Guns and Roses

by Brennan, Allison; Armstrong, Lori G. ; Tabke, Karin; Causey, Toni McGee; St. Claire, Roxanne; Brown, Josie; Littlefield, Sophie; Griffin, Laura; James, Lorelei; Day, Sylvia

  ~*~

  Ten minutes later, they’d managed to take off two of the panels from the door itself to expose the lock. There had apparently been a mechanism on one of those panels that, once triggered, would have slid the panel over for the key, but they hadn’t known, nor had the time to guess and hunt it down.

  As it stood, they had a seriously heavy door with an elaborate locking mechanism in place—one Trevor had never faced before. He could do this, though. He would do this. Bobbie Faye was somewhere, in trouble, on the other side of that door.

  “I’ll need to be quiet and fast,” Trevor said, bending to examine the lock better.

  “You won’t be fast on that lock,” Alex told him.

  “I’m a lot better than you think,” Trevor answered, pulling off the jacket to his tux.

  “And I’m a lot better than you. I’ll be faster. And quieter,” Alex said.

  “You’re not seriously going to let this asshole interfere, are you?” Cam asked.

  “Which one of you is a better, more experienced thief?” Alex asked.

  “And which one of us could have given us this information a few hours earlier and saved Bobbie Faye from being kidnapped?” Nina asked Alex, and he rolled his eyes.

  “Look,” Alex said, his patience thin, “the woman shot at me, tried to blow up my car, did blow up my camp, tried to shoot me a second time, and that was before we broke up and things went south and got ugly. You’re damned lucky I showed up at all.”

  “Why did you?” Cam asked, “and don’t give me this crap about getting off the hook with the feds. You don’t give a rat’s ass about the feds, and we both know it. You’ve avoided them for a decade!” Cam waved his arms, wound up. “You could’ve kept on avoiding them. So why help, now?”

  Trevor was very interested in the answer to that question and Alex looked back and forth between the two men and finally, his shoulders sagged and he sighed.

  “Because I realized once Trevor’s mom was involved that Trevor would know I was a part of the escape plan. And if anything happened to Bobbie Faye,” he looked at Trevor, “you’d hunt me down and skin me. And I also knew they were planning on kidnapping and killing you—and if Bobbie Faye survived—and just my luck, she would—she’d hunt me down and skin me.”

  “Yeah, they’re putting that in their vows,” Riles quipped, “to love, honor, and skin each other’s enemies.”

  “Well,” Alex continued, “call it survival, but the odds were better for me if neither of you were chasing me.”

  “Fine,” Trevor said. “Get us in there, fast and quiet. Screw with me on this, Alex, skinning you will be the least of what I do to you.”

  ~*~

  He was, indeed, fast. And quiet. Trevor’s heart raced as the last internal pin clicked into place and Alex turned his makeshift “key”—and the door eased open, silently exposing a staircase.

  “I’ll lead,” Trevor said, pulling his backup gun from his ankle holster.

  “You’ll let me lead,” Riles said.

  “No fucking way.”

  “Look,” his friend said, stepping in the way, “If I let you lead and they pick you off at the bottom of the stairs and little miss Annoying-as-Hell lives?” He shuddered. “I seriously do not want to have to deal with the Crazy. Been there. No fucking way do I want a repeat. Besides, it’s how we work—stick to what we know and you might not get dead.”

  “Get moving,” Trevor said, worried they were too late. It was just too damned quiet beyond that door. “Cam, take the rear. Nina?”

  “I’ve got your back here—I’ll watch the room.”

  “Alex, check if anyone’s seen my mother make a move while we’re down there.”

  They eased down the staircase, soft steps, not a single sound coming from their movements. When they got to the bottom, where it turned at the landing toward an opening in the wall, Trevor motioned for Riles to go low and to the left, Cam high right and Trevor would take low right. He held up fingers, counting backward from three and they slid into the room like smoke, guns up and ready, and froze. Stunned.

  Bobbie Faye paced in front of a dilapidated sofa, her skirt ripped off at knee level, the Black Madonna icon propped on her left hip, cradled protectively there, glowing, and three people tied up with white strips of material, sitting on the sofa. Three thugs face down on the floor, also tied up, all of them with bandages (white… he was seeing a pattern here)… stained with blood. Every one of them gagged. Also with white material.

