Snatched

by Cullars, Sharon

  Some place where he'd never see her again.

  The thought came out of nowhere and it unsettled him. This was the last thing he'd expected when first going under with the gang. Now everything was confused and time was running out.

  And he still couldn't get out of his head the idea that once he turned her over for police protection, he wouldn't be allowed to find her. That was taken care of by another department.

  The only way to ensure her safety without her going into protection would be to get the goods on the gang. How he was going to do that he didn't know. But he couldn't quit, not just now. For right now, he was still Demon.

  "What are you going to do?" she asked, interrupting his thoughts.

  He didn't answer her for a second, before he finally said,

  "We've got to get you somewhere safe while I take care of business tonight."

  She looked at him incredulously.

  "You're still going to that fight tonight, to confront the Jamaicans? You have a death wish?"

  Her words jarred her out of her initial shock and she seemed to notice his chest wound for the first time. Blood was seeping out, some drops already settling on the bed cover.

  "Oh God, Dele, you're bleeding. I just thought he nicked you. You can't possibly go to that gang fight tonight. They'll finish you off in the first few minutes."

  He smiled even though he was hurting like hell.

  "Didn't know you cared," he teased through the pain.

  She turned her eyes as though she didn't want him to see what was there.

  She moved, slid off the bed and stood on the side, gloriously, beautifully naked.

  She quickly stooped, picked up her panties, slipped into them.

  Then said, "If you insist on dying tonight, we can at least dress that wound so you're not totally helpless. You've got anything on hand?"

  He shook his head. "Just a few Band-Aids, a little rubbing alcohol."

  "Well, you're going to have to trust me just like I trusted you. I'm going to run to the store, find something to wrap your wound. Now you can come with me, but I'm going."

  He was already shaking his head. "Roach may not have come by himself," he said, looking at the body on the floor.

  "If there'd been anybody else, wouldn't they have come running in when they heard the shot? We don't have any more time. Somebody probably has already called the cops. We've got to get your wound dressed before they come for the both of us."

  She was right about the need for some medical care. As for the cops coming, having done stints as a rookie and going undercover, he knew certain areas of the city very well. This was one neighborhood where folks didn't blink at the sound of a gun going off. That had been one of the reasons he had chosen this hotel as his "headquarters" where he knew he could lay low without having to explain to some other squads why a gun had gone off in his room.

  Or why there was a body lying on his floor.

  The warm moisture trickling down his chest made his decision. She was right; he couldn't go tonight without the bare minimum of care. As it were, he wasn't sure Roach hadn't hit a lung. His breathing was still affected but not so badly now.

  The Demons had their own "doc" they had on hand. A sole practitioner who didn't mind being paid with dirty money. Dele had collected notes on him, too. He could see him later, if he survived.

  But tonight he had to show up, had to prove he was still Demon enough to stand with them.

  From there, he would do whatever was necessary – even play up to Clare – to get some info. Anything to stick Rez and the others behind bars for a long, long time if not for the rest of their sorry lives.

  "Grab my jeans," he directed.

  She was already dressed now in her own jeans and his borrowed jacket. She picked up his jeans to hand to him. He took the jeans, reached into his pocket where he kept some loose bills. He handed her two twenties.

  "This should be enough to cover you for the stuff. I'm going to have to trust you because I can't hide the blood and we'd be stopped by some cops if I try to come with you. Nailah, I'm putting my life in your hands. Don't make me regret it."

  They exchanged a look and for a moment he wasn't sure that she wouldn't call the police as soon as she got the chance. His cover might be irreparably blown if she did. And the Demons would go after her.

  It was too risky for him to tell her things that could get her killed.

  For right now, he had to remain Dele to her. Unfortunately, she might never get to know him by his given name, Eric McIntyre. And maybe in the end, she wouldn't want to.

  "I'll be back," she said solemnly. "I give you my word."

  He gave her directions to a nearby pharmacy within walking distance.

  And with that, she was out the door. For some reason, it both surprised him – and then it really didn't – to hear the sound of his bike revving up and then taking off.

  There was obviously a lot he didn't know about her. And he had laid so much trust in her hands.

  He sat on the edge of the bed, contemplating tonight.

  Then he got up, finished dressing and maneuvered Roach's body beneath the bed. That would have to do until he could contact Jud at the precinct to make arrangements to secretly pick up the body. That was the only contact he could risk for now.

  Chapter 14

  Nailah didn't know why she'd taken his bike. The Harley (or was it a Kawasaki, she couldn't be sure) was difficult to maneuver in traffic and she was risking her life without a helmet. But time was slipping by too fast and walking was just out of the question. Besides, she was getting the hang of the bike the longer and harder she rode.

  Dele could die before she got back. That thought made her consider whether she should take the chance to call 911, get some EMTs to him. But maybe that would be a deadly move considering the gang probably thought she was dead and fully expected Dele to show up.

  It occurred to her as she finally pulled into a parking space at the CVS that she hadn't thought for a second of escaping. Of just letting him take the fall and getting the hell out town, out of everyone's clutches.

