Worth Dying for (A Dying for a Living Novel Book 5)

by Kory M. Shrum

  “Don’t,” Ally begs. “There are too many people.”

  “You’re safe.” I remind her.

  “I’m not worried about us,” she begs. “They can see you.”

  She thrusts a hand up toward the sky as a helicopter blots out the clouds. An aerial news crew flying at an angle above two tall buildings cuts left and out of my view. I can hear the whirling blades long after it slips from sight, the whomp-whomp-whomp-whomp hurting my ears.

  Shit.

  Caldwell must know where we are now. Perfect. No scarf. No tech device. It’s only my face on prime time television.

  I open and close my fist, delighting in the intoxicating warmth of the electricity rippling over me. Please give me a reason, I beg them. Make one little move.

  “No,” Ally says again. “No!”

  If I drop my guard they’ll take Maisie, hurt Ally, and kill me. No way.

  And hesitating will cost me. The girls and Winston are safe in the shield, but I’m vulnerable. If any of them get the bright idea to put a bullet in my head, it’s over. I’m hoping the erratic fire is making it hard to see me clearly, a sort of armor in its own right. But if I cut the flame entirely, they’ll see me perfectly. Or they could rush forward and try to take me by force. Then what will happen?

  I meet Ally’s desperate wide eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  The fire around me brightens, growing, expanding and whipping wildly. The men fall back, ducking behind cars and vans, shielding their bodies while their eyes remain trained on me.

  I blast one side of the alley, hopefully pushing the men and the vehicles back enough that we can squeeze through with minimal casualties. The fire flares forward and shots ring out. A solid hit like a punch in the gut strikes me an inch below my left breast. The force of the bullet knocks me back and I cry out.

  My flames sputter out.

  “Gee-zus.” I lift my shirt to inspect the bullet wound. The men around me stand breathless, waiting.

  Before the pain even stops radiating through my guts, the wound begins to itch. Then an icy feeling slides over my skin as the wound puckers and spits a bullet out onto the pavement. The blood that spilled down my stomach, staining the top of my jeans a dark burgundy, stops flowing and the flesh stitches itself together in front of my eyes.

  “Fuck,” someone says, one of the men in the first row of defense. His jaw unhinges and the barrel of his gun dips. Three more shots ring out, catching my chest and shoulder, each bullet a little higher than the last. If they shoot me in the head—

  I wouldn’t let them finish you off. That pleasure will be all mine.

  My head snaps up at the sound of that serpentine voice, cruel and perfectly articulate despite the commotion on all sides. Only one person can pull off that trick.

  Caldwell stands to the right. Positioned between the men and the hotel building. Of course he’s issuing orders from the sidelines. With a gift like his, why dirty his own hands?

  You’ve been sloppy, Jesse. You won’t lose me again.

  I fire bomb the alley.

  The pain of being shot four freaking times paired with Caldwell’s taunts amplifies my anger. The blue flame pulses out from me in all directions. The first row of cars lifts off the ground, blown back like umbrellas caught in the wind. I see a lot of feet, the bottom of rubber shoes floating away. The crunch of metal and the shriek of brakes resounds from the adjacent street. Cars slam into one another as those blocking the alley collide with those passing through a stoplight. No sooner than the brakes stop squealing do the shouts begin.

  So ungrateful. Is that the thanks I get after saving your precious little life?

  Pretty sure they shot me on your command, I reply, using the same mind speak that Caldwell prefers.

  Yes, but not in the head.

  “Caldwell,” I shout. I don’t think Maisie and Ally can hear me. I can barely speak, my voice breathless against the pain crippling me.

  My heart sputters and my vision blackens, splotchy at the edges. I taste salt on my lips and copper, probably blood.

  Hands yank me up to my full height, shoving me against the wall.

  “Jess, no. Come on. Don’t pass out.” It’s Ally pleading with me. “Stay awake, baby. We can’t carry you.”

  Oh no. If she can touch me then I dropped the shield. No, no, no. I try to erect it again. Does it work? I can’t tell. My vision is spotting.

  “Caldwell,” I say again. Or at least I think I do. Ally gives no indication that she’s heard me.

