by Aimee Hix
Chapter
23
I slid down the small dirt hill, scraping my exposed calf on the gravel and hard, almost frozen, clay that ringed the small industrial plot of land Ben’s captor had chosen to use as the exchange point. I assumed he had thought it was a smart location with only one vehicle entrance that you’d see from all points. Of course, it was sheltered from the view of the rest of the area by a ring of trees on the other three sides.
The privacy worked much more in my favor as I looked at the assembled group of teen tough-guy wannabes. Some shadowboxed but most lounged against the work vehicles that had been left by the crew that was onsite during the day. Baby badasses tired of suburban boredom, looking to lose some of the energy and pent-up anger by becoming live action versions of action movie stars.
All totaled it looked like eight … no, Gordon had been right, there were nine. Had I been alone I wouldn’t have even considered nine but with Seth and Adam, the three of us could handle it. We’d have to because in absence of a visible weapon, Gordon wasn’t taking a shot.
I went back through the trees and got into my truck, a hand drawn map stuck on my steering wheel directing me how to drive around to the entrance. I cranked the engine and checked in with my crew.
“Wildcard on the move.”
I might just shoot Gordon on principle for my obnoxious call sign.
“Check in again when you arrive at incursion point alpha, Wildcard. Comms open on your bud.”
Yup. I was definitely shooting him, even when we got Ben out safely.
I drove out onto the parkway and exited almost immediately onto the ramp that curved around the location. Up to the first light and a right then another immediate right into the neighborhood to drive back down and curve in the opposite direction from the ramp, mirroring my trip of less than five seconds before. I passed another series of buildings that seemed attached to the work facility and found the blocked-off entrance to the equipment site. I left the headlights on as cover for when Jan and her backup arrived, the burner cell in the cup holder so she could locate me if she needed more than what Seth had already sent her.
I popped the top on another energy drink and started to drain it, hearing Adam whispering harshly. “Quit with the caffeine before your heart explodes, Wildcard.”
I ignored him, finishing the can, realizing belatedly that my bladder was likely going to be close to exploding by the time we called it a night.
“Wildcard in position.” I said it low in case there was another guy at the entrance that Gordon had missed in his sweep. The odds of that were infinitesimally small but I wasn’t taking any chances with my brother’s safety.
I ambled down the short road, my head swiveling on my neck, taking in the situation and keeping a neutral expression on my face.
“Hello?”
Hopefully, the guy running the show would identify himself and I could just break a few of his bones right away. I remember being super chatty when I was nursing a busted rib. That could have been due to the painkillers but I was willing to experiment to see what worked.
“You got my shit, bitch?”
“Braintrust located.”
That was quick.
I took a few steps forward my arms loose at my sides. “What the hell is with you weak-ass boys that your go-to insult is always bitch, anyway?”
I scanned the group looking for my target, mentally discarding the smirkers.
“Seriously, is your vocabulary so stunted? And it’s gendered bullshit, frankly.”
I wandered to my right into the circle of dirt, dropping my head, forcing everyone’s eyes to me and their backs to where Adam was moving to the car in the back. I didn’t dare look to see Ben. Adam would take care of him.
“I mean, why are the insults always gendered? If I called you lot ‘bitches’ you’d be enraged because I was implying that you were weak, that you were women. Which is crap because I can kick all your asses.”
That finally got his attention. A short stocky guy stepped forward, his face contorted with rage. Assistant wrestling coach, Ramsey. I wasn’t even surprised. I’d never considered him as Mr. X. He just hadn’t struck me as the Svengali-type. But it had to be somebody lacking morals and he fit the bill fine.
“Where the fuck is my stuff, bitch?”
“You enunciated bitch like it was going to hurt my feelings extra or something. Do you think I care what some sorry excuse for a man thinks of me? My boyfriend is twice your size. All over I bet.”
I let the innuendo hang in the air. I needed him as full of rage and stupidity as I could get him. I needed him as distracted as I could get him. Ben’s safety was all that mattered.
And the energy drinks were humming. I was feeling fairly invincible myself.
He growled and I could see him trying to control his rage. “I will beat your stupid bitch face in. Where is my stuff?”
He was five steps ahead of any of his crew, many of whom I recognized from the background of the photos Jan and I had gotten off the microSIM in Damian Murphy’s car.
“Braintrust acquired and secured.”
Now it was time to let the rage take over. Seth and Adam would do their part culling the players. I shrugged, planting into a back stance. “I don’t know where it is. I didn’t even look, honestly.”
He rushed at me like I knew he would and I swung in with a roundhouse kick, kenpo-style. I put my whole body into the kick pushing up from the ground with my stance foot, just like Adam had drilled me hundreds of times. The roundhouse was a dangerous kick and, as a woman, my legs were my strongest asset.
I was off the mark though because he was moving and his thigh absorbed the force. He slid to the ground grabbing the abused limb. He’d have a hell of a bruise but it wasn’t enough to stop him for long. A blow to the knee would have taken him completely out of the show.
At his howl of pain, the whole area exploded into rushing bodies. I saw the two closest to me coming in fast.
