by Misty Evans
Line them up and shoot their peckers off.
Tears shot down her face, but she refused to wipe them away. She needed her hands for other things.
Slowly, she slipped her hand into the slit in her dress.
Ahmed went into his litany again. “Oh, yes. Touch yourself. Play with yourself. Make yourself come before I take you, whore.”
Syd’s mind flashed to Number Seven who, on a weekly basis, reminded her what a whore she was. And now, this animal thought he could rape her. Thought it was somehow okay because he’d paid for her time and attention.
She slid her fingers along her thigh to the strap, searching for what she needed. Her index finger brushed the cool handle of her .22—the one Fed Boy insisted she strap to her body rather than store in her purse—and ripped it out of the holster.
Line them up and shoot their peckers off.
“Shoot him, Syd.” Was that Grey or her own survival instincts talking? Either way, it was a good idea.
In an instant, with all the force she could muster, she dug the pee-shooter into The Lion’s crotch, just next to where he held her mouth against his erection. “Let me go or I put a bullet in your dick.”
The room went eerily silent. Only the sound of The Lion’s sharp intake of air sounded. Still, he gripped her hair. Waiting…
She jammed the gun harder into his crotch. “I’ve got nothing to lose, Ahmed. According to you, I’m a disgusting whore. Right now, I’m a disgusting whore about to spark an international incident. Your choice.”
Please, make the right choice. Without a doubt, she’d shoot him. Some things were ingrained. Instincts, survival tactics, intuition, whatever. Thanks to her battered mother, Syd had them all and never would the day come where she’d allow a man to make her a victim.
The Lion released her hair and flung his hand away, somehow making it a dramatic show.
Guess he likes his pecker.
Holding the gun in place, she inched away. “Now back up. No sudden movements.”
“Get out of there,” Grey said. “I’m just around the corner. I’ll be there in seconds.”
Once The Lion had moved a few feet from her, she stood and scooted sideways. The veils on the floor brushed against her open-toed strappy heels, their silky feel reminding her of the terror this man wanted to inflict.
Such a damned shame. Slowly, still holding the gun on The Lion, she reached down and scooped up the veils. One slipped free, but she let it go. She wouldn’t need it.
“Thank you for the gift.” She pointed the gun toward the door with the ornate lever. “Step to that door.”
The Lion hesitated and she pointed the gun at his crotch. “It’s only a .22 but I’d bet it hurts like a son of a bitch when one of those little bullets rips into your penis. Particularly a hard one.”
For the fun of it, she grinned.
The Lion stood by the door and she got close enough to toss him one of the veils. The bright pink one. “Tie your hand to that lever. Double knot.”
It wouldn’t hold him long. He’d just untie himself. It would keep him busy for a minute or two, and that was all she needed.
He fumbled the veil, but managed to put one end in his mouth to tie off the knot. “I can just untie this, stupid whore.”
After all the years of dealing with Number Seven, Syd was tired of being called a whore. She aimed the pistol at the pristine wood floor, Brazilian Oak maybe, three-inch planks—just gorgeous—and squeezed off a shot to the right of The Lion’s foot.
He yelped.
“Not so tough now, are you?”
His nostrils flared with contempt. “You will pay.”
She smiled, finally feeling the beautiful surge of power. “Oh, Ahmed. I keep telling you I have nothing to lose. You’re the big shot. And I could crush you. So, from now on, when we see each other, you will be nice. Understand?”
His top lip shook and he swung his free arm at her.
She squeezed off another round. This one into the door above his head.
“Cease!”
“Syd!” This from Fed Boy who must be in the midst of a coronary by now. He wasn’t the only one.
“I’m leaving now,” she said to both men.
“Go!” The Lion yelled. “You’ll pay!”
“Get the hell out of there,” Grey yelled.
The gun still pointed at The Lion, Syd backed out of the room and realized she still held the blue veil in her free hand. She’d take it. A constant reminder of how wrong she was and why she needed to get this lunatic locked up. “Sorry about the bullet holes. And thanks for the gift.”
Chapter Seventeen
Idiot. He was an idiot.
Grey maneuvered the Challenger onto the sidewalk and nearly ran over two pedestrians before skirting the accident and yanking the car back onto the street. The sun had set hours ago and streetlights cast an eerie pall over the car wreck. He rounded the corner, cutting across the pedestrian crosswalk, and there she was, running down the sidewalk in her bare feet, shoes and purse in hand, the fancy dress flapping around her legs at the slit.
His gut churned. He knew it had been far too dangerous to let her go alone into The Lion’s house, even under the pretense of having dinner with Nabil. Thank God, he’d made her take her gun.
He slammed on the brakes in the middle of the street, getting a round of horns from cars behind him. Fuck ’em. His only concern was rescuing his partner.
Her head was down, eyes on the sidewalk. He honked, shoved the gearshift into park, and jumped out of the car. They were out of sight from the brownstone, so he didn’t worry about The Lion seeing them. Didn’t really care if the bastard did. “Over here,” he called.
At the sound of his voice, her head came up and her eyes zoomed in on him. Haunted. Even in the shadowy street, he could see how haunted she was by what had just occurred.
