Dark Protector

by Celia Aaron

  “Ricky.” I aimed for his face, but he ducked back behind Charlie. She’d dressed and now wore a pair of gray pants and a black fleece pullover.

  A tear rolled down her cheek. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” I shook my head.

  “Aww, how cute.” Ricky shook her, and she screamed.

  My blood chilled, and time ticked slower in my head as I waited for my shot. “Drop the gun.”

  “No.”

  “No?” His beady eyes narrowed and he pressed the barrel against Charlie’s temple. “Want me to ice her right now? Berty’s doubled the bounty if we can take her alive. Guess he wasn’t done with his playtime when you took her.” He grinned. “You, though, it’s dead only. Can’t believe my luck. Came here to toss the place for a quick score, but I just found the biggest score of all.”

  Charlie had been slowly moving ever since Ricky started yapping. She dipped her hand into the pocket of the fleece, so I kept talking to see what she had going.

  “So what happens when Berty finds out you destroyed his dad’s place?”

  He shrugged, but kept Charlie in front of him. “I’ll tell him I saw some suspicious activity. Decided to check it out. You and the girl were holed up here, so I took all necessary measures. Easy.”

  She pulled out a stun gun, her eyes grave as she gave me an almost imperceptible nod. I had two thoughts. The first: where the hell did she get that? The second: fucking hell, I love this woman.

  “Enough small talk, Con. I’ll kill her if I have to. I’d rather have double the money, but half price ain’t so bad, either. Especially since I’ll get the money for you, too.” He tightened his grip around her neck.

  “All right.” I put my hands out, then bent my knees to take the gun to the floor. Easing down, I held Charlie’s gaze. The terror receded and readiness seemed to harden the set of her jaw.

  Ricky’s grin widened, triumph gleaming in his dark eyes. He pointed the gun at me.

  She poised the stun gun at his thigh. I narrowed my eyes and gave her a faint nod, urging her to act. Charlie pressed the stun gun to Ricky’s thigh, and I jumped to my feet.

  He screamed and released her. She ducked. I fired my last shot, and Ricky dropped to the floor, his brains splattered all over the wall behind him.

  24

  Charlie

  The sun gleamed high overhead in the crystalline morning as we sped along a highway guarded by thick woods on either side. After the battle in the seaside home, we’d grabbed clothes, weapons, what food we had left, and hit the road. Conrad had taken a bullet in the leg, but he wouldn’t let me treat him. Hell-bent on getting away, he’d hauled me from the house and into the car. By the time sirens started to wail, we were almost out of town.

  “Where are we going?” I dug around in the weapons bag for the bandages and alcohol I’d thrown in before we left.

  “I know a place. Haven’t been there in forever, but it’ll have to do.”

  “Where?”

  “State forest.” He gritted his teeth as we bounced over a pothole. “We need to head west, get the fuck out of Jersey, but we can’t risk it, not with Ramone on our tail.”

  “Pull over. I need to see about your leg.”

  “No.” He waved me away. “It can wait.”

  “You’re still losing blood. Just let me—”

  “I’m not stopping until you’re safe.” He turned to me, steel in his eyes. “I’ll let you play doctor all you want at the cabin, but we have to get there and lay low. Ramone will be all over that scene at the house. He’ll know it was me, and then he’ll start tracking us.” He flicked his gaze back to the sunny highway. “We have to disappear.”

  “And then what?” I shoved the gauze back into the bag, slamming my pinky against an unforgiving gun barrel as I did it. I yelped and drew back.

  He grabbed my hand. “You okay?”

  “I’m better off than you.” I tried to pull my fingers back, but he held tight.

  His tone softened. “I’d love to let you fix me up right this second. I promise. But I can’t.”

  I leaned back in my seat and watched the road disappear around a bend in the forest. Frustration bubbled inside me, but there was no outlet for it.

  He eased his grip on my hand, but kept it in his. “I’m going to get you out of this. You just have to trust me.”

