Auctioned To Daddy: BDSM Romance

by Amy Faye

  I don't have time to tell her so. Boots on the tile. I squeeze off another shot as another goon comes through, and another body litters the back hall of my house.

  Another comes around the other side. They're committed to this thing. I adjust my aim and start to squeeze. In that split-second, Dupree comes around the closer corner.

  The muzzle of my pistol drops. I squeeze and the gun erupts in my hand again. A shot goes wide, and now I'm in trouble, because the little guy is faster than anything I've ever seen, and he's coming for me. There's nothing I'm going to be able to do about it, not from here.

  I move back instead. He's closing the distance faster than I can open it, but as my heel steps up onto a stair-step behind me, time seems to slow down for half an instant, and my finger snaps again.

  My arm absorbs the recoil, and the bullet flies out of the barrel at twelve hundred feet per second. It might have slowed down a little by the time it smacks into Dupree's chest. Not enough to save him being knocked back, all his momentum canceled by the bullet in an instant.

  He falls back onto the guy behind him, and the other guy gets knocked back as well, not expecting a body to be falling onto him. I take the shot. I'm not above taking luck to the bank, and then there's another guy on the ground. Six down. I hope seven.

  "Maguire? What's the situation outside?"

  "They've moved around. Scheck's down. I don't know if she's dead or just wounded."

  "Don't worry about that. Who's left?"

  "Rosen's hiding behind the car. You got one unaccounted for, one behind the car with Rosen. Two more coming in, looks like."

  "You get a shot, take it and move."

  "You got it," she says.

  I take a breath. She's got a handle on things. She still sounds rock-steady. Better than anything I could have hoped for. I try to remember how many bullets I've got left in this magazine.

  In the seconds I've got before the next pair hits the stairs, I hit the magazine eject. Not enough rounds. I drop it on the floor and grab a reload. Slow is smooth. Smooth is fast. Slow is smooth. Smooth is fast.

  I repeat it over and over in my head. Smooth is fast. The magazine clicks home and I rack the slide to chamber a round. We've already done it. I just have to stay calm long enough to keep this going for another few short minutes. No problem. I can do this.

  There's five more left, and one of them comes around. I take the shot, but not before the second can come into view. Like a shooting gallery. Bang. Bang. The second shot goes wide. A third bang, this one not from my pistol.

  I don't feel the shot hit me, so he must have missed. I adjust and fire again. Bang, and the target goes down.

  I take a deep breath. Another explosion from upstairs as the rifle goes off.

  "Another one down. Rosen remains, another unaccounted for."

  "I hear you," I said.

  It hurts to breathe. At first I think it's just the adrenaline catching up with me. Then I look down. My shirt, previously a nice olive green, is stained with red.

  God damn it. I pick the phone up. My hands are starting to shake a little. "Maguire, I've been hit."

  She curses softly. I don't know if I was supposed to hear it, but I do, clear as day.

  "Bad?"

  "I don't know."

  I hear a noise downstairs. That'll be the one unaccounted-for. He's taking his time. Going slow. A shot fires from downstairs. I don't know what he's shooting at, but something hits the ground.

  I bring my gun up as footsteps approach the stairs. My hands are shaking, but I can still shoot straight as they come into this funnel. That's why I stayed here, after all.

  "Jesus, what the fuck did you do, Ryan?" The gun lowers. Logan steps through the bodies. He's got a weapon in his hands. He looks up and sees me. "Fuck me, you're hurt!"

  I let out a long breath. "Yep. I think I'm shot."

  He rushes to my side, scoops me up and pulls me out of the stairwell. I didn't need him to do that, but he apparently decided that was what he wanted to do, and he was going to do it either way. I'm too tired to fight him.

  "Jesus Christ, Ryan, you fucked up. Why didn't you take the fucking money?"

  My eyes are getting a little fuzzy. Between my body feeling wrong after my head getting hit, and it being so hard to breathe, I don't think I'm in very good shape.

  "What are you talking about?"

  "The God damned money that they offered you, Ryan. Why did you do it?"