Three running strides and she slid into the Challenger. He did the same, jamming the shifter into drive, and letting his attention discreetly slide over Syd’s body from head to toe. Her body language screamed back off but she appeared okay. Physically, anyway.
He didn’t speak. The look on her face, the stiff posture told him everything he needed to know. She needed time to process what had happened and the last thing she wanted from him was a lecture. He’d let her down. Just like Molly.
Goddamn, it was hard not to ask her if she was okay. Not to reach over and touch her. Not to beg her to look at him.
He didn’t do any of those things. He just drove, taking a left instead of the right that would have led him to her apartment.
Sometime later, as they crossed into West Virginia, Syd sunk low in her seat and rolled down the window. Cool September air rushed in, blowing her hair into tangled webs. The tension in her body lessened but she still clutched a piece of fabric in her left hand. Her right hand snuck out the window and floated on the air currents. The smallest of smiles lifted her lips.
The woman liked speed, liked the feel of the wind. Grey shoved his foot into the gas pedal and pushed the Challenger’s speedometer to a hundred, heading northwest on the Custis Memorial Parkway. Giving Syd quiet, the only thing he could right then.
Let her speak first. Let her take control, even if it’s only with the conversation.
His mouth didn’t want to obey, so he clamped his jaw tight and focused his internal angst on imagining all the ways he could torture Ahmed Khourey.
All the ways he could kill the man.
A bullet to the head was the most efficient. He could slip into the townhouse later that night and...
Nah, the soldier in him said. Too damn easy. The Lion needed to pay with blood, sweat, and tears.
Grey took the appropriate off-ramp, headed farther north and drove in different directions until he was one hundred and ten percent sure no one was following him. Then he steered the car for home.
His place was on a dead-end gravel road with a long, narrow driveway. The entrance to the drive was gated and the surrounding iro
n fence was overgrown with trees, kudzu, knotweed, and other spiny, invasive groundcovers. The fence was electrified and the gate operated on a security system he and Monroe had installed. Grey placed his thumb on the scanner and the gate opened automatically.
“Where are you taking me?” Sydney asked without a hint of spark.
Gutted.
“Somewhere you can blow off steam.” Somewhere where you’re safe.
“I really just want to go home. Clear my head.”
You are home. He wound the car along the curving drive, parked inside the garage. Shutting off the engine, he faced her. “Clear your head here. With me.”
In her eyes, a change occurred. The walls she’d thrown up lowered a bit. Reflected in the stormy depths, he saw trust. She trusted him. He’d let her down and she still trusted him.
Without a word, she got out of the car, looked around the tricked-out garage before following him to the door attached to the house. He hit the proper buttons on the keypad and the door clicked open. As the two of them wound their way through the first floor, lights came on automatically. He reset the alarm system, took Syd by the hand, and led her to the bedroom.
There, he rummaged through his drawers until he found a clean T-shirt and a pair of his basketball shorts. “Bathroom’s in there.” He pointed at the door. “I’ll be downstairs. Come find me when you’re ready.”
He left her alone, shucked his gun and holster, and made his way to the training room.
Ten minutes later, he was blowing off his own steam with a lifelike punching bag when Sydney found him. She looked a little lost in his clothes but her expression had softened, her muscles were loose again. Holding out her hand, she showed him the fabric she’d been clutching in the car. “He wanted me to wear this.”
A veil. Like the one he’d seen hanging on Nabil’s bedpost. Taking it from her, he set it on a nearby bench. Probably didn’t mean a thing, but he’d check into it later. He needed to talk to some of the other escorts who’d serviced The Lion and Nabil and see if this was a new MO or one he and Monroe had missed.
But right now, he needed to take care of his partner.
He tossed a pair of punch mitts at her. “Put these on.”
She gave him a you’ve got to be kidding look.
He picked up two small strike shields, padded to deflect a boxer’s punches, even boxers twice her size. Then he motioned for her to come at him.
She played with the mitts, acting all indignant and wasting time. For once, she seemed short on words. The motion of putting on the mitts seemed to break through her apathy. “This is a waste of time.” Her actions belied her statement as she finished donning the gloves. “I’m not going to punch you.”
“Imagine The Lion’s face right here.” He pointed at the center of his right shield. “Give it everything you’ve got.”
She sighed, hands at her side. “Why didn’t you take me to the shooting range so I could blow his head off?”
“What he did to you was personal. You need to get your hands dirty. Hand-to-hand is more satisfying.”
A brow rose. “There is nothing satisfying about hitting someone.”
“Don’t get all high and mighty, Syd. We’re not talking about abusing an innocent person. We’re talking about taking back control. Our basic nature as human beings is to fight. So shut off the ethical and moral crap, put up your fists, and give that asshole what he deserves. And don’t tell me you’ve never wanted to take revenge on other men, the ones whose wives and girlfriends come through your shelter with broken bones and broken spirits.”
Bingo. The light in her eyes shifted. Hardened, but in a different manner. “No. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t.” He danced around her, light on his feet, and gave her a small shove with one of the shields. “Come on. Hit me.”
