Cristina had scrunched herself up into a ball between the bed and a wooden chair in the corner. Purple bruises splotched across the right side of her jaw and around her neck. Her left eye was black, and her lower lip was split. She held the gun up in surprisingly steady hands. Her dark eyes glittered with hatred and panic.
“She’s here,” he said, his own gun trained on her. He didn’t blink. The slightest twitch, and he’d shoot. Better her dead than him.
Riley climbed up on the bed. Gregg held out a stopping hand to keep her from blocking his line of fire.
“We’re here to help you, sweetheart,” Riley said softly.
Cristina’s gaze didn’t flicker from Gregg. She gave a tiny shake of her head. “Don’t believe you,” she whispered.
“Emily and Luis sent us. I’m Riley Hollis. I’m a tracer. We’re here to take you home.”
“Why is he pointing a gun at me?”
“Because you’re pointing one at me,” Gregg said. He grimaced and drew up his magic. He thinned himself, sliding halfway into the travel dimension. He could still hold the gun, but it wasn’t all that useful. It was half out of the world too, and that made the dynamics of combustion in the chamber strange. Still, a bullet wouldn’t kill him as long as he maintained the shift. He lifted his arm, pointing the gun up at the ceiling. “Satisfied? Can we get out of here before we all get killed?”
A ripple ran through Cristina’s body, and her eyes looked haunted. God dammit. Whether or not Ocho had touched her, he’d stolen her innocence, her sense of safety. Kids thought they’d live forever, that their bodies couldn’t break. Ocho had taught Cristina different, and probably a hundred girls besides. Cruel bastards like him and Savannah and victims like Cristina were the reason Gregg would never give up on his mission to clean up the city. Plenty of money could be made without hurting innocent people.
The look on his face must have revealed his disgust and hatred. The girl’s eyes widened, and she pushed back against the wall like she could make herself disappear inside it.
“Hey,” Riley said, pulling the girl’s gaze away from Gregg. It was only a moment, but time enough for him to pounce forward and wrap his hand around Cristina’s and shove the gun upward.
She jerked her finger and the gun went off, the sound exploding in the small space. The bullet hit the drop-tile ceiling and went through, clanging against something metal.
Cristina let out a strangled sound and started kicking, banging her free fist against his shoulder and head. Gregg had left the travel space, and her blows stung against his ear and cheek. When he didn’t let go, she curled her fingers and started clawing at him. He shook the gun out of her hand. It fell with a thud. He twisted her to face away from him and wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her off the ground, her feet dangling.
“Easy now,” he said against her ear. “Nobody’s going to hurt you anymore.”
She either didn’t hear him, or didn’t believe him. She braced her feet against the wall, shoving backward and twisting. When that had no impact, she wriggled and kicked, her heel catching Gregg’s knee and the other his shin. He dumped her onto the bed. She started to scramble up, but stopped when she saw Clay blocking the door. Riley slid off the other side of the bed and Gregg picked up the revolver.
Cristina panted, her body tight as a coiled spring.
“Look,” Riley said in a gentle voice, the kind you used for scared dogs. “I promise we’re here to take you home. Emily and Luis asked me to find you. We’ll take you to them, but you need to hurry. Right now, Ocho and his crew are distracted. That’s not going to last long. We can take you out of here walking, or we can carry you out, but we are not leaving you with a shitbag like Ocho. Which do you want to do? You’ve got about three seconds to decide.”
A heartbeat passed. “What about the gun? I want it back.”
Riley looked the question at Gregg. He didn’t like it, but he understood the girl’s need to be able to protect herself. He offered it to her, butt first.
“Try not to shoot one of us.”
Cristina eyed him, her dark brows winging together. She took the gun slowly, as if expecting a trick. She wrapped her fingers around the grip, then looked at Riley. “I’m ready.”
Clay looked out, then swore and yanked himself back in. “We’ve got company.”
“How many?” Gregg asked.
