No Fury

by Tabatha Kiss

  “Thank you.” I nod and follow Dante toward the car.

  It’s easy for me to act the rational man here. I’m on the outside looking in. But if it were me.

  If it were Dani...

  There would be a hell of a lot more blood on my brow.

  Thirty-Seven

  Dani

  Someone knocks on the hotel room door.

  “That’s Caleb,” I say. “She went to check us out and turn in the room key, so I’ve gotta go.” I hold onto the phone a little tighter. “Thank you for calling. I know you might not have wanted to...”

  “I wanted to,” Fox says. “I needed to.”

  I believe him. Why wouldn’t I?

  “Stay strong for me,” I say.

  He chuckles. “You stole my line.”

  “You let me handle the lines,” I say. “You handle the guns.”

  “Sounds fair.”

  My heart skips in my chest. My God, how much I love this man. Somehow, in the brief flash of the moment, I see it all. I picture exactly what our marriage will look like. The two of us in an eternal embrace. The way it was meant to be... for the rest of our days.

  “Be safe,” he says.

  “You, too.” I smile. “Bye, Fox.”

  “Bye, Dani.”

  We hang up but the happy feeling lingers. Just a little longer and we’ll be free. Just a little longer and he’ll be my husband.

  Another knock taps the door and I wipe the tear from my cheek.

  “Sorry, Caleb,” I say as I cross the room. “I’m coming.”

  I open the door and pause at the unfamiliar face outside.

  The woman startles at the sudden movement and lays a frail hand against her chest. She chuckles warmly, showing wrinkles along her cheeks.

  “Oh, good. Someone else is here...” she says.

  I casually lean to obscure most of my face behind the door as I look her up and down. “Can I help you?” I ask.

  “I’m so sorry to bother you, but...” she turns and points to a powder blue car across the lot, “are you traveling with a first aid kit, by chance?”

  “Uh...”

  “My son, he...” She shakes her head disapprovingly, “he’s got a bit of a scratch and he just won’t stop picking at it. I could use a bandage, perhaps even some alcohol wipes — if you’ve got some to spare, of course.”

  I hesitate before taking a step back. “I think there’s a kit in the bathroom. I can check.”

  “I would appreciate it so much, dear,” she says.

  I smile and turn toward the bathroom. The woman lingers outside while I walk across the room.

  “Beautiful weather you’ve got here,” she says, killing time.

  “Yeah,” I say as I open the bathroom cabinets. There’s a small kit inside, white and plastic with a red cross sticker on the top. “First time in Las Vegas?”

  “Oh, no,” she says. “My kids and I come and a few times a year. Bit of a family tradition.”

  “Sounds like fun.”

  I nod and carry the kit out into the main room, pausing in place when I see that she’s let herself into the room. She stands by the bed, her curious eyes gazing around.

  I pop the kit open, finding several small bandages but nothing else. I walk over slowly and hold out the kit to her. “Take all you need,” I say. “There’s not much, but...”

  The woman sighs with gratitude as she slides a few bandages out. “Thank you so much. I know better, I just forgot to restock the kit we keep in the trunk...”

  I wave a hand. “It’s no problem. You’re very welcome.”

  She pauses and studies my face. “I’m sorry, are you that girl...?”

  I look down, biting my cheek. “What girl?”

  “I knew you looked familiar!” She grins. “You’re the girl from those Trial movies, aren’t you?”

  “No.” I shake my head. “But I get that a lot...”

  “Oh, don’t you worry.” She mimes a key to her mouth in understanding. “I won’t tell anyone.”

  I chuckle awkwardly.

  “A girl like you...” she says, “hanging around a dirty place like this? Must be hiding from something.”

  “No, I—”

  “I don’t blame you at all!” She laughs. “Everywhere you go, everything you do. People just following you around, snapping photos. Must be an absolute nightmare. That’s no way for a young girl to live.”

  I hold my breath, eying the door. “Right.”

  “Though, I suppose, it has its perks. Beauty and wealth go a long way in this world.” Her head tilts. “But I don’t have to tell you that. You’re... oh, forgive me. Rocky? Robbie?”

