by Skye Darrel
I’m fighting my own survival instinct and training. A soldier is trained to self-preserve. That last stand bullshit is for amateurs. But right now I suppose it’s amateur hour.
“You’re in bad shape,” Odell says.
“I had a bad morning.”
Odell taps his sidearm holster, faster and faster as the minutes pass. He looks clean cut, not much older than twenty. Nervous, but he hides it well. Except for that tap. He tries to raise Ruiz on his radio but gets no response.
“You should call for backup,” I say.
“Stay calm, Mr. Wade.”
“I’m calmer than you are.”
He rechecks his radio. Nothing.
Resnik must have a dozen men in there, plus Dunkel. If he decides the troopers are a loose end, he won't hesitate to kill them. I could’ve given Ruiz better warning, but she wouldn’t have believed me if I had.
As I consider what to do, the front doors open.
Ruiz walks out with two troopers and Branigan, who looks more pissed than ever. She shakes her head. “All clear inside.”
Odell makes a face like he’d been expecting this all along.
“You spoke with Resnik?” I ask Ruiz.
“Of course she did,” a man behind them says. I’d recognize that voice anywhere.
The troopers part ways as Hoyt Dunkel emerges into the sunlight. “Mr. Resnik is a respected member of this town,” Dunkel says. “What’s this nonsense about a kidnapping?”
I grit my teeth. The chief seems to have regained his impressive ability to lie about everything. Then again, he’s had a lot of practice. If I accuse him now, no one would believe me, and Branigan the Third looks ready to cuff my hands himself.
“Okay, Wade,” Branigan says, “the joke is over. You’re going straight to jail, my friend. You’re—”
The Mustang’s passenger door opens. Maral steps out and walks to my side as every eye in the parking lot turns her way.
She aims a finger at Hoyt Dunkel.
“He raped me.”
The silence lasts a long time.
If Dunkel had said something right away, like mistaken identity or some other bullshit, the others might’ve believed him. He looks believable. Ordinary. But he’s been struck mute by an accuser shorter than him by a full head.
The troopers circle Dunkel as his mouth opens and closes. He’s staring at Maral, but he knows it’s too late for denial.
Branigan backs out of the circle in my direction.
Dunkel reaches for his gun.
The troopers reach for theirs.
I grab Maral and haul her behind my Mustang and hold her to the ground.
Gunfire erupts.
I peek over the hood to see Dunkel stumbling back and shooting wildly with his revolver. He runs out of bullets. But someone behind the casino doors covers him with a shotgun that booms and spews fire. Another shooter adds a machinegun and bullets snap overhead.
I get this feeling like I’m stuck in a small bottle with no way out. The last time I felt this way was in a different country.
Ruiz struggles on the ground clutching her arm. Two of the troopers are down. I get ready to help her, and she screams, “You stay there!”
Elbow by elbow, she crawls toward me and rolls to safety behind my Mustang.
Odell reloads his handgun in the open. He’s standing tall. By some miracle he hasn’t been hit.
I yell for him to get under cover and he scampers behind the Porsche.
Leaving Maral with Ruiz, I rush out to drag Branigan by the armpits back behind my car. The four of us hug the ground as fragments of asphalt kick up everywhere, my Mustang jerking on its wheels from impacts, the air bitter with gunpowder. My heart beats like a drum and the noise is deafening.
Then the shooting stops.
Everything seems to stop. Maral, sandwiched between Ruiz and me, uncovers her ears. Branigan has wet his pants and lies in a fetal position two feet away. His eyes shine like glass.
I check everyone for injuries. Maral fine. Ruiz shot clean through the arm but holding together. This isn’t her first firefight. I scoot over to Branigan and he blinks at me. A few scratches, no blood, he’ll live.
I lean into his ear. “Now you know violence.”
He just stares.
My Mustang, the Porsche, the two police cruisers are riddled with holes, every window shot out.
Odell’s calling for backup on his car’s radio.
I push him aside and grab my rifle from his passenger seat. I check the magazine and flick off the safety.
