by Rachel Rust
I reopened my eyes and focused on the firewood in the corner.
A plan flashed in my mind and I went with it before I realized what I was doing. Shoving the gun into the waist of my leggings, I moved to the wood pile and picked up the top piece, careful not to send the rest rolling out from underneath it.
The piece of wood was thicker and shorter than a baseball bat, but just as heavy. My hands curled tight around the log as I stepped back to the door. I knocked once … and waited.
The doorknob turned.
I moved back as the door opened, shielding myself behind it. Heavy, slow footsteps made their way into the room. The back of the man’s shoulder appeared. Dressed in a leather jacket and black pants, he was shorter than I had expected, and older, with dark hair sprinkled with gray.
Before he could turn around and spot me, I took a two steps toward him.
It’s him or me.
My dad’s voice rang out in my head, telling me to ‘keep your eye on the ball.’ I had only played softball for two years, but my dad had played baseball from childhood through college. He loved coaching, and baseball metaphors had a way of making their way into his everyday lectures.
I kept my eyes focused on the man’s head and swung with all my might. He turned just in time to see the wood flying toward his face. His eyes went wide.
A million things went through my mind as the firewood sailed through the air—my mom was in the front room and she needed me. Eddie needed me. My dad and Josh needed me. My entire life had been fucked up by this man before me, his boss, and everyone associated with him. I was missing class, wasting my dad’s money, and potentially putting my grades and academic reputation on the line by having to fight to save my future. And most of all—I was tired of dealing with all this shit.
I closed my eyes as the log neared the man’s face. The impact into his flesh sent reverberations up my arms, but my dad’s voice persisted with, “follow through with your swing.” My fingers gripped tight to the wood, continuing the swing and careful not to let go—out of sheer impact or disgust.
When I opened my eyes, the man had fallen to the ground, blood squirting from his nose and cheek. My stomach went squeamish, but I forced mind over matter—this was not the time to faint over blood. I placed the wood on the floor and my fingers scrambled for my gun as the man lay half-awake just a few feet from me. He wouldn’t be out for long.
I steadied the gun in my hand as the toe of my shoe dragged his gun away from him, toward me.
“Gerald!” a low, booming voice called out from the front room. “Everything all right?”
The man—Gerald—groggily lifted his head, placing a hand to his cheek. “You bitch.” The words were gargled.
“Tell them everything’s fine.” I said, pointing the gun to his head.
He just stared at me.
“Tell them.”
“Every—” He choked and cleared his throat. “Everything’s good.”
I motioned with the gun for him to get up. It took him a couple of tries, but he managed, clinging to the wall for support. I nodded to the door.
“Hands up, walk slow,” I said. “If you try anything, I put a bullet in you. Understand?”
He nodded, clasping his fingers together behind his head.
I followed him down the hallway and into the front room where Sergei greeted us.
Chapter Twenty-Four
We stepped into the large combination living room and kitchen area. It was still bright, though the long shadows through the window were a sign that we didn’t have a ton of daylight left.
“What the fuck?” someone asked upon sight of Gerald emerging from the back of the cabin.
And what a sight it must’ve been … a bruised and bloody face, thanks to the nineteen-year-old standing behind him with a gun.
“Miss Mancini, so nice of you to join us,” Sergei said with a smile and an ounce of I’m impressed in his voice.
Next to him was a hulk of a man wearing a black t-shirt and holding a rifle. The scowl on his face was nearly comical and my guess was that he was the booming voice we had heard, because he was the only muscle Sergei had in the room with him.
Skinny Sean was there too, seated at the kitchen table, but he was armed with only a laptop. He pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up and glanced nervously Sergei’s direction.
Standing near the back wall were Eddie and Krissy. They were disarmed with their hands up, thanks to Hulk Man’s rifle. On the coffee table in the middle of the room were a collection of handguns, and two knives. Eddie and Krissy’s weapons.