  “Roxie,” I answer.

  “Yes.” She smiles. “Roxie Roberts. My son was utterly obsessed with you.”

  I clear my throat and gesture to the bandages in her hand. “Speaking of, you should probably get those to him...”

  “I told him it was just jealousy.” Her face hardens. “She’s nothing to get bent out of shape about but he couldn’t let you go. Just kept picking at it and picking at it until one day...”

  I freeze as her eyes land on my cheek.

  “He couldn’t let it go,” she says just above a whisper. “He couldn’t let him go...”

  “Dani, get away from her.”

  I twitch toward the open doorway to find Caleb standing there with a pistol aimed at the woman’s head.

  “Caleb—”

  The woman grabs my neck, her grip surprisingly tight and strong. She shoves me backward, pinning me against the dresser as my instincts spark to fight back. I try to shove her away but I halt with dread as a cold knife digs into my throat.

  “Come inside, Ms. Fawn,” the woman says, her voice steady and calm.

  “Let her go,” Caleb barks with her finger on the trigger.

  “I’d put that down if I were you. My agents are quite protective of me and you have very pretty eyes. I’d hate to see them splattered along the walls.”

  I gasp as a man appears in the doorway behind Caleb and points a gun to the back of her head.

  “No, wait, please...” I say, fearing the worst. “Please, she’s pregnant.”

  “Dani.”

  I ignore Caleb, trying to keep the woman’s violent focus on me instead. “Don’t hurt her, please,” I beg. “Please…”

  Her hard face never shifts but she eyes Caleb. “Put the gun down, Ms. Fawn,” she says slowly. “I hadn’t planned on killing two people today but I won’t hesitate to kill three... if I have to.”

  Caleb’s stance falters as she hesitates. We make eye contact and I urge her to do as the woman says. She slowly lowers the gun to her side and the man behind her snatches it from her hand.

  “Now…” the woman smiles, “do close the door and take a seat in the chair. This won’t take long.”

  I shake with fear as Caleb slowly walks inside, followed closely by the man in black. He closes the door behind them and puts his back to it.

  The blade grazes my skin. “Just so we’re all on the same page here,” the woman says. “Ms. Fawn, would you kindly inform Ms. Roberts who I am?”

  Caleb lowers into the chair by the window. “You’re Marilyn Black,” she says.

  My eyes grow wider and Marilyn smiles at me.

  “Yes, that’s right,” she says, her gaze locked on mine. “I believe you met my son, Mercer. Is that correct?”

  I swallow hard, sensing the same cruelty behind her smile as he had. “Yes.”

  Marilyn lowers the blade to her side and takes a step back. “Ms. Roberts...” She sits down on the edge of the bed. “I do believe I owe you an apology — on my son’s behalf, I mean.”

  I stay standing, my backside pressed against the dresser. “Why?”

  She softens, amused. “He did cause some physical damage, did he not? When I saw what he was up to — on live television no less, well... you can understand why a mother might feel some embarrassment for their child’s behavior, don’t you? That’s not how I
raised my boy to settle disputes but boys will be boys, as they say.”

  I look at Caleb as her brow furrows.

  “I have a question for you,” Marilyn says, tapping her knife against her thigh. “I think I already know the answer but... if you wouldn’t mind giving a mother some closure, I would greatly appreciate it. Is my son dead, Ms. Roberts?”

  I eye the man at the door, tall and brutal. Even if I could overtake Marilyn, there’s no way I’d get past him.

  “Yes,” I answer her. “Mercer is dead.”

  Marilyn’s face softens. She looks down, her eyes bright with unfallen tears. “Well...” She takes in a sharp breath and composes herself. “As I expected. Thank you.”

  I nod. If this were anyone else, I might offer a condolence or two, but I stay quiet.

  She pats the bed beside her. “Do sit down, dear.”

  I hesitate.

  “I said, sit down.”

  I flinch at the sudden shift in tone. Even her eyes look a shade darker than they were before. I ease forward and sit down on the bed beside her.

  “Would you tell me how he died?” she asks.

