by CJ Daly
“I-think-he-has-to-have-eye-contact,” Pete replied, rapid fire. “I’m
shooting Ranger’s leg in two seconds if you don’t remove the noose,” he
informed calmly. “One . . .”
Ranger made a move (another good one)—dive-snatching Mikey right
out from under me. What the?! I retaliated with a punch to his face when I shoulda moved out of the way so that Pete could follow up on his threat. I
came to my senses quick. Dodging left, I shrieked, “Shoot him!” Ranger
plunked Mikey down as a human shield.
“In the chest!” I directed because his torso was still exposed.
Pete shook his head. “Too risky . . . . And he’s wearing a vest.”
• 462 •
“The head then!” I pointed like a madwoman, not caring I was ordering someone to commit murder.
Ranger quickly crouched behind Mikey, holding him firmly. “Proceed
with the plan, Slater!” he ordered. “Quick!”
The noose tightened again. Andrew’s face transformed into a bloated
tomato. A solitary spit bubble fluttered from his guppied mouth. Wretched,
writhing movements twitched his head. I screamed in horror, careening over
to physically wrench off the noose—gnaw it off with my teeth if I had to.
Pete quickly yelled, “We surrender! Let the boy go!”
Immediately the pressure was off. Andrew gasped for breath.
“Toss the gun to Ranger, or I yank and it’s all over,” the hateful voice
behind the door informed us.
Ranger advanced forward with his Mikey shield to snatch it from Pete’s
hand, then unlocked the door. The owner of the boots stepped in. Predictable
Academy material: he was tall, he was dark, he was handsome. Another brute.
Well muscled with a no-nonsense look about him. Some kind of race mix that
created skin the color of coffee with a hint of cream. His eyes were the same
khaki-green of his fatigues, and he came in packing two extra guns.
How many guns and cadets could fit in here?
“Good God, Slater, took you long enough!” Ranger looked whatever was
two days beyond pissed.
“Thought you said you had this one, man. ‘ Piece of cake’ I think were your
exact words,” he reminded him.
“It would’ve been a piece of cake if this kid hadn’t interfered.” Ranger
indicated Mikey, who had sadly peed his pants. “You got the tag?”
“Yup.”
“Do it.”
“Whataretheydoin’?” I screeched to anyone and no one as the one called
Slater pulled out another frightening pistol. “Stoooooooooop!” I screeched my
throat bloody, diving for him right as he pressed it into Mikey’s neck. And
pulled the trigger.
He yelped, “Kadee!” before slumping over.
“Mikey!” I screamed, but only ragged hoarse sounds came out. My voice
didn’t work, but my arms did. I immediately used them to batter at the arms,
chest, impassive face of the latest cadet. He flung me backwards as if I were
a flimsy thing, not worthy of his time.
“Was that really necessary?” Pete demanded, stepping forward to catch me
before I could fall ass-over-elbow again. “He’s four-years-old for God’s sake!”
• 463 •
Ranger turned to address his foe. “Uh . . . did you just witness the same thing I did?” Then to Slater: “Could you hear what was going on?”
“Nothing came through. But when I came in, I quickly ascertained that
you were having your ass handed to you by Davenport and some kids,” replied
Slater with an attitude I was beginning to associate with The Academy.
Ranger pulled a face. “Davenport must’ve squashed the bug.” He pointed
the butt of his gun at Mikey.
I broke free from Pete to go cradle him in my arms. He was dead-feeling
when I picked him up, his head lolling back like his neck was broken. I buried
my face in his chest, sobbing.
“That kid’s the one we’re after. Screw the other one,” Ranger said, referring
to Andrew. “He’s nothing but a pretty face . . . we don’t need him anymore.
We’ll leave him with his Daddy—a consolation prize for taking the other
two,” he added heartlessly. He pointed at an unconscious Mikey, lying lifeless
in my arms. I glared at him like the force of my hate could knock him out.
“This little guy single-handedly took me down. Whatever he told me to
do, I just did it like I was his slave and he was my master. It was some freaky
shit, man!—I couldn’t not do what he told me to do! No matter how hard I
tried. Weston’s gonna cream his pants over this one! We’ll take him and the
girl.” Ranger acted like I was a done deal; he underestimated me.
“What about Davenport?” Slater nodded to Pete, and all eyes followed to
his ashen, beaten face.
“I’m going to take care of him personally, ” Ranger said, using a tone meant to induce fear.
Pete had no comeback. He was injured, weary, bleeding. Most of all,
he just looked resigned. Had I mistaken his calm for resignation? God I
hoped not.
“Dude, we’ve got to get him back,” argued Slater. “He’s still an elite cadet,
and his parents will want him to have a fair trial.”
“Fair trial, my ass!” Ranger exploded. “They’ll let him off with a slap on
the wrist, like they always do, because of who his parents are. No, not this
time . . . this time he has to pay. He’s been pissing all over The Academy for
years. He almost ruined this whole damned mission by running off with the
goods.” Ranger jerked a thumb to his chest, flashing a gold stripe—nearly
subdued by the dark stain of Pete’s blood—from his right shoulder. “Think
what that would’ve done to my career! He doesn’t give a shit about anyone but
himself and this”—he waved the gun at me—“country bimbette.”
