by Vivi Paige
When it accelerated and pulled away, I sighed in relief. Maybe I was just paranoid—
But then the car stopped suddenly just around the corner. I couldn’t see it, but I could see the red light splashed by its brake lights across the street. Those flicked off as well, and then four… five… six goddamned Olaf thugs strode purposefully down the street toward Club Lost.
One of them stopped at the corner and kept his head on a swivel. The lookout. So, this was it. They were planning on offing Peter right then and there.
I took off down the stairs, nearly knocking Starkey on his keister. He blurted out a query I neither heard nor had time to answer. Part of my mind suggested he could be useful, but I didn’t want to involve him. If it came out that I was trying to save Peter, Hook’s wrath would not spare even a long-time loyal employee like Starkey.
I hit the doors and panicked when I realized the street in front of Lost was empty, and the door hung crazily tilted from a half-broken hinge. Was I too late?
Gunfire erupted from inside the building, and I dashed in the broken door just in time to see the Olafs firing at the bar. I could only hope their target—was it Peter?—had ducked behind the relative safety of the stout wooden bar in time.
The gunfire stopped. Two of the Olafs moved in on the bar, pistols leveled and ready. The other three slowly stalked up the stairs, caution etched on their features.
This made me realize two things. One, whoever was behind the bar was likely still alive or they wouldn’t be sending two thugs to check. And two, whoever was behind the bar was likely not Peter, or the other three wouldn’t have gone upstairs.
Of course, I was worried about Peter, but my conscience wouldn’t let me just abandon whoever cowered behind the bar to certain death.
I walked up behind the two men, weighing whether or not I should kill them. I knew I probably should, but at the same time I couldn’t bring myself to shoot them in the back. I might work for a ruthless psychopath, but that didn’t mean I was one.
Finally, I settled on giving them a chance to live. I stepped up behind them, shoved the barrels of my weapons right into the backs of their shaven heads, and spoke in what I hoped was an icy and convincing manner.
“Drop the weapons, tovarisches, or you are both dead.” They froze, and I could see them trying to exchange glances. I pulled back on the hammers and dug into their heads just a bit harder. “Like a Russian grenade, it takes little to set me off, gentlemen. I will not ask again.”
Their guns clunked to the floor, and I awkwardly kicked them across the dance floor while keeping my guns right against their skulls.
“Get the fuck out of here and tell Crocodile that my mercy is limited to this one solitary act.”
They took off for the front door, not even looking back. I knew they would just run down the street and get help from their lookout. Maybe they even had backup weapons in the car. I didn’t have time to worry about it, though. I ran up the stairs even as I heard a volley of gunfire.
I reached the top floor, my gaze falling on a scene of utter chaos. The three Olafs crouched behind a green sofa already riddled with bullet holes. One of them sat on his bottom, clutching his bleeding neck. I didn’t think he would present a threat, or anything else, for much longer.
The other two fired their massive hand cannons at who I presumed to be Peter. It was hard to tell since all I could see was a hand holding a pistol and firing it wildly.
Bullets sailed through the air, rending the sofa and the marble-paneled walls of the lounge into ruin. But then Peter’s gun clicked empty, and the two remaining Olafs exchanged evil smiles. They rose to their feet, ignoring their dying comrade, and stalked toward Peter’s position.
“Time’s up, Mayne brat,” one of them said in a thick accent.
“Yeah, time’s up. For you.” They didn’t even turn around all the way before I blasted them.
As their bodies slumped to the floor, Peter jumped up from behind the desk, wielding a stapler in one hand and a computer mouse in the other.
“Stand back…” he said, voice trailing off when he realized it was me. He looked at the dead Olafs and then to the smoking pistols in my hands before looking back to my face.
“Hey,” I said with a sheepish smile, nearly collapsing from relief that he was still alive. “I’ve got something to tell you.”
Chapter Nineteen
I glowered at Belle, eyes narrowed dangerously. Ignoring the dead Russians in my office, I focused completely on the woman I’d come to cherish without even knowing quite how it had happened.
