Page 11 of Lily and her Mercenary (CHANGING OF THE GUARDS)

Ryker

I was the bait that night, standing beside her in the dim concrete belly of the parking garage under the closed grocery store. Our plan was stupidly simple: she and I loitered like decoys at the bottom level while Royal held position one floor up, primed to pick off anyone who got too close.

Matheson’s goons moved like specters—too precise, too fast, always two steps ahead. We hadn’t even crested halfway up the ramp when a black van glided in, sealing off our only exit.

“Oh, shit,” she hissed behind me, and I flattened us both against a support column.

The first shot tore through the silence of the night with a crack so loud it felt like the universe was snapping a bone. Concrete dust cascaded from the ceiling.

I caught her hand, counted on my fingers: three. A flicker of movement overhead. Two. Another shot—this one grazed her cheek, left a burning welt. One—

I shoved her down behind me and bolted from cover.

I hit the shooter in mid-swing, body-checking him into the slab-floor with a savage roar.

Limbs tangled, fists flew. Cries of surprise and pain echoed in the stairwell.

Then I twisted free, chest heaving, and landed atop him. His face was a mask of anger and blood.

“Who sent you?” I snarled, voice low and dangerous.

He spat, blood mixing with saliva. “Matheson. He wants the girl.”

“Why?” I pressed, clenched fist ready to fire the next punch.

“To get to Mia,” he rasped. “He’ll hurt her sister slowly— until Mia caves.”

My stomach pitched, but I tipped my head so she could see him. “Tell Matheson he’s an asshole,” I barked.

He laughed—a ragged, coughing sound. “Don’t worry. He’s coming himself. He wants to see her face when she dies.”

“Lily, look away.” Trusting that she did, I buried my knife into his throat. He went limp. I wiped the blade on his jeans, then rolled him under the nearest SUV. “Let’s move,” I said, voice flat.

Royal was already waiting, the old car running as we exited the garage. “Still sure you trust us?” he asked.

She looked at me, rain slicking her hair. Her lip trembled. I offered her my hand, steady, unwavering. “Yeah,” she said, though her voice shook.

On the drive to the next safe house, she clutched my hand like it was a lifeline. I gripped back so hard I feared I’d break her fingers. But she didn’t let go. She squeezed back, eyes fierce. I let that new version of her—brave, reckless, maybe a little insane—fill me with something like hope.

If Matheson wanted a message, we were going to write it in glitter and blood.

∞∞∞

The next few days passed in a haze of headlights and gunpowder.

I taught her how to hotwire a car; by dawn, she’d bypassed ignition relays like a pro.

I showed her how to shoot—she trembled the first time, missed by a yard, then swore she’d never miss again.

We slept by day, vanished by night, drifting through cheap motels under false names, burner phones buzzing with new coordinates.

Mabel adapted, too. Curling up against her side as if purring could stop a bullet.

When we weren’t running, we were planning.

Royal sketched out every public spot Matheson’s crew might strike.

I drilled her on the separation protocol: run hard; hide deeper; shoot only when you have to.

I started to resent his mercenary detachment.

As the target, she was a checklist to him.

To me, she was more. I knew it. She knew it. But neither of us said a word.

Then we got sloppy.

The fifth hotel in three days. We were spread too thin, not enough eyes, not nearly enough hours of sleep. The clerk at check-in gave a look that I should have caught, a reverent gaze that said he knew exactly who we were. I grabbed her hand, hard. Too late.

Before we reached the room, the world imploded. Gunfire crackled through the corridors, insistent and cruel. We ducked into the nearest door. Royal split right, circling back with military precision. A hail of bullets followed.

Pinned in a corner, I pulled her close, one hand on the Glock tucked into her waistband. “If I go down, don’t wait. Don’t listen. Don’t look back.”

“You better not,” she said. Then she grabbed the back of my neck and pulled me in for a kiss that left me spinning like the shell casings littering the floor.

Gunfire split the air again, and we ducked. I saw Royal down the hall, gesturing us forward. The moment stretched like firecrackers in slow motion. Another round shredded the corner of the wall beside us. I swore under my breath, tightening my grip on her hand. “Now or never!”

We tore through a barrage of bullets, headed towards Royal, and the back exit. Outside, the rain pounded down, turning the alley slick. I spotted a motorcycle leaning against the service entrance and made a beeline for it. “Can you ride?”

She didn’t answer, just swung onto the bike behind me, her arms locking around my waist. The engine roared, and we peeled down the alley, tires skidding on the wet pavement.

A black van screeched around the corner, headlights glaring like eyes in the night.

I pushed the throttle to the max, weaving between dumpsters and fire escapes.

Somewhere behind us, a second van followed. Two more motorcycles appeared from side streets, shadows with riders leaning low. I angled off the main road, twisting through alleys and narrow lanes, Lily’s grip steady around me.

Royal had to be close. I trusted him to hunt out a way to intercept us. As we shot onto a wider street, I caught the flicker of headlights. A white cargo van. He’d hotwired it and was barreling toward us through traffic like a madman.

“We’re close,” I shouted, feeling her nod against my back. “Hold on!”

The roar and slash of air deafened us as we ducked under an overpass, the bikes trailing close. I swerved, almost clipping a dumpster. One of the bikes veered off. The rider crashed, flipping to the pavement in a mess of sparks.

Royal cut them off, skidding the van across the road.

The last thing I saw before we vanished into the darkness was Royal, leaning out with his gun, picking off the second bike as it closed in.

An hour later, we found ourselves in the kind of place that never shows up on maps. A diner, a post office, and the smallest motel I’d ever seen, wedged between train tracks and an empty lot. I parked the bike in a wood lot down the street, and Lily slid off first, muscles stiff. “Are we—?”

“Safe,” I said. “For now.”

The word clung to everything between us, fragile but alive.

“I can’t believe we made it.” Her voice hovered between wonder and disbelief like she was afraid to breathe, afraid I might disappear.

“Never doubted it for a second.” I tried to grin, but she saw right through me.

The motel sign blinked: “ROOMS BY THE HOUR / SINGLE RATE NEGOTIABLE.” Every space in the lot was full. More bad news, or a blessing in disguise? I squinted at the dusty cars and RVs, half relieved and half skeptical.

She followed my gaze, reading the same thing I was. “Carnival in town?”

I nodded and discovered that my body ached from head to foot. But I didn’t let it show.

Inside the motel lobby, a man with an unkempt beard flipped through stacks of room keys by the register.

“Best you’ll get this week,” he wheezed, sizing us up. “Clogged with carnies. Fair’s in town.” He wore a faded ‘I LOVE CORNDOGS’ shirt and a skeptical frown. “Don’t suppose you care.”

“Room for three?” I handed him cash. He peered behind my shoulder like he expected an entourage.

“Two doubles. Kids sleep on the floor.”

“We’ll take it,” she said, looking tired enough to drop right there on the stained carpet.

Royal said a town this size would be off Matheson’s radar.

I hoped the hell he was right.