trembling in her seat and I reach across her and grab her seat belt, snapping the buckle into place. “Hey, baby girl,” I say. Not taking my eyes off the road I pick up her hand and kiss her ice cold fingers. Fuck. She’s going into shock. “How you doing over there?”

  “I’m not a badass,” she says staring down at the dashboard.

  “You are. You are an amazing badass.”

  “Nope,” she says looking up at me shaking her head back and forth. “I don’t think I am.” Shit. She has blood spray on her face. Under that, her skin is devoid of color, her eyes shining bright with leftover terror.

  “It’s gonna be all right, princess.”

  She nods her head, sitting back in her seat. She stares blankly out the window and I wonder if she’s really going to be all right.

  “You did great back there. I need you to do something for me. I need you to keep your eyes peeled for another motel or something. We need to swap out cars.”

  “Why, what’s wrong with this one?”

  “It probably has a tracker. And anyone who heard that gunshot and looked out the window could identify this vehicle. The hotel room is in my name. The police may be looking for us.”

  “Oh, God.”

  Great. Score one for trying to distract her. She’s not used to this kind of shit. I’m a dumbass. Driving down the back roads I spot an isolated house up ahead. The yard is packed with cars. It looks like someone’s throwing a party. Perfect.

  I slow down pulling off to the side of the road.

  “What are we doing?”

  “Have you ever stolen a car, princess?”

  “Of course.” I pause opening the door and look over at her, surprised with her answer.

  She shrugs. “Family stuff,” she says as way of explanation.

  It makes me smile. “And you say you’re not a badass. Come on and show me how it’s done.”

  As soon as we open the car doors we hear the music and the unmistakable sound of drunk revelry. I can see lights strung up in the back yard, but no one is in the front. Fate seems to be smiling on us. We spot an old Chevy on the far end of the yard, already pointing toward the road. It was meant to be. The doors are unlocked.

  Candi leans in under the steering column and seeming to spot something stands. Giggling, she reaches up to the visor. With a grin on her face she turns, dangling keys from her fingers.

  “One of the perks of living in Texas. I do love me some good ‘ole boys,” she says tossing me the keys. I climb in behind her cranking up the engine and throwing it into gear.

  After the night we’ve had I expect some redneck to come swinging out the front door shooting off rifles. Watching the rear view mirror shows no one there. We’re down the road and on our way.

  I think I should probably call Slater, but if Huntington has my real name, my phone might be tapped. I glance over and find Candi with a self-satisfied smile on her face. I can tell she’s still a bit shaken from earlier, but she’s obviously perking up.

  “What are you grinning about?”

  “I needed that.”

  “What? Stealing a car?”

  “Yeah.” She shrugs in the cute little way she does. “It felt familiar. It grounded me. You know, like meditation or yoga or whatever. I feel calmer now. Refocused.”

  I huff out a laugh. Who describes stealing a car as being therapeutic? “Princess, we’re going to have to work on how you deal with stressful situations. Your coping methods may get you arrested.” Although, in truth, I find it kind of hot. Jesus, she’s a bucket full of trouble just waiting to be knocked over.

  She rolls her eyes, sticking out her tongue. “It’s not like I do it often. It’s been forever since I stole a car. And the last time I did I felt horrible and took it back.”

  “I’m sure the owner was real understanding.”

  “Actually she was. See it was an older lady. I told her I thought the car was mine, cause it looked like mine—which was a lie,” she says the last like I couldn’t guess as much. “I didn’t have a car at the time. She invited me in. We made sun tea and rhubarb pie.”

  “Princess, only you could jack a car and end up making pie with the owner. Did you ever see her again?”

  “Oh, yeah. I used to go visit her, but then her kids came and got her and moved her into a home near them up in Ohio. She wasn’t happy about it at all.”

  “I imagine.”

  I let her chatter while we make our way to the safehouse. Like binge eating and stealing cars, talking about anything and everything seems to be her way of distracting herself. She runs a hand over the side of her face that has dried specks of blood spatter and quiets.

  “Do you think you killed him?”

  I know she’s talking about the guy that had been holding her at gunpoint. I had hit him square between the eyes. I’m a perfect shot. I don’t miss. It’s one of the things that got me recognition in the military and then later, when I started taking contracts. The man was dead all right. I’m not sure if she wants to hear that though.