  “Uh, he...” I look at the knife resting on her knee. “He was shot.”

  “By you?” She piques with interest.

  “No.” I look down as my shoulder twinges. “Fox shot him.”

  “Where?” She cracks a smile as I lean back. “Excuse my morbid curiosity, Ms. Roberts, but when you’re a mother, perhaps you’ll understand. You experienced my son’s final moments. I would like to know what they were like.”

  “He...” A lump grows in my throat. “Mercer took me hostage,” I say. “He held me at gunpoint and Fox... pointed a rifle at us.” I bite down, trying to hold back tears as memories of blood and pain come roaring back.

  Marilyn pats my arm. “I imagine that was quite traumatic for you but please continue.”

  I shudder at her dark eyes. That was not a request.

  “Fox couldn’t get a clear shot at Mercer. So, he told me to close my eyes,” I say as a tear falls down my cheek. “He shot me instead.”

  Her jaw drops. “Really?”

  “The bullet went through my shoulder...” I pause, “and hit Mercer in the heart. Fox saved my life and... we left him to bleed to death.”

  She takes a moment. “Alone?” she finally asks.

  “Yes,” I answer.

  Her eyes land on my shoulder. “May I?” she asks, reaching out to me.

  She doesn’t give me a chance to say no. She pushes my shirt to the side to reveal the scar on my shoulder, still pink around the edges of torn skin. I try not to move but I can’t stop the tremors shaking me to the core as her fingers graze the closed wound. Her touch is rough and cold, almost as dry as sandpaper.

  “You shared blood with my boy,” she whispers. “For one second in time...” She releases my shirt and sits back. “Thank you for telling me, Ms. Roberts.”

  She rises off the bed and I exhale slowly, happy to be out of range of her knife. Marilyn paces in the other direction with her hands folded behind her back, knife still clutched in hand.

  I wipe my cheeks, willing the painful memories to go away. Re-living that nightmare again... is this how Fox feels all the time? Does he think about pulling that trigger every time he looks at me?

  “Don’t even think about it, Ms. Fawn.”

  I flinch toward Caleb in the corner, catching her as she inches toward her duffel bag.

  “Byron, please...” Marilyn turns back around to face the room. “Restrain Ms. Fawn and take her to the car. We don’t want her causing any more trouble.”

  The man steps off the door and makes his way toward Caleb. I stare her down, silently urging her not to fight him.

  “Ms. Roberts.”

  I twist back around, cowering as I see Marilyn standing over me again.

  “Give me your hand,” she says.

  I can barely move, frozen in fear. My right hand twitches up but she reaches down at grabs my left instead. She draws me closer, focusing on the engagement ring on my finger.

  “Hmm,” she hums. “That’s beautiful.”

  She twists my wrist, positioning my palm upward and she lays the knife against my skin. I try to jerk away but she tightens her painful grip, refusing to let me go.

  “I would sedate you...” she presses the knife down, breaking my skin, “but I really want this to hurt.”

  Thirty-Eight

  Luka

  Sergei pauses, his steady, gloved hands halting above Markov’s face. “Hold still, Markov. And you…” He eyes me with annoyance over the rims of his glasses. “Stop giving him booze.”

  I snatch the vodka bottle from Markov’s blood-stained hands and set it on the desk behind me next to Markov’s computers.

  “Sorry,” I say. “Doctor’s orders.”

  Markov scoffs. “You’d think a doctor would let his patient have painkillers…”

  “You can drink yourself stupid when I’m done stitching you up,” Sergei says, his needle pointing toward Markov’s left eye. “Until then, stop fidgeting or I’ll blind you.”

  Markov settles onto his bench, looking annoyed. “Where’s the snake now?” he asks me.

  “The warehouse,” I answer. “Yuri and Dante have already started on him.”

  “Good,” he says, wincing as Sergei draws the needle through his skin again. “Tell them to leave a piece of him for me.”

  I nod. “Hopefully, it won’t take long to get information out of him.”

  Markov chuckles. “These snakes sing like birds. Always have.”

