Hustle Page 15

  She points to the scar under her eye. “This beauty? They did this with a fucking butter knife. Who the fuck does that? Heating it up in a fire, pressing it into my face. Fucking animals.”

  She shakes her head looking up at the roof. A sliver of hope works its way inside me that yes, maybe I am getting through here, that I’m relating to her somehow. “You think I’d be broken after something like that, wouldn’t you?” she says.

  “I, I don’t know,” I stutter.

  “You know what? That experience cut something out of me, surgically removed this thing I never knew was keeping me down. I should thank those bastards in a way, for making me stronger, stronger than I ever thought possible, more than human.”

  Now’s the time. “We can get you help.”

  “’We?’” laughs Triss. “Save the appeals, little girl. I don’t give a fuck, and if Gabe won’t see we belong together, that he owes me that much at least, then…” she cuts off. “I suppose it’s best for you if I don’t speculate.”

  She stands and kicks the crate away, tapping the pistol against her leg. “By the way, Gabe called while you were snoozing.”

  Hope blooms again, but fades fast when I realize he’s not here. I’ve got to keep her talking. “What did he say?”

  “He hasn’t even noticed you’ve gone, you know. He couldn’t care less.” She shrugs. “Oh, well. It’s all for the best, I suppose.”

  She smiles and walks off, the gun continuing to tap against her thigh.

  She reaches the side door and opens it, disappearing from sight.

  Sitting there, it all becomes clear.

  She’s going to kill me.

  I don’t know why she hasn’t already.

  I try to shift against the cuffs, but they’re too tight.

  Breathe. Just… breathe.

  I take stock. Gabe has no idea where I am. I don’t have my job anymore, so no one else knows I’m missing.

  Think.

  It comes to me. I remember Gabe talking about the time he had to break his thumb to get out of handcuffs. What did he say?

  I try to piece that conversation together, but there’s so much noise in my head right now it’s hard to concentrate. My heart’s pumping hard, my pulse racing.

  I force myself to breathe deeply, but I can’t afford to waste time here.

  It’s a better option than sitting here waiting to die.

  I place my thumb outwards against the bottom of the chair and start to rock forward. There’s pressure there, but it’s not so bad.

  You’re not seriously going to this, are you?

  I’m not sure what the alternative is. The longer I wait here, the greater the chance Triss is going to wise up and shoot me in the head.

  I grit my teeth and go to snap forward, placing what weight I have on the thumb, but I chicken out.

  Come on, Shan.

  I picture Gabe. I don’t want to lose him—not now. I know how good we can be together.

  I grit my teeth together and slam forward as hard as I can, way harder than I realize.

  That does it alright.

  At first, there’s not a great deal of pain. I’m vaguely aware of the way my thumb is hanging, separated from the joint.

  That wasn’t so bad, was it?

  Then it hits me. Maybe the adrenaline was holding it off, but when the pain arrives it does so in gulping, heaving waves that slow my breathing and make my head spin with every intake.

  My ears are full of cotton wool, muffled. Nausea sweeps over me.

  Hold it together.

  Even with my limited medical knowledge, I know my thumb’s going to swell soon.

  I twist in the chair and try to pull my hand free, but the pain’s near-on unbearable. I want to let it out, force it from my mouth, but that would draw Triss’s attention.

  I can’t risk it.

  Do it!

  I press my teeth together hard enough for my jaw to hurt and pull my arm up. With another sharp twist my wrist pulls and comes free.

  I stare at my thumb, the cuffs hanging loosely from my other hand. My shoulders ache.

  My thumb is wrong. It’s all wrong—the angle of it, the color.

  The world starts to fade to a pinprick, but I won’t allow myself to faint. I can’t.

  With my good hand I reach down and start to tug at the rope binding my ankles to the chair. It takes some effort, the pain flaring, but finally I manage to strip them away.

  I’m free.

  I check for Triss, but she must still be outside.

