Page 37 of Legends: Easton (Legends of Fire Creek #3)

She knew what she wanted to do. She wanted to tackle him to the ground and slam his head against a rock until he went limp.

She wanted to yank that gun from him and put a bullet between his eyes.

Instead she raised her hands in a show of surrender.

Melvin’s mouth curved into a sneer that made her feel as if she was looking at the devil himself.

“Go ahead. Take your best shot,” she taunted him.

He shifted the barrel up to aim at her unprotected head. She lowered her hands and crossed her arms over her chest. Her responding sneer was full of contempt and was meant to mock him. Getting under his skin could work in her favor.

“We both know you won’t shoot me. That’s not what she wants, and we both know she’s calling all the shots.”

Bailee dropped to the ground the moment Melvin pulled the trigger. The clap of the bullet leaving the chamber echoed around them. The bullet buzzed over her head, but she didn’t give herself time to register just how close she came to dying.

She lunged forward, wrapped her arms around his calves, and jerked his legs forward.

He hit the ground with a thud. She wasted no time in going for the gun.

She gripped his wrist with both hands and beat it against the ground.

His other arm swung up, but she managed to jerk back to avoid a punch to the face.

She wasn’t so lucky on his second attempt.

His fist connected with her jaw with enough force to jerk her head to the side.

Her grip loosened on his wrist, and he shoved her off him.

Then he punched her again in her temple, and stars exploded in her vision.

The cry of pain escaped of its own accord, and her hands cradled her head as she blinked against the blackness closing in.

Once she fought through the pain, she raised her head, and her eyes crossed to see the gun barrel pressing against her forehead.

“Get up.”

Melvin’s words were clipped, ice dripping from his tone.

Her head pounded, making it difficult for her to think, and though he probably knew very well how much he’d incapacitated her with his punches, she refused to let her disorientation show.

Swallowing against the nausea rising from her stomach, she narrowed her eyes, both to appear menacing and to lessen the blurriness to her vision.

“Go to hell.”

“Get up or I’ll make you watch while I kill your boyfriend slowly and painfully.”

She no longer banked on the fact that Sabra was calling the shots. Sabra’s plan may have been to get Bailee here, but Melvin had no qualms with going off book. He would do as he threatened regardless of Sabra’s intentions.

She gingerly stood and froze as the earth shifted beneath her. Her head spun, and she closed her eyes against the sensation. She felt Melvin’s free hand patting her down, but she was struggling to focus. He pulled her gun from the holster and stopped searching.

His gun moved from her forehead to her ribs, nudging her none too gently. Breathing through her nose and out her mouth, she waited for the dizziness to pass before she took a step forward. Glancing over her shoulder, she kept her pace deliberate, buying herself as much time as she could.

“I don’t see it.” She paused to see if Melvin would rise to the bait, but he kept quiet, his footsteps barely audible behind her.

“I mean you’re not being paid to be here.

I checked, and Sabra doesn’t have the means to afford to hire anyone to help her.

So I’m guessing you’re here because the sex is that good, which I supposed could be enough motive for some people to break the law on behalf of someone else.

I mean, it’s not for me, but to each his own, right?

But Sabra is a junkie. She’s irrational and unstable.

Why would you want to be linked to someone so unpredictable? ”

They rounded the building back to the front.

Bailee scanned the perimeter, but all was still and quiet.

If Easton’s brothers were going to be her backup, they were taking their sweet time in arriving.

She felt sure they would figure out where to find her and Easton, but maybe she’d figured wrong.

Maybe she was on her own here, which meant she had to power through the concussion she was sure she had to come up with a plan.

“So how long have you known Sabra? Are we talking childhood sweethearts or strangers whose eyes met across a crowded room? No, I got it. Woman answers ad in mercenary magazine, and man can’t resist a challenge. Seems lame, but it makes the most sense.”

“The more you talk, the harsher your boyfriend’s torture will be.”

She released a loud sigh as she stopped in front of the door to the building. “He’s not my boyfriend. He’s a commitment phobe, so if you mention to him that you think he’s my boyfriend, he’s liable to go into anaphylactic shock. Just saying.”

“Funny. That’s not what he said. Open the door.”

Bailee stepped into a time warp. The inside was a dusty, yellowed version of the billiard room she visited at the young age of eighteen.

The pool tables were gone, but everything else about the space — the counter, chairs, pool cues, dart boards — was the same.

Her gaze fell on the spot in the wall, but Easton wasn’t in front of it.

