Complicated Creatures: Part Two

by Alexi Lawless

  But if Wes was honest with himself, he was pissed because what Jack had said struck a little too close to home. If Wes had stood by her, Jack would likely have never entered the picture. Wes didn’t kid himself thinking Sam would have been happy to lead a quiet life in Houston with a dog and lazy evening walks through Rice Village, but she wouldn’t have gone looking for a guy like Jack either. If anything, no matter what, she and Wes would have stuck together. And he wondered about that now, with her so hurt and the prognosis so uncertain.

  Would Sammy let him take care of her? Or would she choose Jack?

  Wes leaned against the doorframe, rubbing a tired hand across his face.

  Knowing Sammy, she’d deny them both at this point, and go it alone.

  And what would he do then if it came to that?

  *

  Dec 22nd—Early Evening

  Somewhere on the Saarlandstraße, Hamburg, Germany

  J A C K

  Snow fell lightly over the brightly lit, regal buildings of Hamburg and the canals that latticed the part of the city banked along the Elbe River. But Jack barely noticed the postcard-worthy tableau, his thoughts consumed with worry for Samantha and how fragile she’d looked pinned in traction, ethereal and pale. To Jack, she’d seemed almost like a suspended angel. He recalled all the angelic iconography he’d seen on the ceilings of palaces and in the art that adorned the Catholic cathedrals he’d grown up attending. Jack considered how fierce and gorgeous and frightening the concept of the avenging angel was. Even hurt, Samantha remained a masterpiece, forged from fire and brimstone, both lovely and deadly, protector and warrior. It seemed to him she was trapped now in the limits corporeality forced upon her.

  And she’d almost left this world without him knowing it. Rush admitted to him she’d had to be revived twice—once in the dust-off chopper they’d used to evacuate her and her crew and another time on the flight to Germany. Jack suppressed the thought as he considered how close he’d come to losing her—really losing the woman he no longer knew how to live without.

  He had to be more for her. He had to be better—do better. Because she not only needed him to be, she’d mandate it.

  If Samantha knew how he’d disintegrated in her absence… Jack didn’t want to consider it, didn’t want to imagine the disappointment in her eyes—

  He looked across the backseat of the car at Wes sitting alongside him, both silent as the car took them to the hotel. Wes couldn’t have been more opposite from Jack if he’d tried, from the dusty boots and shaggy hair to the laid-back sprawl as he sat there, lost in his own thoughts. But they did have at least two things in common: Samantha… and that strange, private self-doubt that she would somehow always be just out of their reach.

  Jack shook his head at the realization. Had he been told a few months ago he’d fall head over heels in love with the one woman who might never love him back with the same passion, for all his hubris, Jack would never have believed it. Had he been told he’d be sitting in a car next to a man who felt exactly the same, he would have scoffed.

  And so he did.

  “What?” Wes asked, glancing at him.

  “How did you do it?” Jack asked.

  Wes shot him a perplexed look. “How did I do what?”

  “How did you walk away from her?” Jack clarified, considering him.

  Wes gritted his teeth, his eyes flashing.

  “Was it because you didn’t know what you had back then,” Jack continued. “Or was it because you did, and even then, you knew better than to try to hold onto her.”

  Jack caught the subtle doubt in Wes’s eyes before it disappeared behind the façade of an insolent smile.

  “You know, you talk an awful lot of shit for a guy who got dumped, Jack,” Wes pointed out. “The way I see it, I was her first, and I’ll be the last.”

  Jack bit down on the jagged edge of angry hurt, knowing that Wes had already managed to weasel his way back in with Samantha. He wondered briefly if she’d slept with him or if Wes was playing him for a fool, aware that Jack would rather imagine just about anything than the two of them in bed together.

  Jack thought back to their last night in Chicago. He knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that Samantha hadn’t left him for Wes. If anything, she’d done what she’d done under a misguided attempt to protect him from what she hadn’t wanted him to experience—ironically, the very thing he’d been experiencing since she’d left—the misery of an existence without her.