  “It’s her heart,” Maisie says, and I feel trembling fingers gingerly poking at my chest. “She got shot in the heart. She’s dying.”

  The world comes into focus and a black van bursts through the flaming wreckage of my firebomb. The doors fly open and two or three people in tactical gear, guns held across their chests step out.

  No, no. I think, trying to summon my strength and focus. Ally—look—look behind you.

  Surely she can see the van. She’s smart enough to run. Leave me. Take Maisie and go. I hope I’m saying all of this aloud, but I fear my voice is being drowned out by the blaring sirens and thick smoke filling my nose and burning my eyes.

  Rough hands grab me and shove me into the van, my cheek scratching against the rough carpet of the floorboard.

  That’s the last thing I feel before my heart fails me.

  Chapter 7

  Rachel

  The first man places a hand on Gideon’s elbow and turns him around.

  “Hey!” Gideon speaks in perfect American English. His British accent drops away without a trace and he adopts a half dumb, half bewildered look. His posture slumps, his lips pouting out in petulance. “What the hell, man?”

  The transformation is shocking, but not unexpected. I’ve seen Gideon act before. He’s quite the chameleon which is probably why he’s still alive.

  The train car pulls away taking most of the commuters with it. Gideon and I are overlooked by the others rushing up the stairs toward the exit, briefcases swinging at their sides, patent leather shoes unscuffed. A woman with long beautiful legs marches past us wearing leopard print heels.

  I tug on Gideon’s arm. “Let’s go shopping.”

  “Now?” Gideon’s face pinches.

  One of the suits snorts.

  “Do you think we can find them in Midtown?” Fresh air swoops down from the street above, blowing the hair back off my face.

  “Not today,” the suit clutching Gideon says. “You’re coming with us.”

  This gets my attention. “No.”

  “This isn’t a negotiation,” the man says.

  “Okay.” I twitch my left hand and Gideon’s elbow is yanked free. Then I shove both of my hands out in front of me like a push. The three men sail back away from us. They fall into the chasm between the parallel platforms. Someone’s skull connects with the tracks in a sickening crack. Another wails as if he’s busted several bones on the rails. I hope so.

  Gideon balks at me.

  “What?” I throw up my hands. “They said it wasn’t a negotiation!”

  “Excellent acting,” Gideon says, relief washing over his features. “When confronted with authorities like that, feigning indifference and boredom is an excellent approach.”

  “I wasn’t acting. I want to go shopping.”

  “Of course you do,” he says with a disappointed sigh. “You’re easily distracted today.”

  The insult stings. “And you’re disappointing! I thought you were going to pull something exciting out of your pocket.”

  He opens his palm to reveal a lock pick, presumably for the cuffs we would’ve worn had I not taken care of business. “You were going to let them take you?”

  Gideon places a hand on his hip. “You used to love my ideas. Is our relationship getting stale?”

  “Ask me again…after you buy me something pretty.”

  “You know it isn’t very feminist, allowing a man to buy you everything.”

  “I want to walk into the store,
murder all the associates and simply take what I want. But since you disapprove of that, you can buy them. It’s a perfect compromise and very feminist—men and women working together as equals to achieve a goal.”

  “I don’t think—” he begins, but stops at the sound of heels pounding the steps. Police descend the stairs, their badges catching the winter light. Their walkie-talkies buzz on their shoulders. I throw my hands up again and shove the air away from me. The officers fall back, toppling like a wall. Several cry out as their elbows and tailbones connect with the steps.

  “Stop that!” Gideon grabs my hands, cupping them together. Without letting go of me, he looks around the subway tunnel before catching sight of a promising door beside a turnstile exit at the end. He yanks me forward. “Run.”

  Chapter 8

  Jesse

  Gabriel. His black wings are draped over each shoulder like a fashion statement, looking as proud and petulant as any runway model. His green feline eyes regard me with a certain irritation. If he was a cat, I’m certain his ears would be laid back, ever so slightly.

  “Oh god, he has us again.” I push myself up on my elbows and notice that the ache in my chest is gone. “Caldwell took Maisie. Killed Ally. I fucking died and—”

  “You did not die.” Gabriel uncrosses his ankles and crosses the room. “You passed out while your heart healed.”

