by April Lust
Wildcard did as he was bid, only because Nester urged him to do so all the while still trying to get closer to me. Santos’s grip didn’t lessen on me and I was aware that it was painful. It was all the worse because my body roiled with disgust at the thought of Santos touching me at all, much less like this when I was so clearly still vulnerable.
Slowly so as not to startle Santos, Wildcard reached behind him again and pulled out the gun that he’d been going for early. At Nester’s pointed look, Wildcard shrugged his shoulders as though to say, Sorry, boss.
“Good, now put it on the ground,” Santos ordered. I felt him relax against me, feeling more confident now that he seemed to have all the cards and all the control.
Wildcard did as he was bid, placing it carefully down on the ground near his feet.
“Kick it away from yourself.” Santos was all but gleeful, like a kid on Christmas morning, as he was obeyed every step of the way. It was making him confident, self-assured, maybe to the point of fault.
I hoped so.
Wildcard hesitated for half a second, and that’s when everything happened. Wildcard kicked the gun not towards Santos, but towards Nester instead. At the same time, he dove towards Santos and me, making sure that Santos’s attention was fully on him. It was enough for Santos to pull the gun away from me and point it towards Wildcard, his incoming opponent. I took the opportunity to jerk out of Santos’s grip while at the same time a shot went off, echoing in my ears until I felt like I was partially deaf.
I stumbled to the ground, my back slamming against the corner of the dresser behind me painfully. I let out a cry, but amongst the commotion, the shot, and the sudden angry yelling, I was sure it was lost. I slid to the ground and then scrambled back as far from Santos as I could until my back hit the wall and I could go no farther.
I looked up to see that Wildcard was on his knees, holding his side and cursing, but at the very least alive. Santos had the gun pointed at him and looked ready to pull the trigger again. But he was so focused on Wildcard that he didn’t see Nester.
The gun Wildcard had kicked skidded across the floor and right into Nester’s waiting hands. He scooped it up and took aim at Santos. Now that I was safely away from him, Nester didn’t hesitate. He pulled the trigger and Santos gave a loud cry of pain, stumbling back and away from Wildcard.
“Get out of here, Zelda!” Nester ordered me, going for Santos again.
This time, I didn’t freeze when Nester told me to go. Though I was still terrified and things were dangerous—for Nester and for Wildcard—I knew that I wasn’t doing anyone any good by staying here. I had done that before and cost Nester way too much already. Now there was a chance that Wildcard would die—I couldn’t see how badly he was injured or where Santos had hit him—and that Nester could get seriously hurt while engaging with Santos.
No, it was definitely time for me to go.
Clutching at my shirt, I made a mad dash for the door, avoiding the guard who was still on the floor and Wildcard who was kneeling, and definitely making a point to avoid Santos and Nester at all costs. They were both armed and I wouldn’t give Santos the chance to shoot me, or Nester the chance to accidentally catch me instead of Santos.
Ducking around them, I got to the door and slammed headlong into a hard body. I let out a scream of surprise and despair—would I never get out of here?—before two large, strong hands wrapped around me.
“Easy, honey,” came a familiar voice that sent relief spiraling through me. “We gotcha.”
It was Bobby, Jr. and I was so happy to see him and the gaggle of men who were coming up the stairs behind him, all wearing the jackets that marked them as Berserker, that I sobbed into his chest as I hugged him. He patted me awkwardly, clearly not used to having a woman cry on his shoulder. Then he must have seen what was going on in the room because he abruptly shoved me aside, sending me spiraling into the arms of another one of the Berserkers.
“Get her out of here!” he ordered as he raced into the room.
I heard a shot ring out as another man—I recognized him, though I didn’t know his name—slipped off his jacket and threw it around my shoulders. I felt better instantly, grateful for more clothing and another barrier between the eyes of men and my poor, abused body.
The shot terrified me, though, and when the same man tried to usher me down the stairs in the opposite direction of the men coming up it, I struggled against him. “No! Nester, I need to see!” I didn’t want to be in anyone’s way, but I needed to know that that shot wasn’t for Nester. That he was still okay. That we were all going to make it out of this alive.
I shouldered past the men and managed to escape the grasp of the man to get back to the door —he cursed and muttered something about Nester killing him, but I ignored him. I could just barely see in and saw that the shot had been from Nester to Santos and it had made contact. Santos was howling as he griped his arm, cursing at Nester and the men who poured in through that small entrance.
I had a sudden, overwhelming sense of relief as I realized, finally, that it was over. All of it. The Berserkers were winning. Santos was outnumbered. Nester was okay—
But as soon as I thought that, I saw Santos lift his good arm, the one holding the gun. He took aim and before anyone could do more than shout, he yanked harshly on the trigger. The shot rang out and there was this long, impossible pause of silence as I viewed the world as though in slow motion. Then everything kicked back into high gear and the bullet lodged itself into Nester’s skin. He cried out, though I was pretty sure the bullet at least went all the way through. The shot had actually hit him in the hand of all places and Nester cursed loudly at having received the hit.
