“You motherfucker, I am going to rip off your goddamn head! You fuck!” he was shouting, and then he headbutted the other man, breaking his nose.
Bodyguards quickly pulled him away, and both he and Stankovski were dragged behind the far side of the building. The Russian climbed to his knees and pulled out a handkerchief and pressed it to his nose, trying to stop the bleeding.
“I see. You cared very deeply for that woman, didn't you?”
Marc was laying on the ground, but he still managed to kick Stankovski in the face.
“Let me shoot him, boss!” an overeager bodyguard shouted.
“No! No, I have plans for them. I don't know how you organized this attack, De Sant, but you didn't stop anything. The girl is still dead. She's lucky – you don't deserve anything so quick. Your death will be slow, and painful, and you'll beg me to end you. Pick them up! Get the cars!”
Whoever was shooting from the woods behind them, they began to advance towards the barn. Clearly, they weren't with Stankovski, and Marc had no clue who they were. Didn't care. Didn't care about anything. All he could see was his partner, his girl, laying face down on the ground and not moving.
Stankovski's bodyguards laid down cover, keeping their unknown assailants at bay while two men ran off into the woods on the opposite side of the property. Barely two hundred feet from where Marc, Lily, and Kingsley had spied on the stables, a large black suburban had apparently been hidden in the brush. It careened through the snow, fishtailing all over the place. It skidded to a stop next to them, and all the doors were opened. Marc and an unconscious Kingsley were tossed into the backseat, while Stankovski climbed into the front seat. Orders were barked for his guards to stand their ground and to find out who the fuck was firing at them.
“It's fucking over. We're not the only ones you've pissed off, asshole. Someone out there is going to find you and kill you,” Marc hissed as the car lurched forward in the snow.
“You haven't been very good at accomplishing that feat. I have faith in my good luck, that I will survive this day. Do you feel as lucky?” Stankovski challenged.
But Marc wasn't listening anymore. The car was racing past the stables, bullets pinging off the bullet proof exterior. Marc pressed his head to the glass, his eyes searching the ground. He could make out Lily's form, still laying flat and still. Her hair had come loose from its bun, flames spread out across the snow. Red, matching the blood that was staining the white all around her. A man was approaching her, kneeling at her side, and Marc began banging his forehead against the glass.
I let her down. Only woman I've ever cared about; only thing I've ever cared about. And I failed her. It should have been me. I'd rather it have been me. Why couldn't it have been me!?
DAY TWO HUNDRED AND TWENTY-ONE
“Corazón.”
Sweetheart. Princess. Darling. And now corazón. How fucking hard is it to say Lily!?
When a bullet whizzed past her ear, Lily had honestly thought that Stankovski had missed, somehow. Some way. But after a split second, more bullets flew around her, and she dropped to the ground, pressing herself flat.
The shooting continued for a long time. It was all around her, it seemed like it was coming from all sides. She heard a car at one point, but couldn't quite pinpoint where it was coming from or which side had brought it. She didn't dare to lift her head – she could hear bullets hitting the ground near her.
She wasn't sure how long she was down for; long enough for all her wounds to make themselves painfully known to her. Her arm, her thigh, and especially her side. She wondered how much blood she'd lost.
Then the shooting seemed to die down. There were shouts around her, the occasional burst of gun fire. Stankovski's men were holing up behind the stables. Their unknown assailants were moving towards the stables from behind her, she could hear their footsteps getting closer. One set walked right up next to her, and then she felt a warm hand flat against her back. Heard a syrupy thick accent in her ear.
“Help me,” she whispered.
Strong hands gripped her shoulders and she was pulled back up onto her knees. Then the hands moved under her arms and she hissed as she was forced to her feet. She stumbled to the side and was helped to lean against a wall.
“Looks like I got here at the perfect time.”
“Eh. A couple minutes earlier would've been better.”
