"So you want me to thank you for belting me?" she asked angrily.
"No, you should thank me for saving your damn ass! Again! And if you haven't realized it in these past few hours, it's been getting harder and harder to do. It's not like I can…" he stopped just short of an admission about his undercover position. He couldn't come clean because he still needed more evidence on the gang. And any admission could put her in more jeopardy.
"Look we don't have time to argue. Not here. Let's get back to the hotel."
She looked as though she was going to make a move off the bike.
"Do you really want to do that? If you even try to run, someone's going to catch you. And it may not be me. I at least bought you some more time. So think hard about what you want to do."
That seemed to get through to her finally.
Now all he had to do was get her out of here and "kill" her or she would definitely be dead by nightfall. As it were, there was going to be a body count tonight no matter what he did.
###
Nailah sat on the bed and watched as Dele peered in the bureau mirror, a hand running along his bruised jaw. She took some satisfaction that she'd given out a little pain at last. Lord knows she was due.
"Don't be a baby about it," she said with irritably. "I didn't hit you that hard."
"Lady, you hit hard enough. Keep that hook, it might come in handy."
He left the mirror and walked over to the window to peer out. They were on extra alert making sure none of the members had followed them to the hotel.
"So what's the plan?"
He turned to her and said casually, "I have to kill you."
She knew what he meant but it still jarred.
"I'm tired of hearing those words."
"I'm serious. If I can't convince Rez you're dead, he'll not only kill me where I stand but come after you to make sure there're no loose threads. Even if you do run to the police now, they can't watch you 24-7 and trust me, Rez will come after you and do things to you that you can't imagine. The only advantage we have is that he'll take my word that you're dead…for now. That is, if I give him enough evidence that the deed's done. Until then, I'm going to have to stash you somewhere. It's too dangerous for you to hang out here. And you definitely can't go home."
"How about a five-star hotel?" she tried to joke, but the levity did nothing for the bats in her stomach.
"You've got five-star hotel money on you?"
She didn't answer but asked wearily, "When is this finally going to end?"
A look crossed his face. It wasn't reassuring.
"Give me another day or so."
"Why? What's going to happen in another day that's going to make this any different?"
Another unreadable look.
"Things are coming to a head. Matters will be settled finally and you'll be the least of the gang's worries believe me. But even then you're probably going to have to move. Just to be safe."
She remembered something that Rez had said before they left. While she was half conscious on the floor.
"You're going to kill that Jamaican tonight."
He looked at her squarely. "How do you know that?"
" I wasn't out totally back at the warehouse. I heard Rez and you talking."
Dele seemed to consider something, the lines on his forehead pronounced.
"Don't ask me anymore questions. It's none of your business and for your sake, it's better you leave it that way."
She heard the warning in his voice and it unsettled her. In these last hours with him, she'd come to believe he wasn't as cold blooded as the other gang members. Now she wasn't so sure.
"Dele, how did you get involved with this gang? You seem so…" She paused, reaching for words that eluded her.
"Seem what? Kinder, gentler? Trust me, I'm not. The reason I've kept you alive so far…is well…I don't like killing women."
"But you can kill a man in cold blood?"
"If I have to. So don't make the mistake of underestimating what I'm capable of. You don't know what I'll do."
The edge in his voice was one she hadn't heard before. Since that horrible first day which seemed so long ago she realized she wasn't so sure he wouldn't hurt her or even kill her if he thought it necessary.
She decided from that moment that it was safer to treat him like any of the other gang members. She had to in order to save herself.
"How are you going to convince Rez I'm dead?"
He didn't answer immediately but walked over to the bed and stood over her.
"Take the shirt off," he demanded.
"But…I don't have anything else to wear…"
"Now's not the time for modesty."
He stepped back to give her room and indicated with a hand signal that she should stand up. He pointed to the shirt he'd given her earlier. She reluctantly did as she was told. Better to go along for right now.
Standing in her bra, she felt vulnerable but he barely glanced at her. Instead, he took off his denim jacket and handed it to her. She eagerly reached for it, slipped it on and pulled it close at the front before sitting back down.
Standing only in his t-shirt and jeans for some reason, he looked more human to her. Less demon.
She continued watching him cautiously as he produced a knife from his jeans pocket. With one deft motion he slashed through the material of the shirt. She held her breath when in the next moment he deliberately cut his right forefinger. She hadn't realized what he'd done until the blood began forming a widening stain on the shirt.
"Oh God," she said quietly.
He didn't respond but instead walked to the bathroom. He left the door ajar and she heard running water. When he emerged he wore a couple of band aid strips over the wound.
She figured it must hurt like hell but if it did he didn't show it.
As he'd said earlier, he did what needed to be done.