  My thumb’s throbbing, already fat and enflamed.

  I stand, but immediately have to sit down. I’m woozy, know I’m pale, but I have to do this.

  I force myself to my feet again and hold the hand with the dislocated thumb close to my chest.

  I can’t exit using the door Triss went out of, so I start to move around the perimeter of the warehouse. The windows are covered, which isn’t helping, and there don’t appear to be any more doors out—until I spot one down the far end.

  I head towards it, each step sending a hot stab of up my arm.

  I’m going to get out of here. I’m going to live.

  I double the pace, running as much as the pain will allow until the door is within reaching distance. It’s not even closed fully, not locked at all.

  I reach for the handle when I see a shadow under the bottom of the door.

  No.

  I stop, glued to the spot.

  The sound of footsteps.

  I examine the shadow, listen.

  It’s not one shadow. There are two, two sets of something.

  The door opens slightly.

  It’s Gabe.

  I’ve never been so relieved to see someone.

  I basically throw myself at him, dive into his body, my head against his chest.

  I lift my head up to speak, but he clamps his hand over my mouth.

  It’s too late.

  I hear the gun cocking behind me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  GABE

  I’ve been so caught up trying to find her I never considered how it would feel to have Shannon back in my arms again.

  In a word, amazing, but there’s no time to dwell on it.

  Triss is standing not fifteen feet away, a SIG Pro semi-automatic aimed at Shannon’s back. “Don’t you move a single fucking muscle,” she warns.

  My first priority is to keep Shannon safe, but Triss is on edge here. The last thing I want to do is provoke her into doing something stupid.

  I keep my voice low and calm, speaking slowly as if to a child. “Triss, just let me take Shannon and go.”

  “Go?” she laughs, the pitch of her voice spiking. “No, I don’t think that’s going to work.”

  “It doesn’t have to be like this, Triss.”

  “You’re damn right about that. It can be you and me again, baby, just like old times. We have unfinished business. We need to teach those fuckers a lesson.”

  “We can talk about it all you want, I promise, but you have to let Shannon go first.”

  At the mention of Shannon’s name I see something snap inside Triss. I’ve been around her long enough to know her ticks, the small, imperceptible cues that give her away.

  Time slows. I see her face harden, the muscles in her arm tense and her finger add weight to the trigger.

  I act, pushing Shannon out of the way just in time.

  A gunshot rings out. I feel the weight of it shifting the air apart, barely missing Shannon’s head to drive into my upper arm.

  I grimace and drop, a hand coming up to cover the wound.

  Yep. Still fucking hurts.

  I drop low as two more gunshots follow from the doorway, Triss managing to take cover behind a stack of pallets, the bullets sending chips of wood spindling through the air.

  Jason pushes Shannon behind him and hunkers down, gun raised.

  I signal I’m okay and direct him forward towards Triss.

  I look down the side of the
pallets and realize Triss is boxed in. She’s got no way out without exposing her position.

  Jason gets Shannon to crouch down beside an old generator behind us, tells her to stay put.

  I take out my weapon and lift it, Triss’s round burning in my arm.

  I see a raised platform running above us. I motion Jason to take up position there. He moves away, headed for the stairs.

  Triss steps out from her cover and fires, the bullet ricocheting off the back of the warehouse.

  She moves back behind the pallets.

  “Let’s end this, Triss,” I shout. “You’re outnumbered, with more on the way.”

  I’m bluffing, but she doesn’t need to know that. Then again, I don’t want to feel like the only way out of this for her is with guns blazing either. I have to talk her down.

  Good luck with that.

  “You want to end this?” she shouts back, not a hint of exhaustion or panic in her voice. “You owe me, baby. You know you do. You left me there. Everything that happened to me in that fucking shithole was because of you. It’s all your fault. You touch something and it turns to shit. You know it, I know it, but at least if we’re together we can deal with it.”

  “That’s never going to happen, Triss. We’re done.”

  “I was afraid you’d say that.”

