GUNS FOR ANGELS
By Viviana MacKade
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Copyright © 2019 Viviana MacKade
All rights reserved.
TABLE OF CONTENT
Dedication
Quote
Prolog
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Epilog
The Author
Other books by Viviana Mackade
For Marco, and all the other guardian angels out there.
I would rather have a Marine, even a ruined Marine, more than anything in the world when there are chips down.
E. Hemingway.
Prolog
Miami, July.
The crisp darkness of pre-dawn filled the room; the flapping beat of the ceiling fan sent waves of chilled air over pampered skin.
Tessa Benson stretched in the king size bed like a tired cat, kicked off the soft kiss of silky royal blue sheets.
Sleep failed her lately. The closer the coronation, the further away it ran and, by now, late nights and too early mornings were the norm. A hard smile twisted her lips. Finally, after a life of hard work she was about to be the most powerful woman in Western society. A Queen.
No one would have thought that this plain girl from Nowhereville, West Virginia, would have slept in sheets made of the purest silk. But she’d known, always known she would win, she would not live her parents’ life.
A good life, she guessed, just not good enough. Her parents loved each other deeply, maybe even more than how they loved their progeny. Still, she’d never gone hungry, never suffered the bites of cold. No, she’d never been cold but her room had been crowded, shared with four other sisters; her clothes, passed down from girl to girl, had always been faded; food had the after taste of cheap. She’d shared. And shared. And shared. Until she’d realized she was hungry, after all.
The day of her sixteenth birthday, she said her thanks for the hideous green sweater her older sister had knitted for her, ate the simple meal she’d helped cook, and waited for the silence of budget dreams. She hit the road that night with a black garbage bag as a suitcase and her thumb stretched out.
She’d left a note with the “whys” of her going away, and that they must not seek her–ever. Maybe they did look for her, but she’d worked fast.
She’d given up her name, started working, climbing. Then she climbed some more, married up and forged bitter tears when her disgustingly rich husband suddenly bit the dust. Such an unexpected tragedy, he was in such good health.
And now, the last step: the boat had sailed. She only had to wait, fly low for a while and avoid any hiccup that could jeopardize the apogee of her career.
When the cell phone buzzed, darkness had shifted into a lighter shade.
It was Gage Noxell. With no fuss, as she liked best, he went straight to the point. “We have a problem. One of ours talked too much.”
The sheets turned into sandpaper. “What?”
“Yesterday we went out to celebrate Jake’s initiation. He talked too much.”
Cold sweat beaded on her forehead as hot rage boiled in her blood.
“We took care of him,” Gage hurried on. “And a couple of men are after the whore. But…”
“But?” she invited.
Gage swore under his breath. “But the girl said there’s another one, the Club manager or something. We’re going to locate and take care of her.”
She took a deep breath to calm the shaking. “Gage, you know how much I love you. See that I don’t have to regret it. After all, a queen doesn’t always need a king.”
“We’ll get her, Tess. I’m seeing personally to it”
“Kill her. Kill whoever falls between me and that boat.”
Chapter 1
New York City, a July night.
The gasp for air scratched Ann’s throat as she ran through the web of empty streets, through traffic lights that shone ruby. Footsteps echoed in her ears–close, too close–gripped inside her chest and twisted.
Ann ran for her life.
She dove into a dark alley, past trash bags that emitted the sickening stench of rotten food.
One, frantic thought dashed in her mind: do something. She was fast and fit but her legs hurt, her chest burned. She kept going like a blind mouse; they would catch her.
Despair, so strong and alive, clenched her lungs and slowed her down as she realized she had nowhere to go. The City was an enemy of locked doors and dark corners.
A car came on fast from behind. Cutting the glassy night with a rumble, it stopped beside her.
Ann’s legs stopped, her heart stopped. It was over.
The driver seat window buzzed a few inches down and a voice ordered, “get in the car.”
Petrified, she stood still wheezing in the hot night.
The window rolled further down and his voice rose again, deadly calm. “Get in. Now.”
What could she do but obey? She saw the gleam of the gun in his hand, she would be dead within two steps if she ran. Her sister’s scream kept playing in her ears, along with the hiss of bullets she’d dodged. This time, this man was too close.
Ann dragged her heavy feet in the back seat as he took the car into the road.
She could still fight some, she thought, trying to hole up in the opposite corner of the seat. Was she supposed to kill the man, or at least try, because he wanted to kill her?
Funny thing was, if she attacked him she would die, either because he’d shoot her like a dog or because they’d hit a wall or something–fatal, at the speed they were driving. Not the best outcome in any case, but at least she would go down with dignity. Did she really care about that?
“Front seat,” he ordered.
When she didn’t move, he shot her a glance from the rear-view mirror. Dark eyes were all she saw. “Get in the front seat,” he said. “I won’t ask a third time.”