  “Now that guy,” she was lecturing, “knew what the hell he was doing. He was a professional. He knew how to tie people up! You don’t go into this business without some pride in your own profession! For crying out loud! And well, sure, he’s dead,” she said, as if one of the idiots tied up had suggested a flaw in her argument, “but still, he had—”

  “Sundance?” Trevor asked, trying not to laugh. “What are you doing?”

  She glanced over her shoulder and grinned, and faced him, her right hand holding an FN 5.7 that he knew she hadn’t walked in there with, and he raised an eyebrow.

  “I discovered something today,” she said, walking toward him, looking absolutely stunning in what was left of her wedding gown, her hair disheveled, soot on her face, cobwebs on her shoulder. She stood in front of him, defiance written in every gorgeous line of her body. “It turns out that I don’t do ‘helpless.’ Deal with it.”

  “Good to know,” he said and smiled as she grinned up at him. If she wasn’t the most beautiful sight on earth—all cocky and tenacious—he didn’t know what was.

  “I’m gonna puke,” Riles grumbled, and she turned and planted a big sloppy kiss on Riles’ cheek.

  “Yeah, I get that a lot,” she answered him and Riles looked away, determined not to smile as Trevor scooped her into his arms. Finally. Safe.

  ~*~

  When they got to the top of the staircase, Nina had two guards of her own out cold and tied up.

  “Not exactly in the Maid of Honor handbook,” Bobbie Faye said, “but nice job.”

  “Hey, this was a lot easier than helping you pick out that dress, so no worries. Nice icon.”

  Bobbie Faye looked down at the Madonna and Child on the ancient icon that she just really hated to hand over to the police; there was something magical about it. Peaceful.

  “I’d swear something weird happened when they came at me there at the end. They had three guns to my one, and none of theirs fired. Bizarre. And then the old guy tried to shoot me and his gun fell apart. Right there, in his hand. Just… fell apart. I want to keep her,” she said of the icon. “Especially for the next time people shoot at me. Do you think anyone would notice if I hung her around my neck?”

  Trevor froze for a second at her side at those words, and then he wrapped his arms around her, put his cheek at her temple and held her. No one else could see him shaking, but she could feel it, and she wrapped herself up in his arms and said, “I’m okay.”

  “Don’t keep doing this, Sundance. I don’t think my heart can take it.”

  “Deal.”

  A few minutes later, Bobbie Faye very reluctantly turned over the icon to the police, who were waiting in the vestibule of the church. Alex was gone, though that was not a surprise to a single person. What was a surprise was that Trevor’s mother had had the balls to show up. She looked so thoroughly enraged in her Vera Wang ensemble and ice-pick-thin heels that Bobbie Faye wondered if she’d patterned her look on Cruella DeVille.

  “What exactly are you doing?” Andrea Cormier asked her son. “You cannot possibly mean to go through with this and marry… that,” she said, waving Bobbie Faye’s direction with her nose scrunched up as if she’d just smelled open sewage.

  Trevor had his arm around Bobbie Faye protectively, curling toward her as he started to interrupt his mom and Bobbie Faye squeezed his hand and shook her head, telling him without words to let his mom have her say. It had always been going to come to this.

  “Just look at her—she’s a di
sgrace,” Andrea continued. “Her family is nothing but criminals and drunks. She has done more damage to the state than any two hurricanes, and there are a number of pending lawsuits. Aside from the fact that she’s completely unsuitable—I mean, really, Trevor, she doesn’t even have an education—she’s no match for your IQ and intellect—but you absolutely must take into consideration that she’ll open up Cormi-Co to so many lawsuits, she’ll destroy the company. At the very least, have our legal department draw up an iron-clad hold harmless that she must sign, so when she creates the next disaster, we can’t be sued. Set her up as your mistress if you absolutely must and protect the family so that she can’t bankrupt us with her next disaster. Because mark my words, son, there will be another disaster, which could kill Cormi-Co. You cannot possibly want the thousands of employees we have to be out of a job, kicked out of their homes when they can’t afford their mortgages, unable to feed their children—all because you have the hots for… this… woman.”