I took my cue again: “Just let him go! I’ll voluntarily go with you! Please.
• 464 •
It’s enough to appease The Academy. Just please let my brothers and Pete go, and-and . . . I’ll do anything you want! I swear!”
Ranger stared into my pleading eyes, his lips nursing a smirk. And after
taking in my bare legs and torn shirt, he cocked an eyebrow. “Anything?”
“Anything,” I ground out.
A flicker of something unexpected flashed in Ranger’s eyes—softness
maybe, but I couldn’t tell because it came and went in an instant. “Well I hate
to break it to you, sweetheart, but I can do anything I want with you anyway.
And you don’t really have a say in the matter.
Pete spoke up again, but I fervently wished he wouldn’t. I sensed anything
he said would only make our plight worse. “Ranger, I swear to God, if you
touch one hair on her head, I’ll personally kill you.”
Ranger roared with laughter, slapping his knees like he was at a Hootin
Annie. “Oh Lordy! Did you hear that one, Slater?” He swiped at his eyes then
walked over to where I was sitting on the floor with Mikey. He leaned over,
and ceremoniously plucked a few hairs from my head.
Oh crap. I looked at Pete. He no longer looked impassive. I’d never seen
him look so livid. I wished he’d take all that boiling anger and tae-kwon-do
himself out the open window already. I stared very hard at him, trying to
convey this very t
hing.
When Ranger spoke again it was to start barking orders to his sidekick.
“Get the flex cuffs and secure the premises.”
I scrunched up my eyes, rocking a limp Mikey, trying hard to decide
what, if anything, we could do to save ourselves. The last instinctual thing
I’d done was open the window. So far the only thing that accomplished was
to let in a cool breeze. Please.Please.Please God! And then inspiration hit.
“Run, Andrew! Ruuuuuun!” I hollered with as much conviction as this
life and death moment warranted. “Run for help now! Ruuu—” My voice
screeched to a halt.
Ranger looked like he wanted to slap me again. “What the . . . ?”
We heard little footsteps charging through the house— Bang!—out the
front door.
“Dammit! Whatareyouwaitin’for? Go after the little bastard!” Ranger
ordered.
I was prepared. Right as Slater lifted his boot, I latched onto it with both
hands. He kind of stumbled around and tripped over me, and was just in the
process of kicking me in the head, when both Ranger and Pete came to my
defense simultaneously.
• 465 •
“Don’t do it, Slater!” yelled Pete, lurching for him a split second before Ranger shoved Slater then Pete back. I knew it—they really did want me
delivered as undamaged goods.
“Not in the head, asshole! She just had a concussion. You wanna give her
brain damage?” And just when I thought there might be some good in Ranger,
he followed that up with: “What good is she to us then?”
Pete had moved positions when Ranger was preoccupied. Ranger called
him on it immediately, firming up his grip and repositioning the gun straight
at his temple. “Give me a reason, Davenport.”
Meanwhile, Slater had peeled me off as easily as a Band-Aid and took off
after the runner. But I wasn’t worried. They’d also underestimated Andrew—
not just a pretty face. He’d be so far ahead by now there was no way for anyone
to catch him. I slammed the shattered slab of plywood, locking it again.
Ranger tssked me. “You’re already on my bad side, Connelly. Why are
you making it so much harder on yourself?”
“I wasn’t aware you had a good side,” Pete quipped as though unable to
help himself.
Ignoring Ranger, I walked straight to Pete and stood in front of him. I
stared one last time into those shining, dark eyes I loved so much, willing him
to understand. “Pete, leave right now out that window. If you care for me in
any capacity, you’ll go now before Slater gets back.”
“Uh . . . ‘scuse me.” Ranger waved his arms around. “I hate to break up
this Hallmark moment, but there’s a big, scary man wielding a gun here.”
I whirled around to face him. “Yeah. But you won’t shoot me.” I backed
up to Pete, wrapping my arms around his waist as a human body shield.
“Kate, don’t do this,” Pete urged. “It’s not over.”
I began back-walking us towards the window. “Pete, you told me to trust
my God-given instincts. So I’m goin’ with my gut . . . it hasn’t led me wrong.
Trust me like you asked me to trust you.”
Pete hesitated. “Kate . . .”
“That open window’s for you—your escape to freedom. It’s all over for
you if you don’t go right now!” I shoved him backwards, but he didn’t move.
“Please! ” I begged. “If you don’t go, they win . . . everything.” My voice cracked.
“Okay, cut the crap, Kitty-Kat . . . or whatever the hell your name is.
Enough of the Romeo and Juliet drama. If you don’t think I’ll shoot you, you’re sorely mistaken.” Ranger waved me back with his gun. So sure of himself.
Hubris—his Achilles heel.
I faced Ranger with a face devoid of fear. Pete’s back was against the
windowsill now. “Go now, Pete!” I pleaded, tears streaming down my face.