I caught Eddie’s gaze. His eyes were wide, his nostril flared. I looked away, unable to process all the emotions he must’ve been feeling, because there was no time for arguing about what I had done. I was there, gun in hand, in the middle of it all. There was no undoing anything.
My mom, dressed in the same clothing she had been in back at the New York motel, sat on a kitchen chair in the middle of the living room. Her mouth was gagged and rope constricted her upper body, but she appeared otherwise unharmed.
My anger and worry for her was overridden by an innate sense of justice that kept my grip firm on the handgun. Gone was the emotional Natalie, inhibited by fear. Sergei Romanov needed to go down. I was no longer on the sidelines waiting for my life, and the lives of those I loved, to be saved. I was now part of the effort.
Toby’s portly frame also sat in a kitchen chair not far from my mom. But he had no gag, or restraints of any kind. He had been set free, but not my mom.
So much for a fair trade. Not that I had been expecting one. Sergei was not a man of his word. He was an egotistical madman whose only intent today was to kill us all.
Sergei put his hands out, as though a host inviting welcomed guests into his party. “Why don’t you put your gun down so we can all have a chat?”
“I’m good, thanks,” I said. “I’m here for my mother.”
Sergei smiled. “Of course you are.”
I glared at him. “Wipe the fucking smile off your face and untie my mom.”
“Or what?”
I raised my gun to the back of Gerald’s head.
Sergei chuckled. He grabbed Eddie’s silver handgun from the collection on the coffee table, turned around, and shot Gerald.
The loud gunshot rang in my ears as blood splattered onto my face. My entire body froze in shock as Gerald collapsed at my feet. Through her gag, my mom cried out, tears running down her face.
Sergei pointed his gun at me. “I guess that plan of yours is not going to work out after all.”
My body shook and it was all I could do to not collapse next to Gerald. The metallic scent of blood infiltrated my nose and made me woozy. I had underestimated Sergei’s callousness, that he’d shoot his own men to regain the upper hand.
“Drop your weapon, Miss Mancini,” he said.
The sights of my gun were aimed at the broadest area of his chest. If I fired, he would shoot me, too. I might die, but then again, so might he. My right index finger hooked around the trigger.
“Don’t do it.”
“You deserve it,” I said, forcing my voice not to shake.
Sergei smiled again and took a few steps toward me, the barrel of Eddie’s handgun staring me down.
“Natalie,” Eddie said from the other side of the room. “Put the gun down. Please.”
“I would listen to your boyfriend,” Sergei said, taking one more step. “Do you really think you can outmaneuver me? That you can pull your trigger faster than I can? My darling, I have been doing this longer than you have been alive. I could get two shots off before you could get one. So think about what you are about to do.”
I squinted, trying to push his mind games out of my head. He was bluffing. All I needed to do was squeeze the trigger—a quick, simple movement—and he’d be dead.
My finger curled tighter against the trigger. Just a fraction of a movement, but Sergei caught it.
He waved a finger. “Ah, ah, ah, I woul
dn’t do that if I were you.”
Doubt crept in. Maybe he wasn’t bluffing. I had never fired a gun before and what if the trigger was more difficult to pull than I had anticipated? All it would take was a half a second of hesitation on my part, and he’d shoot me dead.
He was closer now, watching my every movement. With a shaking hand, I placed my gun on the floor. Either he really was more skilled than me, or he had simply outsmarted me. Either way, he won, I lost.
Sergei motioned with his gun for me to move.
“Go join your friends.”
I shuffled to the area where Eddie and Krissy were, choosing to stand next to Krissy and avoiding Eddie’s gaze. I was in no condition to deal with his looks of condemnation or fear. My heroic plan had quickly gone to shit, and now we were all going to die.
Sergei paced in front of us. “I am sorry to hear your friend and colleague Luke could not join us.” He stopped in front of Eddie. “He was a good partner to you, yes? It is important to have a partner you can trust. I had a partner once. But he died.”
Eddie smirked. “I know.”