Ann’s shoulder hit hard the front seat when he slammed on the brakes. He turned around to face her. “Now, girl, I don’t know if you’re deaf or plain stupid, but if you want my help you do whatever I tell you to, and you do it quick. Understand?” The car peeled out down the road again, pushing her back once more. “Move!”
“What do you mean, help me?” she asked.
“Aw, shit, you’re stupid, ain’t you?” He puffed out a breath. “Okay, I thought it was clear, but let me break it down for you. Behind us? Bad guys trying to kill you. In
this car? Good guy trying to keep you alive. Got it?”
“Why?”
“Why they want to kill you? Dunno, I guess it’s ’cause you don’t do what you’re told.”
Ann had such a bad, bad night. Her sister was missing, her peaceful, simple world shattered. “Now you listen, jackass,” she spat out from in between the front seats, resisting the urge to punch the side of his head. “I had what you might call an unpleasant evening so pick one: drop the attitude or leave me here.”
“Can’t. I’ll get fired, ’cause you’ll get killed. Although,” he added on a second thought, “nobody technically hired us, so...”
“Who are you? And if you want me to get in the front seat, for heaven’s sake, just ask. Gently.”
All sorts of weapons fired from his now murderous gaze, a striking contrast with the sweetness oozing from his voice. “Please, angel, can you join me in the front seat of this fucking car?”
Ann deemed it to be all the gentleness she could ask for and scrambled to his side.
“Seat belt,” he ordered.
“No.”
The corner of his jaw clenched; the car speed increased accordingly. “Put the seat belt on,” he growled.
“I don’t trust you.” She had no clue on what was going on, but she wanted a quick way out if she came to need one.
He spared her a sideways glance and, for a short second, he looked amused. “I’m not one of those fuckers behind us. If I wanted you dead, angel, you’d be just that by now. Trust me on this one.”
She did trust him on his last statement and besides, if he wanted to kill her, what was the point of taking her away? To kill her in private? He didn’t seem too concerned about being subtle.
The seat belt clicked at her side. “That’s very comforting,” she said. “Thank you, ill-mannered stranger.”
* * * * *
Mark had to remind himself that not everyone belonged to the Marine, especially not this pocket-sized blond with the biggest, bluest eyes he’d ever seen.
Two years in the Team, and he still had trouble when it came to PR. Hell, it wasn’t his job, but the Old Man’s. People went to him with all sorts of crap in their bags and poured it down at his feet, he’d say something very comforting and right, and call Mark and his boys.
That was Mark’s job: guns and planning and blowing things up. Killing, if they had to. Too bad this time nothing had been usual–the old, screwed-up, bad usual. He wasn’t a cop, trained to investigate, and was stuck with a scared and uncooperative woman.
He was a Marine, though, and a hell of a good one. Adapt and overcome, he would do just that.
The engine thundered as he passed another car, checked again the rear view mirror; nobody followed them now, but some son of a bitch would come soon. Mark pressed a little more on the accelerator. He wanted miles between them; lots of miles.
He’d made it through years of war with a reasonable amount of scars and alive, he thought peeking at the girl, taking on a woman had to be easier. And, if she went hysterical or started crying, he could always throw her in the trunk of the car. She was small, there would be plenty of room.
“Tell me what happened,” he commanded. “Make it quick and thorough.”
His phone rang, and he pulled it from his pocket. It was Mouse. “Talk.”
“Did you get the girls?”
“I got one. Mary’s gone.”
“You positive?”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
Mark heard a rapid intake of breath from the woman, nothing more.
“Shit. Shit. I was late,” Mouse whispered.
“What the fuck is going on?”
Silence carried all the weight of Mouse’s regret. He snapped out of it fast, before Mark’s patience ran out. “Listen,” Mouse said, “I need time. I’ll call you as soon as I know more. Go to Savannah, I’ll catch you there. Keep the girl alive, Bear.”
“Tell me what–”
His rage had no power against the flat tone of a disconnected call. Mark swore his frustration away and promised to himself he would have some answers soon. She was the closest witness, so whatever she knew, he would make her say it even if he had to pull words one by one from her pretty throat.
He turned to face the source of his troubles and his mouth closed. No sound had escaped her lips as she wiped a tear with her hand. No hysteria, no wild emotions. A lonely tear for someone left behind. God, but he understood the feeling. The surge of respect was unexpected as the realization of how useless he was. He discharged both. Whoever this Mary had been for her, the girl would have to deal with her loss.
Yet, an old, faded memory tricked its way to the surface of his mind: his grandfather’s hand on his as he told him that his father wasn’t coming home, that he’d died a hero, protecting his men.
She didn’t move when his palm rested on her knee, and Mark kept driving.