She should be thankful that for right now at least he didn't want her dead. But for how much longer? She didn't doubt that if it came down to his life versus hers he would quit the chivalry act in a heartbeat and knife her just as quickly as he had ripped the shirt apart.
He must have seen the concern in her expression.
"I'm not going to hurt you Nailah. But you have to understand how serious this is. That if I can't protect you, you're as good as dead."
"And how are you going to protect me if you get killed tonight?"
"I'm not going to get killed tonight."
The words were confident even if his voice wasn't.
"You can't be sure of that. You're facing off with those Jamaicans and they seem a nasty bunch. "
"There's always the element of surprise. Corrall and his crew don't know we're coming for them."
"Guess it's true then that there's no honor among thieves. Or murderers. And that's what you are, right? Nothing but a killer. Obviously with some convoluted sense of chivalry or otherwise I'd been long dead."
He didn't answer and for some reason his silence angered her.
"Answer me! Am I right?!"
"You don’t know a damn thing about me," he finally said.
"I know what I see," she countered.
"You only know what you think you see."
She could see he was becoming angry and for some reason that stoked her own anger further.
"And how are you different than any of them? As far as I'm concerned, you're all alike. Nothing but fucking criminals."
No answer. Instead he occupied himself with pulling out his gun from his belt near the small of his back, checking the chambers, then placing it back in the belt.
"Enough bullets?" she asked sarcastically. "How many do you think you'll get off tonight before they take you down?"
Again no answer. She didn't know why she was riding him so hard. Maybe it w
as because she was sitting there, more scared since this all began, but no longer trusting him. And maybe because now she fully understood just how vulnerable she was. He was right. He was the only one who could keep her alive now that the gang had given orders to get rid of her. And she knew that one man alone couldn't save her. Not in the end.
For the last few minutes, he'd avoided looking at her. But at that moment he turned eyes on her as though considering something. A few more seconds passed before he pulled the gun from his belt and walked over to her. He held it out to her butt first.
"What…?" She drew back away from the weapon instinctively.
"Take it," he ordered.
"Why now?"
"Just in case." He didn't complete the thought but she understood what he refused to say.
In case he didn't make it tonight and she was left on her own. So he didn't believe in his earlier promise either.
He continued holding out the gun but she shook her head refusing to take it.
"I…I don't know how to shoot one of those."
He let out an exasperated sigh.
"I'll show you."
He positioned the gun in his hand and aimed it at a bare wall as though he was going to shoot.
"You hold the gun with your dominant hand high up on the grip, in your case your right hand. It's heavy, so you may have to use your other hand to hold the grip like this." He positioned his other hand.
"Now, you click off the safety like this. And this is the most important thing: Make sure you've got the gun exactly on your target. You want your shot to be clean. Trust your instinct. When you pull the trigger, you have to be fast and precise because I guarantee you, you won't get a second chance."
He demonstrated each point and then explained the same points again. After the second demonstration, he offered her the gun to hold and again she refused.
A fleeting exasperation crossed his face and he grabbed her by the arm, lifting her up from the bed.
"You're going to do this, now!" he said with a determination that didn't brook any argument.
He stood behind her, shoved the gun into her unwilling hand and guided her to the correct stance and hand motions, his breath tickling her flesh as he spoke the instructions near her ear. At certain points, his hand closed over hers as he guided her.
"When you aim, aim at the head or the heart. In other words, shoot to kill."
Given the circumstances, she shouldn't feel this unhinged by his closeness. Shouldn't shudder at the touch of his breath on her skin.
He was trying to keep her alive. And she was trying to resist the overwhelming and confusing feelings going through her. The fear and adrenaline only added to the emotions.
Even though her anger had ebbed, she jerked out of his grip and turned to face him. The gun was heavy in her hand.
"I'm not like you! I can't kill someone in cold blood!"
"Then you do in hot blood. You do it in anger, you do it in fear, you do it with the desperation to stay alive. Whatever gives you an edge. Just do it," he said coldly.
Chastened, Nailah slowly allowed her fingers to grip the gun handle, and this time, when he instructed her through the steps, she obediently complied with each directive.
The lesson continued for several minutes. Only after she'd demonstrated enough competence did he finally let up. She searched his expression for some response but she couldn't read him.
She laid the gun down on the night table and the action felt normal even in its incongruity. Strange how the small room had become a haven to her, a refuge from the craziness and danger. A place where she felt safe… for the moment.
Dele sat down on the edge of the bed. He seemed tired and more than a little stressed.
The discarded ripped shirt hung half on, half off the side of the bed where he had laid it earlier. The horrible image made her shiver.
She pulled her eyes away from the bloodied mess only to find Dele staring at her. She had the feeling he'd been staring at her for some time. She felt disconcerted to have all of his attention on her.
They were both facing death. There wasn't time for anything else.
Still, the adrenaline was working her body, driving the blood and juices.
