The King and the Courtesan

by Angela Walker

  I watched Ezekiel in horror, waiting for him to show a flicker of fear or doubt that would make him human. But his eyes stayed blank, as if he’d done this before. He wasn’t afraid at all. I could practically hear my bones clacking, I was shaking so hard, and I wasn’t even the victim.

  “Interesting that you use the word ‘predictable,’ Broderick. Because either you’re stupid, or you’re mistaken.”

  Suddenly, the floor jolted underneath me, and a loud boom pierced the air with such force that, for a moment, I couldn’t hear anything but a soft buzz in my ears. Hot air slapped my back, and once more the floor trembled. I stumbled into Ezekiel, but everyone was moving and shouting and I didn’t know what was going on. There were gunshots that rang out, the signature crackle of flames, and a more intense heat filling the room. I’d collapsed to my knees, but someone was yanking me to a stand. I grabbed at his jacket, assuming it was Ezekiel. But when I looked into a pair of dark brown eyes, I let out a cry of shock. Before I could react, Broderick whipped me around, wrapped an arm around my throat, and pressed a gun to my temple.

  I could see what had happened. It had to have been a bomb or some form of arson that started the fire now crackling out in the hall. Three people were face down and not moving, one of them at Bruce’s feet, his neck twisted all the way around. Bruce, Garrett, and Ezekiel had guns pointed at Broderick. His cronies were aiming their guns as well, though they shifted, now suddenly nervous. I could understand. Without guns, these three were only slightly intimidating. With them, the game’s stakes had risen.

  Someone was going to get shot. It was only a matter of whom.

  The pistol was cold and heavy against my temple, and I closed my eyes, imagining the bullet within the chamber destined for my skull. Oh God, this is it. This was the last night of my life. Ezekiel was in the perfect position to shoot Broderick. So what if I died in the process? It didn’t matter. Broderick had to die, and I was a pawn. I had wasted my whole life for a fancy dress and some authentic diamond earrings. I regretted everything.

  “What was that?” Broderick demanded. “What did you do?”

  “Bruce and Garrett aren’t my only employees, Broderick,” Ezekiel stated calmly, his gun never wavering. “And Roger is rather good at creating distractions.”

  “You son of a—”

  “If you let her go, I won’t kill you tonight,” Ezekiel growled. “I’ll let you fly home and hide.”

  “Your word means nothing. Neither does she. At least, not to me. But does she mean something to you?” The gun pressed harder against my skin. “How about we find out? Put your guns down, and she doesn’t get hurt.”

  Ezekiel did no such thing. I inhaled sharply and bit my lip. I was going to die because some drug lords had quarrels I had nothing to do with. Why had fate destined me to escape death multiple times with clients only to do away with me now? This wasn’t the way I had planned on going.

  “So you don’t care about her, is that it?” His arm tightened around my throat. “And here I thought she was special. You’re not one to fraternize with women. How well have you been paying her? I can’t imagine anyone would spend time with you willingly.”

  “Let her go,” Ezekiel ordered, his voice still flat and emotionless.

  “Put down your guns, and I will.”

  I opened my eyes and tried to catch Ezekiel’s gaze. He wasn’t looking at me, though.

  “I’ll give you five seconds to decide,” Broderick snapped. “Or the bitch dies.”

  “Before you start the countdown, tell me…how fast does it take a message to travel from the brain to the trigger finger?”

  Broderick paused. “Stop playing games with me, Ezekiel.”

  “Roughly twenty-five meters per second.”

  The gun on my temple shifted slightly. “Is this some sort of riddl—”

  “And how fast does a bullet travel?”

  “Ezek—”

  A gunshot rang off, and for a moment, I expected my world to blink into nothing. But when I felt an arm slip from my neck and heard a thump, I opened my eyes to find Broderick dead, with a hole in the center of his forehead.

  “Faster than that,” Ezekiel hissed.

