by Lea Griffith
Ken’s face was expressionless. But his eyes were alive with hatred.
The gun at Ken’s neck never moved, but the tall man’s black gaze did. It skewered Rand, but they’d been here before.
“Well, well, well, we meet again, Mr. Beckett,” Joseph Bombardier murmured.
Any move Rand made at this point would result in death. Ken’s or his. Neither was acceptable. Where the fuck was Bullet?
“Where is she?” Joseph bit out, his eyes flaring with a queer light before he blanked his expression once more.
“Who?” Rand asked.
Joseph nodded at Minton.
“No, do not, please!” Father Benedict yelled out just as the report of a silenced gun rent the air.
The child, who had come because an angel bade him to, fell as if in slow motion to the dirty floor of the church. Rand had his gun out before he could think better of it. Everything was so sharp in that second—Ken’s gaze full of warning, the priest’s sobs as he managed to hold himself back from rushing to the child the man named Minton had shot, and the ominous silence after the gunshot.
The child whimpered, and it was as if a pickaxe had been shoved in Rand’s heart. He wanted to annihilate Bombardier. The child huddled on the ground, folded into himself mumbling in sporadic Spanish, not dead, but as close as he’d ever been.
“Let him go. This is about you and me,” Rand said in a hard voice. Ice cold now, he wondered if he’d ever felt this deadened before.
“Minton, handle the priest next,” Joseph said softly.
“Your man kills him, I kill you. If you think my wife’s brother won’t take a bullet in vengeance, you’re a stupid mother fucker, but either way, my bullet will be the last thing you see,” Rand bit out.
Bluff, bluff, bluff, bluff . . . Where the fuck is Bullet?
“Minton?” Joseph’s gaze never left Rand. “Kill the priest.”
Minton fired one shot and the priest fell. Rand’s gaze found Ken’s, and in his friend’s eyes was acceptance.
“Do it,” he mouthed. Rand shook his head.
Silence reigned for a few moments, and then the click of a safety being disengaged.
“Oh, Minton, you just never learn, do you?” Bullet’s voice was arctic. “Joseph, let Mr. Nodachi go, would you?”
“Oh no, dearest Bullet, I’m not letting anybody go,” Joseph sing-songed.
“You’ll do it, or Minton will get my bullet through the back of his head. I’ve never killed from behind. Tell me . . . is it any different?”
Rand’s heart nearly stopped. His gun was trained on Joseph’s forehead, but the truth was he’d never make the shot unless Ken was out of range of Bombardier’s weapon. Ken was the only family he had left. No, he isn’t. His heart whispered, but his mind rebelled. Where the fuck had she been?
“Oh, child, it is different because you cannot watch the life drain from their eyes. But you will not practice on Minton today, my precious killer. No, today, you will go home with me, and should you agree to this, I’ll give you a boon. One of these men will be left alive.” Joseph chuckled after he made his pronouncement.
“Oh, I think they’ll both go alive. Ou je ne vous diront jamais où le garçon es,” She finished in a near whisper.
Rand watched as Joseph’s gaze sliced to her. “You do not know, or else you wouldn’t tempt me.” His voice was horrible, and not for the first time Rand wished he’d taken French at some point in his life.
She smiled, and it was mean. Rand wanted to grab her up and leave this place, but it was impossible. Bullet had set into play something he would never be able to control. Not that he’d controlled any of this so far. Goddamn it all.
Joseph moved suddenly, and Ken was free. Ken moved to Rand’s side, and within seconds, the rest of their men poured into the church. The sound of guns being cocked never interrupted the Mexican standoff currently taking place inside God’s house. Bullet had her gun flush with the back of Minton’s head. Joseph had his gun trained on Ken, and Rand had his trained on Joseph. The rest of the men aimed at Joseph, Minton, or Bullet.
“You will take me to him, or I will kill them all,” Joseph whispered.
