Go to Oscar’s house they said. Ha. Ha. Ha.
Deliriousness must be setting in. I really shouldn’t be laughing at a time like this.
Through the faint moonlight, a hedgerow comes into view that looks as if it dips into a bit of a ravine.
I head that way, hoping I can hide in the brush as guns fire behind me. My shirt snags on a branch and tears. Cold seeps underneath until my body goes numb. It’s a battle of cold versus hot within me as my adrenaline surges at the same time.
I skid down an embankment when a shadow leaps out of concealment. His surprise attack shocks me into freezing. His massive arms move around me, bear hugging me from the side.
His rank breath coats the side of my neck. “You’re not so tough, are you?”
Well, now, he really shouldn’t have said that.
I lift my foot and slam my heel down onto his foot. His growl turns into a yelp in my ear as I elbow him in the gut to create space.
He reaches out, his hand grasping for me. He catches hold of my shirt, and the sound of it tearing rips through the air.
Wonderful. I’m literally now wearing a scrap of clothing, that doesn’t hide anything, and panties.
I punch the interested look off his face as he basically drools over my chest. I give him a left cross. Blood spurts from his nose, coating me in it from the top half up. A stomp kick to the gut has him dropping back, falling on his ass. “Not so tough, huh?”
He spits out a ream of blood. He bares his teeth at me, and in the dim moonlight, he looks feral. Like some sort of animal that’s been washed up to take me out.
He tries to get to his feet again, but I lift my foot to round kick him in the head. Unfortunately, it doesn’t land. He grabs it, twisting until I fall to the ground.
He crawls toward me, deflecting my attempts to kick him away until he’s on top, unloading all of his weight on me as if he’s a sack of potatoes. I draw in a shaky breath, trying to wiggle my arms between us to give me some space, but he’s like a wet piece of clothing conforming to every available nook and cranny. It wouldn’t surprise me if the guy has trained in Jiu Jitsu.
Lucky for me, so have I.
I elbow him in the face until he gives me enough space to get my arms inside. Then I hook my arms around him and push up while I use my feet as leverage to slide out. Once I’m free, I scramble to my feet, turn, and kick him in the chin while he’s on all fours.
He collapses onto the ground, moaning.
Fury rushes through me. I give him a few solid kicks to the ribs, hoping to incapacitate him so I can catch my breath.
I search the ground for the knife Magnum handed me, and by some dumb luck, I find it propped on a stone near where I skidded down the embankment. I grab it and hold it to the guy’s throat, pressing the tip in to let him know I have no qualms about killing him.
I mean, he probably already gathered that but I’m not going to let him get the jump on me. “Listen here,” I growl. “Who sent you?”
He coughs. Blood splatters over the pebbles where we are. His breathing doesn’t sound so hot. Shallow and gurgling. I probably broke a rib or two, which he fucking deserves.
Up over the ridge of the ravine, the gunfire ceases. If I was certain Magnum or Johnny were around, I’d yell for them, but if there is anyone up there, it might be this asshole’s buddies, and I don’t need him having backup.
“Who are you?”
“Fuck you, Princess,” he spits.
My lips curl. I actually kind of like it when he says it like that. All distasteful. Filled with fury. It felt like I deserved it. “I’m not asking you, I’m fucking demanding you tell me who you are and who you’re associated with.” Let’s get real. This isn’t some random...what? Bombing? And then subsequent gunfire? Come on. You’d have to be a total ditz to believe that.
Plus, it’s awful fucking suspicious that it felt like an explosive went off the day Johnny got back from Chicago. He’s called the Rocket for that reason.
“What are you going to do? Kill me?”
I slip the tip of the knife in further, a stream of blood coating his neck. “Think I won’t?”
“I think it doesn’t matter because I believe in what I’m doing, and I’d rather die than give anything up.”
Well, Christ. That’s completely nuts, but also impressive. I haven’t been properly trained in interrogation techniques. Everything I know I learned from movies, so here goes.
I reach under him and grab his balls. He howls.
“Tell me everything you know, or your sac is the first thing to go.”
He thrashes around, and I have to kick him in the ribs a few times again.
Voices sound above the ridgeline. It’s too dark, and the brush is too thick to see who it is. I crouch low, wishing the asshole here could breathe a little more quietly.
“Did you see where she went?”
“This way,” Johnny answers.
Footsteps skid against pebbles, and it sounds as if they’re going right by me. I have to make a split-second decision to give my position away. I don’t know who else is out there, but if Johnny and Magnum are having a conversation, it must be fine.
I hope.
“Johnny! Mag!”
Footsteps crunch in the gravel. “Did you hear that?”
“Mag,” I call out.
“Over here!” Johnny yells.
The asshole coughs, and I move the blade back to his neck. I eye the shrub line and then glance back to the guy, darting between the two threats. Finally, a figure steps through the branches at the spot where I came down. Two shadows descend the embankment. The one in the back aims a gun at dipshit’s head.
“Kyla,” Johnny says, feet working over the uneven terrain as he makes his way over. He assesses me, pulling his shirt off and handing it to me when he sees what I’m left wearing. He gently takes the knife from my hand, and I pull the shirt over my head, covering my body again and ripping the already shredded shirt away from me.
“Did he...?” Johnny asks, scanning me for evidence.
I shake my head. “Not sure he could have. Seems like a pussy to me.”
The guy does this weird sort of cough-laugh that’s more gurgle than anything else. “Bitch.”
Mag cocks the gun. “I’d watch what you say if I were you.”
“He told me he’d rather die than tell me who he’s working for.”
Johnny bends, grabbing my scraps of shirt before placing his knee into the small of my attacker’s back. While Magnum holds him at gunpoint, Johnny ties his hands together behind his back, and then kicks him over until he rolls onto his back. “Recognize him?”
Mag peers down, brow cinching. “No.”
“Me either,” Johnny huffs. “We’ve got to blindfold this asshole and get to the safe house.”
Safe house? This is news. I thought the tower was the safe house. An impenetrable fortress. What ever happened to that idea?
“I’ll get us a car,” Mag says. He lifts his shirt, putting his gun in the back of his waistband. He walks by, gaze sliding over me. He, too, searches for injuries. Other than some cuts and scrapes, my right arm is a little sore. I’m pretty sure I used it to catch some of my fall when I came down the ravine.
Johnny beckons me forward, and I move toward him. He puts his arm around my shoulders, and I place my palm on his chest. His skin is cool to the touch.