by Lori Sjoberg
“I had a feeling you were going to say that.” The waitress returned with Gwen’s to-go order and the check. Gwen set the egg rolls beside her purse and pushed the check in Dmitri’s direction. “In that case, you’re buying.”
Chapter 5
“Why did you bother asking for my input when you refuse to even consider it?” Gwen grumbled as they stepped onto the subway car and claimed a seat in the back. At midafternoon, the Metro wasn’t crowded. Only a dozen or so passengers occupied the car, making for a quiet ride back to the parking garage.
“I considered your recommendations.” Dmitri stretched his long legs out and rested his hands on his thighs. “I just happened to find them … lacking.”
Jackass. They’d been at it ever since she finished compiling the list of reapers known to associate with Patrick Ziegler. She’d argued that they should head straight to Philadelphia, where Jake Eagan, one of Patrick’s old buddies, was now stationed. Dmitri, however, had drawn a different conclusion, and insisted they drive to North Carolina to speak with Patrick’s old girlfriend.
“He’s known Jake almost as long as he’s known me,” she said as the train pulled away from the station. “It only makes sense to try him first.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Irritation marked his words. “He knows Jake, but he still fucks Rosa. And his relationship with her is ongoing.”
True. Even though they were no longer officially a couple, Patrick and Rosa maintained a loose friends-with-benefits relationship. But that didn’t mean he’d choose her over Jake when picking allies for a revolution. Patrick was simply too pragmatic for something like that. It wasn’t in his nature to choose a bang buddy over someone who’d had his back for decades.
She was about to continue arguing the point when she noticed a guy in his early twenties watching her from a few seats away. From where she sat, he looked like your garden-variety gangbanger: short black hair, plain brown eyes, plenty of tattoos, wearing brand-new Nikes, an oversized T-shirt, and a pair of pants so baggy he wore boxers underneath to keep everything private from becoming public. The way he stared at her put her on guard, so she stared right back until he blinked.
The guy had the balls to blow her a kiss while he adjusted himself. Still staring, he nudged his buddy to the right and pointed in her direction. “Baby, why don’t you come over here and sit on my lap?”
She shot him a disgusted look. “I don’t think so.”
His grin turned to a scowl. “That wasn’t a request, bitch. Get your pink ass over here before something bad happens to you.” He got out of his seat and took a step toward her.
Dmitri rose, blocked his path. He stood a full head taller than the guy and outweighed him by at least fifty pounds. “The woman said no.”
All conversation stopped on the train, and all eyes focused in their direction. An elderly couple got out of their seats to move a few rows away.
“I wasn’t talking to you, asshole.” The punk looked Dmitri up and down while his buddy sidled up behind him. “Now you went and got me mad. Before, all I wanted was your bitch. Now I want your bitch and your wallet.”
Oh, boy. This guy either had titanium balls or was dumber than a box of rocks. Maybe both. Gwen settled back against her seat to watch the action unfold.
A muscle jumped along the side of Dmitri’s jaw. “Or what?”
The sound of metal clicking filled the air right before the guy raised a knife. A woman gasped as he waved the blade in front of Dmitri. “Don’t make me cut you—”
In a blur of movement, Dmitri grabbed the punk’s wrist and twisted hard. There was the distinct sound of bones breaking, followed by an agonizing scream. With his free hand, Dmitri snatched the knife and pressed the tip of the blade against the thug’s beefy neck.
“You shouldn’t play with knives,” Dmitri said, his voice so low and even it was hard to hear over the noise of the subway. He applied just enough pressure to break the skin, and a trickle of blood seeped from the wound. “I’m keeping this. Go away.”
The guy bolted the second Dmitri released his grip. He cradled his hand against his chest as he rushed to the far end of the car with his buddy. A few minutes later, they pulled into the next station, and the pair peeled out the second the doors opened. Almost all of the other passengers scurried out as well, leaving the car nearly empty.
