Page 29 of Danger Close (Mourningkill #3)

ICU

Teri

“This was an incredibly pleasant day, Charlotte,” I said as we walked out of the dress shop to the parking lot off the street. “Thank you.”

The night was cool, not cold. At least not yet. I had a new dress, courtesy of Joaquin Guerro, and I felt like I had made a friend.

“Don’t mention it.” Her smile was beaming. “I like how off-balance you make Cobra.”

My feet stumbled, as I laughed. “What does that mean?”

“I mean…” She waved around us, as if she was gesturing to the world. “Cobra is a very reserved man. He’s stoic, quiet. Nothing at all like his brother. I’m getting to know a whole different side of him through you.”

Charlotte said it with a genuine fondness, as we slowly made our way down the gravel parking lot, away from the reach of the streetlights by the main road.

“I might be betraying his trust, and definitely crossing some ethical boundaries, but…” She leaned into me, whispering, “You know, in the event something happened to him, he wanted everything he had to go to you. I even have a letter in my office, and it’s just him telling his brother to look out for you and Trinity, and to support you the way he would want him to. ”

“I didn’t know he had a brother until this week,” I admitted. “He must hate me.”

“He does.” Her bluntness was almost hurtful, but appreciated. “But if those were Cobra’s dying wishes, then…”

She stopped walking, grabbing my arm.

“Do you… get what I’m trying to tell you?” she said, her brows knit together.

I stared at her, blinking, not sure if I did. “That his brother doesn’t like me?”

“No, that he’s always—”

The sound of footsteps halted our conversation. There was that prickly sensation again. If I was a dog, the fur on the back of my neck would be standing straight up as I snarled at the threat.

Charlotte must have felt it as well. “Stay back.”

She and I both dropped our bags, letting them fall to the gravel around us.

The parking lot between two buildings was empty but for Charlotte’s SUV.

No street lights illuminated the back of the building.

We only knew they were there because of the change in the air, and the echoing of gravel, grinding beneath the rubber grips of a shoe.

I had no weapon. Not even my car keys which had pepper spray.

I looked at Charlotte’s hands, and while her keys looked sturdy, if these were Ray’s men, they’d make little difference.

“Charlotte,” I said, quietly. “Go to the car and lock the door. Drive away.”

Charlotte didn’t take her eyes off of them, but from what I could see of her expression in my peripheral vision, she had no intention of doing what I told her to.

“Do it.” I looked at the men, their build, even their clothes… They were muscular, with those tan pants that had a lot of pockets, and t-shirts that showed off built biceps, and muscular shoulders. They were government agents. I could tell.

They were Ray’s men. I had no doubt of it.

“Charlotte, go!”

“Fuck that noise,” she said viciously. “We don’t leave our own.”

“You don’t understand. You don’t know these people.”

“And you do?”

“Yes!” I hissed out the word with desperation, tugging on her arm, telling her to go. “They’re not here for you. Get away, before you get hurt.”

One of them had black hair, and a scar along his cheek. He smirked at me, his light eyes looking white and washed out in nothing but the silver moonlight. It was unsettling.

She turned her head for an instant, her face full of scorn. It wasn’t directed at me. It was directed at them . “No man gets left behind.”

It happened in an instant. The one with the scar lunged for Charlotte and she crouched to the ground. He toppled over her as she lurched forward, taking him by the center of gravity until he fell over her, his face scraped on the cement.

Another man had long hair, pulled in a ponytail. He leered at me, as he clicked his tongue.

“I’ve been wanting to meet you, baby,” he said in a mocking seduction that made my stomach twist. “I’ve heard a lot. Seen pictures, too.”

Bastard!

He laughed, and without provocation, I punched. My right fist connected with his nose in a sickening crack. I attacked first.

You shouldn’t punch people in the nose, not just because of the injury to them, but the injury to your hand. A fist is no good if you break it. Thankfully, mine was just tender. The throbbing ache on my knuckles would be nothing compared to how his face felt.

Fueled by years of misery, I fought, and fought. Whoever was before me, it did not matter. He was Ray. He was his effigy. I would break him. The third man tried to intervene. But I didn’t care.

Misery. Pain. Sorrow. Humiliation.

They were all there, spiraling out of control as tears streamed down my face.

The third man, clad in a bomber jacket and baseball cap kicked with his metal-toed boot, hitting me in the ribs.

I grunted, falling forward, as the man with the ponytail struck the blade of his forearm against my throat.

I dipped my chin, creating space between his hold and my skin so he couldn’t cut off my air as I stomped my foot onto his, wailing as I elbowed him in the ribs, then punched forward to hit the man with the bomber jacket.

Charlotte was still fighting, punching down at her opponent, far better trained than these people.

I should have expected that. If she was in the same line of work as Cobra, then surely she’d be a good fighter. I just… didn’t expect it from her, as I had only ever seen her maternally cooking for her “children”.

I elbowed Ponytail again, and again, until his grip around me loosened, and I could slip from his grasp.

“You okay?” Charlotte called, still busy with the scarred one.

“Yes,” I said, as I ducked down to avoid a punch from Bomber Jacket.

I was too slow and the impact hit my shoulder, but did not cause permanent damage.

Ponytail stepped in and he kicked my kneecap, taking me down to a knee with a yelp, while Bomber Jacket lunged forward, hitting me in the face again.