“More than is healthy.” Clay gave another quick look. “Six. But if they overwhelmed the four soldiers we sent up there, more will be coming—and fast.”
Cristina made a whimpering sound, but then clamped her teeth tight. Tough girl.
Yelling broke out, and with it came the pelting of feet. One voice rose above them all, shouting orders for more ammo, weapons, and to secure the rear of the rink. Had to be Ocho. He sounded pissed, but he’d kept his cool.
“Put the injured down on the skate floor. Secure the side doors—make sure no one comes through them.” He called off names. “Help up front. Make sure no one comes through.” Another set of names were told to go in back.
Clay pushed the door shut. He and Gregg exchanged knowing looks. They were trapped.
Cristina looked at each one of them, her face taut and pale. “What do we do?” she asked, her voice shaking and desperate. “How are we going to get away?”
Chapter 13
Riley
FROM THE MOUTHS of babes. How the hell were we going to get out? I glanced at Gregg. He was a traveller. He could take them one at a time. Maybe. The last time he’d pulled her through travel space, Vernon had kidnapped her spirit and nearly killed her. Again. Sometimes I wonder why the man hadn’t just worn a condom instead of having a kids.
“Take the girl,” Price told Touray. “Get her out of here.”
“I’m not leaving you two on your own.”
“Damned right. Get your ass back here quick.”
Clearly Touray didn’t like the idea. He looked like he’d prefer a good case of diarrhea. Apparently, he figured he didn’t have a choice, because he grabbed Cristina and they vanished.
“What now?” I asked.
Price had that cold, calculating look he got when he was at war. Like he’d stripped away all his emotions. If he hadn’t been on my side, I’d have been nervous.
“We wait for Gregg.”
A minute ticked by. Then another. Then it was five. He should have been back in under a minute.
“He’s not coming back,” I said finally.
Price nodded. With his robot face on, I couldn’t tell if he was pissed or worried or both.
“We have to get out of here,” he said.
Well, that went into the “no shit, Sherlock,” category. Can I have dumb questions and dumb answers for two thousand, Alex?
“So we just sashay across the rink and walk out?”
Price glared at me. “You think this is funny?”
“I get snarky when I’m terrified. Sue me. Whatever you want me to do, I will. Just tell me.”
“You must be scared all the time,” he grumbled. “Here’s what you can do: don’t get shot, don’t get hurt. Can you do that?”
“Sure. Where’s my bulletproof bubble suit?”
A fleeting grin flashed across his lips and vanished. “The longer we wait, the more time they have to settle in. We need to go while they are still distracted.”
The air in the room had begun to swirl. It cooled the nervous sweat on the back of my neck. Whatever his demeanor said, Price was getting agitated.
“I could take us through the spirit realm,” I offered.
“Do you think can?” he asked. “I’ve watched you all night. Every time you picked up Cristina’s trace, you nearly doubled over in pain.”
So much for hiding it. “I can manage if I have to.” I hoped. Trying to help P
rice at the cabin had unraveled a lot of the healing I’d done over the last couple of weeks.
“I don’t suppose you’ll leave without me.”
“I don’t suppose I would,” I said, folding my arms and glaring at him. “I’m not leaving you to get killed.”
“I don’t plan to let them kill me.”
“Then you can plan not to let them kill either of us, because you’re stuck with me.”
He must have decided that arguing would be a waste of time. He peered through the crack he’d left in the door. His back stiffened, and the air in the room tightened so that it was hard to breathe.
“Get up against the wall, and stay close,” he said. We’re going with Plan B.”
We had a Plan B? I didn’t have time to ask what the hell it was. I jumped behind him and pressed against the wall.
I hadn’t felt any active magic since we’d arrived inside the skating rink building beyond some small wards and a few other minor magics. But it only stood to reason that Ocho and his crew had to have talents. I felt it sparking up all around us—all different kinds of talents as people flooded back inside the building.