  "You don't get it at all, man." I smile and lay my head back. I'm not sure if I'll open them again, but I don't have much choice in the matter. "It wasn't about the money."

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  MAGUIRE

  I'm watching outside when I hear the shot go off. Rosen hears it, too. He hears it, and he's apparently decided that it won't be the last thing he hears. If it's possible, he's hunkered down further.

  Which means I'm not going to get him from here. I take a deep breath and drop the rifle barrel toward the floor. I'm the one who has to end this.

  It's already been a blood-bath. But I'm a cop, and I don't just get to murder people with impunity.

  I step out of the room, and into the jungle. Bodies seem to be strewn all around the staircase, and Logan's sitting in a room across the hall, looking about as unsure as anyone I've ever seen.

  Something happened to Ryan. I know it. My gut tells me to go find out, to assure myself that everything's going to be alright. A voice inside me, though, says that I should go check on Rosen. On making sure that whatever happened to Ryan, it doesn't stop there.

  I stand there a long time. Logan doesn't seem to see me, though he easily could. His eyes just see right through me, chewing on the tips of his thumbs.

  The rifle hadn't felt heavy when I picked it up. When I fired it, when I was keeping it ready as I waited… it was a well-designed weapon. But now, I just want to put it down. I can't keep this up forever, and every second I look at Logan, panicking in his seat, is a second that I get closer to setting it down by the door.

  A deep breath in. I let the rifle down from its cradle in my arms and lean it against the wall as I come inside.

  "What happened?"

  Logan looks up at me, realizing I'm there for the first time even as he's stared right through me. "I—fuck. I don't know. He's hurt."

  "Calm down. Let's have a look."

  I look down. I've dealt with my fair share of people getting shot. I know what it looks like, and I know how to deal with it. More or less, anyways. That by itself should put me in a good position dealing with what I see.

  It still hits me hard. On first glance his entire body looks like a bloody mess. It takes me a second to start trying to relax, to try to be objective about what I was seeing. He was breathing, that's good.

  The breaths were shallow. It hit him in the side, near the floating ribs. There's a good risk, I know right away, that it could have hit his liver. That's bad news. The kind of bad news you might not get better from.

  I can feel my blood surging again in my ears. Panic threatens to overtake me, and my hands are shaking bad. I need to be under control, though. I need to stay strong. Fuck.

  I close my eyes tight and reopen them. When I have them open it's easier.

  "We need to get him to a hospital, and we need to do it now. We take my car. There's one left outside. I'm going to go deal with him. When I call for you, you come and take your brother into the car. Here are the keys. I'll follow you in Carabello's car if I'm not right there with you. Do you need help getting him up?"

  Logan looks at me like I've just said all of that backwards and in Spanish, but his face starts to clear up after a minute of thinking about it.

  "Logan. Do you understand?" I hold my keys up for him.

  "Carry Ryan downstairs. Wait for your signal. Break for the car. Nearest hospital."

  "Yes. Do you need help getting him up onto your shoulders?"

  He looks down at Ryan. "You sure?"

  "I can't afford time to worr
y about that, Logan. Do you need help?"

  "Aw… no."

  I turn and pick the rifle back up. Logan's still got my service piece, to the best of my knowledge, and I'm not going to take it from him.

  I swallow my panic and my fear, keep it in a little box inside me. I can unpack it later, if I get the opportunity. Until then, I have to do the best I can.

  The door's clogged with bodies. With a shootout like this going on, it's only a matter of time until the cops show up, and they're going to find the place full of bodies.

  Well, I can attest as a member of law enforcement that he was only acting in self-defense… I don't know if I can make the same argument for myself.

  I step through the door.

  "Rosen!"

  He doesn't say anything, but I hear movement on the other side of the car. I bring the rifle up half-way. Ready to snap and fire if I have to, as best as I can anyways.

  "Rosen, show yourself. I want to talk."

  I hope Logan's getting along behind me, but I can't afford to wait and watch him do it myself. I have to trust that he's managing, or Ryan's going to run into trouble.

