by Tia Louise
I don’t know if my expression is under control. Anger burns just below my skin. “What does that mean?”
His glittering smile turns sinister. “Rick fell in love with Tanya’s mother. She blamed Gavin for her daughter being a junky when we all knew her daughter learned that shit at her mother’s knee. Still, that crazy bitch had something to lose.”
“So it was a woman.”
“Now here you are, coming at me. You have a kid, too…”
My stomach tightens. Is this bastard threatening Jillian? The anger simmering under my skin blazes into an inferno in my chest, fueled by the bourbon I’ve drunk.
The thumb drive is forgotten.
Tricking this guy into trusting me is forgotten.
Everything fades in the face of protecting my baby girl.
With precise, even movements, I unbutton my coat. “Sounds like I’m wasting your time. Let me give you my card in case you change your mind…”
His eyes land on the holster at my chest and several things happen at once.
The clink of crystal glances off the end table before crashing to the floor.
Boots thump on hardwoods.
His pistol flies up, and I feint to the left just as the staccato pop! of gunfire echoes in the room.
Pain blasts through my temple, and I’m thrown back as warm liquid gushes down my face
“Fuck!” I shout, whipping up my pistol and pulling the trigger before he can shoot again.
Another sharp pop! echoes in the room, and Landry flies back, hitting the opposite wall with a slam. My head is spinning. My ears ring, and I’m disoriented. This is bad—I can’t tell where I’m going, but I can’t stay here.
Wiping the blood from my eyes, I stagger to the door. I’ve got to get out. If Landry’s not dead, if he’s simply wounded, he could be up and on me fast.
Pulling the door open, I stumble onto the front porch and down the steps, gripping the rail. My boots crunch on gravel, and I weave through the darkness, across the short asphalt road to the corner. Roland’s car is ahead, hidden around the corner from the store.
“Jesus,” I gasp, using the force of will to keep my heavy feet moving. I have to make it to that car before I pass out.
Reaching in my pocket, I grab the key and jerk it out.
One more step, and my knees hit the grass.
It’s damp and muddy, cold water seeping through the material to my skin.
Holding out my hand, I catch the fender, pushing away so I don’t hit it as I go down.
“Lara,” I whisper.
I won’t be home when she gets there.
14
I am not a survivor. I am a warrior.
Lara
Armand is on the couch, and I hear noises in the kitchen.
Running through Roland’s small house, I spin on my heel in the dining area. I slam my bedroom door open, but it’s dark and silent.
“Are you okay?” Evie’s light brows are pulled together as she steps into the room.
“Where is he?” My insides break. “He’s not here.”
“Who?”
“Mark!” I push past her to Jilly’s room, but she catches me before I open the door.
“The baby’s sleeping, Lara. Mark hasn’t been here. Was he supposed to be?”
“Oh God… Oh God, Oh God.” I’m in my bedroom ripping the silk dress over my head and jerking on a pair of jeans.
Slamming drawers open and closed, I pull on a long-sleeved tee and a pair of thick socks.
“What’s going on?” Roland is at the door.
“We have to go—Armand!” I run out to the living room. “Armand, I need your help, please!”
His dark brow quirks. “What is it?”
“Mark said he would be here before I got home. Something’s happened. He’s in trouble or he’d be here.”
Armand stands slowly. He’s wearing a dark, tailored suit, and it makes him look even taller, slimmer.
“He went to Landry’s.” He opens his blazer and takes out a small handgun. “We can take my car.”
“You carry a gun?”
“Darling, I’m not as nice as you think I am.”
“I never thought you were nice.” My voice is just above a whisper. I didn’t mean to say it out loud, and I press my lips together quickly.
He gives me a wry smile, and my stomach is tight. I realize how little I know about Evie’s boyfriend—other than he loves her. I guess that counts for something?
I don’t have time to sort out my feelings right now.
Roland’s voice is sharp. “Just hold the fuck up a minute. What the hell is happening here?”
I’m already at the door. “There’s no time—Roland, come on! Mark wanted to confront Landry, but I didn’t want him to go. I wanted him to wait…” My voice breaks, and tears heat my eyes. “He’s so stubborn. Oh, God, I knew something was going to happen.”
“That’s why he borrowed my car?” Roland dashes to the tall cabinet in his living room and opens a small drawer. He takes out a black case shaped like a gun, and his eyes level on Armand’s. “Let’s hope it’s not too late.”
My knees go weak, but I get it together. We’ve got to get to Algiers.
“What’s happening?” Evie’s voice is panicky. “Armand, I don’t like this…”
“Evie,” I rush over and grip her arm. “We have to go. Please stay here with Jilly.”
“We should call the police. Mark is a policeman. They’ll help him, and you won’t be in danger—”
“We don’t have time, Evie. Please. Mark could be hurt.”
“I don’t want any of you being hurt!”
Armand steps to her, putting his hand on her waist and leaning into her ear. I watch as her panicked blue eyes blink down, and she nods slowly.
He kisses her cheek and turns to us. “Let’s go,” he says, leading the way.
“I still don’t like it!” Evie calls as the three of us rush out the door.
