“What do you want?” said a grizzly man to the right.
“I just want to give you something,” Lilo said to the woman.
Wary eyes watched her as she slipped out of her coat and held it out. “You need this more than me.”
“I got no money, Missus,” said the woman.
“I don’t want any money. I have another coat at home. Please take it.” God, please take it. Lilo couldn’t live with a baby death on her conscience.
The woman reached out, but the man snatched it.
“No!” Lilo growled and used her bag to hit him. “This is not for you. Don’t you dare take this away from the woman and her baby.”
The man hissed at Lilo. “I’m the boss around here.”
“I don’t think so, buddy.” Lilo reached under her long skirt and retrieved her pistol. She pointed it at the man. “Do I need to repeat myself?”
He slowly handed the woman the coat.
With a conflicted glance at Lilo, she dressed herself in the warm coat.
“Take this too.” Lilo unwound the scarf from her neck. “For the baby.”
Only when it was wrapped around the baby did Lilo reset the hammer on the gun, twist it, and give it handle first to the woman.
“For protection,” she said. “So you can hold on to your warm clothes.”
“Oh, thank you, Missus.” The woman slipped the pistol into her pocket, then gave the man an evil eye before retreating to her corner of the stoop on the abandoned church.
A cold breeze brushed past Lilo’s face and she wrapped her denim jacket tight. She’d be fine. A few hours in the cold wasn’t the same as spending a night in it. It hadn’t snowed for days, and the night was one of the warmest it had been all month. Cold enough to hurt if you had to sleep out all night, but not enough to harm her for a few hours. She’d be fine.
With a mutual nod, Lilo left the woman, ensuring her strides remained uniform and confident even though her heart pounded erratically. By the time she arrived at the meeting location, she was so cold, her toes and fingers were numb. Thank goodness for the beanie holding in whatever body heat her skirt and denim jacket couldn’t.
She refocused on her surroundings.
Let’s do this.
The warehouse was an old packing plant. Wooden crates stacked outside had been pulled apart, most likely scavenged for makeshift furniture or building supplies. The doors to the place were boarded up, all except one.
Trembling from the cold, she pulled the heavy metal sliding door to the side, cringing as it screeched from rusty rollers and debris in the tracks. Inside was dark, but the air was crisp and a breeze pushed at her face. Looking up, she located the source of the wind and the reason no one took shelter inside. Except a few steel beams, the roof was missing, leaving the warehouse completely exposed to the elements.
She pulled her phone from her bag and checked the time. Half an hour early.
“Hello,” she called into the darkness, just to be sure. When her voice finished echoing off the walls, she strained to locate movement, but only silence greeted her.
Rather than wait in the cold, she turned on her phone’s torch function and pointed the light around the perimeter of the warehouse. May as well get familiar with her surroundings to avoid being taken by surprise. She also had to scout for a location for her second spy-phone.
Columns of stone pillars reached for a roof that wasn’t there. Metal stairs rose to a platform that lead nowhere. Graffiti covered the walls and broken bricks and crates littered the floors. Nuts and bolts crunched underfoot. An abandoned fire pit sat alone in a corner with broken crate beds around it. Maybe in the warmer weather people actually used the place for refuge. It broke her heart to see such poverty in her city, while others choked on their wealth. Others like her mother and father.
Not long now.
She quickly propped her spy-phone on a crate next to the wall and set a timer on the camera. It wasn’t a fancy gadget or anything, just a normal smart phone with an app she’d downloaded that promised to take continuous photographs at random intervals. If all went well, then by the end of the meeting, she should have incriminating evidence to publish in tomorrow’s paper. After making sure the phone looked inconspicuous by putting a few scattered baked beans tins near, she kept moving around the darkened room, using her phone-torch to light the way.