After the doors whooshed closed again, Dmitri stuffed the small knife in his back pocket. He ignored the gaping stares from the remaining passengers as he reclaimed his seat beside Gwen.
She slanted a glance in his direction. “I could have handled that, you know.” Plus, she could have handled it without breaking bones. Among other things, reapers were gifted with the ability to compel the human mind. It came in handy during difficult assignments when mortal intervention threatened to gum up the works.
Or when you were accosted by punks on the subway.
Dmitri lifted a shoulder, a self-satisfied look on his face. “I know. But my way was more fun.”
True, although she’d never admit it to him. The look on that asshole’s face was priceless. “We really should drive to Philly first,” she said, switching subjects. “There’s no way he won’t try to recruit Jake.”
“Perhaps. But he knows far more reapers in the North and South Carolina region. If we start with Rosa, we’ll be closer to a larger concentration of potential contacts. And while we talk with her, you can call Jake and touch base.”
“Yeah, but—” But what? His logic was perfectly valid. Gut instinct told her that Jake would be the next contact, but instinct didn’t count for squat with Dmitri. Unless she could come up with a more convincing argument, it looked like they were heading for North Carolina.
They switched trains at the King Street station and rode the short distance to Van Dorn Street. After a quick walk to the parking garage, they were on their way to visit Rosa.
Ominous clouds blackened the afternoon sky as they drove away from the capital. Rain cut loose about twenty minutes later, coming down so hard the windshield wipers couldn’t keep pace with the deluge. Traffic on the highway slowed to a crawl until the storm finally passed and blue skies peeked through the clouds. A few miles later, Dmitri eased into the far left lane and passed a slow-moving Mercedes.
“Mind if I change this?” Gwen asked, her hand hovering over the front of the stereo. She’d tried to be a good sport about his music, but she’d officially hit her limit on death metal. No way could she sit through another round of distorted guitars, blistering tempos, and growling vocals that sounded like Cookie Monster on acid—what was that guy even saying? Much more and her ears were going to bleed.
His gaze flicked in her direction before returning to the road. “Why? What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing. I’m just not a big fan of music to kill your mother by.”
He scowled. “Leave it. I like it.”
“Whatever.” Damn, she should have packed earplugs. One of these days, she’d pay him back by making him listen to Maroon 5. Arms folded across her chest, she slumped back against her seat and sulked.
They’d been on the road for a couple of hours when brake lights flashed in front of them. Dmitri cursed, tires screeching when he slammed on the brakes to avoid a collision with a tractor-trailer. By some miracle, he managed to stop the Challenger a few feet from the truck’s rear bumper.
Unfortunately the driver behind them didn’t possess the same quick reflexes. The crunch of metal filled the air as the car hit the Challenger from behind. The Dodge lurched forward, missing the truck by a hair.
“Son of a bitch!” After pulling onto the shoulder, Dmitri yanked the emergency brake and unfastened his seat belt. With daggers in his eyes, he stepped out of the car and stalked toward the other vehicle.
Poor bastard, Gwen thought. She’d hate to be the person responsible for damaging Dmitri’s pride and joy. Hopefully, it wasn’t too bad. The Challenger was built like a tank, after all, and could probably withstand a nuclear blast and still
be drivable.
Gwen adjusted the angle of the rearview mirror so she could see what was going on. Dmitri stood between the two cars with the other driver beside him, assessing the damage to his vehicle. Frowning, he planted his fists on his hips, which meant it couldn’t be more serious than a dented bumper or a broken taillight. Anything worse, and he’d be giving the other driver the look of death.
She should know. She’d put that look on his face more times than she could count.
Her gaze wandered to the other vehicle, a newer-model white Hyundai sedan, with its crumpled hood and steam rising from the radiator. It wasn’t going anywhere without the aid of a tow truck, and who knew how long it would take for one to arrive. A middle-aged man with a receding hairline sat on the passenger side, a nervous expression plastered on his face.