  Jason is only just getting into position. I signal for him to engage, but Triss has already spotted him. She fires, three times in quick succession, the shots hitting him square in the chest. He buckles forward and goes over the railing, the sickening thud of his buddy hitting the floor following.

  Shit.

  I can’t get to him without exposing myself. Even so, I can feel the wet heat of blood running down my arm, the dull tapping in my head telling me I’m going to have to deal with this, and soon.

  Not yet.

  Shannon’s pressed up hard against the back of the generator. I notice something’s wrong with her hand, her thumb.

  Triss screams and rushes out towards our position, firing as she comes.

  I return fire, but she’s coming too fast, managing to snake around the other side of the generator and drag Shannon away.

  Fuck!

  I stagger up and follow with my gun in front of me, rounding the corner carefully.

  Triss has Shannon pressed up against her, one arm around her throat, the other holding the gun to the side of her head. I can see Shannon’s chest puffing in and out. She’s terrified.

  I narrow the distance to twelve feet, maybe less. “Let her go, Triss. This is between you and me.”

  It sounds so cliché, so predictable, but I don’t know what else to say. Give her what she wants. “You win,” I tell her. “I’ll go back with you to Iraq. We’ll find every fucker who hurt you. We’ll kill them all, fuck up everyone they hold dear. You have my word. Is that what you want?”

  She’s smiling. “Yes. Let’s be together, just the two of us.”

  I know she’s going to do it. She’s going to take out the only obstacle standing in her way.

  A moment passes between us, a look. We were good together, unstoppable, but whatever Triss has been through, it’s changed her.

  Shannon closes her eyes. She knows what’s coming.

  I’m not going to let it happen.

  I have to put Triss down.

  Before Triss fires, I squeeze the trigger.

  The round hits Triss right in the shoulder, pinning her arm back against the wall, the SIG dropping away.

  I run for her, separating Shannon and taking hold of Triss’s arm, forcing her to the floor with my knee in her back.

  She’s screaming—not from the pain, but the defeat. “Why?!” she screams at me, thrashing on the ground. “Why?!” She’s hysterical.

  I kick the pistol away.

  I glance down to my vest, looking up to Shannon. “The cable-ties there. Take them out, put them around her wrists.”

  Shannon steps over and removes them, placing one around Triss’s wrists while she continues to twist and thrash. She pulls.

  “Tighter,” I instruct her.

  I tell her to do the same with her ankles, hauling Triss up and placing her against the wall, but any will she had is gone. She knows it’s over, continuing to mumble “Why?” staring straight ahead, lost in her own thoughts.

  I take the pistol off the floor place it behind my back, keeping my weapon trained on Triss while I head over to check on Jason.

  He moans when I roll him over. His vest took the bullets, but he’s going to have one hell of a bruise-fest come morning.

  “My arm?” he says, grunting.

  “Broken?”

  “I think so. Triss?”

  “Immobilized.”

  I pat him twice on the chest. “Sit tight.”

  I have Shannon call nine-one-one, have her wait outside while I watch Triss, her lips moving but whatever woman I once knew is gone for good.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  SHANNON

  As soon as the paramedics have finished tending to Gabe’s arm, I rush over and kiss him, happy to have his lips on mine once more, the steady thump thump of his heart against my own. This could have gone a very different way.

  I break away, breathless, holding up my bandaged hand. “I don’t even feel it.”

  “You will.”

  I sit beside him on the back of the ambulance. “How did you guys find me?”

  “I had to call in some serious favors,” says Gabe.

  “Did you track her cell or something?”

  “Her cell was off… but yours wasn’t. It was in her car the whole time.”

  We watch as Triss is loaded into the back of a cruiser. The carpark’s full of flashing lights, a black SUV pulling up to join the throng.

  Gabe nods towards it. “Here comes the cavalry.”

  “What’s going to happen to her?” I ask.