She searched for improvised weapons to replace her pistol and mentally recited Krav Maga moves to keep her mind sharp. If she was attacked with a knife, she imagined blocking and then using the knife arm against them. If it was a tire iron, she would need to take control of the weapon. Protect her face with one hand, move forward instead of back, dodge and…
A sudden sound made the hairs on her arms lift. She swung her light toward the source somewhere behind her.
“Who’s there?” Her voice echoed.
Shadows emerged from the darkness. One, two, three men. And a fourth shoved into the area by another tall shape. How did they get in? She’d been watching the entrance. Her eyes darted around for another entrance, but found nothing. She must have missed something.
Straightening her spine, she tracked their approach.
“I’m Lilo Likeke,” she said, voice loud and proud.
“No pumpkin,” came the raw sound of her father. “You weren’t supposed to come.”
Pushed into her circle of light, her father appeared haggard and dirty. Dried blood streaked from a wound where his left ear used to be and down his thin polo shirt. Once some pale pastel color, it was now almost brown. Despite his condition, her father held onto an air of self-respect she knew came from years of ordering people around. Once, she had been impressed with his strength and importance. She’d felt safe with him.
Probably why she had a penchant for confident men. God, she was hopeless.
“I’m here,” she said. The same words had been a show of solidarity when Griffin spoke them, but here in the cold warehouse, they sounded empty.
Lilo glanced around, stupidly hoping to see police, even impossibly yearning to see Griffin. But she’d spurned him and lied to him. He thought she was home.
The other men moved into a formation, surrounding her.
Coming into the light, she took note of their appearance. They wore clean leather jackets—some long and brown, some short and black. None of them seemed feral which led her to believe they were part of an organized crime syndicate. Caucasian looking, she noted, trying to memorize facts for her article. She pretended to swing her phone their way so she could see better, but quickly took stealthy shots of their faces in case her spy-phone failed.
“Did you bring the contents of the safe?” Asked a barrel chested man with a round face. He had an Irish accent, pale skin, and dark ear-length hair. His eyes were round and far apart.
Lilo patted her bag. “First, tell me what you want it for.”
A burst of laughter came from the man. “Girlie, I don’t think you’re in the position to be asking the questions.”
“Lilo, turn around and run,” her father barked.
The brute restraining him punched him in the side of the head, making him stagger and Lilo cry out.
Seeing him like this, she knew she couldn’t leave, no matter what he’d done.
Tears burned her eyes and resolve steeled her spine.
“I’m a reporter for the Cardinal Copy news,” she said. “I’ve taken photographs of you and uploaded them to our cloud facility. If you don’t let him go, or if I don’t get out of here alive, they’ll automatically publish.”
Not a peep from any of them.
Then the leader laughed in a squealing sort of way. He indicated with his Glock for the men to advance on her.
“Oh, love. Do you really think we care if our faces are published? We’ve got friends in high places. We’ve done much worse than this.”
Lilo froze. It would be difficult to extract her cattle prod without being noticed, but she had to try. She began scrunching the side of her skirt, g
athering its folds, but before she got far, the cold press of a gun nudged her in the temple.
“Now,” said the leader, as he grinned while his pierced comrade threatened Lilo. “This is the last time I’m going to ask. Did you bring the contents of the safe?”
Before she could scream, before she could breathe, a shot fired, and the man in front of her collapsed in a pool of expanding blood.
The phone fell from her numb fingers in slow motion.
The torch beam sliced through the air, hitting on random sights that burned into her retinas: a pigeon sitting on the ridge of the open roof; the desperation in her father’s eyes as he met her gaze; the dark menacing approach of a hooded, blue-scarfed, leather clad body pointing his recently fired weapon at her head.
Chapter Eighteen
When Griffin dressed in his combat gear that night, he strapped light. Feeling more confident with his new ability, he’d removed all knives and daggers, all throwing stars, darts, picks and iron claws. They weighed on him. He’d kept his retractable metal bo-staff, and secured a grappling hook with a strong, thin rope to his belt. Finally, he’d strapped each fist with boxer’s tape, leaving his fingers free and tactile.