Damiano Ledo laughed. It was a rich, deep sound that came from deep in his chest, and she almost laughed as well. If only she didn't feel so much like crying.
“Nice to know you still have that wonderful sense of humor. I see you've been shot,” he pointed out, then dropped low so he could examine her thigh.
“Twice. Or three times, I'm not sure, I lost count. What are you -, ah!” she let out a shout when his hands moved over her waist. That was the money shot. If she didn't take care of it soon, her bleeding would become a problem.
“What is this?” he asked, and she watched as he frowned, his hands moving around her stomach and torso.
“That is my insurance policy. I'd probably be dead without it,” she sighed, moving her hand behind his. He was feeling her Kevlar panels; replacements, bought after he'd caused her to lose her original set. Eight small squares, guarding her body from her bra line down to her pants. The bullet had nicked the side of one of the panels, changing its trajectory and sending it through the meaty part of her side.
“Yes, probably. But still, it's nasty. We should get it stitched,” he suggested, moving to stand next to her.
“No time. Do you have a car here?” she asked, and began limping away from him.
“Of course. We followed you, I had to make sure Stankovski was properly neutralized. When it looked like you were in trouble, we decided to advance,” he told her. She laughed.
“Neutralized, yeah. One way to put it. So I guess that secret hideaway you mentioned, it just happens to be in New York?”
“Most fortuitous, wouldn't you say?”
You realize I saved your life, and now you've saved mine? We're even now.”
“Pity.”
“Really?”
“Now I have no reason to keep following you.”
“Oh!” she exclaimed, stopping at the entrance to the stables. “There's explosives! All around here, I think. He blew up -”
“Yes, I know. My men have been disabling them as they find them,” Damiano assured her.
“Good. Thank you. Now, a car. I really need a car,” Lily said, then hissed in pain while she moved through the doors.
“For what, may I ask?” he followed behind her.
“I need to go after them. Marc won't let them get too far. They all probably think I'm dead – I'll have the upper hand. I have to stop him,” she explained, moving as fast as she could to the back of the building. She went back into the office, the one where she'd found Stankovski. The guard she'd knocked unconscious was sitting up and moaning, but Damiano swiftly kicked him in the head, sending him back to lala land.
“You need a doctor. Or something. There may even be supplies here, I'm sure one of my men can stitch -” he began to argue. She slammed her hand down on the desk top.
“No time!” she shouted. “I don't have any time. No time, no weapons, not even a goddamn plan. So what I need you to do right now is not worry about me. I need you to go find me a fucking car.”
Damiano glared at her for a second. It was clear that he was unaccustomed to people speaking to him in such a manner. Finally, though, he left, and she could hear him yelling at his men in Spanish.
All she wanted to do was collapse. Everything hurt, and she was still losing blood. But she shook her head and got to work. She peeled off her lyrca leggings first. Both sides were coated in blood and there was a huge hole from where she'd been shot in the thigh. She glanced at the wound. Not so much shot; it was more like a chunk had been ripped out of her leg. She grabbed a pair of scissors off the desk, cut apart one of the legs of her pants, then tied it around her thigh, above the wound, as snug as
she could. She screamed out a few more curse words, but eventually, she had the material knotted tightly.
She was just managing to get her tank top off when Damiano jogged back into the room. He didn't say anything, just looked her over as she stood in front of him in her underwear and sports bra. He grimaced as he looked at her side. She ventured a look, as well. It didn't look as nasty as the one on her leg, it was more of a clean, straight through shot, but it was probably the worst. It was certainly bleeding the most. She pressed her tank top around it and then started opening drawers and cabinets.
“Help me find something,” she panted. “Anything, to wrap it up.”
There was a closet in the room. It was full of overalls and white tank tops, presumably put in place for stable hands, when the place had been run as an actual stable. They ripped a couple tank tops apart, and Lily bit down on a leather riding crop while Damiano packed her bullet hole with as much material as possible. She was shaking by the time he was wrapping pieces of the tops around her, holding the makeshift bandage in place. Then they cut up her tight tank top and used that to secure the whole thing.