Cherish her, yes. But I was also furious with her. After throwing me out of her club—again, and without even the dignity of the front door—she showed up here, now, in the middle of a shoot-out with the Olaf boys?
I knew they were pissed at the Mayne firm for that business with Will, but Lucian assured us they were professional enough not to hold a grudge. Looks like Uncle Lucy was wrong.
“Well, you’ve got something to say, so say it.” I gestured at the mess of my office and realized I was still holding the stapler and mouse. Sheepishly, I put them down before continuing. “I mean, I’m a little bit busy here, in case you haven’t noticed.”
I was surprised when she winced as if in pain.
“I know.” She sighed as she holstered her weapons. Man, could she shoot. Two pistols at once, which is a damn sight harder than the movies make it appear. I know the couple times I’ve fucked around at the firing range trying to dual wield I’ve made a fool of myself. “I know, and it’s my fault.”
“I don’t see how it’s your fault. If anything, you helped…” I sighed, letting go of my ego for possibly the first time in my entire young life. “Naw, I’m not going to pussy foot around it. You saved my life, Belle. I owe you. Nice shooting, by the way.”
Belle’s shoulders slumped at my intended compliment. She folded her hands and fidgeted like a kid at the principal’s office. “I’m ambidextrous,” she said with a dismissive gesture. “But I didn’t save your life, Peter. Not really.”
I frowned and then came around the desk—stepping over a dead body with smoke still trailing from its bullet wounds—and put my hand on her shoulder. “Hey, come on. Don’t bottle yourself up. I’m not your asshole boss. You can say anything to me and it’s not going to change the way that I feel about you. I—”
Quicker than a hiccup, her hand shot up to place a finger over my lips. “Don’t,” she said, tears welling in her eyes. “Don’t say it.”
My face darkened with a scowl. Why didn’t she want me to say how I felt? Was I not good enough for her? “Why shouldn’t I say it? It’s been killing me a little bit every day holding this inside, Belle. I have to tell you that I—”
“No!” She smacked my hand away. I retreated enough to allow her some space, and she walked over to the window and gazed out at the street. “Please. Don’t say it until I’ve had a chance to explain what I’ve done. The terrible, terrible thing I’ve done…”
Her slender but defined shoulders shook, and I went to her on instinct because seeing Belle suffer was like a dagger made of ice buried in my heart. “Hey, come on, whatever you’ve done, it can’t be that bad. I know you’re a sweet gal under all that gangster bluster.”
For some reason my attempt at comfort seemed to spur her on to greater misery. Her lips peeled back from her teeth in an agonized grimace as fat tears rolled down her red cheeks.
I handed her my handkerchief, which she accepted with a grateful glance. “You don’t know, Peter. It is that bad. It is.”
“Then tell me. Please, Belle. It’s killing me real slow not to be with you, but it’s killing me all the same. I feel like I’ve aged a hundred years ever since you tossed me out of the window. I thought… I thought we were through, and then you were there, standing in the gun smoke like a Valkyrie come to save me.”
“Valkyries carry the souls of dead soldiers to Valhalla,” she said with a half-smile. But it quickly faded. “Peter… aft
er our date the other night, Crenshaw Hook came to see me.”
I perked up right away. This chill ran down my spine just at the mention of old man Hook’s name. Now, I broke bread with some pretty tough customers, but even Lucian didn’t want open hostilities with Hook. If Uncle Lucy—a man who fears little—was wary of Hook, I was a thousand times more wary.
“And what did he have to say? Did you tell him it’s none of his damn business who you see?”
She looked at me sharply, her eyes narrowing to slits. “Did you tell your Uncle Lucian? Or did you fold like a wet blanket and go to the Garden to try and ruin the Jolly Roger by siccing the natural disaster known as Randy Johnson on us?”
I sighed, gaze dropping to the floor as I slowly nodded. “Yeah, I caved. But I’m tired of caving, Belle, especially when it comes to you. I don’t care what Uncle Lucy has to say.” I was about to blurt out my feelings, my true feelings, which were bottled up inside of me like a swarm of angry lovesick hornets. But I remembered her request. “So, go ahead and tell me what you did to try and hurt Lost’s business.”