It went against everything she stood for. Sure, she’d hold a gun to a man and threaten him if her life was on the line, but hitting someone? That went against her moral fiber. She’d seen the damage fists could do time and time again.
“Don’t push me,” she ground out.
“Why? You scared?”
And then miracle of miracles, she took a swing at him.
Her fist barely connected with the shield, didn’t even cause a dent. “That all you got? Hit me like you mean it.”
The quip triggered another jab, this one making solid contact. “That a girl.”
“Not. A. Girl.” She landed another punch and another.
Once she got going, he estimated it would take a minute, maybe a minute thirty before she’d drop. Boxing, even if it was only light sparring, was hard work and she was unconditioned.
Three minutes later, he gave her props. Sweat poured from her and her breaths came in deep gasps, but her punches were just as hard, just as fierce. When she finally stalled out, he shucked the shields and removed the gloves from her hands. Then he grabbed a white towel from a freshly laundered stack and wiped the sweat from her face and neck. Did the same to his own. Her hair was wild and her cheeks flushed. Best of all, her eyes were clear and her body had released all the pent up shit she’d been carrying for God knew how long.
From the built-in fridge, he pulled two cold bottles of water, opened them both, and handed one to her. She accepted it without comment, downed half and wiped her mouth with the back of one hand. “Nice place.”
“Thanks. Hungry? I can fix us something.”
“Nah. But I’d like a shower.”
There was a shower in the training center, but it wasn’t as nice as the one off his bedroom. “Sure.”
He led her upstairs, deposited her back in his room. The clothes she had on were soaked with sweat, so he got her a new set. She took them with a small smile, grabbed his hand, and drew him toward the bathroom, giving him a sly look.
He knew that look and he had to adjust himself. Syd, soap and water. Ah, yeah. That would relax him.
He wasn’t going to stop her. Wasn’t going to accuse of her using him for sex to blot out the mess still haunting her brain. If she wanted to have sex to forget what had happened earlier—if she felt safe enough with him to even think about sex after what she’d been through—he gladly let her take whatever she needed.
And enjoy the hell out of it while he was at it.
Chapter Eighteen
The next morning, Grey was sliding eggs around in a pan when Monroe came through the back door. “Smells good. I’ll take some bacon too.”
He’d bypassed the system’s security. Again. Which of course he knew how to do since he’d helped Grey install the damn thing. “What the hell are you doing here?”
The man poured himself a cup of coffee, slouched against the counter. “Let’s see, a homemade breakfast in the luxury of Justice Greystone’s kitchen or two-day old pizza? You do the math.”
“How did you know I was cooking?”
Monroe tapped his ear. “I always know what you’re doing, partner.”
The fucker had tapped his house. Again. “What else did you hear on your two-way?”
Monroe’s grin nearly made Grey drop the spatula. Had he listened in on his night with Sydney? Grey raised the spatula and pointed it at the man’s nose. “What. Did. You. Hear?”
“You’re awful testy this morning.” Monroe’s eyes scanned the kitchen, took in the breakfast bar set for two, the double glasses of orange juice, and swung his wide gaze back to Grey’s. “No you didn’t…”
“Yes I did. Now get the fuck out of here.”
“Sydney? She stayed all night?”
Grey laid down the spatula. Picked it up again. Got busy with the eggs, ’cuz—shit—they were already overcooked. “Do not say one fucking word about this.”
“You kidding me? You bring a woman to your house and you think I’m going to pretend to look the other way? You’re going all domestic. Isn’t that sweet?”
“You didn’t hear anything last night, did you? Tell me you were not listening to us.”
“W
hat are you worried about? She sounded satisfied.”
Grey smacked him upside the head, making the coffee slosh. Monroe laughed long and hard. “I have better things to do—most of the time, anyway—than to listen to you, especially since you’re such a goddamn Boy Scout anymore. For your information, I was busy myself with a certain lady.” He laughed again. “I didn’t hear a thing.”
There is a God. Now to get Monroe out of his house before Sydney got out of the shower. “Leave now and I won’t shoot you.”
“You brought a woman to your sanctuary and you let her spend the whole night. I can’t believe it. You’ve never done that before. She’s totally whipped you.”
Grey slid the eggs off the heat. Jammed down the toaster handle. “She was nearly raped by The Lion last night.”
Silence. Monroe’s cup clanked against the marble countertop. “You rescued her?”
“She rescued herself.”
“Good.” He eyed Grey with knowing suspicion. “Tell me you’re not going He-Man on her now.”
“I’m pulling her off the case.”
In the background, the shower shut off. Monroe shook his head. “You said she handled it. She saved herself from being raped. Why the hell would you pull her off the case if she can do that?”
Toying with the knife he’d laid out to butter the toast, Grey lowered his voice. “Because he’s not only a rapist. He’s a killer. Next time, he’ll be ready for her to fight back.”
“And how does Syd feel about that? About you taking her off this mission?”
“It doesn’t matter how she feels about it. It’s the right thing to do. There will be blowback from what happened last night. I’ll keep her here, where she’ll be safe, until I wrap up this case and put that bastard in prison.”