Jack and the Beanstalk (Modern Wicked Fairy Tales Book 13)

by Selena Kitt

  The Giant’s technique was textbook, marvelous, a beauty to behold. And it wasn’t just showy, though it was that. It was deadly. Jack could see the trajectory of the blow headed his way in his mind, could see it connecting with his head, bruising his brain, knocking him senseless. If he’d been as tired as he was pretending to be, there would have been no way to avoid it.

  But Jack wasn’t tired. He was full of the energy he had been conserving round after round, a little bit here, a little bit there. It all added up.

  And fatally, for the Giant, his fist was too slow. Just a bit too slow.

  The crowd clearly didn’t believe that either fighter could have enough strength left to launch the punch that Jack did now. The spectators gasped in shock and awe when they realized that, tired as he appeared, Jack wasn’t quite as exhausted as he’d pretended to be.

  Jack threw that punch—that now infamous punch—like a sniper staring down a gun sight. A tractor ran into Giordano’s face in the middle of the 15th round, and that was it.

  It was over.

  A sea of faces swirled around Jack, the crowd roaring unbearably. The Giant was down on the mat and the count reached ten.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen, live at Caesar’s Palace, let me introduce to you now—no longer Jack the Bean Bagger—Jack the Giant Slayer!”

  The crowd roared. Exhausted, Jack held his arms up. Attendants rushed up to the defeated Giant, still down on the mat, just barely returning to consciousness.

  Will was there by his side, grinning and congratulating him, and Jack had time to give him a sweaty one-armed hug before getting pulled away by yet another person who wanted to shake his hand.

  It seemed liked dozens of people were bustling up into the ring, and security had their hands full making sure only authorized people got through.

  Giordano was on his feet now, held up by his assistants, looking stunned. Jack was just close enough to hear Falco whisper into The Giant’s ear, “She’s gone. No one saw her leave.”

  Jack looked to where Goldi had been sitting. The seat was empty.

  Jack was whisked away for a Sports Illustrated post-fight interview. Well, he thought, time for the bullshit again, but this time he didn’t care so much. He was more concerned about Goldi.

  As Jack was led to the interview room, the journalist talking a mile a minute into his ear, he thought to himself, it would be great if a man who had just gone 15 rounds with a formidable boxer could grab a few minutes to wash the blood off his face and maybe take a nap.

  “I’m going to call the piece ‘Jack the Giant Slayer’,” said the journalist.

  Chapter 7

  “She’s trouble with a capital T, I’m telling you.” Will sat down on a bag of beans across from Jack with a deep sigh. There was no one else in the training warehouse but them.

  “Aren’t all women?” Jack grinned and Will had to laugh at that. “Listen, I know it’s complicated. But I love her, Will. I’ve loved her since I was a kid, and I love her still. You can’t help who you love, ya know?”

  “I know.” Will nodded. “I‘m just worried.”

  “I know.” Jack was worried, too. Not about his relationship with Goldi—but about Goldi herself. He hadn’t heard from her since before the fight. They were supposed to meet right after so they could leave together, but she’d disappeared. Clearly, The Giant hadn’t known where she went either, so that was a relief. But she hadn’t answered her cell phone all night or today either. He’d left her plenty of messages, telling her to come to the Penny Bean Collective as soon as she could, but so far, nothing but silence.

  It worried him.

  The sound of a car engine got their attention, and Jack’s heart leapt when he saw that the car pulling up outside the wide, open doors of the warehouse was a red Mustang.

  Goldi.

  He jumped up off his bean bag and headed toward her in long strides. Goldi moved more slowly, gingerly, and when she got closer, he saw the purple looking bruise around her eye that even make-up couldn’t cover.

  Jack embraced her but his fists were clenched with rage.

  “Things went a little wrong,” she hitched, beginning to sob.

  “I’ll kill the bastard…”

  “The Giant and Falco are still on my trail with their crew,” she told him in a panic, pulling away to look at him, tears smearing her mascara. “Oh Jack, I’m afraid they’ll come here. I’m so sorry, I didn’t know where else to go…”

  “It’s okay, baby,” he murmured into her hair, pulling her close, managing to fight his rage long enough to comfort her. “I’ll take care of it.”