“You really do not look well,” he told her. She nodded and pushed past him, digging in the closet.
“I might throw up, but that's fine. As long as I keep moving,” she breathed, yanking out another tank top and pulling it over her head. Then she pulled out the smallest pair of coveralls she could find and dragged them over her legs. She knotted the arms tightly around her waist. There. She may have looked ridiculous, but she was dressed.
“You won't keep moving like this, not for long. Please, let us do something for you,” Damiano insisted.
“Like what? Take me to a hospital? Nearest one is miles away. Marc and Kingsley would be dead by then,” she growled.
He stayed silent for a moment, then turned and walked out of the room. She didn't care. It wasn't his battle. She was appreciative of his interference – it had saved her life, after all. But he wouldn't interfere with this. She was going to go get her boys back.
Lily had barely made it around the desk when Damiano returned. He didn't say anything, just walked past her. She heard him sit down in the chair, but she didn't turn around. She was trying to ignore the incredible amount of pain she was in; everything from her hair to her toes hurt.
“It is not much, but it'll help you get through the next hour or two,” he finally spoke from behind her. She slowly turned to face him.
“What the fuck is this?”
Nice and neat even white lines sat in front of her. At first glance, she almost thought it was snow from outside. But that was stupid. She was talking to a drug lord; to the drug lord. Of course he had cocaine readily available to him.
“This is the best money can buy, and I am offering it to you for free.”
“No thanks, I don't really feel like getting high right now.”
“Obviously. But you are two steps away from collapsing. This will give you energy, and it will help with the pain. If I had an EpiPen, I would offer that to you. Sadly, this is all I have. Now I strongly urge you – take it.”
She hesitated. Lily had only done coke a couple times, at lavish parties thrown by her Bratva bosses back in her money laundering days. Even then, she'd only done it when it would have seemed odd for her to decline. It had been years since those days. Still. He was right. She did feel sluggish, and tired, and weak. Three things that wouldn't help Marc and Kingsley.
Damiano held out a tightly rolled dollar bill and she snatched it from him. Like ripping off a band aid, she took the lines one right after the other, one, two, three.
“Okay,” she gasped for air as she stood upright. “Okay, I did it. Now, lets get out of here before I have a fucking heart attack.”
They made their way back through the stables. Lily was surprised to see several women moving about the building, rounding up the children and wrapping them in blankets.
“They will be taken care of,” Damiano assured her, noticing her stare. She glanced up at him.
“How? I don't want to save all of them just to find out you're using them to run drugs or some bullshit,” she snapped. He nodded.
“No. They will be turned over to the State of New York, along with the story of how they got here. If you don't succeed in killing Stankovski tonight, I will at least succeed in killing his chances of operating freely in the Americas. The children will be safe,” his voice grew hard, almost like she'd offended him. “We will account for all of them, then they will be bused into the city. Children are precious to me, I would never do anything that would hurt them.”
It wasn't like Lily was in a position to argue with him, or to grill him. She worried about the children, but for now, they were safe. Her boys weren't. She had to trust Damiano, trust that he would do what he said.
Please let him be telling the truth. I don't know if I have enough energy to launch another crusade against an international criminal.
They went outside and she saw that Damiano's men had wrangled together all of Stankovski's remaining guards and were tying them up. A beat up looking El Camino was pulled up in front of the building and was left running.
“Not the best, I'm sorry to say. We mobilized quickly, took what we could find. Be careful in the snow. There is a map on the seat, it has Stankovski's main house marked, and a couple of the other buildings. Guest house, barns, things like that,” he explained.
Lily was nodding her head, listening to him while she struggled to keep up with his pace. She wasn't watching her feet, so when she kicked something solid underneath the snow, she was caught off guard. She looked down, and there was something dark a few feet in front of her. She bent down and began to dig through the snow, then pulled back, shocked. After a second, she started laughing.
