Nobody (Men of the White Sandy) (Volume 3)

by Sarah M. Anderson

  “You’re not leaving, are you?”

  He needed to. She was messing with his head in a way that he wasn’t used to and didn’t know how to handle. Women didn’t make conversation with him. They didn’t flaunt their bodies around him. They didn’t ask his opinions on—on—hell, he didn’t even know what to call whatever she’d done with a blowtorch. Art. No one asked his opinion on art. Ever.

  “Don’t go yet.” That was even worse, the way she said that with a soft voice and a softer look in her eye—like she’d be sad if he disappeared back into the dark.

  Oh, yeah—she was messing with his head. Badly.

  “Are you … are you afraid of me?”

  Yes. Oh, hell yes. She scared the shit out of him, out of what he wanted to do with her. He’d rather get shot again that admit that out loud. “No.”

  Everything about her changed. He couldn’t say how, though. She was still giving him those big doe eyes, still had an easy smile on her face. “But you’re scared of my sister.” It wasn’t a question.

  Yeah, Dr. Mitchell scared the hell out of him, too—but not like this. He always got the feeling that Dr. Mitchell was disappointed in him every time she sewed him back up. But she trusted him, too, with the keys to the clinic and all the drugs in it. He didn’t want her to think she’d misjudged him.

  He didn’t answer. What was he supposed to say? Yes? What if she went back and told her sister what he’d said?

  “She has that effect on a lot of people,” Melinda went on as if he’d spoken out loud. “I’m the nice one.”

  He had no idea what she expected him to say. Hell, he had no idea what was even proper to say at this point. She’d spun his head around way too much. So he nodded his head.

  “You don’t talk much, do you, Mr. Bodine?”

  “Why do you call me that?” There. He’d said something.

  “It’s your name, isn’t it?”

  He stared at her for a moment—the kind of stare that backed everyone else up.

  She didn’t flinch, though. If anything, she looked … pleased? Damn it, she did. And damn it all, it looked so good on her.

  Then he heard it—a rumble carried up to him on the breeze. Crunching. An engine revving.

  Damn.

  “Get inside.” He moved as he spoke, so that he’d barely said the words before he had her by the arm, pulling her back into the building.

  She squeaked—a sound he’d heard before, when he’d first seen her. He’d scared her. Well, that was too damn bad. “The lights.”

  He ran back to the rear of the building, locking the back door and shutting the lights down. He knew that sound. Someone was coming—fast. That kind of noise at this point on a Friday night? Nothing but trouble.

  He raced back up to the front as Melinda shut the lights off. He grabbed the door, but didn’t shut it. He left it open a crack. Why didn’t this place have windows?

  “What’s wrong?” Melinda sounded scared—but she wasn’t exactly whispering.

  “Quiet.”

  “I don’t—” Then she grabbed his arm as the car crested the hill, did a donut in the grass and squealed toward the clinic.

  “Who is it?” At least she was quiet about it. But she’d leaned into him, putting her sweet mouth closer to his ear.

  Nobody shifted—to block her from the door, not because she was making him nervous or anything. If this were junkies coming to rob the clinic again, things could get ugly, fast. He didn’t mind fighting—hell, it was one of the few things he was good at. But Melinda? She’d probably never been hit in her life. She might panic, and a panicked woman combined with meth heads tweaked out of their skulls was a bad combination.

  She leaned into him again, the weight of her breasts pressing against his arm. Jesus. “Do you have a gun or something?”

  He shook his head before he realized she probably couldn’t see it. The center was pitch-black and he was blocking the only light with his body. “No.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  Why the hell not? Because the difference between an assault charge and an assault with a deadly weapon charge was measured in years, that’s why. But he figured that, if he tried to explain that right now, she’d probably want to know how he knew something like that and it was difficult to defend her and argue with her at the same time. “Because. Quiet.”

  The car cut one final donut in the grass before coming to a stop. Bodies piled out—male. Short. Giggling? Young, he realized. Kids—out joyriding. Probably drunk. Looking to stir up shit, but hopefully not to break into the clinic.