  Jack immediately began to assemble the workers of the collective.

  It was a strange thing—because Jack hardly had to do anything. He had only walked a few yards towards the machine house, where he expected to find Gus and Serge—he was going to ask them to round up the men, call them up from their respective jobs in the fields or the tractor garage—when around the corner of the big warehouse came a dozen men already armed with rifles. Somehow, they already knew what going on, and knew who was coming.

  Will had always told Jack about the necessity of individual action. But this was collective action, with its own magic.

  Then, Jack saw Will, saw the set of the man’s jaw as he followed Gus and Serge, and knew what had happened. Will had seen Goldi’s face and had immediately known they needed backup. He could always count on Will.

  “Thank you,” Jack said to his friend.

  “You’re a good boy, Jack.” Will clasped his shoulder and squeezed, smiling as he looked between Goldi and Jack. “You always have been. I want you both to know, I give you my blessing. Whatever happens, I want you to be happy. So be happy. You got that?”

  Jack felt his throat constricting. “Got it, boss.”

  “Thank you, Will.” Goldi, still teary-eyed, threw her arms around him in a big hug.

  “They’re here!” someone called.

  “Goldi, Will is going to take you to the office,” Jack said, grabbing her to him. “He’s going to lock the door. You stay there until I come get you. Understand?”

  She nodded dutifully, then put her arms around his neck and kissed him hard on the mouth.

  “Will?” Jack asked, turning to him.

  “I’ll make sure she’s safe. I promise.” Will put his arm around Goldi’s shoulder.

  Jack nodded, grateful that the two people he cared about most would be safe and turned his attention to The Giant and his crew pulling up in expensive cars outside, doors opening and slamming shut as The Giant’s men spilled out.

  Jack’s men were at the ready, standing there with guns drawn, as The Giant’s goons approached, all of them drawing their own firearms. The air felt charged with electricity. The hair on the back of Jack’s neck stood up. They were two more or less equally numbered groups of men with firearms, barely holding each other off.

  It would take only one false move to unleash a firestorm.

  As if instinctively, the two groups formed two semicircles, with Jack and The Giant towards the center of each.

  “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a situation,” said Giancarlo, glancing around the two groups of men. “But our side will go away, as soon as you give me back my wife.”

  “Not happening.” Will appeared through a hole in the crowd and Jack startled at his appearance. “The lady doesn’t want to go with you.”

  “She’s no lady.” Giordano sneered. “And she doesn’t have a choice. She’s my wife.”

  “That may be,” Will said coolly, coming to stand next to Jack. “But that don’t mean she’s your property.”

  “It damned well does!”

  “‘Fraid not.” Will crossed his arms, obdurate. “The lady has made her decision. Looks like you lose again, Giordano.”

  “Fuck you, old man!” Falco took a step forward, standing next to his brother. “Let’s go, you and me, right fucking now!”

  Not this again, Jack thought, remembering how the last fight in
the warehouse had ended, with Will in the hospital.

  Jack put his hand up like a traffic cop. “Absolutely not.”

  “Well then, we can start shooting now,” said Falco, raising his gun and pointing it at Jack.

  “I’ll do it.” Will stepped forward, his face set.

  “No,” Jack whispered, grabbing him by the elbow. “Don’t do this.”

  “I want to,” Will said softly, just to Jack. “For you and for Goldi. My gift to you.”

  “Please, don’t...” Jack saw a look in the old man’s eyes that he knew well. There would be no arguing with Will. He was going to do what he wanted to do .

  Jack looked around at both armed posses and knew there was no other way.

  Will and Falco undressed to their boxers, squaring off in the middle of the circle the men made. Jack watched, his breath turning to glass in his throat, hands clenched into fists, at the ready. He wasn’t about to let it go on long enough to allow Will to be hurt. Bare-knuckle fighting was quite different from boxing. You could break your own hand, if your blow landed wrong. And there were bound to be more cuts and bruises in the end, and maybe a facial fracture or even eye damage. But body shots could be lethal in bare-knuckle fights.

