by S. Massery
My phone rings, the noise bouncing around the open space.
Mason.
“Hey,” I greet him. “You’re up late.”
“There’s a three-hour time difference,” he says. “And it’s not even eight o’clock where you are.”
I lift one shoulder, even though he can’t see me. “Yeah, but it’s dark out.”
“Right.”
I unlock Colin’s office. My Tikka T3X—the best long-range rifle to exist—is still here, laid out on the desk as I left it. I start to put it back in its case, checking the three magazines I keep loaded, along with an extra box of ammunition. It’s always good to be prepared—that’s what the Boy Scouts say, anyway. Better too much than too little.
Mason clears his throat.
I forgot he was on the phone.
“You asked me to look into Sal Jones and the Argentos?”
I straighten, putting him on speaker so I can tend to the firearm with both hands. “I did.”
“Jones is a drunk,” he says. “Credit card charges at all the local bars on most nights of the week.”
I hum. “Didn’t figure on that,” I say. “What else?”
“Well, you could’ve mentioned that the Argentos are basically the Miami version of Delia’s family.” He sounds annoyed.
I don’t respond. They’re different, anyway. Delia’s family had their issues, but the Argentos are worse. Javier openly threatens anyone who tries to encroach upon his territory.
They’re currently struggling for power with the St. Ives and McCoys—families that have long traditions of holding sway over politicians and the police force to operate how they want. So people turn a blind eye and ignore the underbelly of Miami.
“Anyway, Mr. Chatty,” Mason continues, “something big must be happening.”
That catches my attention—and not just because I shot up their house yesterday. “Why?”
“They’re mobilizing.”
“Where?”
“Where are you?”
“About four hours northwest,” I mutter.
“Well, they’re headed in your direction.”
I snort. “That’s vague. Miami is at the tip of Florida. There’s not too many other directions they can go. And speaking of—what does that mean? How many of them?”
“As far as their financials go, everything is on lockdown. A car belonging to Javier Argento—the leader, I’m guessing—was caught on cameras getting onto I-95 North. There were three other cars close behind it.”
“When?”
“Two hours ago.”
“Fuck.” I grimace.
“What did you do, Dalton?” Mason sounds like a disapproving mother.
“I, ah, rescued Grace.” Again.
“Sal Jones’ daughter?”
I try not to react to the loudness of Mason’s voice. “No way they’d be stupid enough to come here,” I argue.
“But if they are…”
I sigh. “Then I’ve got about an hour and a half to get the welcoming committee ready.”
“Good luck,” Mason says. “I’ll keep an eye on that car, try to give you a warning if they’re close.”
“Yeah. Wait—how do you know if they’d get close?”
He chuckles. “I just pinged your cell. You’re with Colin Bloss?”
“Mason Dobbs—”
“He served with you in the Marines?”
“He did, indeed,” I say. I open his gun closet and grab an extra box of ammo, then sling another rifle over my shoulder. My Tikka hasn’t failed me yet… but I don’t really want to take any chances.
“Holler if you need me to rally the troops.”
“We’ve got some tricks up our sleeves,” Colin says from the doorway.
Mason clears his throat. “Colin, I presume?”
“Yep.”
“Mason Dobbs,” he says. “Dalton’s friend from—”
“Scorpion,” Colin finishes. “Disapproved of that move from the beginning, my friend.”
Mason gets the message. “I’ll check in later,” he says.
There’s a click, and then it’s just Colin and me.
“You bringing trouble to my door?”
“Nothing I can’t handle,” I say.
“Yeah, right. Tell me what we’re in for, Kavanaugh, or I’ll leave you hogtied at the mailbox.”
I crack a smile. Adrenaline is flowing, but I keep it in check. I always keep it in check. And besides—the Argentos could just be going on vacation. Passing within a hundred miles of us on their way to Atlanta or Tampa.
“Okay,” I admit, “it may be something to do with Grace.”
He squints at me.
“And the fact that her fiancé wants her back…”
“She wanted to leave, didn’t she?”
“I may have shot some of his people.” I shrug. “A few times.”
Colin just shakes his head, slipping past me. He puts on a belt with two holsters, checking his handguns and strapping them on. “This place is called Safe Haven for a reason,” he tells me. “It’s defendable.”
I nod.