Walking out of the weapons room in the basement headquarters of Lazarus House, he tried not to pay attention to how the leather creaked. He hoped the new prototype was creak free.
Parker, Sloan and Evan were inspecting an enormous computer monitor under a glass table-like apparatus. It was a computer system hooked up to AIMI. Currently, they perused a map. All were dressed in their battle gear, except Sloan. She wore black sweats and a hoodie, dark hair tucked into her collar.
Two walls of the room were covered in ceiling-to-floor screens and flashed different video footage from CCTV cameras around town. There were computers and desks lining the third wall. Flint was seated at one, engrossed in something on the screen. Mary stood behind him with her palm on his shoulder.
“Did you locate Doppenger?” Griffin asked as he flexed his fists, testing the support of the tape.
Parker looked up. “Negative. He wasn’t in his apartment or workplace.”
His hair had been tied at the nape, his face scarf gathered around his neck along with the lowered hood. Hanging from his belt were two metal claws, ready to slip onto his fists and slice his opponents. Coming to stand next to him, Griffin felt slightly dwarfed. Not only was Parker the tallest of them, but the most robust and muscular. Griffin and Wyatt were next in body mass, then Evan. Sloan stood at a modest five foot seven. He hoped Parker would take it easy on her given this was her first time in the field for years.
“Doppenger wasn’t at the Cardinal Copy yesterday or today,” he added.
“We’ve set alerts and virtual traps around the city. If his face pops up on anything, we’ll know, and we’ll be ready.”
“I’m heading out now to the kidnapper’s rendezvous.”
“I’m coming with you.” Evan broke away. “We can take the Mustang.”
“We agreed on me doing this on my own.”
“No,” Parker added. “You agreed on you doing it alone.”
“Dude,” Sloan sighed. “Just let him come. Then he’s not pestering us when we go to find Doppenger.”
Evan pushed her playfully. “I know you’re hurting because we dragged you from your game, so I’ll pretend to ignore that.”
She gave a tight-lipped smile.
“C’mon, Sloanie. Cheer up.” Evan patted her back.
“Evan’s going with you because you need back up,” Parker continued. “You’re on the Syndicate’s radar now, so no more of this lone wolf shit.”
“Fine.” Griffin grit his teeth and turned to Evan. “I hope you put your thermals on.”
Evan winked. “Thermals and double tighty-whities for extra insulation. These nuts are staying toasty tonight.”
Sloan made a vomit sound while sticking her finger down her throat.
Evan grinned and followed Parker to the glowing blue table screen.
“This is a representation of the location you’re headed,” Parker said, making a swiping movement on the computerized table. Satellite imagery of a warehouse came up. “Seems abandoned.”
“Shouldn’t be any trouble then.” Evan lifted his hood. “Let’s go.”
“We’ll head out in search of the imposter. Catch us on comms if you need anything.” Parker swiped again, turning the table-screen off.
Guess they were done.
Parker and Sloan ended up taking the Mustang which suited Griffin fine. The motorcycles had better maneuverability. Chances were by the time anyone recognized their leather combat gear, they’d be long gone. The bulletproof black helmets would conceal their identities, so they were safe enough.
Fifteen minutes later, Evan and Griffin cut the engine on their bikes and coasted into an alley a block from the warehouse. They removed their helmets and lifted their face scarfs over their noses. Hoods went up. Voice modifiers activated, and after a final weapons check, Griffin turned on his watch’s timer.
Half hidden under the shadow of his hood, Evan’s eyes were unmistakably condescending. “Still timing this shit?”
“It works.” Sort of.
“But you don’t need to be so anal anymore. You can relax a little.”
Griffin unsheathed his baton and flexed the length until it expanded into the bo-staff. “I’ll relax when I’m dead.”