  Gabe shakes his head slowly. “Who knows? I hope she gets the help she needs, but I doubt she’ll be seeing the outside world for a while.”

  “Are you okay?” I ask.

  He pulls me into his side. “I’m fine.” He holds his arm up, twisting it to show the back of his bicep. “The poor gecko copped it, though.”

  I smile and reach down to his crotch. “I’m sure I can nurse him back to health.”

  *

  I roll over each morning expecting Gabe to be gone, but each morning he’s right there beside me. It’s been nothing but bliss this last week.

  He’s watching me. “Morning, beautiful. Is it alright that I’ve kicked the kids out of the bed?”

  He’s talking about the gliders—both of whom have developed quite a liking for the new man in the house. He’s even started to feed them. We’re considering a shelter dog as well.

  I throw a leg over him. “I think they’ll survive. As for me…”

  He kisses me before continuing to stare. The sling is gone, a simple patch covering the spot where the bullet entered his arm. The inflammation in my thumb has gone down considerably. It looks less like a clown horn now. “Have you heard anything about Triss?”

  I’m not sure why I ask this. It’s a sure-fire way to dampen the mood, but I also know Gabe will be thinking about her, whether he wants to or not. They spent a lot of time together. You don’t simply stop caring about someone when they run off the rails. In fact, you probably start caring more.

  He leans back on the pillow, his good arm behind his head, looking up to the ceiling. “I have. She’s been taken to an Army treatment center, looks likely to get help of some description, though I was warned off visiting, which I think is best. She needs time.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “What for?” He starts to tick things off on his hand. “You were drugged, kidnapped, tied up, and you had to dislocate your fucking thumb to get out. I mean, you are badass, Shannon Bailey.”

  Pride swells. “You think so?”

  “G. I. Jane, watch out. You can have my back any day of the week.”

  I l
augh, the hot hardness of his cock welcome. “I don’t think you’d want that.”

  “You’d look so hot in camo—K-bar in one hand, M16 in the other, rising from the water.”

  I laugh again and reach under the sheets to find his organ, warm and heavy in my hand. “Is this the K-bar you’re referring to?”

  I realize now I’ve been staring at him, caught in the cool vortex of his eyes.

  I open my mouth to speak. He meets it.

  I know now this is right. His lips fall on my own. They mold together. His hand is on my leg. I bring my hand up to cradle his chin, his neck, trying to press him deeper into me.

  My breathing has increased. I’m suddenly hotly aware of my heart beating, my pulse rising swiftly.

  I run my fingers up the back of his head, raking them through his hair as our tongues meet and roll between us. They twist in the heated ocean there as his hand continues its exploration, passing below my panties, searching.

  He pulls me closer and my legs fall apart automatically. I can feel the distinct pull of excitement gathering at my core. I’m well wet before his fingers fall into the crevice and seek my center.

  Our hands run over each other as the kiss remains unbroken above. We’re both breathing deeply, ragged, desperate to be one.

  I’m suddenly burning up. It’s all suffocating, my body building a steady sweat below that rises around us, heady and tempestuous. And I want this. I want him so bad it physically hurts. There’s an ache between my legs begging to be filled, pulsing in time with my temples.

  I pull away to catch my breath, my lips aflame, my mouth unexpectedly dry.

  My hands are on his chest now. There they find hard planes of muscle, the rise and fall of toned abdominals, scars…

  I move my fingers to his back and press him forward, twisting my head sideways as his lips move up the side of my neck, a moist trail cooling as the tip of his tongue finds the outer shell of my ear and curls around it, his hand rising up my neck to meet it while the other, between my legs, meets resistance.

  “You’re wet,” he whispers in my ear as his fingers probe at the ebony gauze encasing my cleft.

  “Aren’t I always?” I reply, my voice husky with need.

  He brushes the material aside and a single digit slips inside to the second knuckle.

  I gasp aloud at the intrusion, the simple ease by which he’s penetrated me, the shock at the level of my desire and the easy egress it has allowed.