by CW Browning
Michael sucked in his breath and turned, wrapping his arms around Angela as he swiftly moved her down the sidewalk, keeping her face pressed into his chest. A second later, there was a thud behind them, accompanied by an awful crunch.
Angela trembled in his arms. “Was that...did he...”
“Don’t think about it,” he said grimly, “and don’t look.”
He turned her around and pulled her up against his side, hustling her down the sidewalk toward the parking lot. He didn’t know what was going on, or who these people were, but they were clearly on their side, and he wasn’t about to look a gift-horse in the mouth.
“I don’t understand,” Angela stammered, gagging. “How does someone pitch someone else off a roof?”
“I said don’t think about.”
“How can I not think about?!” she cried. “A man just went splat! How are you not thinking about it?!”
“How? Because if he hadn’t gone splat, chances are high he would have put a bullet in one or both of us. So no, I’m not really concerned that he just nose-dived four stories.”
“But...but...” she stammered, a violent shudder going through her.
“Stop. Think about something else.”
“Something else? Like what?”
“I don’t know. Think about puppies. Kittens. Think about Bella.”
“Oh my God, Bella!” she gasped. “Where’s my cat?”
“She’s fine. She’s at Alina’s. Stephanie’s taking care of her.”
“Oh, thank God!”
Michael glanced down at her. After everything that had happened, and was still happening, the woman was worried about her cat. Something akin to respect rushed through him and he shook his head. Angela had been through a hell not of her own making and was still standing. He wasn’t sure he knew many people who would be handling this as well.
They reached the parking lot and a tall, stocky man moved out of the shadows near a black Escalade. Michael raised his gun, but the man held his hands up to show he was unarmed.
“There’s no need for all that,” he said, his voice low and deep. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
“So have others,” Michael retorted, not lowering his weapon. “How do I know you’re not one of them?”
“We have a mutual friend,” the man said with a shrug. “She said you’d want proof.”
“And?”
The man sighed. “She said for you to go to Arlington. She left something there for you. Said you’d know where to look.”
Michael’s heart skipped and he slowly lowered the gun. “Is that so?”
The man looked at Angela and shook his head.
“I think maybe we better get her to a hospital,” he said, opening the back door of the Escalade. “She’s not looking so good.”
Michael glanced down at Angela, then back at the man.
“Do you have a name?”
“Stefan.”
Michael sucked in his breath and felt his lips tremble suddenly. Of course! Stefan Delgado. That was why Alina had been adamant about him not mentioning his profession.
“Nice to meet you, Stefan,” he said, moving forward and gently pushing Angela toward the SUV. “I’m Mike.”
Angela looked at him dubiously and he nodded. She turned back and climbed into the SUV with difficulty, biting her lip in pain. Michael waited until she was inside, then moved to get in beside her. Something made the hair on his neck stand up and he turned his head, scanning the parking lot. His eyes lit on a black town car near the entrance. Idling partly in darkness, the back of the car was under the glow of a street light and he could just make out that the back window was down. As he looked, the tinted window slid up slowly, but not before he recognized Frankie Solitto in the back.
Michael looked at Stefan, startled, and Stefan smiled faintly.
“He wanted to be here personally, to make sure you’re taken care off,” he said. “Anything you need, it’s yours.”
Michael studied him for a minute. “Our mutual friend?”
Stefan nodded. “Our mutual friend.”
Michael’s lips twisted into a smile and he got into the Escalade. Stefan closed the door and he looked at Angela. She was exhausted and looked like she was about to pass out.
“It’s over,” he said quietly. “We made it.”
Angela was silent for a moment, then she raised eyes swimming with tears to his.
“We made it, but what about Lina?”
He stared at her wordlessly. He had nothing to offer her, no words of comfort or encouragement. He had no idea what was happening on the yacht, or if Alina would survive. All he knew was that he had done what he promised her he would. Angela was safe.
And in the process, he had failed to keep his promise to her brother.
Chapter Forty
Roberto smiled coldly, his eyes glinting in the moonlight.
“You picked the wrong boat, bitch,” he snarled. “Do you have any idea who you’re messing with?”
Viper didn’t answer. She looked at the blade in his hand and raised her hand to touch her side. It came away sticky with blood but the wound, while deep, appeared to be essentially harmless. Confident that it hadn't hit any major organs, she smiled.
“Oh, I know,” she said softly, straightening up. “I would have thought you got the message when Jenaro’s head arrived in Mexico. I don’t think you have any idea who you’re dealing with.”
At the mention of Jenaro, Roberto growled and lunged at her with the knife again. This time, Viper was ready. She blocked the blow easily and swept her leg to the side, knocking his plant foot off balance as she followed up with her right hook into his gut. Roberto grunted and doubled over as he fell against the wall. Recovering quickly, he moved the arm holding the knife in a slashing motion towards her neck. She parried the blow easily, closing her fingers around his wrist and squeezing the pressure points until his hand went numb and the knife dropped to the floor. Kicking the dagger to the right, she heard it slide across the deck and over the edge.