  Rosen doesn't show himself, or move much. I don't like his silence. I don't like him being on the other side of that car. I don't like any of it one damn bit. My grip tightens on the rifle as I start to circle around.

  The rifle moves into line as I come around the other side. Nothing. I crouch down. He's not underneath. Checking inside the car, he's not inside. I can't tell where the hell he is, but he's gone.

  "Logan! Get moving!"

  I keep an eye on any place I can find for Rosen to be hiding. Any place that would provide a good shot on someone coming out. He might not waste it on me, but he would spend a shot destroying what little remains of Ryan Beauchamp's gang.

  I have to stay vigilant. Have to watch. Logan picks his way over the bodies blocking the front door open. He's got Ryan over his shoulder, fireman's carry style. He stands still at the doorway, for what feels like eternity but might have been one second in reality, and then starts moving hard and fast.

  I keep the rifle up. Can't risk it. But, as Logan gets to the car and yanks the rear door open, nothing's happening. Silence. I don't know where Rosen's gone, and I don't want to admit it to myself but I don't care. As long as it's finally over.

  I book it for the passenger side and slide in. "You know the way?"

  Logan slides in the other side and turns the key. He's panicking and I can see it in the way he's moving. He's rushing. I don't know if I'm any better. I can feel the giddy rush of adrenaline as I sit. Nervous energy. I start tapping my fingers on my knees hard enough that it hurts, but I don't stop.

  The trip only takes seven minutes. I hope that it's not too much time. Logan pulls him back up into his arms. This time he leaves it that way and I rush inside. The car just stays in the turnaround, three doors standing open. I hit the front desk running. It's late in the evening, and there are only a few others in Emergency.

  "We've got a victim, male, late twenties, gunshot wound near the liver. I'm A.T.F. Special Agent Sara Maguire, I need you on this right, right now."

  The woman's eyes get wide. "Oh, okay. I'll—"

  Her hands move to the phone and she calls for a gurney to be brought down for surgery. I let out a long breath. I don't know what to do next, for what feels like the hundredth time today. The way my gut twists up, though… that's new for this one.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  RYAN

  I have vague flashes of memory. I remember waking up and being surrounded by people I didn't know. Wearing masks. Might have been doctors, but I really don't know and I really don't care.

  I remember waking up someplace else. The ceiling was white, the room was white, and I remember hearing someone shouting that I was awake, but I wasn't. I was still asleep. Mostly.

  Then it was back to sleep, back to darkness, back to not really remembering who or where I am. All I know is, I'm so tired.

  The third time, I had a minute or two. Not just a brief glimpse, not just a moment between dreams, but enough time to really feel awake. To feel like I knew what was going on. Enough time to notice the handcuff around my wrist.

  It's night time. I can see out the window that the sky is dark. Sara's sitting by the bed. She's asleep, and I don't want to wake her up. I want her to stay asleep.

  Is she the one who locked me up like this? How should I feel about anything? I don't know. I'm not sure I want to know, to be honest. But I know that it's late, and everyone else is asleep, and the truth is, I'm still so tired.

  I don't know what they've got me on, but my head feels loopy. Everything feels far away, foreign. And I must have been sleeping for a very long time, but… I'm so tired.

  It was nice seeing Sara again, though, even if it wasn't under the best circumstances. I suppose I always knew that it would happen eventually, but I wish I'd been able to talk to her a little.

  The fourth time, I woke up for real. Well. Not totally for real, of course. I was still high as a son of a bitch. Ironic that in all the years I've done this, since I was fifteen practically, I've never wanted to sample any of the stuff I've been moving.

  Well, thanks to the perfectly legal prescriptions they've apparently got me on, I've got a pretty good sense for what it must be like, and boy—is it a real dream.

  My body feels like someone else's body entirely, but somehow in a good way. I don't know how else to explain it. Like everything is being relayed to me, but it's being re-routed through something else. Through another structure.

  That's the best I can explain it. I like it more than I want to. I should be out of here, popping a few Ibuprofen and hoping that the pain stops screaming in my ears for a few seconds, but instead it's someone else's pain. I'm not the one feeling it.