  I take a minute to process this. I didn’t die? I was shot in the heart at least once, but I didn’t die? Wow. Jason’s healing powers are more awesome than I thought. No, not Jason’s powers. Jason’s gift. The power I took that allows me to heal any wound instantly. Unless of course that wound is fatal. Apparently, I can’t heal a wounded heart in a heartbeat. Heh. It’s a useful thing to know. If I’m in a situation where I don’t want to black out, I probably shouldn’t get seriously wounded.

  “Ally?”

  It’s as if saying her name has made her magically appear. Still wearing her red, fur-lined coat, Ally bursts into the room, taking my cheeks in her hands. Her fingers are freezing and make the hair on the back of my neck rise.

  “Oh thank god. That was even quicker than I hoped.”

  She plants kisses on my ear, neck and cheek. She finishes by brushing her lips against mine. I wrap my arms around her.

  “How long was I out?” I squeeze her hard until she lets out an audible gasp. “Sorry.”

  “About ten minutes?” Ally pulls back, taking a breath. “I can’t be sure. We’ve only been here for about five minutes, and the ride was a few minutes.”

  “Where is here?” My eyes take in the bland room. The walls are the color of oatmeal and the carpet a soft rose. It looks like a break room. There’s a mini-fridge, a navy blue leather sofa on which I’ve just taken my power nap, and an unimpressive side table with a fake plant on it.

  As my eyes return to their original corner where I first regarded Gabriel, the angel flickers and fades.

  “Jeremiah’s New York station.”

  “So another big commercial building in another big city. Original. That guy should really diversify his investments. Where’re Maisie and Winston?”

  “Upstairs. Did you say you saw Caldwell?”

  “He was there. I thought he was the one taking us.”

  “We didn’t see him,” a cold voice says from the doorway. Nikki leans against the door frame, decked out head to toe in her body armor. She looks like a comic book hero with overly defined muscles and a gun on each hip. She isn’t as bulky as the body armor makes her look, thank god. Her blond ponytail is sleek and pulled up high.

  “Why are you leaning in the doorway?” I ask. “All that armor too heavy for you?” Is it too much to hope Nikki was shot? Possibly wounded?

  Ally sighs.

  “I liked the purple streak better than this orange one,” I say, talking about a strip of dyed hair curling behind Nikki’s right ear.

  Ally’s face scrunches with anger. “Don’t be rude. They saved us back there.”

  “Stalked us, you mean. How did you know where we were?”

  “I could find you in a bar full of Jesse Sullivan lookalikes all wearing sombreros and eye patches. You’re far from subtle.”

  “I’m pretty sure what you said is racist and misrepresents Mexican culture. I’m telling Rachel.”

  Nikki’s mouth falls open.

  “Stop it.” Ally rubs the center of her forehead with two fingers. “I don’t care if she was following us. I’m glad she showed up. After you went and killed eight people, there was no escaping without her help.”

  My next insult sticks in my throat. I swallow it down before I manage to say, “Eight people?”

  “Your firebomb was reckless. Of course, reckless is what you do best,” Nikki says, one hand gripping her hip.

  The heat rises in my chest, and I can feel the static electricity crackle between my palms. God, what I wouldn’t give to set her hair on fire. If she wants orange hair, I’ll give her orange hair. Just one strand would take care of the rest, wouldn’t it?

  “Jess,” Ally says, watching my face. “Tell Nick thank you.”

  “Thanks for letting me know you’re still stalking my girlfriend, Sasquatch. I’ll have to keep a closer eye on you.” I turn to Ally and find her blushing furiously. “Get Maisie. We aren’t staying here.”

  “We can’t leave yet,” Ally says. “What happened in the alley is all over the news. They’re twisting the story.”

  I look around the little room. The small, stiff sofa where I sit. The fake tree in a corner, the mini fridge. There’s no TV to confirm what she’s saying, but I guess I don’t need one. I’m not surprised that the authorities would twist what really happened into a tale that makes us look like the bad guys, especially with Caldwell’s help. “Of course they are, but that doesn’t mean we can stay here. We need to get to Gloria and find out if Rachel and Gideon are okay.”