Armand’s black Audi is parked on the street, and once we’re in, he whips it around heading north in the direction of the interstate.
“I’ll go to the door,” he tells Roland, never taking his eyes from the road. “You go around to the back and see if you can get inside through a window or an unlocked door—”
“What do I do?” I’m on edge in the back, gripping the tops of both front seats.
“You’ll stay in this fucking car,” Roland snaps.
“I will not!”
Armand interrupts. “Can you drive?”
My chin drops, and I shake my head. “No.”
“Shit,” he hisses.
Roland cuts his eyes to me. “I knew there was something I should’ve taught you to do.”
“I never needed to know.” My voice is panicky. “It’s not like I had a car…”
We’re crossing the river, and streetlights flicker fast across Armand’s face. His dark hair is short, and he’s clean-shaven. The muscle in his jaw move back and forth as he thinks.
“Do you know anything about driving? It would be helpful in case we need to leave fast.”
“Roland can do it. I can go around back and check for open windows or doors.”
“That is not going to happen,” Roland says under his breath.
I’m furious, ready to shout at both of them. I don’t know why this car won’t go any faster. I’m sure I’ll scream when the blinker goes on, and Armand exits the interstate.
“We’ll figure it out when we see what we’re dealing with.” The ominous tone in his voice draws more heat to my eyes.
Oh, God, not again…
Not Mark…
This side of the river is dark and feels very remote. The houses are small and grouped in little clusters with open spaces of flat grassland between them. The levee rises high on the opposite side of the road like a wall.
Armand cuts his speed and switches the headlights to dim. My throat is so tight, I can barely breathe. The two-lane street is narrow, and we’re app
roaching a tall wooden structure painted white. A metal sign hangs on the corner.
“Is that my car?” Roland leans forward, and I strain my eyes in the darkness.
Only one streetlight is up ahead on the corner, and Roland’s black Fiat is on the shoulder in an alley. It’s partially hidden, and Armand guides his car to a stop behind it.
“Be careful,” he says, but I’m out the back door before he finishes speaking.
“Lara!” Roland’s door opens and slams shut.
I’m running to the small car, cupping my hands on the windows and looking inside. It looks normal… Nothing is disturbed or broken.
“He’s not here,” I cry, my voice breaking.
Looking wildly around, I don’t know where Landry’s house is, but it has to be near if Mark left the car hidden here.
Roland stands beside me, his jaw tight. “I don’t have my keys.”
Armand walks to where we’re standing. “Landry’s house is just up the road there, behind the blue house on the corner.”
My eyes fly to where the lone street lamp illuminates a two-story blue residence, and I’m about to run to it when Roland’s strong grip closes over my arm, jerking me back.
“Stop!” he growls. “You do not run off like that here. These guys are dangerous. This one in particular is a killer.”
Armand looks up the short distance. “I’ll go—”
A low groan cuts him off, and I grab my mouth, squeezing my lips together to silence my scream. Roland releases me, hustling to the other side of the car.
“Mark?” Roland drops to a squat, and I’m right behind him, falling to my knees and reaching for my fiancé.
“Oh, God!” I whisper, tears dropping onto my cheeks. “Mark!”
He’s lying on his side, one hand outstretched to the car. His skin is ghastly white, and the left half of his face is smeared with blood.
Roland feels all around in the grass beside him. “Thank fuck, here’s the key. Get him into the car.” He’s on his feet unlocking the Fiat.
Carefully reaching out, I touch his face. “Mark?”
“Have to get away,” he groans.
His skin is so cold, but his eyes blink open slowly. I’m simultaneously relieved and panicked.
“Lara?” He grabs my shoulder. “Go… We have to go.”
“Help me, Armand.” Roland has the back door open, and he’s grasping one of Mark’s arms.
Armand takes the other. “Can you stand?”
Mark groans again, but he manages to get one of his legs under him. They struggle helping him to his feet, but as soon as he’s up, he collapses hard against the side of the car.
“It’s okay,” I say, not sure of anything. “You’re going to be okay.”
“Just a few steps to the left,” Roland says.
Armand helps, but he keeps looking over his shoulder in the direction of Landry’s house. “We need to get out of here.”
I rush forward and hold Mark’s waist, steadying him with my shoulder against his chest, my hip at his thigh.
“You can do it,” I urge. “Come on.”
His muscles flex as he holds the door, easing himself into the backseat. I’m right behind him, jumping inside as Roland slams the door shut.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, wrapping my arm around his shoulder, cradling his head against my neck. My eyes are so hot, and my insides are vibrating with fear, worry, and cautious relief. “Roland, do you have a tissue or a napkin?”
He leans forward and digs in the glove box, pulling out a small white towel. “What happened?”
Mark alternates between resting his head against my neck and trying to hold it up. “He shot me… I-I lost consciousness.”
Again, his head falls against my neck, and my heart plunges. “Mark?” I place my hand against his cheek. “Let me see your head.”
He moves again, and I rotate my body to see his injury better. “I don’t think you’re bleeding anymore. He’s not bleeding,” I call up to Roland. Still, I hold the towel against his head. “He’s warmer.”