I felt the sickening crack as his knuckle hit my jaw, and I whined, feeling the old injury agitated once again.

But it didn’t break. Not really. It just hurt. I would not be eating liquids from a straw.

I grunted, pushing forward. Ambrose’s words stuck out in my head. Attack. I needed to attack.

Charlotte yelled like Serena Williams at Wimbledon with each of her hits. She hit a steady rhythm, pommeling her opponent. I didn’t need to concentrate on her. Not when I had two of my own to go after.

“Why… are you… here?” I said through panted breaths, my fists up, remembering everything I’d learned.

This was nothing but sparring. We hit one another at the gym all the time. It was a part of growing as a fighter. These men were not better fighters than Harrison Guile. Not by a long shot.

Ponytail spat blood to the ground, his eyes cruel and hard as he got ready for another bout.

I leaned in, determined to take it on the chin. I would not be powerless this time.

I bent my front knee forward, landing a front snap king to his ribs. He howled, tumbling, but not before his fingers grabbed at a chunk of my hair.

He pulled me down with him, his fingers twining in the shoulder-length strands.

I punched, I kicked, and so did he. Bomber Jacket came from behind, kicking me in the ribs, the thighs, the shoulder, the elbows, anywhere he could get his foot on.

When he stomped down hard on my back, I fell forward, my face scraping on the concrete.

They walloped me, fists slamming into the back of my head as I struggled to stay conscious, my blood splattering in front of me.

Charlotte yelled, and I heard the definitive click-click of metal. I looked up, my one eye swelling, to see a gun at Charlotte’s jaw.

“Fuck!” I whispered.

“Quit fighting, and take it like a good girl,” said the scarred one. “It’ll be over soon.”

I looked at Charlotte’s terrified eyes. I had tried so hard… I had tried so, so, so hard to not be defenseless. But I still was.

“You gonna be good or am I going to blow your friend’s head off?” he purred, his finger on the trigger, tensed, ready to squeeze.

Everyone stilled. His friends sneered, knowing they had won.

They were bruised, bleeding, and battered, too. So that was something.

I pushed myself to a kneeling position, but didn’t try to stand. They might think I was defying them and hurt Charlotte.

Between me, and Charlotte? It was an easy choice. Charlotte was loved. She was a part of a family. She was necessary. Someone would miss her. My daughter would miss her.

Me? I was an afterthought. A vestigial appendage, forgotten and unneeded. I’d trade my life for hers.

I nodded, unable to speak.

Maybe they would finally kill me. I just hoped that when they were through, it wouldn’t be too painful.

I knew what would come next. The hits, the punches, the kicks. I let it happen, limp, and empty. I let my body take it, as I built up my defenses, circling the wagons around my mind. But at the rate they punched and kicked my head, my mind might scramble, and break like an uncooked egg.

“Just… kill… me,” I said, tasting blood.

I smelled it, too, gasping for air through my mouth because my nose was blocked. Likely, it was broken again.

Ponytail kicked me in the face, and threw me down to the ground. My skin scraped raw, as Bomber Jacket kicked my ribs like a soccer ball.

Something cracked, the wind knocking out of me. Ponytail stomped down on my calf, and I screamed, feeling the impact in my knee, my hip, my ankle, praying that nothing was dislocated.

They hurt me, again and again, their violence reaching a fevered pitch. They had smelled my blood in the water, and would devour me in their frenzy.

The familiar click-click of a knife, quiet, but so, so loud at the same time, broke through my haze.

“Message for you,” Ponytail said, with glee in his eyes as he bunched my shirt in his fist, lifting it to reveal my bare stomach. He pressed the tip of his blade into the skin and began slashing.

I didn’t need to look. I knew what he was writing on my flesh. Three letters. A reminder.

He finished his last curved stroke when the roar of an engine distracted all three of them, their heads turning at the sound of a large truck rushing too fast down the road. Sirens followed, as a black and white police car pursued them.

I looked too, hoping beyond hope that the police cruiser would turn and see us, but it didn’t. It was too focused on its pursuit.

But in the distraction, Charlotte had moved, disarmed the scarred one, his gun in her hand.

“Leave,” she commanded through her teeth. “You don’t know who I am, but I can put a bullet in all three of your heads and no one will ever find your bodies.”

She stepped forward, the pistol pointed at the scarred one’s forehead.

She moved forward, and he stepped back, and I realized what she was doing.

She was turning him, shepherding him so that he and his friends were closer together.

So that she could kill them in three quick shots, just like she said.

“Can you get up, Teri?” she asked.

I didn’t bother telling her that I had no choice. I pushed off the concrete, moving to my knees. Pain shot through every part of me. At a speed that would have made a sloth impatient, I got to my unsteady feet. I groaned, feeling dizzy and stumbling.

“Get to the car,” Charlotte ordered, and I complied as best as I could.

I stepped, one foot in front of the other, moving slower than a zombie lumbering through a bad B-movie.

“Wait,” I stopped, turning back to the men.

“What?” Charlotte said, frustrated.

“The dresses,” I whimpered, as I bent down to pick up the bag I had dropped. “Cobra…” I grunted as I tried to straighten.

The dress felt heavier than a ton of bricks as the shopping bag’s handles cut into the tender skin of my hand.

“He paid for the dress. I can’t—”

“He’ll buy you a new one! He won’t care! Go!”