  Chapter 17

  The men around us jumped into action. Ezekiel crashed into me just as a bullet lodged itself into the wall where my head had been. He threw me behind a chair right before its plump exterior exploded from gunfire. Ezekiel rolled and squeezed in front of me, shedding his jacket, and I saw blood spreading across the shoulder of his starched, white shirt. It didn’t look like a bullet had gone through, but something must have clipped him.

  I couldn’t see what was going on, nor did I have the urge to poke my nose out and look. I covered my head and cowered on the floor, screaming each time bullets punched the chair’s stuffing. Ezekiel ran out of bullets quickly, and he cursed. Seconds later, something dark skittered toward his hand. Another gun. Someone must have thrown it to him.

  There was shouting outside, but all had gone quiet around me. Ezekiel stood, but I remained on the floor, still holding my head in my hands. I only uncurled myself when Ezekiel grabbed my arm and yanked me to an uneasy stand.

  Dead bodies littered the floor. None of them looked familiar. And now there were four men left standing. Only four? I gaped at Roger, who had suddenly appeared, holding two guns, his jacket covered with ash and dust.

  Bruce clutched his shoulder, blood leaking through his fingers. He didn’t seem to care much, because he strode over to Ezekiel and spoke to him in a low whisper. Garrett was by the front door, leaning against the threshold, gun at the ready. I supposed he was planning to shoot anyone who tried entering.

  I gaped at Roger’s ferocious scowl. When he saw me, it fell away with concern. He rushed over to me.

  “Are you okay?” he asked softly.

  I nodded, trying not to cry. “Are you okay?”

  “Little bruised up, but I’ll be fine.”

  “Roger.” Ezekiel stepped beside him. “Bruce will be behind, Garrett in front. You’re in charge of her, understand?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Ezekiel nodded, ignoring the blood still staining the shoulder of his shirt. He went to Garrett, who still guarded the door.

  “Roger,” I whimpered. “I’m-I’m scared.”

  “It’ll be fine. Just stay behind me, okay?”

  “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  Roger gently pulled me toward the door. Garrett nodded and crept into the aisle, gun raised. Ezekiel followed, then Roger, then me, then Bruce. I would have abandoned my shoes, but there was glass everywhere, not to mention flames eating away at blackened and charred rooms down the hall. Thick smoke stung my eyes, making it difficult to see, and I covered my mouth with my hand.

  The stairwell door flew open, and a man barged into the aisle. Garrett took him out with one shot to the neck. I yelped into my hand and leapt closer to Roger. His grip on my wrist tightened, but his face stayed blank.

  “Any chance of using the fire escape?” Bruce asked.

  “The explosion ripped off the far wall.” Roger pointed to the hole at the end of the corridor. “I’m sorry, but the stairwell is our only option.”

  “Just a minor deterrence,” Ezekiel muttered. “Bruce, can your arm still work?”

  Bruce winced as he swung his arm to prove its worth. “It’ll be fine, sir.”

  “Good. I need you all in working order for this.” Ezekiel bent his head toward the stairwell door. “You go out first, and I’ll shoot from behind you.”

  “Yes, sir,” Garrett replied.

  I restrained myself from digging my face into Roger’s back like a scared toddler. I didn’t know how capable Roger was of protecting me, but I felt better behind him than I had on my own. Tears gathered in my eyes, but I struggled to control them. The last thing these men needed was a weeping damsel in distress.

  Garrett kicked the stairwell door open and peered around the
edge to the stairs below. Gunshots immediately rang out, sparking as they bounced off the concrete. Ezekiel pressed a shoulder against the threshold and did his best to shoot downward.

  “Shitload of men, sir,” Garrett grunted, pulling back when the shooting grew too intense. “Not sure how we’ll get through.”

  Ezekiel grunted, throwing down his now empty gun and grabbing another that was shoved into his belt. He must have stolen the weapons from the dead men.

  “There are two stairwells,” Bruce muttered. “Should we try the other?”

  “If it’s not on fire,” Roger replied.

  “Someone find a fire hydrant.” Ezekiel went back into the smoke-filled corridor. “Garrett, you stay here and make sure no one comes through. Bruce, you help him. Roger, come with me.”