Bullet removed her gun from the back of Minton’s head and the man swung around, fist flying until she caught it with her hand. Rand watched in amazement as she squeezed gently and the man crumpled at her feet, small snorts of pain emanating from his mouth, but no pleas for mercy. She leaned over him, one hand holding her sniper rifle pointed at Joseph, the other squeezing Minton’s hand.
Fear cascaded through him. Wave upon wave crashing in on him until he thought he’d suffocate. She would be helpless against Joseph and his men. He would kill her, and the thought was unbearable to Rand. She looked up at him then, almost as if his thoughts had communicated themselves to her. In her light blue orbs was acceptance, and it ripped Rand wide open.
He shook his head, and her face softened infinitesimally before it hardened again.
“Vous n'êtes pas la mienne pour tuer,” she spoke softly, and the man whimpered. “Savez, Minton, elle vient.” She squeezed a little tighter, her knuckles going white. He whined now in agony. “Et votre mort sera doux pour nous tous.”
“Vous pourrir en enfer, salope!” Minton screamed in her face.
Bullet wiped her face on her sleeve, never loosening her hold on his hand or her grip on her rifle. “Et il sera toujours doux parce que vous serez morts.”
Joseph watched all of this with an indulgent grin on his face. He even clapped when Bullet’s last word rang out.
“He is not yours to kill, Rand Beckett,” she said, never looking up. In the words was a plea of sorts.
She had said those words to him before, and he would heed them now. He nodded.
The sound of more guns being cocked had Rand’s gaze swiveling to determine the source. Men outfitted all in black surround them all. There were outnumbered and outgunned. This was a death scene waiting to happen.
“Come, child of my heart, let us leave this place. You’ve earned a reward today for your generosity with Minton,” Joseph murmured.
Ice washed through Rand as Bullet’s eyes darkened, and her mouth tightened. His mind rang with her words from weeks ago, “A reward can often be confused with a punishment. And sometimes punishments are a reward.” She was going to go with the devil, and in doing so, save him and his men.
But at what price to herself?
“You will tell your men to leave first. I will walk out with you under my rifle barrel and should anything happen to these men, I will kill you. And remember, I do not care if I live or die as long as you die first.” Bullet’s voice rang out, and at a sharp nod from Joseph, the men dispersed. The sound of vehicles cranking up and driving off could be heard even inside the church.
Joseph’s face never lost that bland, bored look. He was a fucking monster, and the woman who’d stolen what was left of Rand’s heart was going to walk out of here with him.
She’d been squeezing Minton’s hand still, and with a soft sigh released him, taking up her rifle and pointing it at Joseph’s head. Minton wailed as blood flowed into the abused extremity. Rand thought he’d have to get her to teach him that move one day.
“Shall we go then, my dearest killer?” Joseph asked with a smirk.
She nodded and glanced at Rand once more, regret flashing through her eyes and beating a swift tattoo over her face. His breath halted in his lungs. She’d consigned herself into the hands of the devil.
“Get up, Minton. I swear you’re like a child. You were the one who taught her that move. Seems only fitting she use it against you.” Joseph began to walk and turned at the doorway spearing Rand with his onyx gaze. “You were ever a pain in my ass, Mr. Beckett. You now have my precious killer to thank for saving your life twice. But I wonder,” he said in a low tone. “Who will take your place next time?”
Bullet held her rifle steady, and Minton walked out first. She never looked back, her spine straight as hammered steel. Her scent
lingered in the air and tightened his chest.
He could not let her leave thinking he wouldn’t . . .
“I will come for you,” he whispered. She paused and shook her head, then continued walking.
He had to harden himself then. He knew how to fight, and he’d damn well fight for this woman. He blanked his face and waited for what came next.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Remi recognized her need to be fluid in all things. Her neck itched, and her breathing had locked in her chest. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go down, but she’d planned for every contingency. Her sisters were here, and things wouldn’t resolve easily, or even exactly as they’d planned, but they would resolve.
She’d left earlier because she’d felt their presence. Like a breeze on the wind, her soul had eased and flown outward, seeking the security she always had with them. They were highly trained assassins separately. Together, they were damn near invincible.