• 466 •
“Kate . . .” Pete whispered my name one more time, enveloping me in a survivor’s embrace.
“Please!” My voice was gut-wrenching even to my own ears.
“If you don’t think I’ll shoot her, Davenport than you—”
I felt the briefest kiss brush the back of my head. And then Pete hopped
out the window. “I’ll come back for you,” I thought he said, but it was hard
to tell, because Ranger was screaming . . . and charging at me, like a bull.
“Gahdammit!—you bitch!”
But what Torro didn’t know was that the guest star was making another
appearance—Pete just handed me that jagged piece of lamp he’d squirreled
away in his back pocket. I whipped it from behind my back just in time for
it to do its job—Ranger screeched to a stop when he saw what my hand was
wielding.
He yelled several expletives, pointed the gun at my foot. “You might be
the first lame PGC ever accepted into The Academy.”
“I doubt Weston will be too pleased to see you managed to mangle the
merchandise after all,” I said, wondering who in the world Weston was, but
taking a shot in the dark.
A sick smile grudged its way onto half his mouth, winking a dimple at
me. “You’re gonna pay for this, little girl.”
I just smirked back at him (which my gut told me not to do, but I ignored).
“You think you’re pretty smart? . . .” Stalking over to the armchair, Ranger
picked up the dart gun, aimed, and without further ado—shot. It emitted a
loud poofing sound before piercing me, right over the heart. Stunned, I stared slack jawed, at blazing-blue eyes before I quickly thought to remove it. Even
so, I felt the effects immediately as tranquilizer-laced poison pushed into my
bloodstream.
“How’s that? You like that, Connelly?”
A rush of woozy inertia overcame me. I stumbled forward like a drunk.
The jagged, pink weapon fell from my hand. I knew I was done in just a few
more seconds, so I lurched over to lie with my brother. Unable to walk in a
straight line, I teetered sideways and fell . . . right into the waiting arms of
the cadet who shot me.
He brought me up to his chest to stare into my bleary eyes. “Welcome to
The Academy, Katherine Connelly,” he said, not in an unkind voice before
slinging me over his shoulder like a fallen soldier. Then he reached down and
hooked a limp Mikey up and hoisted him over his other shoulder, marching
us from my busted-up bedroom, through the hallway of family pictures, past
• 467 •
our shabby kitchen and living room, out the front door, and down the rickety steps.I had a very strong feeling this would be the last time I ever saw our trailer so I tried focusing, but it was getting harder by the second. The deep rumble
of Ranger’s voice roused me round once more.
“Slater, stay here and clean up this mess. Cut the guy a check for two-
hundred thou to keep his mouth shut, and convey to him the importance of
keeping it shut if he wants to hang on to his last kid.”
“Yessir.”
“Oh, and thanks for your help, man. . . . This got a whole lot hairier than
I anticipated.”
“It always does. You outta here then?”
“Yep,” Ranger confirmed, windmilling us back around. “I’ll see you back
at the fort.”
• 468
•
I guess as far as endings go it wasn’t so bad. For most parties involved. Only the Connelly kids continued to get screwed. Everybody else more or less
getting what they wanted in the end: Daddy got to keep his pride and joy.
Ranger—the biggest winner in all of this—got two acquisitions for the price
of one, and two more notches on his belt. The International Elite Academy
would be the beneficiary of more gifteds to mold, manipulate, and use . . . for
God-only-knew-what-purpose. And Pete . . . well, Cadet Davenport finally
got his lifelong wish fulfilled—a life free of the organization he’d always
loathed.
I could still hear the mechanized buzzing of the motorcycle fading into
the distance as we tromped steadily forward. I hoped Pete was going far. Far
away from this God-forsaken place to start a new life, as something he wanted
to be.Ranger stopped tromping to open the back of a black SUV. He laid us
inside, side-by-side. I was almost gone. Not quite . . . hanging on out of sheer
stubbornness. I could feel Ranger’s hands on my body, carefully rearranging
me to his satisfaction. And then the relief of hair being brushed off my face.
My eyes fluttered back open. I expected more mouthing off liberally sprinkled
by insults, but he didn’t say anything at all. He just stared intently at me while
I watched glacier eyes warm to ocean blue. Then he made a move I couldn’t
flinch for and didn’t need to: He rubbed a thumb from my mouth to my
hairline, right over the tender spot where he’d slapped me.
This was my final undoing. I closed my eyes at last, surrendering to the
blank darkness coming for me. A light blanket was thrown over me. The door
slammed shut. A moment later, the engine’s vibration. We drove back down
the winding dirt road toward our destination . . .
The organization simply known as The Academy.
• 469 •
Acknowledgments
I’d like to thank my husband, Jeff, for his support and for always helping
me with the nuts and bolts of life; my boys, Dylan and Brandon, for
being sparks of inspiration; my mother for gifting this book with its
opening sentence; my father for all the great “country-isms,” and my little
sister, Tiffany, for being my biggest fan.
I’d also like to give a big Texas thanks to Nicole Liebnick, Anastacia
