After The Purge: Vendetta Box Set [Books 1-3]

by Sisavath, Sam

  “And yet he abandoned you…”

  Something that might have been annoyance flickered across his face. “I wouldn’t say he abandoned me. We took off in different directions during the attack. I don’t think either one of us planned it. It just happened.” He shrugged. “I dunno what ol’ Keenan will do. Maybe he’ll come back for me, or maybe he’ll take off.”

  “What would you do if the shoe were on the other foot?”

  Sullivan grinned but didn’t answer her.

  “If he comes back for you, will he know where to find you?” Ana asked anyway.

  The more information she could get on Keenan, the better. The chances of her running across him a second time were minimal—after all, would he really hang around Talico?—but you could never be too certain about anything anymore. The last few days had taught her that.

  “I don’t see how he would,” Sullivan said. “I put at least five blocks between me and where they attacked us. Trust me when I tell you, it wasn’t easy walking on this leg.”

  Ana leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes. She was tired and miserable, and the company wasn’t helping. She told herself that she’d been in worse situations—much, much worse—but that didn’t mean this one was any less problematic.

  “Hey,” Sullivan said. When she opened her eyes, he was leaning slightly forward toward her. “It’s gonna be a long night while we wait for morning.”

  Here it comes…

  “There are better ways to pass the time than just sitting around chatting,” he continued. “You know what I mean?”

  “Are you serious right now?”

  “What? You got something else better to do?”

  “I just went through the fight of my life. I’m aching all over, and I’m not even sure my arms and legs are still working.”

  “You look fine to me.”

  “I just threw up not more than a couple of hours ago.”

  “Okay, so no French kisses.”

  “No.”

  He smirked and sat back against the shadowed part of the attic. “It’s not like I’m asking for the Kama Sutra here.”

  “What are you asking for?”

  “How about—” he said while making a fist with one hand and pumping it up and down. “You know what I’m saying?”

  “You don’t need me for that.”

  “There’s a world of difference, depending on the hand doing the work.”

  She shook her head and lay down on the floor. “Not tonight, dear, I have a headache.”

  He grunted. “I might have to rethink this partnership of ours…”

  She ignored him and closed her eyes again. She really was tired, and her body really did ache. Those things she wasn’t making up, even if the idea of giving the murderer a hand job while they were stuck up here made her want to throw up whatever pecans she hadn’t already discharged back at the classroom.

  The shotgun was right in front of her, so close that she actually thought about ending this “partnership” of theirs right here and now. But the blast would be so loud, and it was so damn quiet out there…

  The knife. She’d have to use the knife. It was the only way to guarantee total silence.

  Ana calmed her breathing and listened to him moving around on the other side of the room. He was lying down, too, but having some difficulty because of his wounded leg. She had been watching him closely and hadn’t seen him put his handgun back into its holster, and she didn’t think he would the entire night. He probably still had it out and next to him, maybe in his hand, just in case he needed it.

  “Last chance,” Sullivan said from behind her. “Wanna give me a hand?”

  She was about to answer when there was a loud bang! from below them, followed by the thump! of something striking the Sheetrock in the wall.

  She opened her eyes and sat up, reaching for the shotgun nearby. It was cold to the touch, but all she could concentrate on was the sound of footsteps directly below them.

  Ana glanced over and saw that Sullivan had already sat up, his gun in his hand. That caught her by surprise because she hadn’t realized he could move so fast with only one good leg. The man must be a lot quicker than he looked; either that, or he was overplaying his injuries. She filed both possibilities away for future reference.

  The banging noise they’d heard earlier was the door into the janitor’s closet being kicked in and the thump was that same door’s doorknob hitting the wall. She didn’t have to guess who was down there, moving around loudly. Something that might have been a metal bucket fell, followed by something else also made of metal crashing to the floor.

  The random clanging and banging went on for a few more seconds before the footsteps faded, then disappeared—just before another bang!, this one much lower in decibel because it had come from farther down the hallway.

  Ana exchanged a silent look with Sullivan. He remained seated against the wall with the gun in his lap. She knew he had come to the same conclusions: The Raggedy Men had returned to the school and were searching for them, moving from room to room.

  “Get some sleep,” Sullivan said. “You’ll need it come morning.”

  She nodded and sat up, leaning back against the wall, while sneaking a peek at the shotgun nearby.

  Not yet. Not yet…

  Ana opened her eyes to the feel of his warm breath caressing her face, the view of his enlarged eyes just a few inches from her own. She didn’t scream, not with the knowledge that there might be Raggedy Men still searching for them in the school below. But that was a moot point anyway, because he had one hand fastened tightly against her mouth. It was that alien feel of his skin against hers that had caused her to wake up.

  He was crouched in front of her, the barrel of his gun—with the suppressor at the end—pushed against one of her cheeks. The icy cold touch of the weapon told her she had made a mistake by falling asleep, and now she was going to pay for it.

  Sullivan wasn’t exactly smiling at her, but there was something that looked like a twinkle in his eyes as he watched her slowly, slowly wake up to the realization that she was well and truly fucked.