  There wasn’t a single sound in the church after Andrea paused, and Trevor looked down at Bobbie Faye in his arms, and she grinned up at him and saw him relax, however infinitesimally.

  “She makes a really good argument,” she told him.

  “I think that’s the same one you made,” he said, and she nodded.

  “Almost word for word. You’d think someone with that fancy Ivy League education like yours, you’d have learned to listen a little better.”

  “I don’t think listening runs in the family.”

  “Clearly not,” Bobbie Faye smiled at him and then stepped out of Trevor’s arms and toward his mother, addressing her. “Look, Andrea—”

  “That’s Ms. Cormier to you.”

  “Ha. Right. Good fantasy life there, Andrea, and classic way to exaggerate—points to you for adding the homeless, starving children, but here’s the thing: I love your son. I dove in front of bullets to protect him and would do it again without even thinking. He is my soul. So if I would dive in front of bullets to protect him, what in the hell makes you think you could ever intimidate me? Cormi-Co can protect itself. You only have two choices: get with the program or leave.”

  “Then you leave me no choice. Deronda?” A tall, beautiful woman with stunning Asian eyes, but darker olive skin, stepped forward and handed Trevor a thick legal document.

  Bobbie Faye glanced at him as he read over the first couple of pages. Then he laughed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “She’s trying to have me committed.”

  “Not trying, dear,” his mother answered. “Am. You know there is no trying in this company. We do. You’ll find that all of the paperwork there is perfectly legal and in order and already signed by a judge.”

  “Oh, yes, Judge Winslow. How is dear old Uncle Winslow? Still screwing you for stock options on the side, Mother?”

  “As of today,” Andrea continued, not flinching or showing the slightest tell of emotion, “all of your assets will be frozen and no contract that you might try to enter into could be considered legal and binding. These good men,” she pointed to a bunch of Louisiana State Police officers flanking a couple of EMT types—all of them brawny and threatening, “will be escorting you out of here for your own safety, son.”

  “In your dreams,” Trevor said, crossing his own arms. Bobbie Faye stood on one side, Riles on the other, Nina flanking her and, to her joy, Cam stepped up beside Riles. “You’ve manufactured the majority of this information in the hopes of taking over my stock. And stopping my wedding. Nice try, Mother, but it won’t work.”

  Bobbie Faye leaned over Trevor’s arm and glanced through the first few paragraphs. “It says here that you’re doing this as his mother and next of kin.”

  “That’s right. I will not let his mental incapacity—and I have scads of proof of that, as well as PTSD—enough to tie him up for decades, my dear—bankrupt our company. Come along, Trevor, right now, and we’ll work out a deal for you where you aren’t locked up in a sanitarium. Cause a scene and that paperwork,” she nodded at the stack in Bobbie Faye’s hand, “gives me the legal right to have you taken in against your will. It will make for heartbreaking PR, a poor mother having to commit her son, but I’ve weathered worse, and you can’t win. You can, however, save that woman—your so-called fiancée—the humiliation of being dragged through the public eye as part of the cause of your demise.”

  “There’s just one tiny little problem,” Bobbie Faye said, stopping Trevor from speaking by holding up one finger and gazing into the pure hatred in Andrea’s eyes. “You’re not next of kin. I am.”

  “Not until you’re married, dear, and since you did not get married tonight, you’re out of luck.”

  “Actually,” Bobbie Faye smiled and she was going to enjoy this, “we got married five months ago.”

  Everyone gasped, including Nina, and Bobbie Faye looked at her friend and said, “I’m sorry. I couldn’t say anything. I had to stay in character, or I would have never pulled it off.” And to Andrea, she said, “We eloped. Trevor promised a church wedding—which he tried to deliver on—but we got married on November 18th, just as we’d promised each other. Five months ago, Andrea. So this?” she took the paperwork and ripped it in half, “is worthless.”

  Andrea stared at her. Her teeth were clenched so hard, her face looked brittle, about to splinter. She looked at Deronda, who’d moved to stand next to Izzy and Trevor. “You knew. You’re fired.”

