One Wrong Move

by Shannon McKenna

  “You don’t know me,” Miles said.

  “Neither do you, you arrogant little shit,” Rudd hissed.

  “You’re going to know yourself a whole lot better by the time I’m through with you. So tell me, Miles, why you came after me here.

  Tell me all of it.”

  Miles grabbed onto his encrypted computer image, and hung onto it. He had no clue if it would give him any protection against this guy, but it didn’t matter. It was all he had. So whatever.

  Rudd tilted his head slightly, as if he were pondering some deep philosophical question. The sensation grew slowly, like a drum roll. It almost felt like pounding rain at first, getting louder, growing pressure.

  It stopped abruptly. Miles dragged in a breath.

  “You’re shielded,” Rudd said. His soft voice had a tone of utter betrayal. “You son of a bitch. How dare you.”

  Holy cow. If that was how it felt when a person was shielded, he didn’t even want to imagine what unshielded felt like.

  “Where did you get the drug?” Rudd demanded.

  Miles shook his head again.

  Rudd slapped him. “Who’s supplying you, goddamnit?”

  “I’m not using any drug,” Miles said. “Evidently, it’s possible to block without using the drug.”

  “Who taught you?” Rudd thundered.

  “I taught myself,” Miles said.

  “That’s a lie!” The sensation swelled again, stronger. He could feel the pressure in his eyes building, like they were bulging out.

  Rudd’s voice faded out, and then blared. “. . . worries me. The fact that you know about the drug is troubling. That you can block against it even when not using, that’s even more troubling.

  I do not want news to spread. Publicity would negate my edge, see?”

  Miles nodded, not quite sure what he was agreeing with.

  “You see, with your shield, I can’t get close enough to the inside of your mind to actually control your thinking,” Rudd said.

  “But there is one thing I still can do to you.”

  He snorted back some tears, some blood. “And what’s that?”

  “Hurt you,” Rudd said.

  Miles’s chest jerked with mirthless laughter. “Oh, yeah? What have you been doing so far?”

  “Warming up,” Rudd said.

  This time, it slammed down on him all at once. Vicious stress on every nerve, a pounding hell of noise, pressure . . .

  When he came to, something was dripping from his mouth.

  Blood, drool, who knew. Couldn’t focus his eyes to see. The pain in his head. Beyond all pain. It occurred to him that death might not really be so bad. Just cutting loose, drifting off to who knew where. Anywhere would be fine. As long as it wasn’t here.

  “Who taught you to shield? Who else knows?” Rudd shrilled.

  Miles shook his head. The Mack truck of nerve-induced stress bore down on him again, making him arch and shriek.

  Death, be my pal. Make this crazy motherfucker fade away, and I’ll go anywhere with you. Trusting as a little lamb.

  “. . . important that you understand, Miles. That you cooper-ate. Let me in, Miles. We can help each other, see? It doesn’t have to be like this. It doesn’t have to hurt. Just relax. Let me in. . . .” The hypnotic pulse of the words beat against him. He almost gave in. He wanted to behave. Good dog. Sit, stay, roll over.

  He wanted to be forgiven. It hurt so much. But he opened his streaming eyes, and looked up at the guy. Made the word with his mouth, but could not push it out with air.

  There was no air. He met the guy’s eyes. No.

  Rudd shook his head. The noise again, louder than any of the previous times. He felt things start to shatter. Bones snapping, hearts breaking. The dark wave crested, higher, higher . . .

  Sweet relief, when it finally broke, and washed it all away.

  Chapter 32

  Aaro took in the scene. Nina, dress torn down to her waist, perched on the high wooden railing, bare feet dangling.

  Dmitri lounged next to her, shoving a Beretta between her breasts.

  Her eyes met his. He looked away. Hating to do it, but no tender messages now. He needed to be cold. Detached.

  “Dmitri,” he said. “You found us.”

  “Doesn’t she look nice this way?” His cousin caressed Nina’s tit with the gun barrel. “I like it, with the tits out and the shoulder covering still on. Sort of kinky. Like jeans with the ass cheeks cut out.”

  “What do you want, Dmitri?”

  He caressed her breast again. “I sure would like some of this, but I’m afraid the usefulness of you two has come to an end.”