  More giggling. Someone was passing around a joint. Then one of the taller guys stepped in front of the headlights. Great. Just great. Dwayne LaRoche was here.

  What Nobody didn’t need right now was some piss-ant, low-level criminal who was trying to fashion himself as an Indian Godfather using this particular building for his initiation ‘rites’. Nobody tried to remember what Dwayne was calling his little gang now—Indian Killerz? Something stupid like that. At least the name fit. He was a dealer—pot and meth. He was doing a damn fine job killing people all by himself.

  He snapped a beer off a six-pack and tossed it to a kid who didn’t look more than fifteen. “Well, Georgey-boy? What’s it gonna be? You run with the Killerz?”

  Georgey-boy? He didn’t recognize that name. Not someone Jamie had told him about. Which was good. Wasn’t much point in keeping the boy safe from his father if he was going to join a damned gang.

  “What’s going on?” Melinda whispered in his ear.

  He didn’t answer her. The boy chugged the beer, burped, and caught another, longer can Dwayne threw at him. Spray paint? Hell, no. Nobody worked too damn hard keeping this building clean to let a bunch of wannabe gangsters mess it up.

  He turned his body—not enough that the idiots outside would notice the movement through the crack in the door, but enough that he could talk to Melinda without them hearing him.

  He almost hit her in the face with his elbow. Without thinking about what he was doing, he lifted his arm up, dropped it behind her, and pulled her in tight. He was just going to tell her something. He only needed to pull her in closer so she could hear him. It had nothing to do with the way her body fit against his or how she came willingly into his arm.

  Right.

  He lowered his head to hers. The scent of oranges got stronger as her hair brushed over his nose. God. She was going to kill him. “Lock the door behind me, then hide. Whatever you do, don’t let them see you.”

  “Where are you going?”

  He couldn’t help it. He gave her waist a little squeeze. He felt the way she sucked in air, made a little noise that wasn’t the same terrified squeak she’d made earlier. Closer to a gasp. They were almost alone in the dark. No one knew they were here. He could close the door and pull her in so close that she wouldn’t be able to do anything but gasp.

  “Do it!” a chorus of voices started chanting outside, egging Georgey-boy on.

  “Be safe,” he whispered, his mouth against her ear. He forced himself to let go of her, to push her back further into the darkness.

  Then he went outside.

  Chapter Five

  What the hell was he doing?

  Melinda stood there in a state of shock as Nobody slipped out the open door. As he did, he almost … disappeared before her eyes. Like he’d walked out into a shadow, sorta. How the hell did he do that? It was like he bent light or something out of a Harry Potter movie. Did he own a Cloak of Invisibility or what?

  She should do what he told her—shut and lock the door, go hide somewhere. But she couldn’t. She was watching Nobody.

  He wasn’t invisible, though. She watched him edge along the side of the building, then out into the darkness behind the car, where he really did disappear. But then, she couldn’t see anything behind the car. Not even the outline of the trees.

  None of the others acted like they had seen him. The guy who everyone else was egging on shook his can and tu
rned toward the building. Vandalism? Really? Hell, she’d let him come paint the outside whenever he wanted! Why did he feel like he had to sneak around in the dark?

  Then, suddenly, everything changed. One guy screamed in pain, a second one yelled, “Holy shit!” and a third one went down. It happened so fast that she couldn’t see what was happening. Just a blur of black.

  The kid with the spray paint spun around, took one look at the fight scene and dropped the can. In seconds, he’d also disappeared into the darkness at a full run, but Melinda didn’t figure he’d done anything so brave as to circle back on Nobody.

  Jesus—that man was taking on all … she did a quick count. Three on the ground, one running away, two standing. Nobody had disappeared back into the darkness, three guys down. They were moving, so he hadn’t killed anyone yet.

  Then Melinda almost giggled, in that hysterical kind of way. Had she really just thought yet?

  Oh, yes, she had.

  The remaining two guys—one of whom appeared to be the ringleader—scrambled off the car hood where they’d been sitting and stood back to back. “Who’s there?” the ringleader shouted.

  To her ever-lasting surprise, Nobody walked out of the shadow. He’d lost his hat, but that didn’t make him look any less menacing. If anything, he looked like he really could kill someone.