They crept through a dirty snow-littered alley and glided through a side street, trying not to squelch in the puddles. When they got near the warehouse in question, and realized there were too many people around, they scaled the adjacent two-level building and hit the rooftop. Crouching low, they approached the lip of the building and peered over, careful not to dislodge the crest of snow.
“How many you got?” Evan asked, voice low and gravelly.
Anticipation filled the air.
He sent out his sense of greed and tracked the signatures emanating from individuals. Down in the alley separating them from the warehouse, he sensed five loitering around a parked car. Metal coated his tongue as his ability brushed upon their concealed weapons. Three of them carried big assault rifles, another a smaller gun he postulated as Uzi-like from its shape and size, and the fourth and fifth carried something like pistols. He relayed the information to his brother and was rewarded with a muttered curse, then: “That’s a lot of bang-bang.”
“More inside.” Griffin shifted uncomfortably. If only one of those bullets went astray, it could mean trouble.
“How are you with that much metal, bro?”
“You’re referring to my new skill?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know. Haven’t tested that much. When I pulled the imposter’s pistol, it was the only one I focused on.”
“What about high speed projectiles?”
“Mary threw shuriken at me during training. I was able to stop them all before they got to me. Two at a time. Six in total.”
“Good enough for me. Shouldn’t happen, but worst-case scenario they pop a few off, that’s your responsibility, got it?”
Griffin’s stomach twinged.
Greed.
Coming in fast.
Further along the alley, near the exit at the street he felt another group of people silently approaching with the sense of sin pulsing gently from their cores. Four in total. Possibly not related to the mob in the alley, maybe even a group of waylaid homeless people. Inside the warehouse, out of sight, was a further five.
“I’ve got fourteen,” he murmured.
“Really? I’ve got fifteen. You must be going soft, brother.”
Griffin counted again. “No. Definitely fourteen.”
“Shit.” Evan went silent while his pointed finger bobbed methodically as he recounted. “Fifteen. Six in the warehouse. Five in the alley. Four approaching.”
Why would they have a discrepancy? Evan sensed envy, he sensed greed. Most people always felt something. Why would one person have no greed?
The floor tilted and Griffin had to sit back from the edge. “That’s not possible,” he breathed. “She said she’d stay home.”
“Aww, dog. Your girl’s got guts.”
Griffin couldn’t respond, his mind was stuck on the woman inside the warehouse surrounded by all that sin. His girl, his balance, his… she wasn’t his anything… yet.
“What are the odds,” Evan whispered.
Griffin’s gut churned, thinking the worst before his rational mind caught up.
“You got those smoke bombs from Flint?” he asked.
Evan pulled two metal orbs from his cargo pocket.
“Good.” Griffin took one and rolled the icy ball in his palm. The sense of metal connected with him on a molecular level. The round item buzzed in his palm and he could feel the object’s construction. An inch in diameter, etched on the outside, hollow in the middle. On second thought. “Give me both.”
He could use them. He could control them.
“We disarm the men outside first, then go in the warehouse over the roof, drop the bombs, then get the rest. I’ll get Lilo. You get her father. You cool with that?”
“As a cucumber.” Evan pressed his finger to his ear. “Ground control to Major Tom.” He hesitated, then updated Flint on their situation, requesting backup.
Two-seconds later, a slice of pain pierced Griffin’s gut, and he doubled over with a grunt, hand splayed on the roof for support.
“What’s wrong?” Evan paused.
“It’s another signature. Deadly. It’s Doppenger.”
A shot fired from inside the warehouse and Griffin’s heart leaped into his throat.
“Shot fired,” Evan said into his comms. “Doppenger is here.”
Lethal intent washed over Griffin, and he threw the metal orbs over the edge to hover with his power. He took a running jump and launched before Evan could speak.
Suddenly, in that airborne moment, he knew with all certainty that a life without Lilo wasn’t something he dreamed of.
That was his mate down there, surrounded with deadly greed, and she had no idea what she was up against.
Greed: A Superhero Romance (The Deadly Seven Book 2) Page 15