  “I meant what I said earlier,” Jack said quietly. “You don’t have what it takes to be a partner to a woman like her. Maybe back when you were kids, when neither of you knew any better, but definitely not now.”

  “Really, Jack?” Wes replied. “And you do? Why? Because you’ve got a hard-on for her? Or is it because she doesn’t want you, and your pride can’t take it? You think I don’t know she left you back in Chicago?”

  Jack scoffed. “You’ve got no idea what you’re talking about, Wes.”

  Wes laughed softly. “Oh, I think I do, Jack. No one in the world knows better than me what it’s like to love a girl like that. If you think I’m walking away because you’ve been dating her for about two seconds, then you’re outta your damn mind.”

  Jack turned to him in the darkness of the car. “That’s just it, Wes. You keep referring to Samantha as a girl, but she’s not that girl anymore. She probably hasn’t been since the day you walked out on her.”

  He watched Wes’s chin rise in defiance.

  The car came to a smooth stop outside of the gleaming white palace of the Hotel Atlantic Kempinski. A doorman opened the car door, welcoming them with flourish.

  “She’s a queen, Wes,” Jack told him meaningfully. “A goddess. And I am her king.”

  He stepped out of the car, moving to walk up the stairs to the lobby.

  “Hey, Jack,” Wes said behind him.

  Jack turned.

  “I don’t give a good goddamn about your money or your name or your clout,” Wes told him with a relaxed drawl as he leaned against the car. “And when it comes down to it, I’m willing to bet Sammy doesn’t either.”

  “Really?” Jack tilted his head as he considered him. “If you aren’t threatened by me, Wes, which any sane man ought to be,” he pointed out. “Then why would you bother to bring it up?”

  Wes smiled, his teeth catching the light. “Because I was the one with her in Afghanistan. And I was the one she came to before she left, looking for comfort. So if you think that buying out Leviathan will be enough to keep her, then you’re the one who doesn’t understand what it takes to be a partner to a woman like Sammy.”

  Jack’s eyes narrowed. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t take the advice of a man who only recently stumbled back into her life by accident.”

  “It was fate.”

  “Bullshit, Wes,” Jack countered, facing him off. “Those are the lies indecisive men tell themselves when they slip and land into good fortune. You weren’t planning on finding your way back to Samantha. The easiest thing in the world happened for you, didn’t it?” he taunted. “Imagine your surprise, seeing Samantha again after all those years, and right when she happened to be vulnerable.” Jack shook his head. “It wasn’t fate, asshole. It was a sliver of light from under a closed door. And you managed to make the most of that opening, didn’t you?”

  “She and I were never over,” Wes pointed out, not entirely inaccurately.

  “Perhaps not, but a real man would have found her years ago and done whatever it took to turn it around. You’re just the opportunistic bastard who saw a moment of weakness and took advantage of it.”

  “She came to me,” Wes argued.

  “Really?” Jack tilted his head. “She asked you to come to Afghanistan?”

  When Wes didn’t answer, Jack just smiled. “That’s the difference between us, Wes. You’ll jump at the opportunities as they present themselves. That’s probably what makes you an excellent journalist,” he observed. “But you’re not th
e man who moves mountains for the ones he loves or creates futures for them. You’re just the guy who reports about them.”

  Wes’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not walking away from her, Jack.”

  Jack brushed the snow off his shoulders. “Good,” he replied. “Because when she chooses me—and she will—” he added pointedly. “It will be with the absolute certainty in her mind that she’s concluded any and all history with you.” Jack turned and moved up the steps toward the lobby. “Have a good rest, Wes. God knows, you’re going to need it for the battle I’m about to give you.”

  Epilogue

  Dec 23rd—Morning

  East End, London

  R O X A N N E

  “Thank you, Dr. Parai,” Rox smiled, handing the Bangladeshi doctor a neatly-coiled roll of British pound notes. He accepted the money in his weathered hand before he put the sum in his doctor’s bag. “There should be enough there for both your service and your silence,” she reminded him, her tone cordial.