His dark eyes were unwavering as he stared her down.
Unnerved, she asked the question she'd been thinking for some time.
"Aren't you ever scared?"
His answer was stated simply. "Always."
That one word took her by surprise and forced her to reassess him for the moment. All this time she'd thought he had it together outmaneuvering and outthinking the gang. But she realized that he was as scared as she was.
She thought about the life he was forced to live running with a vicious gang. At any moment one member can turn on you, throw you to the wolves. Forcing you to always have to watch your back to avoid the bullets and knives.
But it was a life he'd chosen.
She wouldn't ask him why he had made such a stupid choice given that he was smart enough to have gone another route. She wasn't his guidance counselor. If she ever got out of this mess – if they both survived – she would never see him again so it really didn't matter. Nothing about him mattered to her.
She couldn't afford to invest any emotion in him. He was a means to an end, in her case going back to her old life.
Just thinking about her former life made it seemed like it was eons ago. Her current existence had managed to push memories away, memories of those simple things she missed, the little pleasures she'd taken for granted, like crawling into a soft bed with a clean duvet and the only drama in her life being the plot of a good mystery novel or that depicted on one of her favorite shows. She could even picture a pitcher of sangria on her night table. Not the gun that laid so lethal on this night table.
She remembered that it was sangria that had gotten her in trouble. She would never have thrown that piece of meat if the alcohol hadn't lowered her inhibition and raised her frustration level.
"What are you thinking?" he asked out of the blue and she realized she had been staring back at him during her reminisce.
"I'm thinking of my life and how I got here."
Unexpectedly, he smiled slightly, which was followed by a quiet chuckle.
"I can't believe you took me down with a rib tip."
The thought of that moment came back fully and despite her stress – or maybe because of it – she felt a smile forming against her will.
"I always had a mean throw. Was second fielder on my junior high softball team."
"You missed your calling then."
"Yeah, investment banking wasn't all that I thought it would be."
He gave her a quizzical look. "I wouldn't have pegged you as a banker."
"Well, you wouldn't be the only one," she said a little bitterly. "Which is why I decided to go another route. But it didn't turn out like I hoped."
A pause before he asked, "Was that what set you off that day?"
She reluctantly nodded her head.
"Life gets in the way some days. You expect one thing, then something else happens. Look where I am. I went to get a consultant job and wound up the kidnap victim of a motorcycle gang. Talk about a segue."
She couldn't help the tearing. It was her body's natural response to all of the hell she'd been through. Just one small, irrational act and she'd changed her life immeasurably. She didn't know if she would ever get the chance to go back to the way it had been. To just live without fear.
As though he had read her thought, he stood up and walked over to her, took her by either arm.
"It's going to be all right. Somehow we're going to get out of this."
"How? I don't want to die. I don't want you to die."
Despite her earlier silent declaration that she didn't care, she reluctantly admitted to herself that she
did care whether he lived or died. That she wished that this wasn't his life.
"Nice to know you care," he said with a slight grin. "I'm used to taking care of myself."
He released her arms, walked to the kitchenette, pulled out two bottles of beer, uncapped them, walked back and handed her one. She would have refused, but she was thirsty. Even hungry.
Alcohol in a situation like the one she was facing was a bad idea. Still, after he handed the bottle to her, the yeasty smell of the brew teased her and overcoming her inhibition, she took a much needed swig. Then another. The cold wash felt good going down her throat. In a couple of minutes, she had downed the whole bottle. As the alcohol settled in her stomach, it killed off those pesky bats that had been flying around down there.
That was probably what he had hoped, to calm her down. Liquid courage sometimes did that for her.
He had finished his own drink, and he grabbed the bottles, tossed them into the nearby waste pail. The glass clanged against the metal.
The alcohol had done something for him, too. There was a little something more in his eyes when he looked at her.
"Tell me, why isn't a man coming to your rescue? I mean, isn't there someone out there calling around frantically trying to find you?"
"How do you know there isn't?" she asked resentfully, the resentment rising because the question had uncomfortably hit on the truth. She had no one. Even her relatives were out of state. And she'd gone incognito before so no major alarms were going to be raised for another few days.
Enough time for her to have gone missing and gotten herself killed.
"There's been no news about you. No one raising hell. Even with the witnesses."
The anger was unexpected and painful. She'd been kidnapped in the open and no one had even thought to call the police. As though her life didn't mean shit.
She had nowhere to turn that anger but on him.
"Don't worry about who cares about me. And what's your story? Probably an abusive parent in the woodpile, otherwise why are you where you are right now? No one cared right?
He winced and she took some satisfaction that she'd hit a nerve.
"You know, you can be a bitch when you want to be," he said, his eyes a bit darker. Anger and alcohol, a caustic mix. Not good for him, definitely not for her.
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