  Aaro took a step closer. Dmitri jabbed the gun against Nina’s sternum. She gasped, rocked backward, teetering.

  Dmitri caught her. “Careful. No closer. I know all about your coercion trick. You’re just like Rudd, and your prick of a father. I might have known you’d go that way. You always were an over-bearing dickhead. But you can’t use it on me. I’m stronger than you.”

  “OK,” Aaro said.

  “You try any tricks, if I feel the slightest tickle, boom! Right through the heart! Over she goes.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Got it.”

  “So?” Dmitri looked expectant. “Whip it out.”

  “Whip what out?”

  “Don’t play dumb with a telepath, Sasha. Especially not when your girlfriend’s sitting on the edge of a cliff. The B dose, ass-wipe.”

  “What do you care about the B dose?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I just care because you care. Pull it out.”

  Nina had tried to cross her arms over her chest, but Dmitri knocked them apart again with the barrel of the gun. “Don’t hunch. Stick ’em out . . . yeah, that’s it. Arch your back. Yeah.

  Better.”

  He slid his arm around, far enough to squeeze and grab and pinch. Nina’s eyes were shut, her face dead pale, and stiff.

  Rage grew in that pressure chamber. He struggled to stay cool.

  “The B dose, Sasha.” Dmitri prodded Nina’s breast with the gun.

  Aaro pulled the tower out from under his coat. Dried wads of glue at regular intervals were dotted around the base where it had been fastened down. Inside the tower was a roll of bubble wrap.

  Aaro pried it out. The small squares of rubber popped out of their little frames, tumbling around his feet.

  He unwound the bubble wrap. The wind whipped the plastic stuff from his hand, twisting it away and twirling it upward. Three syringes were inside, prepared and capped. Rubber banded together.

  They looked so small and ordinary. And they were life. The future.

  Dmitri shoved Nina forward off the railing. She stumbled to her knees as she hit. He pushed her before him, yanking back a handful of her hair and shoving her with the gun at the nape of her neck, which twisted her head back at a painful, contorted angle.

  She lurched toward Aaro, her eyes fixed on his.

  “Nina, take the syringes,” Dmitri said. “If you don’t want him to watch your face disappear. These things make a hell of an exit wound.”

  She reached out. He brushed his fingers over hers as he pressed them into her hand.

  “Take off the rubber band,” Dmitri said. She peeled it off.

  “Now we’re going to play a game. Nina, take one of those syringes, and throw it out over the railing.”

  “What?” Her voice cracked.

  “You heard me, bitch. Throw it. Or I shoot.”

  Still, she hesitated. Dmitri whacked her on the shoulder with the pistol. Aaro flinched, as she stumbled forward with a grunt.

  “Throw it!” Dmitri yelled. “Now! You stupid whore!”

  “Throw it, Nina, for God’s sake,” Aaro said softly.

  She screamed as she threw the thing, a shrill, agonized sound.

  They all watched its long arc, how it turned, end over end, until it vanished into the darkness below.

  “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Now take another
one. Throw it, too.”

  Nina turned to Dmitri, and shook her head. “No.”

  “Not an acceptable answer.” Dmitri hit her again with the pistol, this time her ribs. She was crying. Aaro did not watch. He could not get distracted. Floating. Cold.

  “Were you planning to take the B dose together? One for him, one for her! Aw, that’s so touching. Maybe I’ll just give these last two syringes to you and let bygones be bygones, what do you think?” Laughter rang out, harsh and crazed. “Oh, wait! I forgot about you dropping spiders in my hair! And strangling me with the phone cord!” He yanked down his shirt, showed them the scabbed line across his throat. “I don’t think so, bitch! Throw the fucking syringe, before I count to three. One. Two—”

  “No!” she shrieked. “No, I won’t! We’ll die anyway, and the bullet is a better death, so no! ”

  Dmitri hooted. “It’s not up to you. Give me those!” He groped around her body for the syringes, the gun barrel tangled in her hair. Nina screamed and writhed. A syringe flew, and bounced on the wooden floorboards. The other, Dmitri yanked away, and flung out over the railing. His howl of triumph blended with Nina’s shriek of despair.

  Everything that syringe had meant for them, gone.