  The doctor nodded. “I wouldn’t live very long if I could not assure my clients of some degree of anonymity,” he replied.

  “Indeed.”

  Rox led him to the door of the row house she’d appropriated. It was as good a place as any to lay low while she’d had Lightner patched up.

  “The sedatives I gave him are beginning to wear off,” he told her as he handed her a small paper bag. “There’s enough sodium thiopental in there to keep him…” he paused, choosing his words carefully. “Comfortable. You know how to find me should you require my services again in the future.”

  Rox smiled as she shook his hand and opened the door. “A pleasure doing business with you.”

  Dr. Parai bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement before stepping out the door in the rain.

  From the side window, Rox watched him leave, making sure no one was following him or watching the house. A couple strolled by in slickers, while another man rushed to his car covering his head with a newspaper. All in all, a typical, cold, rainy day in the East End. No one the wiser.

  Rox checked her wig as she passed the hallway mirror. Lightner would be coming to shortly, and when he did, he’d be meeting an auburn-haired woman with hazel eyes and a Spanish accent. She’d have to stay in this character while around him, at least until she delivered him to Sammy. They’d have to leave this house soon anyway. As an illegal immigrant, she doubted Dr. Parai would say anything to the cops about having pulled two slugs out of a man who looked eerily similar to the recently-deceased Lucien Lightner, but she never liked to rely on the loyalty or kindness of others. Besides, more than a handful of days in one place made her feel anxious, and at this point, Lightner would be well enough to travel.

  Rox jogged back up the stairs, opening the door to the guest room she’d locked him in. Asleep on his side, with a fresh bandage on his shoulder and another on his leg, Lightner looked almost peaceful, his head resting on his arm in repose.

  “What are we going to do with you?” Rox murmured, approaching the bed. She pulled two sets of handcuffs from underneath the bulky sweater that hid her body. She’d taken the handcuffs off Lightner just before the doctor arrived so she wouldn’t have to explain more than she’d had to, but she didn’t like the idea of a man as cunning as Lightner unshackled, even in sleep. As Rox opened the cuffs, affixing one to the rail of the heavy wrought iron bed, she saw him open his eyes groggily.

  “Water?” Lightner croaked out.

  Rox snapped the cuff on his wrist. She stepped back and picked up a bottle of water, handing it to him. He accepted it gratefully with his free hand.

  Lightner watched her with drug-dulled eyes as he gulped down the water. Rox let her eyes wander over his features. There was little she could do to disguise his face, but his white-blonde mane of hair was too unique, too much of a signature look to travel around with in any kind of anonymity. Rox walked into the adjoining bathroom, finding electric clippers under the sink.

  He watched her as she came back into the room, approaching him.

  “I was beginning to wonder when I’d actually meet you,” he muttered, his normally-crisp British accent a little sluggish from the sedatives.

  Rox smiled a little, bending over to plug in the clippers. She wondered when he’d figured out Jack wasn’t the one behind the majority of his troubles.

  “The beautiful, but treacherous Roxanne de Soto.”

  She stiffened, rising slowly.

  How the fuck did he know her name?

  “La mujer fantasma,”53 Lightner murmured, his cold blue eyes on her. “You inspired me, really,” he continued. “When I found out that a beautiful woman was following me, it seemed a dream come true. Until I had your fingerprints and the match came up with a dead woman.”

  Rox narrowed her eyes, saying nothing. So few people knew her name, so few realized she still existed. She considered him, compelled to hear how much he knew about her, and how he had found out anything about her to begin with. “How did you get my prints?” she asked, not bothering with the fake accent.

  “What an interesting story you have,” he continued, ignoring her inquiry. “The beautiful, brilliant wife of a vicious thug, until he had her murdered in cold blood,” Lightner tutted, shaking his head. “Imagine my surprise when a ghost showed up in Paris at my mistress’s club, looking for me.”

  “The champagne glass I drank from,” Rox surmised, crossing her arms as she recalled deciding not to wear gloves that evening. “How did you know I was after you?”

  Lightner smiled. “You were following Delacourt.”