  “I do.” I surveyed the strong lines of his arm beneath his stolen coat, the steady rise and fall of his chest. The wound wouldn’t kill him, and he wasn’t going to let me help him on anyone’s terms but his own. “I just wish…” I wished a lot of things—that we’d met under different circumstances, that I could spend more time getting to know him, that our days weren’t numbered. I sighed when the right words never seemed to form on the tip of my tongue.

  “It’s okay.” He drew the back of my hand to his warm lips. “I wish it, too.”

  We reached the cabin in the late afternoon. It was situated along the edge of the Wharton State Forest, buried in the Pine Barrens where dense underbrush and towering trees governed the landscape. A wide stream stretched out behind the one-story log cabin and disappeared into the shadowy woods. Graying logs and a moss-covered roof made for excellent camouflage, and the only way to reach the structure was on a bumpy gravel road that turned to mud in a few patches. The dense pines let light filter through in dappled spots, though the rays did nothing to erase the chill from the air.

  Conrad pulled around back and killed the engine. “Let me sweep it first.” He opened his door, stepped out, and collapsed to the ground.

  “Conrad!” I jumped from the car and ran around to him.

  He rolled to his back on a bed of pine needles and stared up at me with dazed eyes. “Fucking leg.”

  His right pant leg was drenched in blood, the crimson blooming near his knee and soaking through the gray fabric. It was far worse than I’d thought.

  “We have to get you inside.” I dropped to my knees and slung his arm around my shoulder to lift him into a sitting position.

  “I need to check—”

  “Unless Ramone has an invisible jet, Wonder Woman style, then I’m pretty sure he didn’t beat us here. It’s safe.” I tried to heft him to his feet, but only managed to sort of bounce him on the ground. No lift. “I’ll need your help.”

  “I can stand.” He pushed with his good leg, and I wrapped my arms around him to help him to his feet. He swayed against me, and his right shoe made a squelching noise.

  “God.” Fear trickled down my spine. “You’ve lost so much blood.”

  “I’ll be fine.” He leaned on me more heavily by the second.

  I walked forward and dragged him along with me until we reached the three steps up to the front porch. “Should have let me fix you up on the way.”

  “Nah.” He tried to put his bad leg on the first stair, but winced and tried his good leg instead.

  I stepped with him until we got to the top and I could lean him against the wall next to the door. Cupping my hands around my face, I peeked through one of the dusty panes of glass in the door. Inside, the cabin was simple—rustic furniture, a small kitchen, living area, a bed, and a separate door that I assumed led to a bathroom. Glass panes on a rear door gave a dim view of the stream.

  “No one’s here.” I tried the knob. Locked. “You have a key?”

  He stretched, reaching up far higher than I could without a step ladder, and pulled a key from between two of the stacked logs.

  I took it and opened the door. “Come on.” A slightly musty smell greeted us as we walked in, but the place seemed clean and well-kept. A small wood-burning stove sat near the rear door, and a stack of logs next to it promised warmth.

  I helped him to a threadbare side chair. “I’m going to get the supplies. Don’t move.”

  He sank down and let his head loll back, his eyes closed. “It’s just a scratch. I can help.”

  “Stay.” I dashed out the door and grabbed everything from the car, the gun bag clanging and rat
tling as I darted back into the cabin and closed the door. I found a switch and flicked it on. A light made of a bare bulb and a collection of antlers burned overhead as I settled onto the uneven wood flooring at Conrad’s feet.

  Sliding off his shoe, I gasped at the blood pooled inside. “We should have gone to a hospital.”

  “Not a chance.” His words slurred. “Ramone.”

  I peeled away his sock and slid his pants leg up. A messy tear in the back of his calf trickled blood at a steady pace, and I couldn’t find an exit wound. The size of a quarter, maybe a little bigger, it needed serious medical attention, not my half-assed attempts at doctoring.

  “The bullet is still in there.” I shook my head. “Conrad?”

  His silence frightened me more than anything I’d been through in the past few days. I bolted to my feet and patted him on his pale cheek. “Con?”

  “I’m here.” His eyes fluttered open, but their sparkle was dull.

  “The bullet is still in there. I have to get you to a hospital.”