  Aaro put it aside. Floating . . . waiting . . . until the gun barrel angled away from her head . . . almost . . . almost . . . now.

  He pounced, mentally.

  Bam, the Beretta went off. Dmitri spun, yelling. His arm jerked upward, suddenly out of his control. He shot into the air, then at the side of the building. A bullet zinged off the railing, leaving a splintered gouge. Bam. Bam. Aaro had to struggle to control him. He wasn’t very good at it yet. Lots of swerving, fish-tailing. He drew the SIG.

  Bam. Bam. One bullet caught Dmitri in the shoulder, one in the thigh. He fell against the railing, clutching the wounds.

  Nina was huddled on the ground, her streaming eyes set off by a dark, dripping raccon mask of makeup, hands clamped over her. He ascertained in an instant that she had not been hit, and put it aside to concentrate on the shaky hold he had on Dmitri’s mind. The close contact felt foul, like wrestling a writhing venomous insect. But the bullets had cracked Dmitri’s focus. He had the guy in his grip now.

  He walked toward him, crouching to pull the ratchet cuffs from the stash in his ankle holster, never slackening his hold or releasing his gaze. “Put your gun down, and slide it across the deck to me,” he said, punching all the coercive power he could into the words.

  Dmitri’s movements were shaky, jerky, but he extended the Beretta, and tossed it. It slid a few inches out of his immediate reach.

  Rain pounded down now, mixing with the blood spilling through Dmitri’s fingers. “You’re going to kill me now, Sasha?

  Now that you’re a heavyweight mind wrestler like your fucking father, you can crush everyone beneath your feet, just like him.

  Does that make you happy?”

  “I’m not going to kill you,” Aaro said. “Unless you make me.”

  Dmitri laughed, spattering blood. “ ‘Not unless you make me,’ ” he mocked, in a singsong voice. “Fucking changeling.

  Oleg’s crown prince, and you didn’t even want the crown. You never gave a shit, did you? About any of it? The money, the power?”

  “No,” Aaro admitted. “I didn’t want any part of it.”

  “I did.” Dmitri coughed, his breath rapid and shallow. “It should have been me. I would have done anything he wanted.

  But he only wanted you. Poor, dumb Oleg.” The laughter clearly hurt him, but he could not seem to stop. “But I got back at you, and good. And you never knew. Asshole.”

  “What do you mean, got back at me?” It was a stupid question, but it burst out before he could detach from it.

  “Julie,” Dmitri said triumphantly, licking pinkish foam from his lips. “I got Julie, you asshole. Started having my fun with her soon as she started looking like a girl and not a broomstick.

  Mmm. Yum.”

  Aaro stared, dumbstruck. “No,” he whispered.

  Dmitri laughed harder, but soundlessly, tears of pain streamed down his face. “For two whole years! I knew you and Oleg would kill me if she told you, but she never told! Too embarrassed, I expect. Mostly in the summertime. First time, the poolhouse on Long Island. You were at the beach, no one but Julie, reading her book by the pool. Man, she was so fine. It was just so easy, to drag her into the poolhouse and—”

  Crack, the heel of Aaro’s boot connected with Dmitri’s jaw, smashing it. Blood flowed down over the guy’s chin, but he just wouldn’t stop laughing. Aaro hauled off to kick him again—

  “Watch out, Aaro,” Nina called, her voice sharp. “Watch out!”

  “Yes, Sasha. Watch out.” It was another soft female voice, one he knew, behind his back. He jerked his head around.

  Julie stood on the deck. Her skin as gray and deathly pale as when they had found her. Wearing the drenched nightgown she had worn when she swam out to sea. Her long hair snarled with seaweed.

  She gave him a sad little smile. “Yes, Sasha,” she said. “It’s me.”

  One stunned, blank moment was all Dmitri needed to lunge for his gun. Nina shrieked a desperate warning.

  Bam, Dmitri’s gun went off.

  Aaro had been shot before, but it was always pretty damn special. That nasty thump, followed by the heat, dropping blood pressure, and the frantic feeling of oh, fuck . . .

  The deck swung up, slammed into him. Rain hit his face at a new, more intimate angle. Nina was screaming. A bullet whinged off the wood about two inches from his face, releasing a shrapnel of splinters. He jerked around, yanked the Ruger from the ankle holster.