* * * * *
Ann must have drifted off. Her lids scratched over gravel as she opened her eyes, and the situation didn’t get any better when she rubbed them with her hands. She felt something on her face. Dried-up tears, she realized.
The man was pulling over into a parking lot where green letters shone on and off, like the grin of an old drunken crook missing a tooth–HO EL.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“Outskirts of Baltimore.”
“Why?”
“Talk and rest, in that order. I’ll go get us a room. Don’t move.”
He left, and Mary’s voice kept going on and on in Ann’s mind, a recorder stuck on repeat when she wanted to hit hard on forward.
She stared at the scratch on her hands, limp in her lap and sighed. Running away from pain never helped.
Her fists tightened as she closed her eyes, inhaled hard, and gathered the last drops of strength to focus on one idea: she would never see her sister again. She let the abstract notion sink into her soul until the loss became part of her, like blood and flesh. Her body and mind tried to adapt and failed. Her stomach hardened, her breathing quickened, her hands hurt for squeezing too hard.
She uselessly searched for tears, soothing tears that could free her from some darkness. Breathless, too beaten to carry on, she lifted the curtain of her lids to see the world from this new reality. It was black, like the night inside and around her.
From that darkness emerged the imposing frame of the stranger, walking back to the car. The moon lit his steps and his dark hair. With his head slightly bent forward like a bull ready to charge, he challenged whoever was chasing them to step forward and start the dance.
He opened her door and leaned over, caging her inside. “Room 25. It’s the first on the left on that side. Walk close to me and if something happens, do what I say.”
She nodded, and embraced the night at his side.
Chapter 2
Ann swallowed hard as stench scraped her throat.
In truth, the real issue was the absence of any pleasant smell, like clean breeze from an open window, lemony traces of cleanser or, at least, the fake ocean fragrance of an air freshener. Instead, the room was stifling, filled with heavy, stale air and old, cheap perfume that hanged around in sickly sweet clouds. The hotel room didn’t stink though, so she blamed her strong reaction to stress.
Whatever the reason, she pressed a hand on her twisted stomach and stepped closer to the man. He might be huge, too physical, and unmoved by normal human-to-human interactions, but he smelled just fine. It was either retching or keeping close to him and his soapy scent–the first good thing in a horrific night.
Maybe the Universe was getting on her side again.
Nice try, Ann conceded, but way not enough and badly executed. For as good as his scent was, she couldn’t spend the night with her nose pressed against his shirt. “Hey, can we open a window?” she asked.
“No.”
“Of course not. Will you bite my head off if I ask why?”
“You wanna people sneaking in and cutting your throat?”
/> “Not really.”
His lips curved into a sardonic smile. “There’s your answer.”
He marched to the window, checked the derelict locks. “It’s not gonna stop them,” he said more to himself than to her. “But it’ll give me time.”
“What do I do if they come?” Ann asked, forgetting her trouble with the room for a moment.
“Stay close to me and out of my way.”
“That’s… that’s tricky.”
“Make it work.”
From the middle of the room, she followed his inspection feeling more relieved each time he nodded. Even his cursing someone called Mouse was, somehow, reassuring. “If that stupid ass doesn’t call, I’ll throttle his skinny neck with my bare hands.”
His long, violent mumbled monolog went on, but its soothing quality disappeared when she realized she needed a restroom. She eyed the stains on the once beige, now dirt-brown walls–a real touch of class.
Okay, she needed the toilet, but what if Mr. Cholera was using it? It seemed like the place for it. Or even worse, ugly, hairy, dark spiders, creeping down the ceiling as she was sitting on the toilet. She would pass out, and the man would find her with her panties around her ankles, her eyes rolled back, and a rivulet of drool from her mouth. So cool.
She tried to focus on the bed and not on spiders, but the headboard leaned on the left and the blanket sported stains impossible to define. The perfect breeding ground for bed bugs.
Ann felt her eyes sting furiously. She wanted to go home, to her clean, spider free home, and call her sister. She wanted to hear Mary saying something, anything.
Mark’s voice, mockingly reassuring, reached her a split second before tears did. “If you’re worried about sharing the bed you can relax, angel. I’m not in the mood.”
“I wasn’t… never mind. I need to use the bathroom.”
She had opened the bathroom door when the meaning of his words emerged from the fog and wiped away her attempt not to lose it.
Remaining in the bedroom, she slammed the bathroom door in front of her with all her strength. She had the deep satisfaction of seeing him snap into action, gun in his hand and fire in his eyes. He was ready to fight, but she charged first. “Do you really think I would be in the mood? Let’s put aside for a second what happened to my sis… what happened tonight. Even on my best day I wouldn’t be in the mood with a jackass like you. I don’t like angry men. I need the toilet.”
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