  Nobody moved forward with a coiled ease that reminded her of a wolf stalking its prey. Not that she’d ever watched a wolf stalk its prey—not that many wolves in Columbus—but Nobody walked into the light in the way wolves were depicted in movies. Dangerous power seemed to roll off him.

  “Dwayne, man,” the second man was saying. “We should go.”

  “Fuck, no—I’m not going to let this nobody get in my way.” Then the ringleader—Dwayne—reached into his back pocket and pulled out a switch-blade knife.

  Melinda shoved her fist into her mouth to keep from screaming, mostly because Nobody had already seen the knife and didn’t seem to be the least bit worried about it.

  “You know what, freak? I’m tired of you.”

  Even as Dwayne said it, Nobody took a step to the side and kicked one of the downed guys who’d managed to make it back up to his knees in the ribs. With an agonizing groan, the guy went back down and stayed there. Nobody didn’t hesitate—for God’s sake, kicking that guy didn’t even break his concentration. It was as effortless as Melinda picking a stray hair off her skirt—something that was easy. Second nature.

  She’d been right, when she’d first seen him a month ago. He was a fighter, one who was exceptionally good at it. He was the most dangerous man she’d ever seen—maybe the most dangerous, because he’d taken down three men without a weapon. Just his fists.

  “Fuck, Dwayne—he’s not real! I ain’t messing with a sica!”

  A what? What was a sica? Whatever it was, it appeared to be scary.

  “He’s real. Watch. I’ll make him bleed,” Dwayne shot to his sidekick as he slashed through the air with his knife. Then he turned his attention back to Nobody. “What do you say, freak? Wanna dance?”

  She had a good view of Nobody at this angle. His face showed no emotion—he wasn’t scared, not like she was, but he wasn’t having fun. She thought. Hell, he might be enjoying this, for all she knew.

  Dwayne’s back was to her, so she kept the door open, as horrifying as it was. She did not want to see Nobody get killed. Actually, she wasn’t that keen on seeing anyone else get killed, either. But she couldn’t bring herself to shut the door. If something happened to Nobody, she wanted to be able to help him. Although she knew damn good and well she was no match for a bad guy with a blade.

  Nobody turned his head to the side and spat, which was apparently an agreement to ‘dance.’ The sidekick shrank back as Dwayne and Nobody began circling each other.

  Melinda wanted to shout, No, don’t turn your back on the other guy! But she shouldn’t have worried. When Nobody got close to the sidekick, he spun with a speed she hadn’t imagined he possessed, grabbed the guy’s arm, and threw him—threw him—the ten feet or so to the car. The guy cleared air before he hit the side of the door with a sickening thud.

  “You don’t scare me. You ain’t no ghost. You’re nothing but a nobody and nobody can hurt me.” Dwayne shouted.

  To Melinda’s ears, he did sound a little bit afraid. He should be, she thought. He may be holding the knife, but Nobody had just taken down four men all by himself.

  Nobody hadn’t said anything yet. Big surprise there. At least it wasn’t just her. He really didn’t talk.

  The circling continued for another painful few seconds. The tension was killing her—would they fight or would the Dwayne guy bolt? Because she couldn’t see Nobody turning tail, not when he knew she was still in here.

  Nobody made a movement like he was going to charge at Dwayne, but then pulled back. It must have done what he wanted it to, though, because Dwayne started and then lunged forward in a less-than-organized way. Nobody had pulled him off balance, she saw. Dwayne rushed forward, knife out. Nobody easily sidestepped the blade and, turning as Dwayne went past, brought down a huge fist on the back of Dwayne’s neck.

  Dwayne went to the dirt and for a second, Melinda hoped that was where he would stay. But he scrambled back to his feet and lunged again.

  Nobody spun again, but not fast enough this time. Dwayne caught him on the arm. Suddenly, there was a red hole where black t-shirt had been. But if Nobody felt it, he sure as hell didn’t show it. Instead, he backed into Dwayne. Melinda couldn’t quite see what was happening, but she would guess that Nobody was driving his elbow into Dwayne’s midsection, over and over.