“Where the hell are you going?” Ruiz shouts.
“To get my girl,” I say.
Then I run for the doors.
32
Gamble on Love
Natalie
Sledge the mountain man holds me at gunpoint in Resnik’s office on the second floor. The others—Cora, Juno, and Eli—were taken elsewhere when we arrived at the casino. I haven’t seen them since.
Three police officers, along with Branigan, entered the front lobby half an hour ago. I saw them through the one-way viewing mirror in Resnik’s office that offers a complete view of the ground floor. Dunkel went downstairs to bluff them.
Resnik ordered another man to shoot the cops if they didn’t leave. Then he shuttered the mirror and put me on his sofa and told Sledge to watch me while we waited.
I don’t know what happened downstairs.
Shooting started. After a while, it stopped.
Now it’s started again.
Resnik rubs the bridge of his nose as the gunshots grow louder. Sounds like a battle downstairs. Is it Asher? The police? I fidget in my seat.
“Go see what’s happening,” Resnik tells Sledge.
Sledge leaves without another word. He seems reliable for an evil henchman.
Resnik pulls out a shiny pistol from his desk. I keep my head up, my eyes tracking him as he walks over to me. I’ve seen enough guns today to last nine lives, but his pistol catches my eye, the sides plated in gold and etched with scrolling patterns that resemble vines. It’d be a work of art if it weren’t a gun.
“I’ve never killed anyone,” he says. “Not with my own hands.”
My eyes swing up to meet his hollow stare. “Me neither.”
“Are you mocking me, girl?”
I touch the left side of my face that still throbs from his palm. My cheek feels swollen. “No, Mr. Resnik. You have me beat.”
“Does it hurt?”
“No worries. I like it rough.”
“Brave of you. Hard to believe you sell houses for a living.”
“That makes two of us.”
Resnik slides the barrel of his pistol up my arm and along my collarbone, the cold of the metal making me shudder. He rubs my lips with it. “This is a forty-five caliber Colt,” he says. “It would blow a hole in your head the size of my fist at this range.”
“You’re such a sweet talker.”
The gun runs under my chin as I stare into his empty eyes. “Asher must love you a great deal,” he says.
“I have that impression.”
“Would he still love you without a face?”
“Well, he never stopped loving his sister and she’s dead.”
Resnik angles his head. “He wasn’t fucking his sister.”
“You know, Mr. Resnik, you’re officially a bigger dick than my boss.” I sort of pout then stick my tongue out at him. What else can I do?
The gunshots outside sound closer. Sledge still hasn’t come back.
“Get up,” Resnik says.
I stand slowly, holding the strap of my pink bag. My hand runs over that patch made from Asher’s shirt, and I do my best to appear calm. Whatever’s happening downstairs isn’t good for Resnik, that’s for sure.
“Do you have a secret escape tunnel or something?” I should really just be quiet, but I can’t stop myself.
“I don’t run, Natalie.”
“But you’re not leading from the front either.”
“Move to the door,” he says.
“Gambling you can use me as a hostage?”
He rams the pistol like a punch into my stomach. I lurch forward, throwing up coughs, a sour taste rising at the back of my throat. My eyes water. This is what fainting must feel like. I’ve never fainted before in my life.
Resnik grabs my hair and wrenches me upright. “Move,” he says.
I stagger toward the door. I bite down more bile as my vision swims. He shoves me into the hallway outside and I lean against the wall while my stomach settles. Resnik’s face has no emotion.
The shooting downstairs has subsided. A fire alarm blares and sprinklers in the hallway are on. I smell smoke, but there’s no fire, not here at least.
Doors every few feet in both directions. The nearest door has a brass tag that reads Accounting. I think the accountant will need a new job.
Resnik turns his head.
I follow his startled gaze to the far end of the hallway.
Asher Wade stands there, having just come up the stairs. He looks as surprised to see us as I am to see him.
He’s holding that military rifle of his, and I kind of smile because he finally got to use the thing. I hope he hasn’t killed anyone. That seems a stupid thing to hope for now, but all the same, I just want the killing to stop.