  “That’s fine with me,” Deronda said. “I’m imminently employable. And seriously, Drea, I tried to tell you not to go after them, that you were doing yourself more harm than good. I might love my job, but I also have an actual conscience.”

  “You won’t win,” Andrea told Trevor, and he laughed. She slanted a steely-eyed glare at Bobbie Faye. “I won’t let you destroy my company. Married or not.”

  “My company,” Trevor said, and Andrea’s gaze snapped to him. “I needed you to activate the anti-takeover options so I could start buying up other stock. That neat little provision that a family member could purchase stock even if it exceeds 50% of the company, if and only if, there is an outside takeover attempt made and the options are released, was very handy, Mother. Thank you for that.”

  “But… how…”

  “Oh, I had a little help.” Izzy stepped forward and nodded to her mother. “Izzy sold hers to me and then helped me convince a few of our major stockholders to sell. I now own exactly 52 and ¾% of Cormi-Co. You will never, ever, ever use it again to destroy another person.”

  Izzy leaned over and tapped Deronda on the shoulder. “You’re hired,” Izzy told her and Deronda smiled at Drea.

  Andrea looked from Bobbie Faye to Trevor and then back again. “You. You did this. You convinced him to take over the company. To take it away.”

  “Yep. Not bad for a woman without an education, huh?”

  “You’ll regret this,” Andrea threatened and then turned to leave. “I’ll make sure of it. Both of you. I’ve never quit, not once, not when everything was against me. I won before. I’ll win again.”

  “You can try,” Bobbie Faye answered, her chin up and arms crossed, “but I have to warn you—people far nastier and more willing to commit murder have tried to beat me, and they’ve lost. You won’t be the first, and you probably won’t be the last, but you’ll be the saddest. Because look at what you’re losing, Andrea: your son. You have a chance to change that.” She glanced at Trevor, whose face was granite, whose rage was a banked fury against that granite. Then she turned back to Andrea, and the only thing she could muster for the woman was pity. “I don’t know if there’s anything you can do that will make him forgive you, but what you’ve lost here with him is far more important than any stupid company. You have a chance to stop this craziness and fix it.”

  Andrea drew herself up. “I wouldn’t expect a cheap, tacky woman like you to grasp the concept of a multi-billion-dollar corporation, but it’s not a ‘stupid company’ and I’m not going to lose it. And he”�
�she nodded at her son—“should know better. I fully expect him to come to his senses the next time you destroy his life.”

  And as Andrea spun on her heels and left the Cathedral, Bobbie Faye turned to put a hand on Trevor’s arm. He was too angry to move just yet, and she got that he needed a moment. She also got, for the first time, really, why he needed her. Why he’d seen her honesty and her determination to embrace life, to keep fighting for her people, to love so deeply, as something he wanted. She’d wondered, this whole time, wondered about all of the Crazy she brought into his life, marvled at his willingness not to just put up with it, but to embrace it and help her—and it never made sense to her. She couldn’t believe in it. Accept it. Until now.

  Something in her periphery caught her eye. She glanced behind Trevor’s shoulder to see a man in a cop uniform easing past him, toward her and the exit, and it hit her: the fake priest, Josh.

  “Hey, you, fake priest!” she yelled, not entirely coherently with the adrenaline surging through her, and all in the same moment, Trevor spun, Riles and Cam pulled out guns, half of the police did as well, not really knowing why. And Josh, seeing the deck stacked against him, in that same split-second made a very bad decision.

  He yanked Bobbie Faye to him, spinning her and bringing a knife to her throat. Everyone stopped moving.

  “You won’t live to see midnight,” Trevor told him as Riles and Nina both eased around to get a shot.

  “Look, I’m getting out of here,” fake-priest Josh said, pulling her toward the door. “She’s coming with me ‘til we get clear of the Quarter. I’ll call you, let you know where you can pick her up.”

  “Man, you’re dumb as a buggy of bricks if you think I’m going anywhere with you,” Bobbie Faye said, and his arm clenched hard around her stomach as he yanked and she winced.