“I can't believe it,” she fought for air.
“Oh no. I should never have given you drugs. You are delirious,” Damiano groaned. She shook her head, still laughing as she picked the object up.
“No. I'm fine. I think everything is going to be just fine,” she laughed, and then brushed snow off her Glock 22.
This has to be a sign. Please let this be a good sign.
DAY TWO HUNDRED AND TWENTY-ONE
Marc rocked back and forth in his seat, his eyes tracking the road outside the window. How far had they gone? How far was he from her?
Dead. She's dead. You got her killed.
NO! She can't be dead. Lily wouldn't die so easily. Something has to happen. Please, god, I don't talk to you a lot, but please. She can't be dead.
She can't be dead.
“Christ, my ribs,” Kingsley coughed out and Marc looked across the seat. The British mercenary had been unconscious for most of the ride.
“You okay?” Marc checked.
“No. No, I don't think I am. Something bad has happened, hasn't it?”
“Yes. Now shut up and let me think.”
“Ah, Mr. Law! You are awake!” Stankovski laughed from the front seat. “Glad you could join us. So sorry Ms. Brewster couldn't make it, though.”
There was silence for a second, then Kingsley let out a shout, startling everyone in the car, including Marc. His leg lashed out and he kicked Stankovski in the side of the face. Russian swear words filled the car and the driver lost control of the wheel for a bit.
“You fucking wanker, you fucking killed her!”
“I will shoot you in the head!” Stankovski all but shrieked, pointing a pistol into the backseat.
That line ricocheted around Marc's brain, “... I will shoot you in the head!”, and he thought about Stankovski holding a gun to Lily's head. Thought of the way she hadn't moved. Hadn't even flinched. Always so strong. She'd been pale from the cold and her green eyes had looked so big. So large, staring straight at him. Then she'd smiled, and she hadn't needed to give her speech about love and thanks.
Marc had already felt it in his heart.
And this motherfucker killed her.
Rage completely took him over. W
hile Stankovski was still threatening to shoot Kingsley, Marc jumped forward in his seat and threw his arms around the head rest in front of him. He jerked back and the ropes that tied his wrists together pulled tight against Stankovski's throat, cutting off his air supply.
Everything went crazy. The pistol in Stankovski's hand started going off, the man's arms waving around in panic while he couldn't breathe. Kingsley kicked him in the arm and one of the bullets wound up in the driver's skull. He went limp and the car surged forward as the gas pedal was pressed down to the floor. The vehicle careened across the snowy road and leapt off an embankment, catching air for a brief moment.
Nothing. Not one goddamn thing ever goes off without a hitch.
The vehicle rolled three times before landing on its side, and even then, it still slid for a solid twenty feet. Marc had gotten bounced around the interior like a ping pong ball, and when he opened his eyes again, he wasn't sure how long they'd been closed.
“Off,” Kingsley was whispering. “Get off me.”
Marc realized he was sprawled on top of the other man and they were both pressed against the side of the car, which was now underneath them.
He lurched forward and managed to grab the passenger seat. He used it to haul himself up so he was standing, his feet on either side of Kingsley. He looked down, but the other man wasn't moving.
“Hey! Are you alright!?” he shouted.
“Oh, sure. I didn't need those ribs. Or any of them,” Kingsley wheezed, one his hands pressed against his side.
“It's gonna be okay. We have to get out of here, she may still -”
The door above him was suddenly ripped open and Marc blinked as snow fell in all around them. When he managed to look outside, it was to see that Stankovski was standing above them with a gun pointed into the vehicle.
“Good lord, what does it take to kill this man?” Kingsley groaned.
“You are too late!” Stankovski yelled. “We're already at my house, men are already on their way to us. You will not try anything else.”
Out of Plans (The Mercenaries #2) Page 27