  Bruce and Garrett stayed at the current stairwell while Roger, Ezekiel, and I picked through the rubble on the floor and ducked beneath the thick, black smoke to the other stairwell. I started to cough, overwhelmed by heat and smoke as sweat poured down my back and neck. Pain ripped up my leg as my ankle twisted, and I bit back a loud curse. Thanks to my ridiculous shoes, I was falling behind. Before I could stumble any more, Roger’s arm suddenly wound around my waist and he picked me up. Lucky for him, I was not a heavy woman, so he had little trouble carrying me.

  Roger set me down when we reached the door at the other end of the hall. Or the lack of a door. The explosion had torn the door from its frame, and it lay, blackened, another flight down. Smoke was thick and the heat thicker, and once again hysteria crawled up my throat. If the men with guns didn’t kill us, then the smoke in our lungs certainly would. I was beginning to feel dizzy and nauseous.

  “I don’t see anyone,” Ezekiel murmured. He reached over and grabbed me, forcing Roger to let me go. “Stay between us,” he ordered me.

  I looked back at Roger, but he was pulling another gun from his belt. This wasn’t the slightly bashful bodyguard I knew. This was another man entirely. I was suddenly afraid of him, as well.

  We slowly went down the stairs, our backs pressed against the walls, taking the stairs painful step by painful step. The atmosphere was so tense that I let out a yelp when the fourth floor door banged open and a man in a black mask emerged. He whipped around to face us, but Ezekiel quickly shot him in the head. I swallowed a whimper as a spray of blood hit the wall behind him. Ezekiel stepped over his body as if it were just another piece of rubble, not even pausing to see the damage he caused. I, on the other hand, could not help but gape at the blood and shiny flesh that smeared across the concrete block, more gruesome than anything I’d seen in a horror movie. For a second, I worried I might throw up, but then I felt Roger’s hand between my shoulders, guiding me away from the scene and down the stairs. Drawing a deep breath, I was able to get my legs under me and keep walking.

  “I suggest we clear the way for Bruce and Garrett.” Ezekiel pulled open the fourth floor door and stepped inside. I scooted around the dead body, refusing to look at it.

  This floor was hot, but at least there weren’t pieces of wall littering the ground. Roger pushed my shoulder against the wall, and we slowly moved forward down the corridor, watching for any hint of movement. I kept waiting for a bullet to pierce me, and each step made me wince in anticipation of pain. I wanted to hide behind Roger or Ezekiel—to whimper, to cry—but I knew that I’d be met with no sympathy. I’d braved the streets since I was sixteen. If I could stab a lusty customer with a pair of scissors, I could keep my wits about me now, under the protection of trained professionals.

  Roger had his back pressed against a door when it opened suddenly and a streak of light filled the hallway. It seemed the man entering the hall was as shocked as Roger, and for a moment, no one moved.

  The man reached for his gun, but Roger grabbed the man’s head and twisted it. There was a loud crack and the man crumpled, his head turned at an unnatural angle.

  Ezekiel fired his gun a few times into the room. There was a thump of flesh hitting linoleum and a few grunts that seemed like last-second protests to death. I leaned past the doorway, my curiosity getting the better of me. Indeed, three men lay dead inside the room, their blood circling them like auras.

  My urge to vomit grew.

  “Come on.” Roger grabbed me, face blank, eyes cold. We moved faster toward the stairwell at the opposite end of the building. My urge to hold Roger had retracted, leaving only the desire to get as far away from him as possible. He had snapped a man’s neck with his bare hands. He didn’t look sorry for it at all. Who was this guy? I’d expected such cruelty from Ezekiel, but Roger?

  The stairwell door flew open and Roger shoved me behind the corner of another corridor. He dove behind me, along with Ezekiel, who raised guns in both hands to shoot. Roger was the last to find shelter, and something pelted him in the shoulder, letting free a spray of red mist. Roger found cover moments later, settling in next to Ezekiel, who did his best to shoot around the corner.