  “And of course, you’re enough of a control freak to have your own mistress tailed,” Rox realized, shaking her head ruefully. “And here I thought I’d flummoxed you by delivering her favorite lover to your door in Nice.”

  “An annoyance, to be sure,” Lightner shrugged. “And you did flummox me, admittedly.”

  “Oh?” Rox raised her brows. “How so?”

  “I incorrectly assumed you were working for Jack Roman,” he tutted. “I also incorrectly assumed you were killed in the blast,” Lightner continued. “I did try to wait for you to pass through the light, after all—before I detonated the car.”

  Rox smiled grimly as she moved toward him. “You’re not the first motherfucker who’s tried to kill me. Doubt you’ll be the last.”

  She took the bottle of water from him, swiftly snapping the extra handcuff to his wrist and locking it down to the bed frame.

  Lightner looked up at her, something akin to admiration in his eyes. “So who are you working for, ghost woman?”

  Rox slanted him a look.

  “Okay, here’s another one then,” he rerouted. “How much are you getting paid to do this?”

  She chuckled, turning on the clippers. “More than you’re worth, I assure you.”

  “Then why not just kill me?”

  “Are you asking?” she taunted as she sat beside him. She leaned forward to drag the clippers through the center of his hair, taking a skein of white blonde hair off his scalp. To his credit, Lightner didn’t even flinch. Maybe he wasn’t as vain as she assumed he was after all.

  “You forget I was in the British military,” he told her, deducing her thought. “A shaved head is something I became very accustomed to in duty to Her Majesty.”

  Rox continued, ignoring him as she guided the clippers though this hair.

  “You didn’t answer my earlier question,” Lightner pointed out.

  “I’m not under any obligation to.”

  “No, you’re not,” he agreed amicably. “But I guess since I’m already a dead man, I’d like to know when the deed will actually be accomplished.”

  Rox finished shaving the left side of his head. She leaned over to begin the right.

  “I will kill you if I have to, but my client would prefer to have you alive,” she admitted. “If I had it my way, I’d leave you in front of Scotland Yard. Let them sort out all of the bullshit you pulled in the City.”

  Lightn
er narrowed his gaze on her. “Don’t tell me a bounty hunter and a killer such as yourself finds what I did to cover my tracks deplorable.”

  “Dozens died needlessly,” Rox replied, finishing with his hair. “No telling how many others were injured or otherwise affected. You were sloppy,” she chided. “If you wanted to disappear, you should have only done the minimum necessary. What you did was stupid and inefficient.”

  “So I have a flair for the dramatic,” he drawled.

  Rox rolled her eyes. “Clearly. And you’re a bastard to boot. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  They scrutinized each other for a moment. He looked so different without his mane of hair. With his lean, good looks and hawkish nose, Lightner appeared decidedly more dangerous shaved.

  “I think you’ve quite enjoyed hunting me down,” he told her, his slate blue eyes lit inquisitively. “It might have been about the money before, but I suspect you’ve enjoyed every minute of it. Haven’t you, Roxanne?”

  “You’re as crooked as a dog’s hind leg, Lightner. Of course I enjoyed taking you down.”

  “Ironic for a woman who deals in deceit and fictional identities.”

  Rox rose, turning her back to him. “Don’t be a sore loser, Lightner. Can’t win ’em all.”

  She returned the clippers to the bathroom. As she straightened, she caught a brief glimpse of him behind her in the bathroom mirror.

  “The fuck—?” Rox only just managed to put her hands up as he wrapped his belt around her neck.

  “Double-jointed, love,” Lightner whispered into her ear as she struggled against him. “Guess you don’t know everything about me.”

  He squeezed the belt tighter around her hands and neck as she gasped, flailing as he tried to choke her. Lightner leveraged his height to drag her up and back against him, making her spine arch painfully. Rox kicked her legs up to the sink, pulling in her knees and planting her feet on the mirror. With a mighty heave, she kicked back, knocking him backward into the room as the mirror shattered under her push kick. Lightner let go of one end of the belt as he staggered back, freeing her.