The guy seemed oddly familiar, but she couldn’t quite put a finger on where she’d seen him before. Years had passed since she last visited this part of the country, so she doubted it was anyone she—
Wait a minute. Now she remembered him. He was none other than Tommy Cooper, one of the missing reapers from the Charleston crew. Patrick must have taught him how to mask his life force, because try as she might, she couldn’t detect his immortal signature. And if he was here, then the collision was certainly no accident. She bet they’d intentionally rammed Dmitri’s car along the quiet stretch of highway.
Warning bells went off inside her head. She sprang from the Challenger at the same time Tommy stepped out of the battered car. Eyes focused squarely on Dmitri, he pulled a snub-nosed revolver from the waistband of his pants and aimed it in Dmitri’s direction.
“Gun!” she shouted as she sprinted toward the gap between cars. Too bad her own gun was locked in the trunk with her bag. If she were armed, she could put Tommy out of commission before he got the chance to fire a single shot.
Time slowed, or at least it seemed that way. Gwen tried to knock Dmitri out of the way as Tommy squeezed the trigger. A bolt of pain ripped through her upper body as the bullet pierced her skin and spun her around. Off balance, she stumbled to the ground, her mind not registering the pain of her knees skidding against the asphalt.
In her periphery, a second shot rang out, and then she heard the sounds of a scuffle. A whimper rose in her throat as she pushed herself off the pavement. It hurt to sit. Hurt to breathe. Her shoulder throbbed, and her right arm was completely numb. She gritted her teeth, ignoring the pain as she scooted toward the passenger side of the crumpled car. Peeking around the front quarter panel, she found no sign of Tommy. That was a relief. Getting shot in the head would have really ruined her day.
Another shot, and the scent of gunpowder tinged the air. Someone grunted and cursed. She needed to get to Dmitri and fast. Two against one, with at least one of them armed, wasn’t exactly fair in her book. Like it or not, he needed backup if he stood any chance of—
“There you are,” Dmitri said from behind, and she nearly let out a shriek. His clothes were scuffed, his lower lip was bleeding, and a bruise darkened the skin below his left eye, but otherwise he appeared okay. Tommy’s gun was in his right hand. He kneeled down beside her, his expression grim as he looked her over. “You’ve lost a lot of blood. Can you walk?”
“Yeah.” She nodded and felt a little woozy.
“Good. Get in the car while I finish with these two.”
“What are you going to do to them?”
Something dark and primal flashed across his features as he stuffed Tommy’s gun in the waistband of his jeans. “Nothing for you to worry about. Now get your ass in the car. I’ll be there in a minute.” He stood, and then he was gone.
What a clusterfuck.
The trap was so obvious he should have seen it a mile away. Even worse, Gwen got shot because of his carelessness, the second time he’d caused her injury in less than twenty-four hours. As a reaper she was sure to survive, but the fact failed to ease his conscience.
Ignoring the dented bumper and the broken brake light, he slammed the trunk a little harder than necessary and got back into the car.
Eyes closed and jaw clenched, Gwen sat on the front passenger seat. Blood stained her shirt at the shoulder and trailed down her arm. Her chest rose and fell with each shallow pant, and a light sheen of sweat covered her forehead.
“Apply pressure to the wound. It’ll help slow the bleeding.” When she didn’t respond, he reached across the seat, grabbed her left hand, and pressed it against her injured shoulder. Her eyes shot open as she let out a hiss, but she kept her palm pressed to the wound.
Dmitri stomped on the gas, and the car peeled back onto the highway. The last thing he needed was to get pulled over by the cops, so he kept the speed to no more than ten over the limit. He veered off at the closest exit and started searching for a safe place to pull over.
Privacy was imperative when tending to her wounds. Mortals asked too many questions when they witnessed how quickly reapers healed, which made a trip to a hospital impractical. He needed a spot where he could work on her without interruptions or prying eyes.
After driving past clusters of strip malls, gas stations, hotels, and restaurants, the scenery turned more rural. Shops became fewer and farther between. Finally, he found a suitable location. The auto body shop was closed for the evening, with the lights turned out and the garage bay doors rolled down. The only other business nearby was an old gas station, and judging by the price of unleaded on the weathered sign, it had been closed for at least a decade. He drove by twice, making sure the place was deserted, before hanging a left onto the lot.