  “Roger—”

  Roger shook his head, and I could see the blood pooling in the hole in his jacket. For someone who had just been shot, he didn’t look that distressed. I knew if Joel had been under similar circumstances, he would have cried and whined. Not these men. This was a typical day on the job for them.

  The gunfire stopped, so I assumed the men had left or been killed. When we stood, there were two lying on the floor, one still clutching the carpet in hopes of retrieving his gun. Ezekiel stood over him, and the man’s face filled with horror. Ezekiel raised a heel and shoved it into the outstretched hand on the ground, which snapped before the man howled. When he began to whimper, Ezekiel lifted his gun and shot him twice in the head, eyes blank, lips pulled into a grim line. I looked away. Roger didn’t.

  “Let’s go.”

  Ezekiel took us into the stairwell just as Bruce and Garrett made it to the fourth floor. We were all together again, and it seemed the shooters had thinned and retreated. The journey to the lower floors went without much incident, except for the scream of sirens in the background. The fire department would be here soon, along with the police. It was time to leave.

  At the first level, we split up again. Ezekiel, Bruce, and Garrett would take the limo to some undisclosed location to “finish what was started,” despite the fact that all of them were bleeding from some sort of injury.

  Roger had parked on the other side of the building. I slipped into the front seat beside him as he started the car and backed out of the alley with a squeal of tires. We sped down a few streets until the fire sirens bled into silence.

  “Roger, your shoulder.”

  “I’ll be fine.” He was driving with only one arm because the one connected to the injured shoulder dangled uselessly at his side, his fingers twitching.

  “You should get to a hospital.” My voice was barely above a whisper. I was scared of him. I feared he’d do something terrible if I raised my voice, even if that made no sense.

  “Yes, because they wouldn’t ask any questions of a man who showed up with a bullet wound in his shoulder right after a shooting took place.” He took a corner sharply and winced.

  “You have to do something! You’re bleeding too much.”

  “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry. Just sit there and wait.”

  “Roger.”

  “What?”

  “You—you killed that man.”

  Roger sighed heavily and glanced at me, his fierce expression draining away to reveal the man I’d come to know. “You’re tired. Why don’t you take a hot bath when we get back and rest up?”

  “No!” I shook my head. “Look, I nearly got shot back there, and I watched you break a man’s neck. I can’t just ‘rest up’ and be better by morning. I-I never thought—”

  “You think you know me?” Roger suddenly burst out. A flicker of fire danced in his eyes. “Melissa, you don’t know shit about me.”

  I stared at him. He sighed.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just—I’m i
n a lot of pain right now.”

  “What are you going to do about that?”

  “I’m going to fix myself up.”

  “You can do that?”

  “This won’t be the first time. It’ll be easier if you’re willing to help. Can you handle it?”

  I didn’t like the idea, but I nodded. I wouldn’t leave Roger alone to take care of himself. I had experience fixing up broken people. My sister, for one, came home some nights with mysterious bruises and scrapes. Not to mention my coworkers. They had all experienced some form of violence. No, I wasn’t a stranger to blood or tattered flesh, but my nerves weren’t exactly reliable tonight. I needed a hit, I’d been held at gunpoint, and I’d watched men’s brains actually get blown out of their heads.

  “He didn’t mean for you to get caught up in this.” Roger took another turn, which put us on Goddess’s main strip. There was nothing scary here, but the dancing lights didn’t soothe me much. “Okay?”

  “I know.”

  “He’s not going to apologize, but just know that.”

  “I know.” I bit my lip as Roger let out a small moan and cringed. “Are you sure you’ll be fine?”

  “Oh, it’s been worse.” He sent me a simper.

  “How often does this happen?”

  “Not often. Like I said, I’m usually his butler.”

  I felt guilty. If it weren’t for me, he’d be taking care of Ezekiel’s boring errands like he used to. Roger must have seen the regret in my face, because he smiled again.

  “I don’t mind a little action here and there.”

  “You don’t mind getting shot?”

  “I could do without that, actually. But I’m used to putting my life on the line. I’ve been doing that since I was in the military. So don’t worry.”

  “At least in the military you were doing it for the good of the country. Now what are you doing it for?”