  One call to the police and this could all be over. She could even explain why it had been necessary to kill a man.

  But that one call would put Dele behind bars and for some reason she didn't want to dissect right now, that was something she didn't want.

  Maybe it was that she'd made love with him, although that phrase really didn't suit the situation. Love was hardly what was going on here. A snatch of some lyrics came to her just then, a song she'd recently heard on the radio. She couldn't remember the title, just that one line, "maybe this isn't love, but when he's around he's got me feeling some kind of way," or something like that.

  And he was definitely making her feel some kind of way.

  If she needed proof, here she was walking the aisles looking for bandages, peroxide and painkillers hoping that it would get him through a damn gang fight. She was definitely abetting a criminal act. She who had blanched at her first traffic ticket. She, who had followed the rules laid out by her grandmother, had gotten sick on her first drink, had cried after her first time being with her boyfriend because she'd thought she might get pregnant.

  She was a "rules" girl and here she was breaking every rule left and right. Like fucking (and maybe that was the right word) a gang member, or not even attempting to tell the police that men were probably going to die tonight. As she stood in line to pay for the items, she wondered if even the bills he had given her were tainted drug money.

  Nailah walked out into a cool early Los Angeles evening, the sun descending in the west in swirls of blue, white and orange. A beautiful night waxing with a promise of even cooler temperatures. She was wearing Dele's buttoned denim jacket and her jeans, and for some reason his jacket around her gave her comfort. She straddled his bike, hit the pedal and revved the motor. As s
he took off she wondered who the hell she had become.

  ###

  Nailah walked into the room door and found Dele sitting on the bed shirtless but with jeans on. The seam near the top button was stained with blood despite his apparent efforts to stem the flow with paper towels. She paused at the door after shutting it wondering why the room seemed different somehow. Then she looked down and realized that Roach was missing in action.

  "Where did you…?" She left the rest unstated.

  He moved his booted foot at the bottom of the bed, pointing a toe at the same time nodding his head downward and she understood.

  "Oh," was all she said on the matter. She remembered the bag in her hand and walked it over to him.

  "Bandages, not Band-Aids, peroxide and a bottle of painkillers for now. But you're going to have to see a doctor sooner than later."

  As she handed him the bag, she made another plea, "You're not in any condition to go anywhere but the hospital," but even as she said it, she knew he would reject it.

  "Help me wrap up this wound," was all he said. By the sound of his slightly ragged breathing she knew he was getting worse. And she felt helpless to do anything but help him wrap bandages around his torso, open the bottle of painkillers of which he quickly downed four or five pills.

  He asked for a beer from the fridge and she started to tell him that alcohol and medication shouldn't mix but bit back the reproach seeing as he was going to do what he needed to do to get through the next hours. She brought him a cold bottle, watched him as he downed the liquor in several swigs.

  "Feeling any better?" she asked as he placed the empty bottle on the night table.

  He nodded. "A little. By the time the painkillers kick in, I should be fully mobile."

  "Yeah, right," she said not bothering to check the cynicism. "I'm just helping you prepare to become a more pliable corpse."

  "Gee, thanks for the overwhelming faith in my skills. Just answer this for me, who was it who got you through all of this shit anyway? Unscathed and basically unfucked well, except for…" He smirked at this last.

  "You. Look I'm not questioning your natural shit-extricating skills, but even a child can see you're not up to protecting yourself. I may not know much about face offs between gangs, but I do know human nature and I know that predators hone in quickly on the weak or those they perceive as weak. Looking at you, I think I could take you down without much of an effort. And that's with the several pounds and feet you've got over me. Do you really think Rez or any of your "crew" is going to risk their lives to save you?"

  He stood with a slight groan then walked over to the bureau, opened a drawer and pulled out a clean tee.

  "No, I wouldn't expect Rez to cover anybody's ass even under the best of circumstances. Definitely not now. He wouldn't lift a finger to save me even if we were blood, more like to plunge his Bowie knife in me. But as you're well aware, he'd only get seconds on that score."

  He walked to the night table, swiped up the gun that Nailah had laid down nearly an hour ago. It seemed a lifetime since she'd put it there, and several lifetimes since she'd taken a human life. A human named Roach.

  Dele checked the safety before tucking the gun in his belt at his back.

  "Can you shoot with the pain?" she asked standing close to him.

  "Going to find out tonight."

  "You only have so many bullets," she tried to reason.

  "Rez'll be packing some extra hardware for the boys. Trust me, I'm going to have plenty of fire power."

  No matter what she said, he already had an argument to counter hers. So she decided just to give up.

  He handed her his wallet.

  "I probably have a few hundred left in there. I'm going to put you up in another hotel, not as cheap as this one and I want you to stay there. Don't even think about doing anything stupid. Just relax on a comfy bed, sit back, watch TV and wait for me to come back. And I will come back to you. I promise."

  His last words made her heart jump a little. Come back to her. As though he were hers to come back to.

