Some of the officers look at me funny. Or in awe. The foundation donates significant sums of money every year to the department, to be used for fallen officers’ surviving families and for college scholarships for the officers’ children. Many of them know me as Elizabeth King’s assistant. They probably suspect I don’t spend my entire day alphabetizing files and organizing paper clips. But it’s the first time they’ve gotten a sense of what I’m capable of. I’ve always wanted to avoid that, but keeping Angelika after Roy’s gone is the higher priority.
I respond to everything, then act like I’m shaken by what happened. My voice trembles, my hands clenching and unclenching. The heels of my feet tap, then stop, then tap again. I bury my face in my hands every so often, like I can’t bear the memory of the thugs lying on the bloody floor. Two are dead, and the third one is alive, but he’s an idiot now.
God, I’m good. I wanted the third alive as a brain-damaged fool. And I know just how much force to exert to get the result I want.
But I can’t let the police see how satisfied I am with the outcome. So I keep on acting.
Yes, I am a longtime practitioner of many different types of martial arts. Of course I was scared, but I was more fearful for Angelika’s safety than mine. Yes, I care about her. We live together, and I like her. I wanted to help. I wasn’t sure if I should have waited. I don’t know.
The police nod. They found three guns that belonged to the gangbangers. Plus the knives. It’s obvious what I did was self-defense.
Even if they suspect something, Lizochka’s lawyer will make sure the jury thinks it was self-defense. And I give the cops nothing they can use against me.
Lizochka’s lawyer leaves along with the cops. Finally alone. Lizochka got me a private room, in case I need to stay overnight. I don’t, not because of some little prick with a cheap knife. I unbutton my dress shirt and untuck it as well. Must display my battle scar for full effect.
The door opens. I perk up a little, thinking the doctors are done looking Angelika over and she’s here to check up on me. But no. It’s Antoine.
I don’t bother to hide my displeasure. “What are you doing here?”
“I didn’t want to come either, but I figure you might want your car.”
Point taken, but other than Lyosha, I don’t like it when others drive my vehicle.
He adds, “Plus Elizabeth wants me here, just in case. She doesn’t like it that the guy who hired the thugs is still out there.”
“Was she that distraught?” And confused? She and I have known each other for a long, long time. She should know by now that Roy Wilks didn’t escape…contrary to what the police think.
“You’re obviously slipping. Getting stabbed? Really?” Antoine gives me a “you’re such a pathetic has-been” look.
I fantasize about kicking him in the face, but restrain myself. Angelika could walk in on us. I don’t want to show her my aggression. It’s time she becomes overwhelmed with gratitude and love.
“That guy’s a low-level thug who got initiated into the gang six months ago,” Antoine adds, obviously determined to taunt me until I lose my temper. But the day I let Antoine irritate me enough to deviate from my plan is the day I eat the cream of corn in my pantry.
“Maybe he got lucky,” I say nonchalantly.
He lowers his voice. “You faked it, didn’t you?”
I shrug. I’m not saying shit when he could be recording my answer. Antoine is loyal to Dominic, and he knows how much I hate his guts.
“You mocked Dominic constantly for taking a bullet to get Elizabeth, and you did something similar.”
Unlike Dominic, I was fighting three on my own. What can I do when the idiots couldn’t shoot, except to settle? Besides, the stab wound aches a little, even if it isn’t fatal. My plan was to take it in a non-vital area, but make sure I was covered in blood—not all of it mine. God only knows what plague those morons carry in their blood, but I figure with modern medical technology, they can cure me.
It’s an acceptable risk to keep the little fawn with me. No woman can dump a man who literally bled for her.
But before I could execute my plan, I heard Angelika’s breathing hitch, like she was about to hyperventilate but trying hard to be brave and control herself. And for some reason, that distracted me for a fraction of a second. Normally, my head is ice cold and steady when I fight. No exceptions. But that moment, something hot and feral raged in my mind, and I took the knife in the wrong spot—albeit not fatal and nothing too dangerous.
Still, I deviated from the plan. Got distracted.
Not good.
It’s the kind of thing that could get me killed. And the fact that she’s the only one who can split my attention means she’s…
Well. She holds my heart in her hands. More firmly, more permanently than I ever suspected possible.
I let myself smile, a little bit bemused, a little bit stunned.
Of course, what happened today will not happen again. Nobody will ever take my little fawn.
I study my upper body more closely. The medical staff did an impressive job of bandaging me. Plus my torso is black and blue. Not because the trio of hired imbeciles actually managed to connect with anything, but because I did it to myself after I took care of Roy and before I barged into the warehouse with the other three. My little fawn would find it odd if I were in pristine condition except for a knife wound. Details matter.
I know I did a good job because the nurse who came by earlier asked me if I was sure about not taking the pain meds. I told her I was certain. I want to be able to drive if Angelika wants to leave tonight.
“You’re sad,” Antoine says.
I ignore him. He knows how non-damaging the stab was. He also suspects I could’ve moved out of the way with time to spare. I will confirm nothing. I’ll be damned if I tell him I got distracted during a fight and received an unplanned version of the injury I was hoping to have.
The door opens, and…
Finally. I smile at the sight of Angelika walking in. Then I remember I’m supposed to be injured and wipe the grin off my face. Antoine raises an eyebrow, which I ignore.
She looks well, considering. A little pale. Her soft lips tremble. The blood has been wiped from her legs, but her shoes are still bloody. Those wide whiskey eyes are swollen and bloodshot from crying. Her wrists are bruised and chafed from resisting the cuffs. Seeing that makes me think I should’ve tortured the three a bit before killing them.
Well. There’s always Roy Wilks.
“Are you okay?” Her voice is raw and pained, like she’s the one who was stabbed.
More than okay. I’m feeling fantastic. But—must stick to the plan. “I’m not dead.”
She clasps her hands over her mouth, tears filling her eyes.
“Come.” I open my arms, then wince. I’m not faking that. The third moron stabbed me in the side, and it throbs when I spread my arms.
“Oh my God.” She rushes over like she’s about to throw herself on me.
I brace to catch her, but she stops right in front of me, then hesitates. “Oh my God,” she says again. “Look what happened to you…”
Some bruises and the little stab wound? I’ve been hurt worse, and I didn’t have anybody to shed pretty tears, either.