“And do you also know what really happened to your father?” Sergei asked. With his hand in the shape of a gun, he put his index finger against Eddie’s forehead. “I put a bullet into his head myself.”
“I know, and if you think you’re going to break me down by talking about my dad, then you picked the wrong guy.”
“Oh, a tough guy,” Sergei said with a sharp laugh. “I always knew you were a lot like your father. He did not even flinch when I put a gun to his head. I wonder if you will.” Sergei replaced his index finger with the front of the silver handgun, pressing it into Eddie’s forehead. “I only wish your father could be here today, to see the bullet-riddled body of his only son—just like my last memories of my only son.”
“Fuck you,” Eddie said.
Sergei cocked the gun.
Chapter Twenty-Five
With the barrel of his own silver gun rested against his forehead, Eddie’s face flushed, but he remained still and composed. He was a man who had used the last few hours to come to terms with his possible demise. He had called and written a letter to his mother. He had done what he could to keep me safe. And now it was all coming to this—a bullet from his own gun. A bullet he himself had loaded.
I wasn’t sure how he managed to keep his body from reacting to its last moments, as my own body was nearing the point of convulsions. My breaths grew shallower with every intake, my knees weaker with every second of time. It was as though my body would prefer that I passed out rather than witness death.
“Cut the macho shit,” Krissy said to Sergei. “We brought you Toby, so let Jill go. That was the deal.”
Before Sergei could respond, there was a rustle near the front door and it flew opened. Sergei spun around, gun raised. Hulk Man kept his firearm trained on the three of us. He apparently had only one mission—keep Krissy and Eddie, the trained FBI people, contained.
The two guards from outside stepped into the cabin. One had a hold of the upper arm of Emily Thatcher. “Look what we found outside.”
He shoved Thatcher, causing her to tumble forward. Dressed in plain clothes, her short gray hair was disheveled with bits of leaves sticking out. The dirt on the front of her shirt made me wonder if she had done that low military crawl thing up to the cabin.
“How did she find us?” I whispered to Krissy.
“Eddie and I called her for backup.”
“But she’ll arrest Eddie.”
“We know that, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Survival comes first. Plus, she didn’t come alone. We have good company surrounding us right now.”
I nearly smiled. Thatcher had brought the cavalry. The FBI were here, somewhere outside, unseen but powerful.
Sergei smiled, pointing his gun to Thatcher. “Special Agent in Charge Emily Thatcher. What a pleasure to have you drop by. I was just about to teach your colleagues over here a lesson on deal making. Why don’t you go join them?”
Thatcher, with her hands up, joined us, stepping in between Krissy and Eddie.
“Martinez,” she said, greeting Eddie with her soft southern accent.
“Thatcher,” Eddie replied. “I guess you can arrest me now.”
“We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it.”
“Okay,” Sergei said, going back to his pacing. “Now that we’re all settled, let’s talk business.”
He spun on his heel and shot Toby square in the chest.
I stifled a scream as my eyes squeezed shut and my hands slapped over my face. But my reaction was too late, and burned into my mind was now a vivid image of Toby, slumped over with a large black-red stain spreading out over his shirt.
Krissy, Thatcher, and Eddie had all flinched, but otherwise had no reaction.
Sergei turned back to us. “Did you really think meeting you here today was about me wanting to get Toby back?”
“No,” Eddie said, his voice strong. “That’s why we brought in our own backup plan.”
“And what might that be?”
“Not what,” Thatcher replied, stepping forward with a small gun raised squarely at Sergei’s face. “But who.”
Rage washed over Sergei’s face as he looked at the guards who were still standing next to the front door. “You were supposed to check her.”
“I—I checked her for weapons,” the first guard stammered. “I did. I swear!”
A small smile creeped onto my face. I wasn’t sure how she had snuck the gun in, but Thatcher clearly hadn’t become Special Agent In Charge by being incompetent.