I laughed, even as her shoulders slumped further. “Come on, what was it? Did you arrange to have a ringer come in here and do a slip-trip-fall scam? Create a bunch of dummy accounts and leave bad reviews on Yelp? Have your boy Smee crawl behind our cooler and let loose a jar full of live cockroaches? Come on, throw me a clue, I’m dying here.”
She glanced up at me sharply, her bottom lip trembling. “No,” she said. “I didn’t do any of those things.”
“Then what was it? What’s got you clammed up like Nibs when he eats too much of his momma’s pasta casserole?”
“First of all, ew.” Belle shook her head, pretty nose wrinkling in disgust. “Second…” She took in a deep breath and then let it out in a rush with her confession. “I hired the Olafs to kill you, at Hook’s behest.”
I flinched, wanting to think I’d misheard her, but I knew I hadn’t. I considered it for a long moment, feeling it out as if I were in her shoes.
“I have no excuse,” she said. “None. Hook said either I could put out the hit or he’d put out a hit on both of us. But I never should have done it, Peter.”
“So… that’s why you were so sketchy in the Roger earlier.” I nodded with understanding. “But if you put a hit out on me, why did you come and stop it?”
“I couldn’t bear the thought of you being hurt,” Belle said, shaking her head as tears fell in a renewed torrent. “I just couldn’t.”
“Hey, hey, come on.” I put my hands on her shoulders. “You were in a tough spot, and you did what you had to do to survive. Folks like you and me don’t always get to be the masters of our own fate.”
Suddenly I grew angry. Not inarticulate, violent rage angry, but more of a righteous indignation. The fuck was wrong with our respective families? Why did they have to keep messing with this damn near perfect thing Belle and I had?
“But you know what?” I lifted her chin. “I forgive you. When the chips were down, you came and put your own ass on the line to save mine. And I’ll never forget that.”
“You look so angry when you say that.” Belle’s voice trembled, and she ceased her sobs even though tears kept welling up in her beautiful eyes.
“I’m not angry at you, sweetness,” I said, kissing her on the forehead. “I’m mad at the people who put us in this situation. You know what? Screw it. I’ll leave the firm, and you can leave that loser Hook, and we can go to the West Coast and start over, just me and you.”
Belle sighed and put one of her hands on top of my own. “That sounds wonderful, Peter, but it’s just a fantasy. We’re not in Neverland. We’re in the real world, and the real world has consequences. Just think about what would happen if we tried to leave.”
“I am, and it’s freaking wonderful.”
“Peter, come on, think like an adult for a change.” Belle put her hands on my cheeks and gazed wistfully into my eyes. “Nothing would make me happier than to start a new life with you, Peter. But it can’t be. If I try to leave Hook, he’ll have me killed. You and I both know it. I have too much insider knowledge for him to ever be comfortable with me being untethered. And think about your family. Maybe you can get away with a defection because of who you are, but what about all of your enemies? Without Lucian and the firm to protect you, they’ll come after you for revenge.”
I knew Belle wasn’t wrong, but I was stubbornly clinging to the idea that I could will the whole world to be different. “So what? Let Hook try and come for you. Let our enemies try and come for me. Neither of us is a wilting flower. You feel me?”
“I don’t want to spend the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders or always picking a seat far from the window in case a sniper is lurking outside.” Belle shook her head firmly. “And what if we wound up having children? What kind of life could we offer them?”
“Belle.” I took her into my arms and held her tightly. She didn’t resist, but her body remained rigid instead of melting into me like she did last time. “Belle, don’t do this. Please. I love you.”
She stiffened, her breathing halted with a sudden gasp. I pulled her out to arm’s length so I could look into her eyes.
“I love you,” I said again, feeling freer every time I said it. “I love you and I want to be with you no matter what that means.”
“Peter…” she sighed and kissed me softly on the lips. “I love you, too. What we have… had… was wonderful. Special, magical, all the stupid tropes and clichés you can pile on. All right? But it’s over. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”
She broke away from my grasp and fled down the stairs, sobbing the whole way. I went to follow and slipped in a pool of Olaf blood.