  Bam.

  Dmitri sagged back again, silent.

  Nina knelt next to him, frantically talking, but he just jerked her down behind him. “Get down!”

  “But you’re shot! Aaro, let me at least—”

  “Get down! ” He rolled over onto his belly. Blood pooled beneath him, leaving a dark trail as he slithered into position, sighted . . .

  Dmitri was not moving. The pistol lay inches away from his slack hand. Aaro stared, waiting. Wary of a trick.

  “I’ll get it!” Nina sang out, and before he could muster the breath to tell her to get the fuck back down, she was bounding like a gazelle over the deck, snatching up the pistol. The gun dangled from her fingers as if she were holding a dead mouse by the tail. She stopped to scoop up the syringe, lay the Beretta down on the floorboards next to him.

  “You got the syringe,” he said. “Take the drug. Now. Before anyone can stop you. Now! ” He put all his coercive force behind the word. And she didn’t even blink. True to form. The chick was cast iron.

  “There’s only one of them,” she said stubbornly.

  She tried to rip her skirt for a bandage, but the fabric was stretchy, yielding too easily to rip, so she peeled off her shrug.

  Leaving her topless torso gleaming with rain. Heart-stoppingly beautiful. She knocked him out. Not that he had far to go, but—

  “Fuck,” he gasped out, as she pressed the fabric against his wound. “Goddamnit, Nina!”

  “Apply direct pressure,” she said, her voice quivering. “That’s all I know. So that’s damn well what I’ll do.”

  “The syringe, first! Take it! Now, goddamnit!”

  “But there’s only one,” she insisted.

  He grasped her arm, and his blood made pinkish trails sluice down her arm. “So there’s only one. Tough shit! It’s day three for you! End of the line! We’ll figure out something else for me.”

  She shook her head. “There is nothing else, and you goddamn well know it, Aaro! So don’t play hero with me!”

  “Nina,” he said. “Please.”

  She shook her head. “No. I might have a tiny margin beyond the three days, like Helga did. We’ll get the stuff analyzed, duplicated, maybe. Or we’ll split the dose evenly between us, and face whatever happens together. Or we’ll—”

  “Take it
, Nina. Take it now.”

  “I won’t!” Her voice wobbled. “You can’t bully me into it.

  You’re shot. Don’t bother fighting me. I have to go get help for you now, so you just press this thing down, as hard as you can stand, and I’ll—”

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” said a sharp, disapproving voice.

  Harold Rudd strode swiftly out of the shadows, and kicked Dmitri’s Beretta. It skittered across the floorboards, and flew off the deck. “Just look at this godawful mess,” he said fretfully.

  Nina dropped the hypodermic beside Aaro’s leg, and put both her hands over the wad of bloody fabric, praying that Rudd had not seen it. She dragged her shield up as the man walked toward them, shaking his head in distaste at Dmitri’s still form, at Aaro staring up at him from the bloody floorboards, with his habitual coiled stillness. The kind of stillness that could spring into action in the fraction of a second.

  Rudd concluded that Nina was the only one fit enough to scold, so he focused on her. “Do you have any idea how bad this looks?”

  Nina could not believe her ears. “Excuse me? Looks? ”

  “I imagine it was you two who sent that irritating fellow Miles to bother me, right? Am I right?”

  New fear gripped her. “What did you do to him?”

  Rudd’s lip curled in ugly triumph. “Let’s just say, he won’t be bothering anyone else,” he said. “Not for a long, long time.”

  Oh, no, no, no. Nina met Aaro’s gaze, horrified.

  “All I ever wanted was a little discretion, a little restraint,” the man raged. “And look what I get. Your Miles, carrying on in the banquet hall, destroying my model. We’ll probably have multiple lawsuits coming in from all the people that were kicked and punched. And now, a shootout on the terrace of the Convention Center! Greaves will kill me! You three just had to come to the highest profile event of the year, packed with the most influen-tial people in America, to make trouble? And then proceed to make a bloody mess that I personally will have to explain away!

  Just . . . look at you!” He gestured at them.

  Nina rose up, spine straightening. “What? What about us, Rudd?”

  He gestured toward her bare torso. “People will be swarming out here any second. Do you suppose you could, ah, pull that dress up?”