In a fluid motion, Thatcher stepped to the side, shot both guards and then the Hulk Man. Sergei tried to react, but Thatcher was faster than him and had her gun trained back on his face before he could even properly lift his own gun her direction.
“Put your gun down,” Thatcher ordered him.
My heart raced as I watched the showdown between them. This was it. We had the upper hand. Sean at the kitchen table had already put his hands up in a surrender position, watching his boss with wide eyes.
Sergei jeered at Thatcher’s request.
Eddie and Krissy moved toward the coffee table to reclaim their guns.
But they didn’t get far.
A smile crept onto Thatcher’s face and she pivoted away from Sergei and sent a bullet into Krissy’s upper body, spinning her around until she dropped on the floor near Eddie’s feet.
“What the hell?” I cried out.
Eddie’s chest heaved with each breath as he stared at Thatcher—his boss—whose gun was now pointed at his head.
“What the fuck is going on?” he demanded.
Thatcher stepped next to Sergei. Shoulder to shoulder they stood, not as foes. More like—my stomach curled—partners.
“This has been a very long time coming,” Thatcher said to Eddie. “You really do look a lot like him.”
Surprise flashed in Eddie’s eyes. “You knew my father?”
Thatcher nodded. “I first met him when he was about your age.”
“When you lived down in Texas,” I blurted out.
Thatcher smiled at me, and in her soft accent replied, “Very good, sweetheart.”
I wanted to punch her in the face. But my anger was washed away by a wave of dizzying fear. If Thatcher was on Sergei’s side, then she hadn’t brought FBI reinforcements. There was no cavalry outside coming to rescue us. Hulk Man and the guards were down, but Eddie and I were outmanned and outgunned with Krissy now lying in her own blood. Sean didn’t seem much of a threat, but he was still a third body on the other guys’ team. Three of them. Two of us.
My moment of hope had vanished. Replaced by dread.
“You’ve been working for Sergei all this time,” Eddie said.
Thatcher replied only with a chuckle.
“Even this summer,” I said. “At the hotel, when I went undercover? It was you who told Sergei that I was Theresa Roberts. You knew Toby was dirty b
ut didn’t say anything, because you were dirty, too. But you were so…”
“Nice?” Thatcher asked with a small smile. “My dear girl, trust no one. Undercover work takes a long time, and you have to play the part and make it believable.” She glanced at Eddie. “Just ask Victor Greer.”
Eddie’s eyes narrowed. “Why? Before you kill us, at least explain why you’re working for a piece of shit like Romanov. What’s in it for you?”
Thatcher turned to face Eddie head on. “Before I joined the FBI, I was a police officer in El Paso and your dad was a cop just over the border in Juarez. I knew your dad because he was a real pain in my ass. He had a knack for spotting the traffickers. The people who were, shall we say, giving me a pretty comfortable savings plan.”
“You were on the take,” Eddie said. It wasn’t a question.
Thatcher glanced at Sergei. “Sergei and his son Ivan were quite generous, giving me a cut of profits for just looking the other way, and for keeping people like your dad from interfering. Except we all know how that turned out. And after your dad fled to The States, the money from all the traffickers stopped coming in, as no one trusted me to keep the Juarez cops in line any longer. I lost everything. My house, my cars. And with that financial stress, I lost my husband and daughter as well. I also knew your dad had information on me as a dirty cop that he might eventually use. And I couldn’t lose my job, that’d be the last straw. So Romanov and I now had a common enemy—Teodoro Martinez. And, in turn, his son. You.”
“And what about Natalie?” Eddie asked. “What did she ever do to you?”
Thatcher shrugged. “Nothing. I personally have no beef with Natalie, or her mother. But Sergei wrapped the two of you up into one package when he paired you up together for that school assignment. And when the two of you took down The Barber together, I knew this girl wasn’t going anywhere any time soon.” Thatcher smiled at Eddie. “She’s a beautiful girl, isn’t she, Martinez? Tell me, how long did it take after you were wrapped around her little finger to talk her into wrapping her pretty legs around you?”