I heard the tromp of feet coming closer, along with babble and shouting. Maybe they’d walk on by. It’s not like Ocho needed a nap right now, and the room wasn’t good for much else besides assaulting helpless girls. I wondered if Cristina would have worked up the nerve to shoot him. Probably. She was tough.
Some of the feet thumped past. I held my breath. Maybe it was a false alarm and we wouldn’t be discovered. Yet, anyhow. But we couldn’t be so lucky. The door started to push open.
Price didn’t wait. In one fluid move, he grabbed the intruder by the hair, yanking him up against his chest and pressing his gun to his captive’s head.
“Ocho, I presume?”
“Fuck you, asshole.” Despite his words, Ocho held himself still. He stood a few inches shorter than Price’s six foot two. His hair was glossy, black and he wore it in a ponytail. His face was wide and angular, his eyes black as his hair.
“Drop your weapon,” Price commanded, grinding the barrel of his gun against Ocho’s scalp. “Now.”
The other man let the AR-15 fall. It thumped on the floor. I wondered how many of his people had noticed Price grabbing him. Where the hell was Touray? Nothing short of the Second Coming would have kept him away. I took a steadying breath. We didn’t need him. We could do this on our own.
I tried to believe it.
“I’m going to have your balls for breakfast,” Ocho declared. “I’m going to castrate you, and then I’m going to cut you open and watch your guts fall out on the ground. Then I’m going to find your family and rape all your women and kill all your men and shit on their graves.”
Clearly he didn’t understand the rule that says don’t piss off the guy with the gun to your head. I thought everybody knew that one. Seemed like common sense. Like, don’t stick your hand in a fire or don’t try to breathe water. Ocho was quite clearly a nut job. Or maybe he had tricks up his sleeve. My stomach twisted, and I tightened my hand on my gun.
“You are going to order your people to let us walk out of here. If anybody tries to get in our way, I’ll drop you like a bad habit,” Price said roughly. “Understand?”
I hoped Ocho’s people were loyal, and he didn’t have some understudy dying to step into the part of gang leader. If so, using him as a shield might turn us into targets. Leaky targets.
“Sure thing, cabrón. Let’s get it on.”
I wished Ocho sounded the slightest bit nervous. As it was, he seemed eager. I exchanged a look with Price. He didn’t like it any more than I did. Not that we had any choice. I gave a little shrug to tell him I’d follow his lead. He grimaced and then pushed Ocho into the doorway.
“Let’s go. Tell your crew to stand down.”
Ocho gave a low laugh, cut off by Price’s gun jabbing into the soft hollow between his neck and jaw. “Tell them.”
“Everybody!” The wiry man called out, his cheeks flushed red, though whether from anger or humiliation, I couldn’t tell. Neither was good for us. “These cabrones want you to put down your guns or they’ll kill me!”
Silence fell around us and rippled outward. I heard clicks of hammers cocking, and a gun fired. The plywood window covering thumped and rattled as the bullet struck. Price jerked Ocho’s head back and dug the barrel of his gun harder into his jaw.
“Do that again and he dies,” he said, his voice carrying.
I could almost hear some of them considering their options. I doubted all of them wanted to see Ocho keep breathing, but apparently some did.
“All right,” a woman called out. “Go ahead.”
“Does she mean shoot him or walk out there?”
“Let’s hope they want him alive.”
“I suppose it’s too much to hope for that they actually put their guns down.”
Price didn’t bother with the obvious answer. “Stay close behind me. We’ll keep to the wall and go out the front. It’s closer. Make yourself as small as you can.
“Can you do anything? With your talent?” I didn’t want to be more specific in front of Ocho. Even though he struggled, Price had begun to get the hang of using the wind.
“I’m not ready to bet our lives on my control. Being tired doesn’t help.”
Fair enough. I had a lot of practice with my talent, and I knew from experience that fatigue made everything harder. Neither one of us had slept in over thirty hours, and both of us had been seriously injured. Magical healing didn’t fix the physical exhaustion that came with trauma, or in my case, replace lost blood.