Resnik raises his pistol.
I smack his arm and the shot hits the ceiling.
Resnik slams me against the wall. He aims his pistol again, but my man has ducked behind a corner.
“Let her go, Verne!” Asher yells in a strained voice. He sounds hurt.
“And trust to your abundant mercy?”
Resnik tows me away by my neck, using me like a shield. I drag my feet and struggle. Asher follows us, dashing from doorway to doorway, taking cover whenever Resnik fires again. My ears ring from the pistol’s cracks inches from my head. Water from a sprinkler hits my face.
Asher doesn’t shoot back. “I won’t kill you if you let her go! You have my word!”
“You’ll kill me after,” Resnik says. He doesn’t sound worried.
“Not if you surrender.”
“I don’t surrender, Ash. You know me. Remember football tryouts? Remember how many times I got knocked down? I just get up again.”
We stop by an elevator. Resnik shoves a button, the door opens, and he drives me inside. The door closes.
We emerge on the ground floor. There’s a body right outside with a red hole in the chest, one of the casino security guards. He’s still holding a big shotgun.
“My men don’t surrender either,” Resnik says. “See, Natalie? Your lover is a stone-cold killer.”
“Self-defense.”
“What do you call what I’m doing?”
“Insanity.”
Resnik grunts. “Depends on your perspective does it not?”
I step over the body and Resnik pushes me through a set of double doors. The hallway ahead is lit by neon.
A standing sign reads VIP Lounge.
We turn right, toward a door covered in red upholstery. Resnik hauls me after him by the arm.
“Let go of me!”
His grip hardens.
At the red door, Resnik enters a code into the keypad and I hear a lock unlatch. We enter what I guess is the VIP Lounge.
There are tables with poles, human-sized cages hanging from the air, and a big platform in the middle that reminds me of a runway. Many sofa seats gathered around it. A bar against the far wall. I notice doors with numbers on them and have no idea where they go. We pass a half-open cabinet lined with whips.
He yanks me up a flight of steps onto the runway and shoves me stumbling to the big pole at the end. We’re at the center of the Lounge. I notice a walkway above with more numbered doors.
“Put your hands on the pole. Don’t fucking move.”
I clutch the pole. “How do you think this will end, Mr. Resnik? I mean let’s be real here. You’re beat.”
He doesn’t answer, steps behind me, and pushes his pistol into my neck.
The Lounge door flings open.
Asher rushes in with rifle held to the shoulder, aiming at Resnik, which is the same as aiming at me.
I didn’t notice in the hallway upstairs, but Asher’s shirtless except for that pouch-lined vest. There’s a bloody rag tied around his waist just below his vest, and the top of his pants is red. Soot and dust cover his face and arms. He staggers a step but keeps his weapon raised, the muscles of his arms bulging in knobs. He’s hurt, badly hurt.
“It’s over, Verne,” he says. “Your men surrendered. Hoyt Dunkel. Sledge. They’re in custody.”
“How generous.”
“Didn’t do it for them. I promised Natalie I wouldn’t kill in anger and I kept my promise.”
Our eyes meet, and I manage a weak smile.
Resnik presses the gun harder into my neck.
“I’d take his offer,” I mutter.
Resnik leans into me, his breath on the back of my ears. “Do you think I fear death, Ms. Whipple? There’s nothing to fear.” His voice is a whisper Asher doesn’t hear.
“Let her go, Verne,” Asher repeats.
The press of metal leaves my neck.
Resnik throws his golden pistol at Asher’s feet, and while I stare at it, my captor jumps off the stage to stand before my protector.
Asher’s aim swings to Resnik’s head. “We’ll wait for the cops,” he says to my relief.
But the owner of Lucky Cherries faces Asher without flinching. “I would’ve given Priscilla everything,” Resnik says. “All I asked for in return was loyalty. Your sister refused, she was stubborn.”
“We should all be so stubborn,” Asher says grimly.