I went down cursing and sprang up quickly, but by the time I reached Lost’s front door she had already disappeared. I stared longingly at the Jolly Roger’s front, my cheeks growing wet.
There seemed no balm for my anguish, so I just remained on the threshold to the street and pined for my lost love.
Chapter Twenty
Even though I bawled all the way across the street, as soon as I crossed the threshold to the Jolly Roger I was all business. Starkey spied me walking with purpose and immediately abandoned his position at the bar to come to my side.
“Ma’am,” he said, his gray eyes noticing my tear-streaked face but not mentioning it. He’s good help. “You seem agitated. Is there anything I can do to assist?”
“Get Smee to close the shutters,” I said, gesturing at the windows. “Every floor. And inform any remaining staff on the premises that we’re on full lockdown.”
Starkey’s nostrils flared, his eyes inscrutable as they took in my expression. He quickly discerned I was dead serious. Emphasis on dead.
“It will be done, ma’am.” He gave a quick nod. “But I must ask the nature of the threat we will be facing?”
“Come on, we can walk and talk.” I strode along as we made a beeline for Smee’s maintenance office. I banged on the door and shouted without bothering to wait for a response. “Smee, close the shutters.”
Then Starkey and I moved on to the stairs. Smee banged the door open and stared after us in shock. I only gave him a glance with a raised eyebrow and he quickly moved his pudgy body into overdrive to do as I asked.
Starkey and I could hear the shutters slamming shut as we traversed the stairs to the second level.
“As I’m sure you’re aware, Crenshaw… Crenshaw had me put a hit out on Peter Mayne.”
“You overestimate my propensity for eavesdropping, ma’am. I had not heard. From the way you’re acting, I’d say the hit was a successful one, and now we fear reprisals from the Mayne family?”
I sighed, pausing on the second-floor landing. “I’m afraid that’s not what happened at all. The hit was a failure, and Peter Mayne still lives.”
“I see.” Starkey’s jaw worked silently for a moment. “And who did Mr. Hook procure for the actual hit?”
“The Olafs.�
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Starkey’s eyes went wide. “They do not often miss,” he said. “Though their propensity for overkill cannot be understated. You believe Peter Mayne knows you were the one who hired them?”
“Of course, he knows. I told him,” I blurted, cringing at the sound of my own voice. Saying it out loud made the whole situation seem that much more absurd.
“I see where that could complicate things, ma’am,” Starkey said carefully. “I take it Peter Mayne was quite angry, and now we’re awaiting his wrath?”
“No, not exactly.” I laughed even though I felt miserable and heartbroken. “He told me he loved me.”
Starkey chuckled, but it was bereft of mirth or pleasure. I believe he was laughing at the utter absurdity of things. “So, you hired assassins, then told him you hired assassins, and his response was to confess his undying love. Really, ma’am, you must teach me your secret. I can rarely make it past the third date.”
“Yeah, well…” I coughed. “I may have… shot a couple of the hitmen who were supposed to kill him.”
Starkey’s jaw dropped open, revealing his perfectly straight, white artificial teeth. “You shot Olafs? Ivanovich’s men?”
I nodded miserably. “So you see why I want us on full security lockdown.”
“Indeed…”
We both started at the sound of footsteps, but they weren’t moving toward us. They were moving away, toward the fourth floor. I looked up just in time to see a pair of blue shoes disappear up past the landing.
“Wendy?” I called, but there was no answer. Starkey grimaced.
“Ma’am, I strongly suggest that you depart for an undisclosed location,” Starkey said warily.
“Why would I do that?” I asked. “The Olafs would still track me down.”
“It is not the Olafs I fear,” he murmured. “It is Crenshaw Hook.” Starkey’s face wrinkled into a pained grimace, and he seemed to struggle with himself before he spoke again. “Miss Wendy has been… vocal in her criticism toward you of late. I believe she heard our discussion and has already got Hook on the line. He will not be pleased when he hears what you have done.”