Even so, there was nothing more than Santos could do to hurt anyone. The men had rushed in and two big burly boys had grabbed Santos by either arm, a third coming to take his gun. Santos cried out in pain as one of his arms was shot, but the man didn’t care and might have even twisted it harder to get him to scream again.
Another man had gone to Nester, offering what looked like a bandana for his bleeding hand. It was wrapped up, Nester still cursing, but clearly okay.
My heart eased and I let out a sob. I was trying to keep it together, to be quiet, but it was all too much and I couldn’t help it. Nester looked up from his wound at the sound and shouldered past the man who had been tending to the shot in his hand. He pushed past his men who were tying up Santos and helping Wildcard to his feet, checking him over to see how bad it was. Nester paid little attention to any of it, even as his men tried to talk to him. He was distracted, because he only had eyes for me in that moment.
When he pushed through the last of his guys to me, he reached out and pulled me into his arms. He crushed me to his chest and held me there for a long moment, just holding him. I could hear his heart thundering in his chest like that of a wild animal’s and remembered how I had known that Santos would never have chemistry with me—that filthy animal—and how I had always known without him saying anything that Nester felt so much for me.
Nester’s heart told me the whole story and I leaned against his chest to listen to it gratefully. I had been sure that I’d lost him and not to a gunshot or to prison, but to my own stupidity.
But he’d come to save me. Maybe there was a chance that we could still make things work. Maybe there was a chance that I hadn’t lost him at all and that when we came together again, it would be permanent this time. I clung to him tightly, determined to hold on to him with all my might and to never let him go again.
Now that I had Nester Perry back, I would never give him up without a fight again. Never.
Chapter Eighteen
Nester
I held Zelda like it had been centuries since I’d last seen her. After the last couple of days, it felt like that. I’d come so close to losing her more than once and in more than one way. The result had left me very seriously shaken. It had also made me appreciate just how important she truly was, how much I needed her in my life.
She clung to me just as fiercely, gripping me tightly as though I might just up and disappear on her. It sent a twinge of pain and something akin to heartbreak through me.
I realized why she was clutching to me so tightly and realized that so much of that was due to the fact that I had all but thrown her out of my apartment when she’d come to me. I had freaked out when she told me she loved me, not because I didn’t desperately want it to be so—I did then and I still did and would likely always feel that way—but because I was still hurt and stewing from my own betrayal.
I had spent a long time with Zelda, but with a moment of stark realization I understood also that I had spent more time apart from her than I had with her. It wasn’t my fault and now I knew it wasn’t Zelda’s either, but prison had separated us whether I liked it or not. It had destroyed the beautiful thing we had together, or so I thought, and that had left me raw and furious. I wasn’t ready then to try to patch things up with Zelda, though my body already knew that it was ready to be reunited with hers. It was funny that the physicality of our relationship came so easily, but it was the human mind that resisted what had been so clearly right in front of my face.
It had taken Zelda’s confession to draw me back out and for that I was actually and truly ashamed. Zelda had deserved my trust, had done nothing but earn it time and time again over the years, and yet I hadn’t been able to give it to her. In fact, I’d thrown it back in her face like a dirty rag, accused her of horrible things, and, in the end, I’d chased her away.
But not anymore. As I stood just outside the bedroom where Santos was now tied up like a hog for roasting, I vowed to myself that I would always trust Zelda from here on out. It didn’t matter what else happened to us, what obstacles were thrown our way. I would love Zelda from here to eternity and never again would I doubt the sincerity or the love that lingered always in her big doe eyes.
Taking a deep breath filled with her scent, I eased my grip ever so slightly. It actually had the effect of making Zelda hold me tighter, refusing to let me go, and I laughed a little at that.
“It’s okay, baby,” I told her seriously. “I’m not going anywhere without you.”
My words helped ease part of her worry at least because she lessened her hold on me so that I could pull away slightly. I didn’t let her go, aware that my bleeding hand was seeping through the bandana tied hastily around it and probably getting into her hair and onto the jacket she had tossed about her shoulders. I wasn’t sure whose it was, but I made a mental note to thank him.
After what had happened to her tonight, a jacket around her shoulders was probably doing just as much good as holding her tightly in my arms.
I got the attention of Bobby, Sr., who was nearby, standing in the doorway. “I need you to round up everyone and get them the hell out of here. The only ones I want here are Santos, Wildcard, Schumacher, me, and…” I paused, looking down at the woman in my arms. I knew Zelda was terrified. She’d been through a lot and I didn’t want to put her through anything more tonight or any other night for that matter, but I knew that she had to be here when everything finally went down. Letting out a sigh, I turned my attention back to Bobby, Sr. and finally added, “And Zelda. The rest of you guys should clear out. Leave Santos’s men, whoever’s unconscious, and make sure whoever might be left takes a very long vacation that starts tonight.”