  Still quick as an adder, he grabbed my arm. “No. We can’t go anywhere. He’ll find you.”

  Tears tried to well, though I fought them back. “I don’t know what to do.”

  He let me go. “Do what you have to do.” He closed his eyes.

  “Fuck.” If I didn’t try to stop the bleeding, he would die. I ran to the door off the bedroom and flung it open. A bathroom, small and windowless. Flipping open the vanity, I knocked tooth paste, deodorant, and some bottles off the narrow shelves. Nothing helpful. Shit! Turning, I searched the cabinet above the toilet and found a first aid kit, some tweezers, and some antibiotic cream. It was a start. I hurried into the kitchen and dug around in the cabinets until I found a small pot. Once filled with tap water, I lit a burner on the gas stove and set it to boil. Opening the drawers, I grabbed a paring knife and a smattering of other small silverware.

  “What am I doing?” I surveyed the implements and dumped them all in the near-boiling water.

  Out of nowhere, Con’s weak hum filled the room. It sounded like the first few bars of “One” by U2.

  I used another fork to fish everything out of the hot water and place them on a plate.

  He slurred through some of the words, stopped, then took a deep shuddering breath and continued.

  At least he was awake.

  After washing my hands with dish soap until they felt raw, I dropped to the floor in front of him with all my tools, towels, and antiseptics. “This is going to hurt.”

  He kept singing in a reedy, off-key voice, and I didn’t know if he’d heard me. I wet a washcloth with alcohol and pressed it against the wound. Everything in his body tightened like a bowstring. A low growl came from his throat, and his large hands gripped the arms of the chair until they creaked a warning, but he didn’t flinch away.

  “I’m sorry.” I pulled the bloody washcloth away and examined the wound again.

  He relaxed as I peered into the shredded flesh of his leg.

  A slight glint of metal caught my eye. “I think I can see the bullet.”

  “We’re one…” He sang louder, the notes even flatter than before.

  Grabbing the tweezers with shaking hands, I took Conrad’s ankle in my left hand and tilted his leg into the light more. The slug was definitely lodged in the meat of his calf. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly as I pressed the tweezers into the wound.

  He tightened up again, but kept singing through gritted teeth. The tweezers scraped against the side of the metal, and Con broke the song with a roar.

  “God, I’m so sorry.” I kept the tweezers still until he settled again, the song a hum on his lips. “I think I can get it.” The foolish hope that he’d pass out flitted across my mind, but Conrad didn’t seem the fainting type.

  “Hang on.” I took a deep breath and pressed the tweezers farther into the wound and onto the slug. Another roar, but he stayed still. Blood oozed around the tweezers as I pulled slowly. The slug came free after a harder tug that stole the breath from his lungs in a harsh wheeze. And then it was out. I dropped it on the floor, a hunk of bloody, compressed metal.

  “It’s out.” My voice shook as I wet another washcloth with alcohol. “I got it out.”

  “Good.” His voice was weak, all music gone.

  “More alcohol, and then I’ll close it. The kit has a staple gun.”

  “You’re doing great.” He gripped the chair again as I swiped across the wound, more blood coming away on the washcloth. “Fuck!”

  “I’m sorry. I know it hurts.” I dropped the bloodied cloth and picked up the staple gun. “I’m so sorry.”

  Conrad stilled, though his breath still came in harsh bursts. “Finish it, doc.”

  The staples went smoothly, closing the wound so that I could dab some ointment across it and cover it with bandages. When I was finished, I sat back and stared at the blood on my hands. This was Conrad’s life—a sea of crimson and only a slim hope of survival.

  “Did good.” He let out a labored sigh.

  I stood. “You need to rest and drink. I don’t know what it takes to rebuild blood, but sleep will likely help. And fluids.” I glanced to the bed and back at him. “Can you make it?”

  He gave a weak smile, his skin pale. “I’ll never turn down a bed invitation from you.”

  After a struggle, I got him to the bed and helped him strip away the bloody pants as well as his holster and shirt. He took his pistol and tucked it under his pillow.