“Ready?” Price asked.
“Right behind you.”
Price eased out of the doorway. I gripped his belt with one hand, pressing myself close. I felt like a coward hiding behind him, but following his orders was the intelligent thing to do. Especially since the air in the room had . . . tightened, pulling taut like a bungee cord stretched to the max. I wondered if Price realized he was doing it. I thought about the tornado in our safe house—was it only yesterday? He’d gained control over himself, but then his power had been triggered by our argument. How would it erupt now if one of us got shot?
Hopefully we didn’t find out. Just the thought of the danger he was in right now made my chest cramp with fear. I took a deep breath. Losing it now wouldn’t help. I’d panic later, when we were safe. Where the fuck was Touray?
We eased down the wall. Ocho started yelling something, but his voice disappeared in a rasping gargle.
“None of that, now,” Price instructed, the muscles of his arm flexing as he tightened his hold around Ocho’s neck. “Step it up, Riley,” he said to me. “The natives are getting restless.”
I guessed they were, because we hadn’t gone five more feet before all hell broke loose.
The lights went out, creating a total blackout. At the same time, Price started tussling with Ocho. I heard grunts and stamping feet and a crack like bone, and then Price’s gun went off. I squawked and ducked. I wanted to be small. Screams and shouts erupted throughout the skating rink. My own clogged in my throat, and then I heard Price yell my name. My heart hammered back into motion. He was alive. I dragged in a ragged breath. I opened my lips to answer, but at that moment an electric shock sang through me, and I made a bubbling sound.
When we were kids, my brothers had tricked me and Taylor into grabbing ahold of an electric fence. This was like that, only more intense. Every hair on my body stood on end. Sharp-edged ribbons of energy throbbed through me, prying at the molecules of myself.
“Riley!” Price shouted again, and now the air around me tightened, spooling tighter and tighter with every passing second.
“I’m here,” I gasped, but between the compression from without and the AC/DC-river inside, the w
ords came out disgustingly whispery, and I couldn’t tell if he heard. I reached out to find him. Something thumped against my side, and I grunted, twisting away from the pain, my face smashing up against the wall. My nose took the worst of it. Jesus fuck, but it hurt. Blood ran from it and down my lips and chin.
In that moment, the lights came on again. Lucky for me the skating rink wasn’t well lit, or I’d have been blinded. I almost wished I was. Price’s arm thrust straight in the air, his hand welded to his gun. He still had his arm around Ocho’s neck, but the other man had twisted around and now pummeled Price’s stomach and chest with sharp jabs. Price grunted and kicked out, knocking Ocho off his feet. The other man dropped and hung from Price’s hold on his neck. He scrabbled for footing. Price twisted and thrust out his leg to keep Ocho from regaining his balance.
His hand and gun remained upraised. They seemed to be stuck fast in the air. Maybe a binder spell of some kind? His biceps and forearms bunched as he fought the invisible hold. He let go of Ocho’s neck and threw himself back and up, turning his prison into leverage. He kicked out, hitting Ocho in the jaw. The other man came off the floor as he flew backward. He landed flat on his back. His head bounced, and he lay still.
“Riley!” Price spun toward me, reaching out to yank me to my feet. He planted a hand on my back and shoved. “Run!”
Uh, no. First, we were surrounded, and second, there wasn’t a snail’s chance in a beer bath that I’d be abandoning him to save my own ass. I staggered forward and then swung back around and pulled on my power. I might as well have shot myself up with acid, and not the good hallucinogenic kind. The pain was instant and burned my raw channels. I couldn’t hold it.
The loosed magic flailed wildly, lashing me with electric whips. Welts rose on my skin wherever it landed, some of them turning bloody as the energy cut into my flesh. One slashed across my forehead, and warmth trickled down my face. If I could have used the burst of uncontrolled magic as a weapon, I would have. Unfortunately, it targeted me.
Shades of Memory Page 16