Robbed of his weapon, Roberto drove his other hand into her gut, robbing her of breath and causing her to double over. Pain shot up her side as her muscles contracted and Viper sucked in air as stars exploded behind her eyelids. An involuntary grunt escaped her lips, and then fury took over. The anger that had been simmering beneath the surface ever since John died boiled up inside her, filling her with an intense rage the likes of which she hadn’t felt in years.
Completely unaware of the pressure keg that had just been tapped, Roberto raised a beefy fist to drive it into her head. It never made it. Still doubled over, Viper raised her hand, grabbing the fist and holding it at bay. There was a moment of stunned silence as Roberto realized that the hand blocking his blow was much stronger than he had given it credit for. Rage had given Viper new strength and she pushed his arm back as she straightened up, driving her left fist into his jaw. He stumbled back and let out another grunt of pain.
“Is that all you’ve got?” he demanded, looking at her as blood dripped from the side of his mouth. “It’ll take a lot more than that.”
He charged her and Viper side-stepped easily, grabbing his shoulder and slamming him into the wall, using his own forward motion against him. His face slammed into the paneling and she heard a decisive crunch as his nose broke. Before he could recover, Viper kicked the inside of one of his legs, sending it sideways as he let out a bellow of pain. Still refusing to go down, he spun around and used the wall for support while he stared at her. Blood was pouring from his nose and his mouth now, yet he smiled.
“You’ll never win,” he gasped, spitting blood onto the deck. “We’ve already won. Your friend below deck? He’s dead. I killed him myself. Those bombs that he was setting up? They’ll never go off.”
Viper ignored him, blocking out his words as she reached into her back holster and pulled out her .45. Before she had a good grip on it, he swung his arm and knocked it out of her hand. The pistol fell to the floor and slid a
few feet, stopping a little further down the walkway.
Roberto tried to follow up with a defensive punch, but Viper borrowed a page from Harry’s book and slammed her forehead into his face. Roberto’s head snapped back and cracked against the wall. His eyes rolled back and Viper pulled the .22 from her leg holster. Without hesitation, she fired a round directly into his forehead. Then, for good measure, she fired a second one into his heart.
He slid down the wall slowly, a look of stunned anger on his face as his eyes stared sightlessly ahead.
“You talk too much,” she said dispassionately, turning away.
“And he lied,” Hawk’s voice spoke in her ear, deep and low. “Not only am I still here, but I’m setting the last two charges now.”
Through the anger Viper felt a wave of relief and she smiled faintly.
“Good to know.”
“That’s it?” he asked, amused. “What would you have done if he was telling the truth?”
“Set the charges myself.”
A low chuckle sounded in her ear. “Now that’s cold.”
The faint smile turned into a grin as Viper bent down to pick up her .45.
“If you’re looking for sentiment, I’m a little busy right now,” she murmured. “And so are you. Get those charges set. I’m going after Harry.”
Hawk finished attaching a slim, round explosive to the underside of part of the engine and straightened up, turning away. One more to go and the explosives would be spread out throughout the entire lower level of the yacht. He glanced at his watch and left the engine room, moving down the narrow hallway until he reached the crew room at the end.
Now he knew who the man was who had been watching him about ten minutes ago. Hawk had turned around and saw him, but the man disappeared before he could draw his weapon. Whether or not Roberto had plans to come back was immaterial. He had missed his only shot, and now he was dead. Damon shook his head and pushed open the door to the crew room. It was empty, as expected. Those of the crew who were left were busy trying to protect Harry.
Damon pulled the last explosive charge out of his weapons bag and walked over to attach it to the far wall, on the hull of the back of the ship. Like the others, the spot had been chosen to ensure that the yacht went down quickly. Each charge on the outer walls was placed strategically to cause maximum damage, and the ones placed in the interior would cause explosions to rip the ship apart.
It was almost time.
Fixing the device to the hull, his lips tightened. Viper was going after Harry and if he had an ounce of sense, he would realize that it was Hawk that had accompanied her and then disappeared below deck. He would be getting desperate now as he realized that his carefully laid plans had blown up in his face. That would make him even more dangerous and unpredictable. With nothing left to lose, he would play with Viper, extending the game as long as possible. But once Hawk set the charges, she had only five minutes to finish what she’d started.
Damon’s hand came away from the device and he pulled out the remote detonator that connected them all. The rectangular handheld box could detonate immediately or on a timer. He had already set the timer, and all he had to do was press the button to activate it. Hawk’s finger paused over the button.
Viper was one of the best. Aside from that one time in Cairo, he had never known her to fail. But she had never gone up against their mentor and teacher before.
He looked at his watch again, hesitating. Once he hit that button, the clock started, both figuratively and in reality. There was no turning back once the charges were set. Right now, if something went wrong, he could still have time to help Viper.
But that wasn’t the plan. The plan was that he would set the charges and then get off the yacht. She would follow once Harry was dead. That was the plan.
And Viper’s plans never failed.