  Once he was on his back, his eyes closed and his breathing evened out. I pulled the cushion from the chair he’d been sitting in and propped his leg up on it. Satisfied he was as comfortable as possible, I rose to wash up.

  The blood flowed off me under the warm tap and sluiced away down the sink. The fear I’d tamped down began to surface, and my eyes watered as I stared at my reflection. The dark circles under my eyes remained. The cut along my nose was healing, but still red. We were both beaten up and worn out. How long could we go on like this? I knelt and searched through the bottles I’d knocked over earlier. I grabbed the aspirin. It would come in handy once Conrad woke.

  I dried my hands and walked into the main room. He slumbered peacefully, though he still wore a troubled look. A tremor rattled through me as the adrenaline drained, and the cold set in. I needed to get a fire going. Kneeling in front of the black stove, I pulled open the front grate. Powdery ash coated the bottom. A small stack of kindling and a box of matches sat next to some larger chopped hunks of wood. I arranged the small sticks and lit the matches. The dry wood caught quickly, and I stacked a couple of hewn logs on top of the orange flames.

  Once satisfied the fire would keep going, I stripped down to my t-shirt and pulled a pair of stolen boxers from our bag. I rolled them at the top, then slid into bed beside Conrad. He stirred and wrapped his arm around my shoulders, pulling me against his chest.

  His steady heartbeat reassured me, though I snuggled closer and pulled the blanket over us to warm his clammy skin. He fell asleep as the afternoon light faded.

  My thoughts raced, but always came back to the man sleeping next to me. Other than a few stories from his childhood, I didn’t know much about his past. He said he’d kill for me, die for me—and he’d proven it—but there was so much more to him. I wanted to know it all: his thoughts, feelings…the story behind each scar that danced across his skin. I’d never felt this way about anyone, never wanted to get close. But with Conrad, the need for connection overwhelmed every other instinct. It scared the hell out of me.

  I forced myself to match his breathing, to slow my thoughts until sleep dragged me down into troubled dreams.

  25

  Conrad

  I stared at the angel in my arms, her dark hair spread along my chest as her breath tickled my skin. My leg ached like a motherfucker, but the bandage only had a smear of blood on it. She’d dug out the slug and closed the wound like a pro.

  The shit I’d put her through over the last few days
would have sent anyone else running. Not Charlie. She had steel in her spine. If I’d ever doubted it, that stun gun move sealed the deal. Jesus, just remembering the look on her face when she’d sizzled Ricky’s bacon brought a smile to my lips. She was a warrior, and she was all mine.

  I’d never been in love, never even believed it existed. But I should have known during all those times I sat and watched her that she was it for me. Every life I took, every decision I made—they were all leading me to her. She was a reward I didn’t earn, a gift I didn’t deserve. But like the selfish bastard I was, I would take everything she offered. Each touch bound me to her. She even managed to eclipse my old god, Death. I worshipped Charlie and would happily kill for her, would burn the world to ash if it made her happy.

  I trailed my fingers through her hair, and she sighed softly. My blood heated, and I eased the blanket off her. She wore a t-shirt and boxers and had one leg slung over me. My cock weighed in on her proximity by coming to full attention.

  Shifting toward her, I ignored the scream of pain in my leg and ran my hand down her side, feeling the dip of her waist and the swell of her hips, and the smooth skin of her thigh.

  Her eyes opened, sleepy at first, then full of worry. “Are you okay?”

  “Never better.” I slid my fingers under the fabric along her hip.

  She woke a bit more. “You need to drink, I think. Seems like that will help your blood build back up.” She pushed against me, trying to get out of bed. “I’ll get you some water, and I found some Aspirin, too.”

  No fucking chance.

  I pulled her up to me so she was lying on my chest, her tits pressing against me.

  Her brow furrowed as I palmed her ass under her shorts. “Hey, you need—”

  “A drink. You said that already.” I tugged her up farther, then nuzzled my face into her tits. Her nipples jutted out against the t-shirt, and I seized one through the fabric, sucking the hard bud into my mouth.

  “Con.” Her gasp thickened my cock, and I slid my hand up her shirt and cupped her other breast. “You need rest.”