  “It took a while, Kelly,” Sullivan said. “I couldn’t place you at first, but then it all came together. The red hair, the attitude, the gumption.” He smiled. “Oh yeah, it’s you, all right. It’s you…”

  Twenty-One

  He knows. Shit, he knows.

  “You know who I’m talking about, don’t you?” Sullivan asked her.

  Gabriel…

  “I told him he should have left town with us when he had the chance,” Sullivan continued, “but he thought he could bullshit his way through it. That was the problem with the Gabster; always too in love with that slick tongue of his.” He cocked his head slightly to one side. “We still have friends in Mayfield, but they were a little short on the details. It wasn’t you, was it? The one that did him in?”

  No, that was Shelby. He shotgunned Gabriel to death, but I would have done it myself if I could.

  Not that she could have replied anyway with his hand still pressed against her mouth. She was having difficulty just breathing through her nostrils, never mind trying to get any sounds out. Not that Sullivan appeared to really want any kind of answers from her.

  Her eyes moved slightly (Slowly! Don’t let him notice!) away from his face and to the floor next to her. The shotgun that was supposed to be there wasn’t.

  Dammit…

  “That was smooth,” he said, grinning. “You even got me to hand it over to you. Now that was one fine trick. I was asking myself why you didn’t use it on me after you took it, but then it was obvious. The noise. Can’t make too much noise with those Raggedy Men running around out there, can we? Fortunately for me, this gun of mine won’t make nearly as big of a bang.”

  He’s got it all figured out, the asshat.

  Or maybe not…

  She could still feel the weight of Chuck’s SIG Sauer in the right pocket of her jacket. She wondered if he knew—


  The corners of his mouth curved into an even wider grin.

  Shit.

  “You could try it, but I don’t think you’ll make it,” he said. “I would have relieved you of that little peashooter, but I didn’t want you to wake up too early. I wanted it to be all dramatic like. The boys did always say I have a flair for the theatrics.”

  As if to convince her of that statement, he pressed the cold end of the suppressor harder against her cheek. If the barrel had had a sharper edge, it might have gone right through her skin and into the cheekbone.

  “But hey, it’s not like you have anything to lose right now,” he said. “Why not go for it anyway? Who knows, you might actually make it.”

  She stared back at him. Did he mean that? If she was successful, the sound of the gunshot would bring the Raggedy Men. Maybe not right away, depending on how far they were at this moment, but a gunshot, even one that was slightly muffled by her jacket and inside an enclosed space like the attic, was risky.

  But he was right: What did she have to lose?

  “To think, all of this began with those campers,” Sullivan said. He seemed to have settled into a comfortable sitting position in front of her, his legs crossed Indian style, while he held the gun almost nonchalantly against the side of her face. “It was a spur of the moment thing. We weren’t really going to do anything, but then Stark gets this bright idea to ride over and introduce himself.”

  Stark was one of the men who had tried to kill Chuck back in Mayfield. The other man was Aaron. She had forgotten who was who, mostly because she didn’t care to remember. All that mattered was that they had succeeded, but at the cost of their own lives.

  “Once we got to the campsite,” Sullivan continued, “it went downhill from there. It was just so easy. They were armed, but they’d had it good for too long. Way too trusting. Invited us into camp and for breakfast, if you could believe it.”

  He still had his hand clamped over her mouth, and she wasn’t sure why he was talking so damn much given her inability to respond. Maybe he just liked hearing the sound of his own voice. That was probably it.

  “Man, it got bloody pretty quick after that,” he was saying. “But once it got started, we couldn’t go back. We had to take it to the end. Of course, we didn’t realize you and those slayers were close enough to hear the gunshots…” Then, almost as if in afterthought, “That was Keenan, by the way. The one that shot your truck. He’s very good with that rifle. Used to be a hunter or something before the shit hit the fan.”

  She listened, but she wasn’t really listening. Instead, Ana was trying to figure out a way out of this. Because there was always a way out; she just had to see it.

  On the one hand, she still had the SIG in her jacket. Despite what he’d said about wanting this to be dramatic, she was certain the only reason Sullivan hadn’t taken it was for fear of waking her up before he could get into position. The problem was that her hand was at least a foot from the pocket opening. She would probably need about one second to reach for the gun.

  It was doable…if she didn’t have a psychopath in front of her with his finger on the trigger and the willingness to use it.

  Don’t get shot. Whatever you do, don’t get shot. You’re not going to survive a bullet through the cheek. Not in this lifetime, anyway.

  So what else was left?

  The knife. It was still housed inside her left jacket sleeve where she had put it. Either he didn’t know about it, or Sullivan, as with the SIG, hadn’t risked taking it from her while she slept. Unfortunately, using the knife was even more of a long shot than the gun. Just getting it out and into her hand…

  She could practically feel the confidence coming from him. He had her where he wanted, and there was nothing she could do about it. She wished it wasn’t true, but wishing didn’t change the facts.

  “Well?” Sullivan said. “You have anything to say for yourself?”

  She mumbled against his hand.

  He cocked his head in mock curiosity. “What was that? I can’t hear you. You’ll have to speak up.”