Bobby, Sr. nodded briskly, his face all business, though I could see the tight clench of his jaw and the small tick in the side of it which told me that he wasn’t happy about what had been going on here tonight. I couldn’t be sure who knew what had happened with Zelda yet. I had been the only one to bust in on them right before things got truly bad—they’d been bad enough as it was and I was grateful that I’d managed to stop at least some of it, the worst parts of it—but anyone who looked closely at Zelda could see that she was in rough shape.
Her hair was disheveled and tangled, her eyes red rimmed and as wide as teacup saucers. And the bruises looked worse than they had been the other night, whether because Santos had added to them or because they were simply beginning to show in all the colors of true bruises, I couldn’t be sure. And then there was her shirt. The buttons had been popped off and she had to clutch the sides of it together to keep her breasts covered. I realized that her bra was still at my place and I felt a little sick at the knowledge.
If she’d had her bra at least, would he have had such easy access? Would she have been spared at least that one piece of humiliation?
But it was worse than that. What if I had been more understanding, less of a fool? She had told me she loved me and I had tossed her out like a piece of trash, like she was tainted and so wholly unworthy that I couldn’t even waste the least bit of time on her. But what if I had done what I should have done? What if I’d been honest with her, too?
I could have told her that I loved her back. We could have stayed there at my place—well, Jackson’s place—and made love a hundred more times until we were too exhausted to move, too sated to even want to try. I could have made her breakfast and she could have made coffee and we could have lounged in the kitchen, mostly naked, caressing each other’s bodies until we had each other memorized all over again.
But I hadn’t done that. Instead, I’d kicked her out when I knew that Santos had hit her. And I knew Santos well enough to know that he wouldn’t leave it at that. I should have known that he would go after her—some part of me wondered if I did know that and had let it happen, but I tried my best to shove that aside, because I wasn’t sure I could survive that kind of guilt and darkness—and I should have insisted that, whatever was wrong between us, she stay.
Now I had to live with the guilt of knowing that I could have prevented what happened to her tonight.
Taking in a shuddering breath, I forced myself to look down at her and smile. I wouldn’t let anything ever happen to her again, I swore to myself. “I wish I could just let you run out of here with the others,” I told her, letting the apology show thick in my voice. “But you’re going to have to be here to explain some things, otherwise everyone’s going to be in big trouble.”
Zelda shook her head, smiling slightly up at me, her doe eyes still big and full of lingering, haggard fear and love for me. “If you’re staying here, then I’m staying here.”
I cracked a smile at that, genuinely touched. Then I turned back to address those people who lingered in the house. Bobby, Sr. was doing a good job of getting everyone the hell out of Dodge.
“The police are going to be here soon,” I informed the group as a whole.
Wildcard cursed at the same time that Santos—who was tied up but not gagged unfortunately—barked out a harsh, angry, “What?”
“I called them before we got here and left an anonymous tip.” I turned my gaze, cool and pointed, to Santos. “You would know all about that, wouldn’t you?”
He snapped his mouth shut, grinding his teeth, and wisely chose to say nothing. I wasn’t a fool and knew full well that Santos had informed to the police on me. He was the reason I’d spent the last five years in prison and I would always remember that. It helped ease any guilt I might have had regarding calling the police on someone who was similar in so many ways to myself.
Except for the whole raping thing. No common ground there.
Wildcard looked over at me. He was pale and drawn, but hanging in there. He’d have to go to the hospital, I was pretty sure, which was going to go over about as well as my announcement that the police were coming had.
“Boss, I don’t think I should be here if the police are coming,” he admitted a little raggedly. I could hear his worry lacing his voice.
I knew a little of Wildcard’s past and understood that he didn’t have a great track record with the police. They had a tendency of taking one look at him and trying their damnedest to railroad him until he was stuck with time for crimes he didn’t even commit. It didn’t make him overly fond of them and I understood his intense desire to leave.
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br /> But I needed him to stay.
I shook my head. “Sorry, Wildcard. I know you’re not thrilled, but you played a big part in this whole thing tonight and I need our stories to match up without sounding like I’ve been force feeding it to someone. You were here, you can be honest without sounding like a storyteller.”
“What the hell are the police even doing here?” demanded Santos, who, in my personal opinion, was in no position to be demanding anything.
I shot him a cold glare. “To arrest you and make sure you go to prison for a very, very long time.”
Santos looked smug as he laughed at my statement. “With what evidence? All you’ve got on your side is the word of a couple of rough riders and a whore.” He moved his chin in the direction of Zelda, who was still in my arms.