He parked in the back, between the building and a Dumpster, and Gwen groaned when he inadvertently ran over a pothole. It didn’t take much effort to jimmy the lock on the rear door and disable the crude alarm system. Once inside, he rolled up the door to one of the unoccupied bays and backed the Challenger inside.
Gwen lay slumped against the seat, her eyes closed. The entire right side of her shirt was soaked with blood. Dmitri rounded the car and opened the passenger side door. “Gwen, wake up.” Not wanting to touch her injured shoulder, he gave her leg a light shake.
“Huh?” With her eyes barely open, she twisted her neck in his direction. Her nose crinkled at the smells of grease and gasoline. “Where are we?”
“Someplace quiet. Do you need help getting out?”
“No, I can do it.” Her voice barely rose above a whisper, her eyes dulled with pain. “Just give me a minute.”
It took three, but she managed to step out of the car on her own. By then, her face was white as a sheet and her legs seemed a little shaky. Refusing the arm he offered, she shuffled toward the door leading to the interior of the shop, and in spite of their differences, he admired her determination.
Once inside, Dmitri led her to the waiting area. He sat her down on one of the chairs before closing all of the blinds. Satisfied they wouldn’t be seen from the road, he fished a few coins from his pocket and bought a bottle of water from the vending machine.
“Drink.”
Without a word of protest, she accepted the bottle he offered. Slowly, as if every movement caused pain, she downed half the water in one long chug. She still looked beat, but at least she wouldn’t pass out from dehydration. “Thank you.”
“Nothing to thank me for.” Expressions of gratitude made him uneasy, especially when he didn’t deserve them. In truth, he was the one who should be grateful. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other and shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I better check the perimeter. Wait here. When I get back, I’ll patch you up.”
This was so not the way she envisioned her day ending.
Gwen leaned forward, propped her left elbow against her knee, and rested her head in her hand. She wanted to lean back and close her tired eyes, but the angle of the chair put too much pressure on the bullet wound. And since the floor looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in a decade, lying on the tiles was off-limits as well.
She was thinking abo
ut moving the magazines off the table and lying there when the rear door opened and Dmitri stepped back inside.
“Good, you’re still awake.” He closed the door behind him and crossed the room. Only then did she notice the lines of stress around his eyes. “How do you feel?”
“Like I just got shot.” She knew she sounded bitchy, but at the moment she really didn’t care.
Something crossed his face. Compassion? Sympathy? With him, it was impossible to tell. “You took a bullet for me.” Surprise marked his voice.
“Yeah. Well … it didn’t work out the way I intended.” She shrugged and then winced at the pain in her shoulder. Leaning forward, she carefully placed the empty water bottle on the table. A dull throb rippled through her, originating from the point of entry and radiating across her shoulder and down the length of her right arm. Fatigue drained her remaining energy, leaving her muscles weak. Diminished. She closed her eyes and exhaled when a wave of exhaustion made her dizzy.
Dmitri didn’t say anything right away. He reached out with his right hand and touched her back, his palm warm through the thin cotton of her shirt. “Take this off so I can dig out the bullet.”
That got her attention. Her eyes flew open. “Excuse me?”
“There is nothing wrong with your hearing. Your shoulder, on the other hand, requires attention.”
“It’ll heal.”
“True, but you’ll heal faster if I remove the bullet.” He gave her an expectant look. “Can you raise your arms, or would you rather I cut the shirt off?”
How nice of him to give her a choice. Deep down, though, she knew he was right. Already, she could feel the prickly sensation that signaled the beginning of the healing process, but it would take much longer with a foreign object lodged inside her body. And then there was the possibility of the entry wound healing before the bullet was expelled. If that happened, her body would force the slug through the barrier of her newly healed flesh. The prospect made her shudder.