  Ana had flashbacks to her time with Gabriel in the basement under Mayfield. Somehow, it didn’t surprise her at all that Sullivan would have the same sick sense of humor as his fellow psychopath.

  “Speak up,” he said, with that stupid grin of his. When she did, he pulled his hand away before pressing one finger against his own lips. “Remember, we don’t want to make too much noise, do we?”

  She sucked in some of the stale air around them, but it was still better than breathing through her nose. He quickly reached into her pocket and took out the SIG Sauer, then scooted back until he was sitting across from her again. He shoved her gun into his front waistband before resting the silenced pistol across his lap. The barrel wasn’t pointed at her anymore, but all he’d have to do was turn his hand slightly and it would be. Despite the limited light in the room, she could make out his forefinger still in the gun’s trigger guard.

  The knife. He doesn’t know about the knife, or he would have taken it, too. Either that, or he’s forgotten all about it.

  She could feel the comforting weight of the knife inside her left sleeve. As long as she had it, she still had a chance. It was a small one, but a small chance was better than the none of a few minutes ago. Now all she had to do was wait for the right moment.

  Just wait for it. He’ll give it to you. They always do.

  “Do it,” Ana said.

  “Do what?” he asked.

  “If you’re going to shoot me, get it over with.”

  He snorted. “Is that what you want me to do, Kelly? For me to ‘get it over with?’”

  “It’s better than listening to you talk. Holy shit, you’re boring.”

  She casually leaned back against the wall behind her but made sure her hands remained where they were at her sides. She saw the way his eyes watched her closely, as if he expected her to try something. And his forefinger was still in his gun’s trigger guard, rubbing against the trigger.

  Not yet. Wait for the window of opportunity.

  Not yet…

  “Why didn’t you just kill me while I was asleep?” she asked. “You’d have saved me the headache.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you that eager to get yourself killed, woman?”

  “Anything beats listening to you ramble on,” she said, even as she attempted to eyeball the distance between them. It hadn’t changed since the last time: Six or seven feet.

  Six or seven feet…

  And there, the shotgun, with the barrel facing her. It was lying at his right side—her left. If she could get to it…

  “You’re right,” he was saying, “why don’t I just finish it now? This partnership was never in the cards anyway.”

  “Of course, you’re still a gimp. With or without me.”

  “Better a gimp than a dead man.”

  “My point is, you may know who I am, and I may know who you are, but we can still make use of one another.”

  “Now why do I feel a sales pitch coming?”

  “You’re a killer and a piece of shit. That much we can both agree on.”

  He flashed her a wry smirk. “Listen to that tongue of yours. Just like sweet honey. Careful you don’t give me diabetes, little missy.”

  She rolled her eyes. “We don’t have to like each other to use one another.”

  “Use one another how?”

  “To get out of this place. To survive this place.”

  “I’m listening…”

  “I want to save the girl. You need something to treat that leg of yours, and a crutch wouldn’t hurt. Those two things haven’t changed.”

  “That’s a matter of opinion.”

  “Is it?”

  “I’ve been thinking about it, and I think I can make it with this busted leg. After another day, who knows how I’ll feel.”

  “After another day, without food or water, you’ll be too weak to even climb down from here,” Ana said. “And hav
e you taken a good look at that wound lately? You sure it’s not already infected? Or getting there? Look around you, Sullivan. You’re not exactly hiding out in the cleanest of environments.”

  He didn’t reply right away, and she thought, This might work. This might actually work.

  “We tried to kill you,” he finally said. “And we did, one of you, back in town. You’re telling me you’re just going to forget about that?”

  “I barely knew them before the ambush,” Ana said. “And there wasn’t exactly a lot of time to get to know them afterward. Your buddy Gabriel saw to that.”

  He squinted at her, either because he had a hard time seeing through the semidarkness or he was trying very hard to read her.

  I’m just a little redheaded girl. What are you so afraid of?

  “Bullshit,” he said. “You’re trying to talk your way out of it. You’ll shoot me in the back the first chance you get.”

  “Not if you don’t give me the shotgun.”

  “You saying you don’t want it now?”

  “Yeah, I still want it. I need it to save Chris.” Before he could retort, she quickly added, “Here’s my final offer; stop me if you’ve heard it before. When morning comes, I go to the clinic just like we previously agreed and bring back what I find. In return, you give me the shotgun. After that, we go our separate ways.” This time, she paused to let him digest her words. “It’s the best deal you’re going to get.”

  “Just like that, huh?”

  “Yeah. Just like that.”

  “And the slayers?”

  “I already told you; I barely knew them.”

  “What about the campers?”

  “I barely knew them, too.”

  “And it matters diddly to you what we did to them? What I did to them?”

  “Like I said, you’re a piece of shit for what you did, but I can’t change anything that’s happened already. I’m trying to survive. Right now, this city is going to kill the both of us unless we work together.”

  Again, he took a few seconds before answering. “Nice try. But I don’t believe—”

  There was a soft, echoey bang from somewhere in the building. It wasn’t anywhere close to their position but near enough that they could both hear it, and Sullivan stopped in midsentence while his eyes turned slightly, leaving her for just a second—