  “We’re searching for Gideon and Rachel now,” Nikki says, but she isn’t talking to me. Her voice goes all low and sweet for Ally. “I’ll notify you immediately if we learn anything.”

  Ally smiles at her. “Thanks. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

  “Have sex?” I guess. “Play Jenga? I’m sure there’s lots of things we can do without her, babe.”

  Nikki’s head angles slightly as her blue earpiece blinks to life. “I have to go. Try to act like a guest.”

  Nikki glowers at me from her glorified height. I hate that she is like eight inches taller than me. Of course, it makes it easier to sucker punch her in the gut. I consider doing just that, but with her fancy body armor it’ll probably hurt my hand. If I cry about my broken hand that wouldn’t look very cool. Of course, my healing powers would fix it pretty quick, which would look cool. Ah, decisions, decisions.

  “If I’m your guest then can I get a sandwich? I’d love a PB and J,” I say.

  Nikki slinks from the room with her teeth clenched.

  I sigh, daring to meet Ally’s eyes, knowing I’m in big trouble. “Can we go now?”

  “No.” Ally’s face is flushed red and her shoulders are scrunched up toward her ears. “No, we can’t go. You know why?”

  I open my mouth before I realize answering that question would be a death sentence.

  “We can’t go because Rachel and Gideon are missing, you’ve murdered eight people on live television, and I need to get ahold of Gloria!”

  You murdered eight people on live television. It’s like I’ve been shot in the chest again. Her words wind me. “You think I murdered them? Like on purpose? Like some heartless—”

  “I didn’t mean it like that. I know why you did it, but you shouldn’t have used your firebomb. It’s too dangerous.” Ally frowns and pulls at her face.

  “If 100 people or 1000 people point guns at you, I’ll do it again,” I tell her. I take both her hands in mine, trying to warm them. “You understand that, right? I don’t care how many people I have to kill to keep you safe.”

  Ally pulls away from me an
d takes a deep breath before rubbing her forehead. “I know. I know, and that’s a problem.”

  I’m sure as hell not going to apologize for protecting her. Even if that’s what she wants me to do. Suddenly the room feels too warm, heat itching at my collar. The shirt is scratchy where the blood dried into the fabric, making it stiff.

  “I’m going to try Gloria,” Ally says at last, turning away from me without a kiss, a hug, nothing. “Maybe she saw this, or if she didn’t, maybe she has insight. If I can’t get ahold of her, we’ll stick to the original plan.”

  I’m trying to remember the plan.

  Buy three tickets for Albuquerque, but get off in Oklahoma City. Travel to New Orleans from there.

  Ally sighs, her train of thought catching up to mine. “Maybe we can get Nikki to escort us to New Orleans.”

  I cock my head and give her a warning look.

  Ally mirrors me, mocking me. “Refusing help is what idiots do.”

  I snap my mouth shut and suck in a deep breath before speaking. My self-control lasts for about three seconds. “If you want to get back together with your ex-girlfriend, fine. But let’s not pretend that we didn’t leave them for a reason, and that now they’ve conveniently shown up. Nikki and Jeremiah are supposed to be in Chicago. It’s no coincidence that she’s here, following us around.”

  Ally stamps her foot. “I do not want to get back together with her!”

  Nikki appears in the doorway, stopping midstride. Both Ally and I turn toward the sound of her boots squeaking to a halt.

  “Don’t stop on my account.” Nikki’s face is blank and her voice suspiciously flat.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to sound so—” Ally’s face flushes a deeper red.

  I fold my arms over my chest. “Nikki is a big girl. She can take it.”

  Nikki extends the wrapped sub sandwiches with a hint of regret. “You don’t owe me any explanations. Here. Eat something.”

  This magnanimous declaration seems to warm Ally even more. Jesus Christ. It’s a sandwich. Not the queen’s jewels.

  “Hey, there’s ham on this!” I squeal.

  “Pick it off,” Nikki says with a glare. Her face softens when she turns to Ally. “The secure line is clear if you want to make that call.”