  Falco got a few good jabs in before Will threw a hard roundhouse, knocking the other man back, but not down. Falco shook his head like a dog, giving a low growl, bending low, hands clenched at his sides. Jack tensed, expecting him to come at Will like a bull. But instead, Falco rose up, and moved faster than Jack would have thought possible.

  He didn’t see the metallic glint until the very last moment, and by then it was too late. Falco had rained down several hard blows to Will’s head—wearing a pair of brass knuckles he’d had hidden in the pocket of his shorts.

  It was the single most painful sight of Jack’s life, seeing Will crumbled, fallen, bleeding profusely. Jack knelt by Will, who was unconscious, telling Gus and Serge in a low voice to get him back to the office. Jack checked Will’s eyes before they went to carry him away and his heart sank when he saw that the old man’s pupils were two very different sizes.

  Not good.

  “All right, Bean Bagger, let’s settle this goddamned score,” Giordano boomed.

  Jack was looked around for Falco, but somehow the man had slipped away.

  “If you win against me, you can have my cunt of a wife,” The Giant continued, setting the terms. “If I win, she comes back to New York with me.”

  Jack opened his mouth to refuse—Will was bleeding and might have brain damage for God’s sake. He needed to get him to a hospital.

  But thinking of what Falco had done, and of what his brother had done to Goldi, filled Jack with a blinding, red rage. It made it impossible to see anything else, and he became singularly focused.

  I’m going to kill him.

  “Jack! No!” Her voice was the only thing that could have distracted him.

  Goldi appeared amidst his crowd of men, followed closely by Serge, who was huffing and puffing, and Jack understood in an instant that Goldi had escaped the office when they had opened it to take Will inside.

  Goldi’s eyes were blazing at her husband. “I’m not going anywhere with you, ever again!”

  “Grab her!” Giordano ordered his men, but when they moved, Jack’s men raised their guns and all movement stopped. The Giant leaned over and said something to one of his henchmen, who nodded.

  “Looks like it’ll just be you and me, Bean Bagger,” The Giant said, taking a step forward. “Or we’ll have an all-out war on our hands. Whatcha say?”

  “No!” Goldi shrieked, trying to run to Jack, but two of the PBC employees held her back. “I don’t belong to you, Giancarlo! You can’t win me like some rag doll at a fair!”

  “You’re mine.” The Giant scowled at her. “And nothing will ever change that.”

  “Goldi, I have to do this.” Jack turned his head toward her and spoke in a low voice. “Let me end this once and for all.”

  Her lip trembled “What if he ends you?”

  “He won’t.”

  Goldi blew him a kiss and he gave her a lopsided smile before turning to face The Giant for the second time in as many days.

  Yesterday, it had been Jack who had feigned, faking out his opponent, making him believe he was expending far more energy than he really was. But he had no intention of doing that today. This fight, he meant to not only win, but to finish. If The Giant’s life was over at the end of it, Jack would consider it a complete triumph instead of just a win.

  But after the fight began, it seemed to Jack that Giordano did nothing but dance around. Of course, there was no boxing ring to contain them, and both men had far more room to move. Both groups of men had moved in closer, narrowing the circle, but still, The Giant found room to move. Everyone’s attention was absorbed by the fight as Jack advanced, managing to land a few good, solid blows before Giordano moved away again.

  Frustrated, Jack swung and missed, seeing The Giant’s grin as the man dodged and weaved. He’d never known The Giant to be a runner. This was some new strategy and he couldn’t fathom the reason behind it.

  But suddenly, it became all too clear. Just when it was too late to do anything about it.

  Just like Will.

  Both warring sides had moved in tighter as they followed the fight, until it was hard to tell one from the other. That’s when one of Giordano’s men got close enough to seize Goldi.

