by F F Perez
Grunting with the impact, I went with the blow, rolling backward and jumping to my feet. The man pointed his gun at me and fired. The bullet grazed my arm, but I was already grabbing his wrist, bending it back, and kicking at the gun. It went skittering across the room. I had lost my own gun during that first hit, so it was going to be all hand to hand. Besides, I didn’t want to kill the bastard. I needed him to talk.
I was more worried about the sniper that had shot through the window. If he didn’t shoot again, he would be on his way to help this hulking giant. The man lunged at me, and I dodged, slamming my elbow into the back of his neck. He went down with a crash but didn’t stay that way. He kicked out at my legs. I dodged, but it caused me to stumble. My momentary loss of balance gave my opponent time to pull a knife out of his jacket.
He swiped at me a few times. I dodged the first two swipes, but the third one got skin. A lot of it. Warmth spread across my chest as blood seeped from a deep cut. I pushed the pain away and focused on disarming my attacker, but he was good. A little too good. I blocked most of his hits, but a few made it in. He stabbed into my shoulder, and I bit back a cry as the icy hot stab of pain wracked through my body.
“Give us the girl,” the assassin growled.
I looked over at Nancy cowering against the wall. Her wide aquamarine eyes stared at me with growing horror.
Nancy, I thought. My Nancy.
The words I had spoken in the car what seemed like a lifetime ago echoed in my ears: Someone may be trying to kill you, but they will not succeed. Not while I still draw breath.
I spat blood at the assassin’s feet, and then surged forward; tackling him with every bit of strength I could muster. Like hell would they get Nancy. I was still breathing, and I would keep her safe as long as I was still breathing.
Pulling him up by the arm, I slammed the assassin into the wall. “Who sent you?” I roared, rage rushing through me.
“Fuck you,” the assassin spat.
With another roar of rage, I pulled him forward by his twisted arm and slammed him back into the wall.
“I am all for ripping your worthless throat out, so I suggest you tell me what I want to fucking know,” I growled, twisting his arm up and dislocating it with a loud pop. The man screamed, writhing against my grip. I twisted his arm more, making the pain worse.
“Fine,” he shouted. “Fine, it was Jameson. William Jameson sent me.”
I flung the man away from me, having gotten what we needed from him. He staggered backward toward the door. A pop echoed through the silent apartment, and red spread down the assassin’s shirt. He collapsed to the ground, revealing William Jameson standing at the front door behind him.
“It’s impossible to find good help these days,” Jameson said, smirking.
I gazed around wildly for Nancy, but I couldn’t see her. She must have slipped into the bedroom. I circled back so I was between Jameson and the bedroom door. Jameson stalked toward me, an ugly grin splitting his face.
“You’re losing a lot of blood, son,” he growled. “I have a gun, and you are unarmed. Just let me pass. It will be quicker than how I killed her father. I can promise you that, at least.”
“You’ll have to shoot me first,” I snapped.
He sighed. “I really don’t want to make an enemy of Malcolm Shieldman, but if you force me to, I will kill you.”
He raised the gun. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a blur of blonde hair rush toward Jameson. Nancy had snuck into the kitchen, not the bedroom. She was holding the frying pan I’d used for breakfast, and with one swift motion, she brought it down on Jameson’s head.
Screaming with rage and pain, Jameson whirled toward her, his gun raised. Surging forward, I knocked Nancy out of the way, and a burning pain entered my chest.
I had been shot before, which was the only way I knew I had been shot now. Crashing to the floor, I heard screaming and more gunfire. I thought I must have been hallucinating. I jerked my head around, searching for Nancy with blurry vision.
She appeared suddenly, kneeling over me and grasping my hand. Tears streamed down her face, but she seemed, miraculously, to be unhurt.
“Hold on, Lance,” she whispered. “Hold on. They’re here. They came.”
Who had come? I didn’t know, nor did I really care as long as Nancy was safe.
My father’s face appeared over me. Ah, I thought. So, that’s who had come. The cavalry. My family. Of which Nancy was now a part.
Tears splashed onto my cheeks as she leaned over and kissed my face. “I do love you, Lance. It is real. Don’t leave me. We have our whole lives left for me to prove to you it’s real. Just stay with me.”
Of course, I’ll stay with you, I thought. I would never leave you. I tried to say this, but blackness stole my vision as I squeezed her hand, trying to reassure her I would never leave her side.
Epilogue: Lance
Three Months Later
Loud knocking woke me from a very vivid dream. I waited for someone to answer the door, rolling over on the sofa and trying to slip back into the dream. It had been a good one. Nancy and I had been trying all kinds of new and naughty things in it, and since I couldn’t do anything in real life, I was determined to fuck her brains out in my dreams.
The doorbell pulled me back out of my wicked fantasies, making me swear with frustration. Maybe Elsa was punishing me for all the trouble I’d been causing her. I hadn’t been the easiest patient in the world. But who would be after four surgeries and three months recuperating? You’d think the old housekeeper would go easy on me since I almost died, but no. She ruled this house with an iron fist.