I dropped my head, tucked my arms into my sides, and brought my fists up to guard my face. They fell into a formation that was almost the exact scenario for the two-man drill. Except these two weren’t going to fight fair like a drill. I steadied my breath as the first blow came at my shoulder. I dropped that shoulder away from the blow and spun, throwing my elbow up high into the face of the second guy.
The first one rushed past me and I hesitated a beat too long trying to find a way to keep facing both of them and the melee going on behind me. He managed to stop and reached his arm out to jab me in the ribs. Luckily, it wasn’t the broken one from a few months ago, or a real punch, so I shrugged off the sharp, shooting pain and moved into a wide-legged stance.
These guys were all about the same height I was, so they were used to fighting someone my size. Something that was usually an advantage was now a detriment. I slid my foot back as the first one rushed again, his partner still holding his face, blood pouring out over his fingers. One man down. Correction. One boy down. They were all just kids.
When he was within range, I spun back again into a reverse kick, catching him on the back and knocking him forward. He became angrier, his inability to get engaged with me gutting his chemical confidence. He turned around and began advancing on me, swinging wildly. I deflected his wind-milling blows trying to remember a session where Adam had given me any pointers for repelling a grown man fighting like a five-year-old. The closest I could recall was the swarm drill, so I directed a side kick to his knee and when his leg slipped out from under him and he dropped his hands to cushion his fall, I front kicked him in the face. I felt his nose collapse under the thin rubber sole of my mat shoes and realized he was down too. I had just dropped my hands to my knees to suck in some much-needed oxygen when the air around me changed. The third man. Just like the drill.
I slid down to the ground on my side and spun in a move that would hav
e made a beginner break dancer laugh at me but worked just fine for my purposes, popping back up behind the man I’d failed to cripple with my roundhouse.
He was beyond rage-filled. He was purple and spitting out curses unintelligibly. He hit out at me and I was able to dance out of the way of the first blow but the second was a haymaker and it landed squarely on my torso. The thin elastic of the holster absorbed none of the blow, leaving me with the breath knocked completely out of me. I sank down onto my knee trying to get air into my shocked lungs and enough distance to plan a return attack.
I realized someone had been shouting “Wildcard!” in my comm and that distracted me enough that he was on me, tackling me. I was pressed into the dirt, the gun digging into my spine so hard I was afraid both would break.
He outweighed me by fifty pounds, dense muscle knotted onto his small frame. My only saving grace was that his muscle pack made him inflexible. He kept jabbing his hand at my face trying to get purchase on anything he could. I used that momentum to squirm down further under him, away from fingers that could easily put out an eye. His arms stretched over the top of me, his hips grinding me down as his feet kept slipping on the churned-up dirt. It felt like he was trying to climb me.
My hands were free and I reached around him, turning my hands into claws and jamming them into the spaces between his two lowest ribs and hooking them on his floating ribs. I yanked toward my feet as hard as I could and he bucked up away from me, screaming in agony.
I slid out farther to the side and pulled up on my hip, kneeing him in his very likely broken rib. I didn’t care if I punctured his lung. I reared my hips up off the ground completely and brought a leg up, managing a laying half ax kick. It wasn’t pretty but it slammed his knee into the ground and I kicked at him, connecting to his hip, getting him completely off me.
I scrambled to my feet, the urgent calls to Wildcard abandoned and my name rang into my ears.
He was up on his feet faster than I would have thought and rushing me again, his arms outstretched to grab me. I stepped to the side and planted, grabbing his arm, pulling him into my hip and flipped him. I kept hold of his arm and wrenched it back and up, stopping just past resistance.
“Jiu-jitsu, bitch.”
I sucked air in and out of my lungs and keeping hold of his wrist, I put my foot on his back. I pressed down with a lot more force than necessary and it felt good to make him eat some dirt. I wasn’t ever forgetting the scared look on my brother’s face.
My entire body felt like a heart beat. “Wildcard finally clear.”
Chapter
24
“Of all the stupid, irresponsible, idiotic, dumbass things to do, you just went off half-cocked and pulled off some movie raid. What were you thinking? Were you even thinking?”
“To be fair, Arch, she did call the police.” Seth pointed at Jan, who was pressed into the couch cushions with her hands on her knees, eyes shifting from side-to-side.
She wasn’t the picture of professional law enforcement calm and control; she looked like she was in the principal’s office. I almost felt bad for her. Dad’s rants were infrequent but legendary. But she got to leave when she wanted. I had no idea why she was sticking around except maybe loyalty. Or guilt that she hadn’t at least tried to stop me.
“But she didn’t let the police handle it, did she? And now look at her.”
The bag of peas on my face covered a welt and nascent bruise from a well-timed elbow by the guy who tried, and failed, to beat me up. It also prevented me from seeing Seth’s face. I opened my mouth to protest but my mother shook her head and adjusted the ice pack on my ribs. You’d think we’d have more of those considering how accident-prone I’d always been, but the count of ice bags handed out had been higher than normal.
“All superficial, Mr. Pennington. I checked her out at the scene and if I’d even thought for one second she needed to go to the hospital, I would have taken her myself,” Adam said.