  “It’s not always that easy…”

  “Just start carving out their balls,” he jokes. “Works every time.”

  A feminine chuckle breaks the tension and I turn to see Sofia passing through the doorway. “I can’t say that’s the strangest thing I’ve ever heard walking in here,” she says.

  “My apologies, Miss Sofia,” Markov says. “Watching my language in front of the women has never been my strongest suit.”

  “It’s all right.” She pauses by the bench and sighs at his wound. “Well, there must be some angels out there who don’t mind your language, Markov.”

  He smirks. “It only takes one.”

  I brush a hand along her arm. “You should be sleeping,” I say.

  “On a night like this?” She shakes her head. “Who could? Even Lucian is tossing.”

  I breathe out. It’s far too early for my son to have sleepless nights.

  Sergei pulls the line taut and snips it with his scissors. “And you’re finished,” he says.

  I extend the bottle toward Markov again and he happily grabs it.

  “Take it easy for a few days, old man,” Sergei scolds him. “No excessive blinking — or your eyeball might fall out.”

  Markov gives a dark laugh. “Could be worse, dah?”

  “It could always be worse,” I say. “Doesn’t mean it’s not bad.”

  He raises the bottle. “Don’t forget who taught you that, Luka.”

  “You should follow your own lessons,” I quip.

  “Markov!”

  My mother rushes in from the hallway wearing nothing but her blue robe and slippers. She brushes past me and Sofia to stand by the bench next to Markov. She studies the fresh stitches above his eye, her frightened face turning an even starker shade of white.

  “Oh, you…” She sighs angrily at him. “You stupid bastard!”

  “I’m all right,” he says calmly.

  Her eyes swell with tears. “No, you are not all right. This is not all right! I cannot lose you, too.”

  I take a quick step forward. “Ma—?”

  Sofia grabs my hand, stopping me.

  Markov cups my mother’s face to comfort her. “It was either me or your boy, Nina,” he says. “I’d do it again.”

  A tear tumbles down her cheek. “Markov…” she whispers.

  “Shh.”

  He pulls her closer and kisses her on the lips.

&
nbsp; I blink in stunned confusion as Sofia guides me backward.

  My mother collapses and Markov cradles her, leaving soft kisses on her forehead as she sobs against his chest.

  “Luka…” Sofia whispers, drawing me out into the hallway.

  I turn away from them to look at her. “What is…”

  She raises a single knowing brow.

  I pause, taking one last look into the room. “Oh,” I say.

  Markov… and my mother?

  “Let’s give them some privacy,” she whispers.

  I nod slowly as she squeezes my hand and guides me a little further down the hall. As we walk in silence, the shadows grow heavier around me. We climb the stairs slowly, each step making my shoulder sink deeper. I realize that she’s leading me toward the master suite and I stop my stride.

  I shake my head. “Sofia…”

  She turns to look at me, her soft, gorgeous face just barely visible in the dark corridor. “Yes?” she asks.

  My lip trembles. “I’m so sorry,” I say. “I couldn’t...”

  “Luka, it’s all right.”

  She rests her warm hand on my cheek but I look away. A man unworthy.

  “I let him go,” I admit. “I saw Markov bleeding and I couldn’t—” I drop to my knees before her and wrap my arms around her delicate waist. “Forgive me, please,” I beg.

  “Luka,” she says, her hands on my head. “My love...”

  I bury my face in her dress, holding her tighter in case she rejects me. “I’m so sorry,” I say again. “I failed you.”

  “No.” Sofia slowly lowers down, resting on her knees to face me. “Luka, you saved me,” she says, smiling softly.

  I close my eyes, still unable to meet hers. “But I should have—”

  “There is not a day that passes by that I’m not in awe of what you’ve done for me,” she says. “And for our son. You gave us life... and for that, you could never fail me, Luka Lutrova.”

  She cups my face, guiding me to raise my head.

  “We’ll get him,” she says. “Maybe not tonight. Or tomorrow. But...” She presses her lips against my cheek, pursing lightly before shifting to the other side and planting a second kiss there, too. “Giovani’s days are numbered in this world. He’s just a man.”