“Hm. After I let her go, it was a weight off my chest. I didn’t miss her like I thought I would. I missed fucking her, but that’s no great loss.”
Asher’s finger tightens around the trigger.
I hear shouting outside. The muffled sound of sirens.
“He wants you to shoot him,” I say, sliding off the stage and walking to my man. “He knows he’s lost, he wants to take you down with him.”
“Natalie, your face—did he hit you?”
“Several times,” Resnik says calmly. He spreads his arms and drops to his knees like he’s about to enter heaven. “She kept giving me a reason to. I think she enjoyed it, like your sister did.”
Asher bends forward with the end of his rifle inches from Resnik’s forehead. “Shut your fucking mouth!”
Police scramble into the room. All they see is Asher holding a gun to the head of a guy on his knees. They shout for Asher to drop his weapon, for him to comply immediately, but he doesn’t move.
I touch his arm, but he won’t look at me.
“Don’t do it,” I whisper.
One of the officers, a woman with a bandage around her arm, steps toward Asher. “If you shoot now, I’ll have to take you in. Let us arrest him.”
“So he can spend the rest of his life living in prison? Or maybe his lawyers will argue some technicality.”
“No lawyer can get him off this one,” she says. “Not him, not Hoyt Dunkel. It’s over, Asher. I don’t know what you’ve been through—”
“Exactly, Ruiz. You don’t know.”
“But I do,” I say, holding his arm. “You’d throw us away for him?”
The gun shakes in his hands, and he glances at me, and his breathing is torn, his eyes fevered.
“Your sister begged me to spare her life,” Resnik says. “We had a talk by the river. She begged. She blamed you for not being there. She blamed you for leaving her there to die.”
There’s a split second when I’m certain Asher will shoot, but he pushes the muzzle of his weapon right against Resnik’s forehead, and he waits.
I touch his face. “Priscilla wouldn’t blame you for anything.” I believe my words. “She wouldn’t have begged for anything from a monster like him. She went to that meeting knowing she could die, but s
he went anyway. Maral Swann is alive because of her.”
Resnik’s eyes are filled with venom.
His smile falls as Asher lowers his weapon and stands back. The gun clatters on the floor.
Troopers pin Resnik to the ground and handcuff him, jerking him up roughly and moving him out. Once the most powerful man in town, he looks helpless now. Our eyes meet one last time, and I see the despair in his.
Then he’s taken away.
“I love you, doll face,” Asher says, and I’m about to hug him when he collapses like dead weight.
A swarm of paramedics rushes over, one of them saying he’s going into shock. They lift him onto a stretcher and carry him away.
Two cops hold me back and tell me there’s nothing I can do. I’m only vaguely aware of my shrill cries.
Then my voice dies.
Numbness blankets me.
I’m guided out of the Lounge by a medic, with a trooper walking in front of me. Police crowd the casino’s main floor, county police, state police, a SWAT team. Men and women in suits. Detectives, I guess.
Everything is shot up. The slot machines, the tables, the walls. Small shiny trinkets litter the red carpet, and it takes me a moment to realize those are bullet shells.
Somehow, I find myself outside under a bright sun, and a medic tells me there’ll be an ambulance shortly, but right now only those in critical condition can be helped. Medics put my Asher on the first ambulance, but there are many others.
I ask if he means Resnik’s security guards, but the medic says the casino also housed workers in a drug lab underground.
There’s a dormitory for women as well, like a prison, where the dancers for the VIP Lounge stayed. Resnik’s guards had been pumping carbon monoxide into their rooms, trying to suffocate potential witnesses before the police got here. Verne Resnik kept his dancers like cattle.
I can’t really comprehend the ugly details as I’m seated on the curb, and a real blanket is thrown around my shoulders.
Two paramedics wheel out Hoyt Dunkel on a gurney with an oxygen mask strapped to his face. Asher spared his life, but Dunkel looks beat to a pulp.
Sledge follows on another gurney, the big man needing four medics to keep him on a stretcher. His mouth is half-open with teeth missing.