  The sounds coming from the fight turned her stomach. Dwayne was grunting in pain and the sound of Nobody hitting him was like a meat tenderizer hitting a T-bone steak.

  Even as he was being pummeled, Dwayne kept fighting. Melinda couldn’t see what happened, but suddenly Nobody shoved him off.

  Oh, he was hurt. He didn’t cry or shout, but he leaned down, one hand on his knee, trying to catch his breath. Dwayne looked like he’d been hit with a cement truck, but he swung around and caught Nobody with the blade again.

  Sweet Jesus, the knife hadn’t just scratched him this time—she could see the handle sticking out of his side. Melinda cried out in horror. No, don’t, she wanted to shout, but she couldn’t do anything else.

  Apparently, though, that was enough. Dwayne’s head shot up in confusion at the noise, which was all the opening that Nobody needed. The next thing Melinda knew, he was screaming in pain. Nobody had gotten hold of his knife hand and had bent it back until his knuckles were touching his arm. The sound of bone’s snapping was sickening.

  Dwayne collapsed onto the ground as Nobody twisted his broken wrist. Then, knife handle still jutting out of his midsection, he punched the downed man. Hard.

  Dwayne fell sideways, unconscious.

  Melinda flew out of the center. “OhmyGod—he stabbed you!”

  Somehow, Nobody managed to stand up straight. Looking her in the eye, he pulled the blade from his gut. He didn’t even wince in pain when he did it. He could have been zipping up his pants for all the emotion he showed. But then he blinked, and she saw the pain register on his face.

  She ran to his side, sliding her arm under the part that hadn’t been slashed in the fight. “OhGodohGod,” she heard herself say.

  Finally, he spoke. Even as he let her take some of his weight, he said, “Woman, I told you to lock the door.”

  Then he stumbled, going down to one knee and pulling her with him. “Nobody!” she shouted, trying to pull him back up. It was like trying to lift a refrigerator.

  “Rebel,” he grunted as he managed to get both feet back under him. “Sister.”

  Oh, right! Duh! What the hell was the point of standing around panicking when she knew exactly where the local doctor lived?

  “My car—it’s this way,” she said, trying to push him in the right direction.

  “Red,” he wheezed
.

  “What? No, my car. It’s this way.”

  “Red,” he said again. It sounded like it really hurt.

  “Damn it, Nobody, whatever red is, it can wait. I’ve got to get you to Madeline now.” She made the mistake of looking down.

  Dark stickiness covered the front of Nobody’s shirt, with more blood coursing down his arm. Her stomach turned again. They had to get to Madeline before she passed out.

  “Now,” she repeated, more to have something else to focus on than what was dripping off him.

  “Lock the door.” For a wounded man, he was awfully argumentative.

  “Nobody—”

  “Door.” He pushed her toward the center door.

  Fine. She had no idea what was red or why it was important but she could see the logic of locking the door. Those guys would wake up sooner or later and they’d probably want revenge.

  So she fumbled with the keys until she got the door locked, then they stumbled toward her car together. She got the door open and him in the passenger seat, and then they were driving for Madeline as fast as she could.

  She laid on the horn when she hit the drive to Madeline’s trailer. By the time she pulled up in front, Madeline and Rebel were waiting. “Where have you been?” Madeline demanded, but then Rebel pulled the passenger door open and Nobody fell out. “What the hell? Nobody!”

  “I was cutting metal—for the door—and Nobody was there—and then these guys pulled up!” She raced around the other side, trying to get Nobody back on his feet. “Six guys—they were going to do graffiti—and Nobody! He went out there and knocked four of them out—and the one ran away and the one—the last one had a knife.” She drew in a ragged breath and Nobody groaned as the three of them basically dragged him up the five steps into the trailer.

  “Damn it, Nobody—you got yourself cut up over graffiti?” Madeline sounded like she’d gotten over her initial shock and was already in doctor mode. She even had on gloves.

  Which was great. Exactly what Melinda wanted, because she couldn’t even begin to go into any other mode besides panic. Still, it was irritating as hell that her sister could keep it together and Melinda was on the verge of hysterics.