  I push myself up as high as I can in the bed. The other side of the wrist restraints click up against the plastic hand rail and stop me from getting as comfortable as I'd like.

  I'm surprised how many people are in the room. Looking around, Logan's there. Sara's there, still in that same chair. It's funny that I saw her sleeping, because otherwise I wouldn't believe she'd slept a wink from the stress lines carved into her face.

  I know the big guy, too. Big guy in a white shirt. Cop. I don't remember his name, but I remember he can hit like a son of a bitch when he needs to.

  "Hi," I say. I sound like a damn pussycat. Can't stand that. I shouldn't be so out of it. I am in control of myself.

  The big bruiser rolls his eyes and turns around. He doesn't leave, but he turns his back. I guess that's his idea of privacy, and I'll take it.

  Logan comes up and around the bed. "Hey, man. How are you feeling? Y'in any pain?"

  I laugh a little. That hurts, and it might even be touching me through the thick layer of pain medicine. "What's pain?"

  He rolls his eyes. "Doctors say you're going to be just fine. You'll be up and moving in no time."

  "What's this?" I yank on my arm. The handcuffs make a rattling noise, as if they're trying to draw attention to themselves just as much as I am.

  "I'm sorry, man. I don't know what else I can do to get you out of that one. But I'm doing my best, and Maguire—"

  He shuts up. I look over at her just in time to catch the tail end of a hard look. She sits forward in the chair. "You alright, Beauchamp?"

  "I guess so. How's Brian?"

  Sara looks up at Logan. I look over to him, and he's looking back at her. Finally Sara answers me.

  "He's going to be fine, but they're keeping him another couple of days."

  "Am I going to be able to see him again, before… you know?" I raise my hand again, and the handcuffs rattle again for me, right on cue.

  "I don't know."

  I take a deep breath. "How'd it end up? Did we get 'em?"

  The big son of a bitch turns around. Ball! Agent Ball. That's his name.

  "Oh, you sure as hell got 'em, all right, Beauchamp. You should have seen the God d
amn mess we had to wade through in your place—"

  A look from Sara shuts him up. I like the looks she gives people. I like the way she can tell someone to go fuck themselves without opening her mouth. It's a real nice trait in a woman, if you think about it.

  "So what's the charges?"

  "Well, you got a few."

  "Sure, sure. Just run me through them, and I'll tell you which ones I didn't do."

  "Trafficking of automatic firearms without a class-3 license, sale of said firearms to unlicensed individuals, illicit trade across national borders… smuggling, in other words, for the first portion."

  "Okay, now, I didn't do that."

  "Of course you didn't."

  I hold my hands up as best I can with one of them tied to the bed. "Think what you want, but I didn't do any of that."

  "Secondly, you murdered a dozen people."

  "Okay, now, I might've did that, but one, those people had it coming, and two, they were going to kill me, so it was self defense."

  Agent Ball frowns and looks over to Maguire for guidance. She's not looking at him, though. She's looking at me, and I'm looking at her, which is pretty much the best I can ask for under the circumstances.

  Maybe we can get Logan and Agent Ball to step outside, and then we'll have a party on our hands. But somehow, I don't think that's going to happen.

  After a long pause, finally Ball answers me. "Be that as it may, you're going to have to stand trial."

  "Sure, but who in the world would convict me for destroying a drug running ring in self-defense?"

  "No, I get you. But you're still going to have to face trial, whether anyone would convict you or not."

  "Imagine the headlines. 'Man cleans up streets; hauled into court with a bullet hole in his belly.' God. I wonder if they'll want pictures?"

  Maguire rolls her eyes at me. I can only imagine the look that Ball must be giving me. I'm getting tired again. Too tired. I don't know if I like this medicine very much. Sure, it keeps me from being in pain, but… my head's all fuzzy all the time.

  And I can't seem to think real clearly, about much of anything. Maybe, just maybe, I'll feel a little better after a nap. I have to hope, because otherwise, I'm going to be real tired for a good long while.