Or they had been until Sean. The boy alone was their greatest weakness, but also their greatest strength. And Joseph wanted him badly.
She walked into the bright sunlight, let her eyes adjust, and walked forward. She felt Rand’s stare, knew he thought to possibly mount a rescue, but at this point there was no one to save Remi except herself. Not even her sisters would dare venture to Joseph’s place now.
He didn’t have the boy so they would each go their ways tracking down leads to find him.
Remi was alone.
It was the way it should be. She’d taken a great risk coming in this way. Her sisters had not mocked when they’d met earlier, but the censure had been in their gazes. Remi had been compromised by her feelings for Rand Beckett. She’d made her own way and would have to tread the path alone.
Minton smirked back at her, and she bared her teeth at him. How she hated him. Rand would never forgive her were he to know that Minton had been the one to take Lily and Anna from him. He would curse her that she’d not let him cut the man down. Alas, Minton was not Rand’s to kill. He was Bone’s.
“Minton, call Javier and have him bring the children to the courtyard, would you?” Joseph’s voice was calm and even but slyness wound through the dulcet tones. Remi went cold.
“We will leave now,” she said harshly.
“No!” he barked back at her. “First we will have a demonstration of my control over you. After all, everyone is watching.”
“If you do this, I will shoot you where you stand.”
Joseph threw back his head and laughed. Remi felt eyes on her and looked over her shoulder. Rand and his men had filtered into the courtyard some twenty yards away, and she felt their disgust. She chanced looking at Rand, and the look on his face nearly cost Remi her composure. He hated her. It was right there in the hard line of his mouth, the flatness of his gaze.
Rescue? No, he’d never rescue her. Unless it was for the sole purpose of killing her himself.
And now Joseph had grand plans.
Minton smiled that oily smile Remi associated with death. Her palms itched, and for a split second, she was transported back in time to a cold mountaintop and a loss that continued to define her.
Several girls, most no older than five or six, were led in from the courtyard entrance. They were forced to stand in a single file line beside Minton. He put his hand on the head of the one closest to him and stroked her baby fine white hair, smiling the entire time. He disgusted her.
“If you do this, I will kill you right here,” she whispered.
Joseph turned then and stared at her from his death-dark eyes. “Oh, I think not. Because I will cut them all down unless you do one thing for me.”
Her heart stopped in her chest. Simply ceased to beat for so long she wondered if this then was death. She’d known he would demand vengeance.
“Minton, you know what to do.”
The man grabbed the first child by the hair and shook her, finally pressing the barrel of a large handgun against her temple. She squealed and it bit into Remi’s heart.
She couldn’t have mercy. The child or Rand . . . it was no choice. Minton shook the girl again and cocked the gun.
“Sil vous plait,” the girl screamed. It shot through her—the girl’s pain, accent and words—Remi had screamed that way in the beginning. In that moment, the girl was Remi, screaming as she watched her family cut down in a hail of bullets. In that eternal moment, it was her.
Her palms itched and everything slowed. It seemed Minton shook the tiny child in slow motion. As it had that day on the mountaintop, her world came at her as if underwater.
“Let her go, and I will do it,” she said in a low tone.
“Minton, release the child,” Joseph said with a smile. “I somehow always knew your weakness was the children. You always want to protect them, but it is impossible when it allows your mission to be compromised. The mission must always come first.”
His words rang out in the courtyard. He was a large man, but now that she’d tasted freedom in the arms of Rand Beckett, he seemed as pathetic and small as Minton. But it was a mirage. The simple truth remained he held her world in his hand.
And she hated him.
Everything stilled then, the little girl’s sobs abated, and Minton’s heavy breathing slowed. Her sisters were all around her, hidden, but they would do nothing to alleviate her circumstance. They could not. Bullet had yet another task to complete.
“Your task hasn’t changed.” His voice carried no farther than her ears. There was glee, vibrant and shining in his voice. Her stomach cramped, a very visceral, decidedly odd reaction given the things she’d done in her life.