  Jack wouldn’t have known if she hadn’t managed a scream before the man covered her mouth with his other hand.

  Both men stopped fighting—well, Jack stopped fighting; The Giant stopped dancing.

  They both saw the pistol the goon had jammed against Goldi’s soft, delicate throat.

  The Giant dropped his fists, grinning at Jack. “Fight’s over, son. I got what I wanted.”

  Jack watched, incredulous, as The Giant, Falco—who had suddenly reappeared among the crowd—and their men, now moved back towards their cars, laughing, some even complacently holstering their weapons. They brought Goldi along with them, a hostage with a gun to her head.

  Before turning to go, Giordano gave an insolent, formal bow to Jack and his men, saying, “So long, Bean Bagger, give my regards to bean-land. Bean nice seeing you!”

  With that, he turned and walked away with his men, laughing.

  Everyone on Jack’s team seemed dumbfounded. One smooth move, and all had been lost. The weapons in their hands were useless.

  Jack stood there, fists clenched, head lowered, feeling powerless.

  Then he heard Will’s voice, almost as if the old man was standing right there beside him, whispering in his ear.

  Break up your opponent’s arrangements. Step into his timing with a different rhythm.

  Jack picked up a 200-pound bag of beans from a big stack nearby. Using a technique similar to a discus thrower, he spun around a couple of times as he held the bag in two hands. Then he grunted as he hurled it through the air at The Giant.

  The Giant’s men had already clustered closely around him and his brother, each eager to hear their witty comments, and perhaps add their own.

  One of The Giant’s men, still laughing at something Falco said, happened to turn back and see the bag of beans flying through the air towards Giordano. The man took a breath to shout a warning, but it was too late.

  The bag crashed down on The Giant’s head and laid him out flat on the ground.

  As his men rushed towards him to help, some of them tripped over each other. Others, with a little more presence of mind, held back, knowing they were now vulnerable to attack by Jack’s team.

  But they were distracted by the confusion of their leader, and their attention was divided between him and Jack’s men. Top down management was what they were used to. Spontaneous action as a team was not their forte.

  Jack’s side again demonstrated its ability for spontaneous, almost anarchistic order. In a moment, they had seized Goldi and hustled her back to safety.

 
That’s when an enormous fusillade of gunfire broke out.

  Jack was struck several times before he fell and passed out.

  Chapter 8

  Jack was relieved to find Goldi by his bedside when he woke up in the hospital. She was sleeping in the chair beside his bed, curled up, arms wrapped around her knees, a jacket that was far too big for her tucked over her shoulders. He was surprised to see that the jacket had FBI embroidered on the left front pocket.

  What the hell had happened while he was out?

  He attempted to sit and let out an involuntary groan. His side was on fire. His shoulder, too. He only vaguely remembered the bullets starting to fly, getting hit by at least one before going down. How many times had he been shot?

  Jack lifted the sheet, seeing two bandages on his side, one high, one low, and another on his shoulder and yet another on his thigh.

  “The doctor said one of the bullets missed your femoral artery by inches.” Goldi yawned and stretched, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. Her mascara was smeared, her hair a tousled mess. He thought she’d never looked so beautiful. “The two on your side went right through and didn’t hit anything major. He said he’d never seen anyone get shot so lucky.”

  “Doesn’t feel lucky,” Jack said with a wince, shifting his weight and reaching a hand out to her. “What makes me lucky is that you’re here with me. Completely unhurt?”

  “I’m fine,” she assured him with a small smile, reaching out to take his hand and squeeze it. “Not a scratch.”

  The look on her face told him she wasn’t fine at all.

  “Will?” he asked, a sinking feeling in his belly. “How’s Will?”

  Goldi’s lower lip trembled. He saw her swallow as her eyes began to fill with tears.

  “No,” he whispered. But somehow, he already knew.

  “I’m sorry, Jack.” She stroked the back of his hand with her other hand, looking down like she couldn’t bear to meet his eyes. “Will’s gone.”

  “No,” he said again, his voice stronger this time. Then, he roared, “No!”