  I give a noncommittal shrug. “Who knows,” I say. It would be beyond miraculous if the bastard lived, but crazier things have been known to happen.

  *** ***

  We’re halfway down the dirt road leading to the safehouse when I get a creeping feeling. When I was little I always wondered what people meant when they said they felt like someone just walked over their grave. I know now what they were talking about. This is how it feels. I had this feeling my last tour in Iraq. I had this feeling in Kosovo. I know something bad is coming.

  I slow the truck down to a crawl. Pulling out my phone, I dial Slater’s number, forgetting there’s no signal out here. I pocket the phone, then thinking better of it, I stuff it into my boot before pulling out my gun.

  “What are you doing?” Candi asks, staring at the gun.

  “Just being careful.” We’re up to the section of the road that’s narrower. The trees are closing in and I can’t turn around. I can only back out.

  “But this is the safehouse. Why would you go to a safehouse if it’s not safe?”

  Why indeed? I get to the end of the drive and all is dark, the only thing I can see is the trailer illuminated by the truck’s headlights. Candi reaches for her door handle to get out and I stay her hand. I still have that damn feeling. I shift gears to turn the truck around to go the way we came when we’re suddenly surrounded by assholes with guns. Like fucking gorillas they’re coming out of the trees, in all black, with camo face paint on. With a glance I count about ten, maybe fifteen of the fuckers. It’s been a while since I had this much heat trained on me. The headlights of two big vehicles come on. One in front of us and one behind. Shit. We’re blocked in.

  This seems like a lot of effort for a girl who owes three grand and little ole me. Even if I did shoot Huntington’s toe off. I wonder if we’re taking the fall for something else. Something bigger. Slater either underestimated the resources Huntington has or he gave me up. The latter doesn’t make sense, but it’s likely they have a mole.

  These guys knew where the safehouse was and have been waiting here, God only knows how long. Only a few people know this location, yet here they are, like we issued a fucking invite.

  Candi’s got a death grip on my arm and I want to rage. Whatever is about to happen I’m not going to be able to protect her from it. We’re a million shades of fucked.

  “What do we do?” She trusts me to take care of her. To get us out of this. I don’t know if I can. Not this time.

  My eyes sear into hers, trying to give her strength. “Be strong. And run if you get a chance.”

  The doors are yanked open and we’re ripped out of the truck from either side. I’m shoved from behind and see Candi being dragged away in the opposite direction. Eyes full of terror she looks back at me, but she doesn�
�t scream.

  For now, she’s being strong.

  Swinging around, I face plant the guy to the left of me. Snatching his gun, I shoot off three rapid shots hitting one of Huntington’s soldiers in the head, another in the throat, and then a third in the chest. The third’s wearing ballistics gear, but is still in close enough range to be knocked the hell back.

  Pain explodes from the back of my head before I can get another clear shot and my vision plays tilt-a-whirl. I fall to my knees and my vision clears just in time to see the butt of a rifle smash into my face.

  CANDI

  There are two guards on either side of me, leading me away. I’m not fighting, yet they still have an iron grip of my arms on either side. The guard to my left is a big, bald, scary guy that looks like he should be the bad guy in a movie. He’s carrying his automatic rifle around like he’s just waiting to kill something.

  The guard to the right of me looks like an average Joe, and I wonder how he got into his specific profession of working for a drug boss. Outside of the black fatigues and bulletproof vest, he looks like he could be coaching his kid’s baseball team and driving a minivan.

  They’re shoving me in a big, black SUV when I hear the blast of gunfire.

  I turn just in time to see Hank get knocked to the ground. There’re two men kicking the shit out of him.

  “Hank!” I pull my arm free and run. I’m yanked back by my hair. It’s baldy. My scalp is screaming as he stuffs me in the vehicle. Only when I’m inside does he let go of his grip and I bite down on his hand until he cracks me across the face hard enough I see stars.

  Average Joe takes a seat and closes the door while I sit on the floor holding my face.

  “Hey, boss already found a buyer for this girl,” he says to baldy. “You know the rules. No leaving marks and shit after they’ve been purchased.”