He turned away from the last explosive and strode out of the crew room, moving down the narrow corridor. For the first time in his life, he felt uncertainty. It wasn’t just about Harry now. Things had changed; he and Viper had changed. The prospect of losing her caused an emotion that Damon had never felt before. The knowledge that the odds were not in her favor simply compounded the feeling. And yet, he knew that she would have it no other way. If this was where her story ended, he knew that she had planned it to end the way she wanted it to.
She would go out on her own terms.
Yet still he hesitated, holding the detonator in his hand as he strode down the corridor. Everything was in place, just as they’d planned, and timing was key. It all hinged on timing, and if he delayed any longer, it would be thrown irretrievably off. He had no choice. He had to hit the button.
Viper looked down, following the blood trail down the corridor with her .45 in her hands. Her side throbbed where Roberto had stabbed her and she was running low on both time and ammunition. The faster she found Harry, the better all around.
She passed a galley kitchen and noted that the blood trail went in and then came out again. Harry had grabbed something to try to stop the bleeding and, a little further along the corridor, the trail became significantly lighter. She let out a soft curse, picking up her pace. She had to find him before he stopped the bleeding altogether. There was no time to tear the ship apart.
The pain in her side and the rush of fear she had felt when Roberto claimed that Hawk was dead combined to fan the flames of fury burning inside her. Harry had started this, and she was damn well finishing it now. She wanted her life back.
The blood trail stopped and Viper looked into the open doorway to find a stairwell going up. She was placing her foot on the bottom step when awareness streaked down her spine. She spun around just as a tall and heavy figure came out of a door to the left of the stairwell. Without hesitation, Viper raised her gun and fired. The figure fell backwards into the wall and slid to the floor, blood pouring out of his head.
Viper turned and checked both ends of the corridor before disappearing up the stairs. A few steps from the top, she paused, listening. In the silence, she felt rather than heard a presence outside the stairwell. Tucking her gun into the holster at her back, she reached down to pull her combat knife from the sheath on her ankle. Then, taking a calm breath, she moved up the last couple steps and braced herself.
Emerging from the stairwell, she immediately had a tall man swing something in the direction of her head. There were two of them, one on either side of the entrance to the stairs. She went low, almost to the floor, avoiding the blow aimed at her head, and braced herself on her left leg as her right leg swept the first attacker’s feet out from under him. As he lost his balance, the weapon in his hand flew towards his companion, causing him to duck with a sharp exclamation.
Viper surged up swiftly and whipped behind him, placing her gloved hand over his mouth. Before he could react, her knife had sliced across the front of his throat. As he began to fall forward, blood pouring from the wound, she threw the knife unerringly at his companion. A strangled noise escaped him as it lodged in his neck and she reached into her leg holster, pulling out the .22. She fired into his head, stepping over the body in front of her. He fell back against the wall and Viper reached out to pull her knife from his throat as she passed.
A moment later she moved into a large room with panoramic windows lining each side. It was the recreational room she had glimpsed earlier, but now the huge TV was dark and silent. As she came through the doorway, Viper glanced to her left where a bar ran the width of the room. No one was behind it and she paused, scanning the area. Between the bar and the TV on the far wall were a sectional and two recliners, none of which were concealing anyone.
Pursing her lips, she moved further into the room, heading for the entrance on the other side. As she did, something moved out of the corner of her eye and she snapped her head around in time to see Harry emerge from behind a tall, potted fern. He raised a gun and fired.
She dove to her right, landing on her knees behind the recliner closest to her as his shot hit a
vase on the wall to the side of the door.
“Still quick on your feet, I see” he said, his deep voice carrying across the room, “even after being stabbed. You never were one to let pain get in your way, I’ll give you that.”
Viper was silent, listening as he spoke. He was moving to his right, trying to get into a better position to take a shot when she moved, but he wasn’t there yet. Raising the .22 in her hands, she ran out from behind the recliner, firing in his direction as she crossed the room to take cover behind the other chair. One of her shots caught him in the shoulder as he was firing at her and he let out an expletive, stumbling backwards a pace. His shot went wide, hitting the TV, and she rounded the recliner before he could get another one off.
There was a moment of silence, then Viper peered around the back of the chair to see Harry ducking behind the bar. A cold and deadly smile crossed her lips. He was shot in the opposite shoulder from the arm she’d winged earlier. With both arms shot, his effectiveness was seriously hindered, tipping the odds in her favor.
“Pain is just the body reacting to a trauma. I can let it control me, or I can control it.” She pulled the clip out of her gun as she spoke, checking the amount of bullets left. “How’s that shoulder?”
“I’ll live.”
“Oh no you won’t,” she muttered to herself, sliding the clip back into the gun with a click.
“It was poetic, you bringing O’Reilly along and having him rescue Angela.” Harry’s voice sounded muffled from behind the bar. “I’m sure Dave would have appreciated the effort to include his best friend.”
Viper’s lips tightened briefly and she glanced around the edge of the recliner. There was no sign of Harry. He was still concealed below the bar. The shoulder wound must be giving him trouble. It obviously hadn’t affected his tongue, though. How predictable of him to try to bait her with her dead brother.