My dad paced the living room made tiny by the crowd of people. Poor Ben had to sit on the floor, Dad stepping over his legs every time he stomped from one side of the room the four steps to the other.
“Maybe you could write it up as a training exercise for the licensing paperwork,” Gordon said.
“She’ll be lucky if she ever gets a license pulling stunts like this.” He was winding down though. There had only been three adjectives before dumbass. I’d heard the rants enough to know that was usually his last round. And considering the outcome, he didn’t have much to complain about.
Ben had some minor abrasions, mostly from the duct tape. Sure, he was in desperate need of a shower, we all were, but he was uninjured and had a cool story to tell about the time he was kidnapped.
“Arch, dear, the kids are fine. I think we should just be grateful no one was badly hurt.”
I snorted. Seven sets of eyes turned on me.
“What? I did some serious damage to that asshole’s shoulder rotator. He’ll be lucky if he can lift a tray in the prison cafeteria let alone weights ever again.”
My mother shook her head again, trying to hide a smile.
“Willa, can you please explain to me why you didn’t just let Jan handle it?”
“Arch, a word?” Seth asked, standing up and moving them toward the office.
“You bet, Seth. I’ve got some words for you too.”
Great. Seth was going to take one for the team and I could get back to trying to find a way to work off the rest of the caffeine. My skin felt like it was crawling with bugs.
“Mom, can I shower? I mean, I know we’ve got company but …”
“Oh, Ben. I think we’re past formalities here.”
He scampered up with a lot of energy for a kid who’d been held hostage. He’d stayed for Dad’s full tirade, which I gave him credit for; he’d only ever heard them, so being on the receiving end was new.
Dad had started with Ben, giving him what for because he and Aja had been snooping. He’d moved on to Adam for not talking me out of it. Gordon had been next for a sentence or two, something about being Seth’s partner and after last fall knowing what I was like. Jan had gotten a dirty look and a few mutterings.
He’d saved the majority of his ire for me. I was used to it. The times he’d utterly lost his shit had always been because of me. Bull-headed, too strong-willed, leapt before I looked. I could do both parts at this point.
I heard Dad’s voice through the closed office door. He was giving Seth holy hell. Good. I owed him one for skipping town like a criminal. A crash followed.
Adam popped up.
My mother waved a hand and Adam seated himself.
“It’s fine. They’re not coming to blows. Arch is just blowing off steam that he’s been holding onto since last fall.”
I felt like my insides were trying to crawl their way out through my throat.
“Mom.”
She took one look at my face and had me hauled up and hustled into the bathroom just in time for me to empty my stomach into the tub. The faintly pink liquid coating the white fiberglass was the better part of a half dozen cans of energy drinks.
“Oh, Willa. Honey, you know how bad that stuff is for you.”
I responded by puking again then laid down on the floor.
“Why didn’t you let the police handle it?” my mother asked, while she was cleaning me up.
The question everyone had skirted around. It hadn’t been because I was reckless or stupid. I wasn’t overly confident of my skills or even my intelligence.
“Last fall, after the thing with Mark Ingalls …”
She nodded, breaking eye contact with me for just a second.
“I just … I couldn’t stop thinking ‘what if Ben had been home?’”
Her eyes were back on mine, wet and shining.
“The cops would have taken too long. He was sca
red. I’m never going to let him be scared and alone if I can do something about it. I don’t care if it’s stupid or I get hurt,” I said. A few tears leaked out and I was too tired to fight them.
We stayed quiet for a while. She gently rubbed my back, contorted into what had to have been an uncomfortable squat, crouched in our tiny hall bathroom.
I was curled into the fetal position; peas on my face, ice pack on my ribs, my mother pressing a cold wash cloth to the back of my neck. Throwing up was terrible, the dry heaves were the worst. I should have been able to relax. I was exhausted but Ben was safe. I’d escaped with minor bruising on my body. My ego was even intact.
Seth was home. We’d talk when we’d both come down from our unique reunion. We’d figure it out. I’d force him to talk to his parents. I’d force his parents to talk to my parents. We’d all talk and share and therapists around the world would rejoice.
I wasn’t able to relax though because we still didn’t know who’d killed Amanda Veitch and that pissed me off. Being sick pissed me off too. I could handle getting roughed up but being waylaid by an angry stomach was humiliating. I’d been careful to check all the labels too. All were regular sugar.
It had to have been the total fatigue that allowed my brain to finally connect the pieces. I struggled to sit up without setting off any violent reactions in my stomach, ice packs sliding to the floor.
“Willa, lie down.”
“I need to talk to Jan, Mom. Can you get her?”
She handed me the wash cloth and I laid my head against the toilet lid.
Jan came in trying to avert her eyes. Obviously, everyone had heard me barf.
“Um, whatever it is can wait. You’re not feeling well and—”
“I know who killed Amanda Veitch.”
Chapter
25
When she opened the door and saw me, her whole body caved in on itself. Gone was the proud posture, pulled back shoulders. A hank of hair had worked its way loose from the clip she had twisted it up into. She stepped back to let me in and motioned me to the living room.