  She expected him to ignore the implication of his words, not to understand that his phrase made her feel confused. That in her mind it was opening up possibilities she hadn't previously considered. She would have dropped the thought with an immediacy that brooked no further consideration.

  But then he placed an arm gingerly around her waist, grimacing as he did so. Even that small action caused him pain. How the hell was he even going to drive the Harley?

  "Do I get a good luck kiss at least?" The words were more seductive than the tone given that he was a man in pain.

  She might have tried to play off the question, give him a playful comeback that they were not and would never be a true couple.

  Instead she let him close the space between them without protest. He leaned in for a kiss. The feel of his lips were still hot, causing an erotic shock that immediately took her back to their earlier lovemaking.

  God, she did want him to come back to her.

  She took the chance of hurting him more as she put her arms around his neck, pushed in for the full kiss.

  When he finally pulled away, his eyes were dark and not with pain.

  "I think I'm healed," he said with a half smile.

  She returned the smile, both of them reaching for a little levity to take the edge off.

  To push back thoughts about the possibility of never seeing each other again.

  "C'mon, let's go," he said and without a look back, they both walked out the door, leaving Roach to his temporary morgue.

  Chapter 15

  Dele walked into the warehouse not certain of the reception he was about to receive. For all he knew, someone else had cased the hotel and had already relayed word to Rez that Roach had been killed. And that either he or Nailah was the shooter.

  He entered a room where the body count was easily a hundred fifty if not more. He'd estimated that same number of bikes parked outside. Extra bodies called in from around the county. All of them Demons from various houses. All of them ready to do battle against the Jamaicans.

  He'd been right about the hardware. Every man to the body toted some menacing machines. Still standing near the door, he saw a few Uzis, at least a couple of Berettas, several Colts and Rugers. Looking at the fierceness of the guns, he knew tonight was not an occasion for knives. He had actually left his own Blackhawk knife back in the hotel's nightstand. Rez was holding a Glock, and not his Bowie.

  He spotted Rez sitting on the couch, a Ruger in his belt, just as Rez spotted him, interrupting his conversation with a member Dele had only seen twice before. One of the heads of the other "houses" held by the Demons.

  "Dele, get your ass over here!" Rez's commanded. His raised voice stopped several conversations as eyes turned toward Dele.

  All in all they were a scraggly bunch. Hardly a one without some facial hair, donned in denim or leather jackets, not a one rising above the stereotype of "white trash."

  Only a few of the women were present including Clare and Carolyn. The younger woman sported a black eye probably courtesy of Skeet, who stood a few feet away from the girl. Dele took a second of thought to wonder about her future with the gang. She wasn't as strong as Clare and would sooner or later be handed around like a leftover rag. He wished he could get her away from there, from them all.

  Dele walked over to Rez, who remained sitting.

  "What the fuck took you all damn day to get back here?"

  At that moment, Dele did a mental kick. He'd forgotten the bloodied shirt he'd planned to present to Rez as proof of Nailah's "murder." Without that prop, he definitely was going to have to play this by ear.

  Dele let a slow smile emerge. "Told you I wanted some time to say goodbye."

  "Man, in all that time you could have said goodbye, sayonara, a-fucking-rrivederci. Look, I don't fucking giv
e a shit right now. We have more important things to tend to. All I want to know is that you got rid of that black bitch."

  "Yeah, she's gone. One slit through her throat took care of business. She lied to me about the money, so I had to make it especially hurt."

  Rez was a bloodthirsty bastard and Dele could tell by the leer in the man's face that he was playing the scenario in his mind.

  Dele did an internal sigh of relief. He'd gotten away with Nailah's murder and seemingly Roach's killing. No one was pointing fingers and if Rez wondered where the man was, he obviously wasn't worried about. Which led Dele to believe what he'd earlier guessed was correct: Roach had come after them on his own. For all Rez was concerned, Roach the bug was simply laying low which would come with its own consequences if he didn't show up in time to ride out with the crew.

  Rez stood up, pushing Dele back with a hand to his chest to clear the space. Dele hid the grimace arising from the sudden pain of contact. At least the pain was dulled a bit with the bandage, cleaning and painkillers.

  "Murray…" Rez turned to address the member he'd been talking with when Dele came in, "you take first column, Leo'll take the west column. I'll take the last. I got a reliable source saying that the Jamaican niggers have a place near the Valley. They plan to trade some wares, some heat, mostly blow. And we're going to provide a welcome wagon, in reverse. We get rid of the middle men, deal with the Mexicans directly. More lucrative that way for us."

  Dele listened and knew immediately that he should call in. He alone couldn't forestall this upcoming slaughter and all in the name of closing a case. Well, several cases including the murders of members of another L.A. gang. And the buried bodies were not just gang members, but innocents as well. One a seventeen-year-old girl snatched by a crew on her way to school. Raped and supposedly discarded in the Mojave, dumped like the others. Leanne Strauss. A smart student headed for Harvard who unfortunately caught the eye of one of the crew and didn't live to bring charges.