“What happened, Mark?” Roland speaks louder, and Mark stirs against my arm.
“Stop,” he says, reaching out to grasp the back of the front seat. “Roland, stop! We have to go back.”
“We are not going back there.” Roland doesn’t even break his speed. We’re on the highway headed for the interstate and the Mississippi River Bridge.
Mark’s entire body goes rigid against mine, and he pulls himself forward. “Go back. We have to make sure he’s dead.”
“What the fuck?” Roland cries. “You killed him?”
“I don’t know.” Mark’s head rests on his fist against the top of the passenger seat. “We have to go back and be sure.”
Again, no break in speed or direction. “It’s not going to happen.”
Scooting forward, I place my hand on his shoulder. “Can’t we just call 911 and make an anonymous report?”
“No,” he grinds out. “We have to go back there. He threatened Jillian!”
At once, the car’s speed drops, and Roland flicks on the blinker. He eases into the turn lane, and grabs his phone off the passenger’s seat, tossing it to me.
“Call Armand and tell him we have to go back. Ask him to come with us. Mark is in no shape to do anything.”
I barely have time to register the panic flaring in my chest at Mark’s words. We race toward the house behind the levee, and my fingers tremble as I press the buttons for the call log and find Armand’s number.
When Mark realizes we’ve turned and we’re heading back, he once more collapses against the backseat.
* * *
Mark
My fucking head aches like a motherfucker, and the world won’t stop spinning.
For a brief moment, I allow myself to take comfort in the softness of Lara’s neck, the sweet scent of her little flower perfume, the warmth of her skin against mine.
Then Landry’s threat rears its ugly head, and adrenaline fires in my veins like electricity, cutting through the dizziness.
“I can help,” I say, trying again to pull myself forward.
Lara’s soft hand caresses my cheek. “Shh,” she whispers, kissing my lips. “Let me check your head.”
Blinking up, I see worry in her blue eyes. “You said he shot you, but it looks like the bullet just broke the skin.” Her dark hair falls over her shoulders, and her slim brows are pulled together.
Reaching out, I put my hands on her waist, sliding my thumbs along the soft skin of her stomach, just under her shirt. I’m so glad to see her, but my insides are tight. We have to make sure that fucker is dead.
“He barely missed me then. I dropped when I saw him raise the gun.” Her eyes meet mine, and I try to smile. “Use your phone to see if my eyes are dilated.”
“How…” She reaches down, fumbling with the phone until the light blazes.
“Shine it in my eyes.” Holding steady, it hurts like hell when the white light sears into my eyes. “Fuck,” I hiss.
“I’m sorry!” Her voice is so worried, but I hold her, tracing my thumbs along the line of her jeans.
“Are they dilated?”
“No.” She quickly lowers the phone, killing the light. “Your pupils narrowed immediately.”
“That’s good.” Releasing her waist, I push against the seat, doing my best to steady myself. “I can help, Roland. I’m just so fucking dizzy.”
“You need to stay in the car with Lara.”
We pull up at the store, and I look out in the direction of the house. The front door is still open, and the soft yellow light from inside is cancelled out by the harshness of the streetlight on the corner.
Roland gets out of the car, and Armand joins him. Summoning all my willpower, I grasp the door handle and open it, using the side for balance.
“We can’t just walk up to the front door,” Roland is saying.
“I’m going with you.” I’m able to stand without holding the door, but the ground s
till tilts.
Armand grasps my shoulder. “It’s a foolish thing to go up there in your condition. You’ll only put us all in danger.”
Lifting my chin, I meet his dark eyes. My jaw is set, but I know he’s right. If I can’t focus my gaze on the horizon, what the fuck makes me think I can focus on a moving target?
Roland joins him. “Lara needs you. Jilly needs you. We’ll go back there and try to get a visual through the window.”
“Don’t get yourself killed,” I relent, leaning against the side of the small black car as they take off into the darkness.
Lara’s head rises out of the vehicle beside me. “I saw a water bottle in Armand’s car,” she says softly. “Stay here while I get it.”
Her feet crunch in the fine gravel, and she opens the door of Armand’s car. My eyes strain in the direction of Landry’s quiet house. I lost sight of the guys when they went around the corner. Staying back here is killing me. If something happens to them, and it’s my fault…
“I hope this doesn’t hurt.” Lara is at my side again, pouring water onto that white towel from before. “Drink the rest.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, taking the water bottle as she gently wipes the blood from my cheek. “When I came over here I thought I could get him to trust me, maybe even confess, go on record to verify any of the shit we did. I thought I could get inside, find the thumb drive… None of that happened.”
“He threatened Jilly,” she says softly, not smiling. She pauses briefly, catching my gaze before returning to her progress cleaning my face.
“I never expected—”
“I hope you killed him.” This time her blue eyes stay on mine, and ferocity is in them.
My lips tighten, and I look away from her gaze. Taking a long drink of water, I try to see anything happening at the house. “I want to be the one to do it. I want to go back there and finish this myself…”
As I’m speaking, two figures emerge from the bushes and run up the front porch steps.
“Get in the car and lock the doors.” I take off in the direction of the house, shaking away the remnants of the vertigo.