She had taken a real interest in nursing me back to health once she had found out that not only had I saved Nancy’s life, but that I also made her young employer happier than Elsa had ever seen her. Because of those two facts, I was getting special treatment and attention from Elsa, which could be good or bad depending on the day and my level of restlessness.
The doorbell rang again. Yep. Elsa was punishing me.
Hissing in pain, I forced myself to stand up and answer the door. Elsa bustled in and through to the foyer, glaring at me pointedly. I rolled my eyes but retreated to the sofa, chest burning from the gunshot wound. You would think three months would be enough time to heal, but coupled with all my other injuries, it was not.
I heard Detectives Tom Jacobs’ and Jesse Smithwell’s voices as Elsa let them into the living room. Elsa whipped me on the head as she passed by on her way into the kitchen as a punishment for standing to open the door. I glared at her retreating form but smiled once she was out of the room. It was kind of nice having two women dote on you all the time—three if you counted my mother, but she had gone back to New York with my father for a few days and wouldn’t be returning until the weekend.
The detectives greeted me before sitting down.
“Is your wife here?” Detective Jacobs asked.
“She’ll be any minute now if you would like to wait,” I answered, shifting into a more comfortable position.
“Sure,” he replied. “How are you holding up?”
“Just peachy,” I muttered.
We waited in silence for another ten minutes before Nancy’s sweet voice called my name from the back door. We had moved into her father’s place a few weeks after I got released from the hospital, deciding to rent out her old apartment.
“I’m in the living room,” I called. “We have company.”
Nancy walked into the room in a swirl of blonde hair and silk.
“Detectives,” she greeted the two men, bending down to kiss my cheek. “What can we do for you?”
Detective Smithwell cleared his throat. “We were just coming to tell you that your father’s murder case is officially moving to trial next week. William Jameson has recovered from his own injuries enough to stand trial for the murder.”
“Pity,” I muttered.
Detective Jacobs looked at me curiously.
“I was hoping he might do us the favour o
f dying,” I explained.
“Well, I can’t condone that officially, but I understand,” Jacobs replied.
“Anyways,” Smithwell continued. “The confession we have from your surveillance will be enough to put him away for good.”
Nancy nodded. “Thank you for letting us know gentlemen. Will there be a need to testify, then?”
Both detectives shook their heads. “Not for the moment. We’ll let you know the date of the trial so you can be ready. It might turn into a media frenzy, so if you need the department’s help with anything, let us know,” Smithwell added.
“I think Shields United can handle it,” I replied, chafing at my limitations.
Smithwell smiled. “Well, still. Let us know.”
Nancy nodded and saw both detectives out before returning to the sofa.
She kicked off her shoes and curled up on next to me. I wrapped my arms around her, squeezing her gently.
“Can you come with me to the trial?” she asked.
“Of course,” I replied, exasperated. “That was a dumb question.”
She whacked my arm. “I didn’t mean, ‘Do you want to come?’ I meant, ‘Can you come?’ You’re still hurt, you know.”
“I’ll be fine,” I replied curtly.
She narrowed her eyes. “That reminds me,” she said. “Elsa tells me you are not, in fact, resting, and that you opened the wound on your arm today when you tried to flip pancakes.”
“Elsa is a tattle-tale,” I mumbled grumpily.
Nancy snorted. “Real mature, Lance.”
“Yeah,” I sighed. “I haven’t been as careful as you might want, but I’m not exactly used to the sedentary lifestyle I’ve been forced to live the last few months.”
She reached up and caressed my chest, taking care to skip over the bullet wound. “The more you rest, the sooner we can break that sedentary lifestyle in our bedroom,” she cajoled. She ran a few kisses down my neck as an enticement, making me groan.
“Two and a half more months,” I growled. “The doctor said I had to wait two and a half more months to have sex with you. Don’t think I’m not keeping a mental tally of all the teasing, Mrs. Corrigan-Savage.”
Nancy had decided to keep the Corrigan name to avoid the mess of legal paperwork changing her name required and to make things simpler for her business contacts, but she had taken to unofficially hyphenating our last names. I couldn’t help but use that version as often as possible, a smug smile on my face every time.
“Oh, I’m very scared, Mr. Savage,” Nancy laughed, sticking her tongue out at me.
I swatted her ass lightly, making her laugh again.
“That reminds me of something else,” she said, suddenly sitting up. “Are you going to change your name back to Shieldman?”
I shrugged. “Maybe. Why?”
“Just curious.”
We were silent for a few minutes before she spoke again.
“Lance?”
“Hmm?” I answered, resting my cheek on her head and inhaling her floral scent.
“Do you want kids?”
I hummed thoughtfully. “Why do you ask?”
She grabbed my hand and placed it over her stomach, looking up at me with sparkling eyes. “No reason,” she whispered.
A slow grin spread across my face as I pressed my lips to hers, thinking this must be what happily ever after felt like.