She nodded. He would kill the young ones, and that she could not allow. She had not been able to save Anna for Rand, but she could save these children now. Joseph was right about one thing: the young ones had always been her weakness. What Joseph did not know was that she had a new one.
His name was Rand Beckett. She felt him there. He and Nodachi and the men they’d hauled to Arequipa on a fool’s errand for revenge.
I’m sorry, she whispered in her heart.
She lifted her face to the sudden breeze and prepared herself. Joseph got in the vehicle, Minton sidled to his side of the car and waited, child still in his hands, gun still pressed against her temple.
Rage filtered through Remi then. Blackening and heavy, it permeated her vision until Minton’s forehead was a bull’s eye clearly marked. She was too close for the rifle, the risk with the wind too great. Her Walther would do nicely. She threw her lifeline on the ground, heard Minton’s swift inhalation, and she smiled.
Hell would break loose once she fired. Joseph had brought the children as a line of defense. With his own men waiting just beyond the courtyard, the children would prevent Rand’s men from firing in their direction.
Her breathing slowed, and she waited for the black to do its job.
“Do it, Bullet. There is work to be done,” Joseph said from inside the vehicle. His voice scraped across her nerves, digging in with razor-edged talons, rending and tearing at her mind. Her blood slowed, and her temples pounded with a vicious beat.
Minton smiled, the child whimpered, and Remi’s heart squeezed in her chest. She turned quickly, watched his eyes flare as realization settled in their depths. In less time than it took to draw a breath, Remi aimed and fired.
Rand fell to the ground and Remi died inside.
Chapter Thirty
Rand’s head hurt. The dull throb made him want to vomit, and every breath he took increased the feeling instead of allowing it to abate. He held his breath, sure something had happened, even as he recognized he wanted to avoid the truth of it.
It slammed him between the eyes, drifted through his skull, and dropped into his chest. White hot and burning, the knowledge wouldn’t give him rest.
Bullet had shot him.
She’d coldly aimed her Walther and fired a lone shot. Her eyes in the second before she fired had been the darkest blue he’d ever seen. Deeper than even hi
s own, they had been lit with a mysterious sheen his heart had acknowledged but denied in the same moment. Nothing of Gretchen had been in them. She’d been all killer.
“She’s the best goddamn shot I’ve ever seen,” Ken said at his side.
Rand ignored him. He had no idea what had happened after he’d been shot, going under and not coming out of it for an entire day. He’d woken yesterday and been in and out since then. This morning the light didn’t hurt his eyes, but his head still felt like it’d split open and spill his brains to the floor.
Ken had informed him they’d relocated, moving back into the mountains after burying Father Benedict. The remaining priests has assured them they would find shelter there. Rand had yet to see his surroundings and decided today he needed to haul his ass up and find out what the fuck was going on.
“Did you hear me?”
Rand grunted, and even that hurt. She’d fucking shot him. In the head.
“Yeah, your grunt sounded affirmative but just to make sure my point hits home, I’ll repeat myself. She’s the best goddamn shot I’ve ever seen.” Ken’s voice rang with some indeterminate note, but damn if Rand was lucid enough to determine what it was.
“She shot me in the fucking head,” he bit out through clenched teeth.
He pushed himself to his side and swung his legs off the bed, levering up with one hand as he fought dry heaves. His muscles trembled, locking and releasing, locking and releasing. Every breath struck spikes in his head and served to push the blood at a furious pace through his wounded heart.
He laughed and the sound was bitter. She’d made him feel.
Oh, and she’d fucking shot him.
He hated her for all of it.
He finally opened his eyes, and for the first time all day didn’t experience the overwhelming urge to fall over face first. He took a deep breath. This one didn’t hurt as bad. Improvement.
“I think you’ve said that to me a hundred fucking times over the last two days.” He groaned, because with each word the pounding became more vicious.
Ken grunted. “You’ve got twelve stitches in the cut that runs above your temple and into your hairline. You’re not so pretty boy now. I kinda like her for that.”