The room was empty except for her and Melvin.

Another nudge at the small of her back had her stepping forward to the narrow hallway that led to the restrooms, if she remembered correctly.

Melvin’s boots weren’t as quiet on the concrete floor as they were outside.

The sound in the otherwise quiet space left her feeling like a death row prisoner walking toward her execution with the prison guard staying on her six.

She couldn’t suppress a shiver at the thought.

The door at the end of the hallway was closed.

The dark blue paint job was faded and chipped, and a rectangular space on the front was discolored as if something once hung there but had since fallen off.

A sign perhaps, but that wasn’t important, she reminded herself.

She turned the doorknob without waiting to be prompted.

Shoving the door open, she bit back a gasp.

Easton sat slumped over, his arms pulled behind him, likely secured to the chair.

He was still in his boxer briefs and barefoot, welts and gashes marring his body.

Blood ran freely from the wounds, so she couldn’t determine how bad his wounds were.

But she figured they were bad since he was unconscious.

Sabra stepped into view, her expression cold and her eyes vacant.

Her skin was dry, deeply lined with wrinkles.

Her cheeks hollowed out. No amount of makeup could hide the signs of prolonged drug abuse, though she tried with thick black eyeliner, dark blush, and bright red lipstick.

Her black hair hung limply around her shoulders.

Her outfit, black from head to toe, clung to her generous curves like a second skin.

“Come in, Officer,” Sabra sneered, baring crooked and yellow teeth. “I’m surprised you took so long to get here. I had just decided to put your poor boyfriend out of his misery.”

She pulled an automatic from behind her and held it beside her face, the muzzle pointed the ceiling. Bailee hadn’t been around the woman much. While she was undercover, her path never crossed with Sabra.

Most of what she knew she learned from Shantayle. Her CI spoke of her mother as a broken woman who loved her daughter in her own way but had no idea how to show it. Bailee once felt sorry for Sabra, considering her a victim of the gang life she couldn’t escape. Now, she felt…nothing.

Bailee crossed her arms over her chest, rolling her eyes but immediately regretting the move when the dizziness returned. She pushed through the sensation to glare at Sabra.

“What is it with you two? Threatening to shoot people but never following through. All talk. No action.”

Fury blazed in Sabra’s eyes, and she lowered the gun to point at Bailee’s chest. “You want me to drop you right now? Just keep talking, bitch!”

Sabra’s screech was rough to Bailee’s ears, and she winced. Maybe she should rethink her plan to provoke them until they got sloppy and she could act.

Sabra stepped closer, her crazy eyes fixed on Bailee. “Did you search her?”

“Found her gun. She’s alone,” Melvin answered.

“You hope,” Bailee retorted.

“Oh, we know you’re alone,” Sabra returned smugly. “I told you to come alone, and you aren’t going to do anything to get your boyfriend killed. Too bad you weren’t as concerned with my daughter’s life as you are with his.”

“You mean, as concerned as you were with Shantayle’s life?

You know when Shantayle came to me that night we first met, she told me about you.

She came to you first when she found out what T-Loc wanted to do.

What was it you said to her? Oh, yeah. It was her fate in life.

A rite of passage. You drove her to me that night.

Instead of protecting her from T-Loc, you were ready to hand her over.

Because if you allowed Shantayle to be pimped out to her father and grandfather’s buddies, it meant you wouldn’t have to anymore. You would be left alone.”

Bailee saw it. Brief as it was, Sabra’s hand gripping the gun trembled. The fire in her eyes lessened. She still regarded Bailee with hatred, but there was something else there. Could it be remorse?

Whatever it was, Melvin must have noticed it too. He moved from behind Bailee to stand beside Sabra. He kept his gun trained on her, but his free hand covered Sabra’s. He pushed her arm down until the gun was at her side. Then he leveled the gun at Bailee’s head.

“On your knees.”

Bailee refrained from uttering another sarcastic comment. The vibe in the room had shifted, and she sensed she lost the upper hand. As long as Sabra was calling the shots, Bailee had a chance of getting in her head.

But with Melvin stepping in, her leverage was shaky at best. She eased down on her knees, settling back on her heels, placing her hands on her knees. That’s when she saw it, out of the corner of her eye. Without being obvious, she flicked her gaze at Easton.

With his hands secured behind him, his arms bent at the elbows. It was a subtle movement, but those elbows flexed forward, much like a butterfly would flap its wings.

Easton was alive and conscious…and he was sending her a signal. She just wished she knew what that signal meant.