“There’s a ridge about one klick north of here. Should give you a good vantage point over the driveway and the house.”
I nod again, putting my foot up on his desk to tie my laces tighter. This isn’t really what I planned on doing tonight—I had really, really hoped for some fucking sleep.
“Grace kissed me,” I blurt out.
He freezes, then scowls at me. “Dalton.”
I hold up my hands, knowing exactly what he’s going to say—the same shit he says about every battered woman who comes here for Colin’s help. The same thing I told myself earlier about Isabella. She’s probably just using me to get the stench of Marco off her.
And when that occurs to me…
I grit my teeth.
He was the one person I wasn’t able to hit. His friend, Frank? No problem. Took a bullet to the shoulder, which effectively killed his grip strength. When I remember that, I have no doubt that Marco is on his way here.
He’s driven by revenge as much as the rest of us. That, and an unhealthy dose of possessive asshole.
“If there’s one thing I can’t stand,” I mutter, taking the night vision goggles Colin holds out for me, “is—”
“A bigger asshole than you,” Colin finishes. “Yeah. Heard that enough to last a lifetime.”
I grin at him. “They’re few and far between.”
He shakes his head. “How many are coming?”
I shrug, and he grabs another magazine. He slides it into his pants pocket.
“Better safe than sorry,” he says. “Okay, look here.” He draws my attention to a topographic map pinned to the wall. The cabin, marked with a purple flag, is at the top of a small rise. There’s the valley, with the office and shooting range at the top of it. The driveway snakes through the trees, a clearly defined trail on the map, for about a mile before it hits the paved road. On the other side of the shooting range is a higher hill.
“That’s where I’m going?” I ask.
“You got it.”
“I don’t suppose you’re going to lend me your four-wheeler?”
He scoffs. “I’m going to be doing a lot more running around than you, my friend. Plus, I’m older.”
He’s maybe—maaaybe—thirty-six. Bastard.
“Guess I better get a move on, then.” I don’t mind the exercise, even if I grumble about it.
“Take this,” he says, tossing me a radio. “Channel four. If that’s intercepted, channel thirteen.”
I hold out my fist.
He bumps his knuckles against mine. “Stay safe.”
“Sharp shooting, D.”
I grin. “There’s no other kind.”
Taking a deep breath, I step off the sandbags that mark the safe area of the shooting range and jog across the grass. There’s a slight slope downward, then the earth tilts back up again. Soon enough, I’m past the tree line and hiking up a steep incline.
In the woods, there’s not enough moonlight to see shit.
I slide on the night vision goggles, and the world illuminates in shades of green. After I reach the top of the ridge, I spend a few minutes trying to find the best vantage point through a scope.
My phone rings. I don’t have time to say hello before Mason says, “Incoming.”
“Thanks.”
“Happy hunting.”
My radio crackles as I’m setting up my rifle.
Colin’s voice comes through. “My alarm at the top of the driveway just went off.”
I aim in that direction. Headlights glow in the darkness, bouncing along the gravel driveway. “Yep, I see them. Coming in fast.”
“Copy.”
The cars break through the trees, coming up a stretch of open lawn before Safe Haven.
“I count four vehicles,” I tell him. “Where are you?”
The cars slow to a stop, and men climb out of the first one. Colin’s radio crackles, like he’s leaving his channel open. I appreciate that. I’ve watched from afar, cursing myself for being unable to read lips, too many times. This takes the guesswork out of it.
It also means I can’t communicate with him, but sometimes you can pick which handicap you’d prefer.
“How can I help you, gentlemen?” Colin says.
Two men climb out of the first car and walk around to the front of it. I dial in my scope, focusing on them. There’s a flag hanging off the side of Safe Haven, but it’s still. Not even a breeze down there.
“Give us the girl, and we’ll leave peacefully.” The man that came from the passenger side’s arm is in a sling. There’s no weapon in his free hand.
A handgun is tucked in the small of his back. Frank.
I growl under my breath. Colin will not get shot because of Grace.
Colin shrugs. “What girl?”
“Grace Jones,” he says. “You’re hiding her away with Morning Star.”
“Morning Star? That’s another name for the devil, ain’t it?” He tilts his head. “You lost, son?”
“You’re just one man,” Frank says. “We will go through you to get to them.”
Colin laughs. “Yeah, about that…” He presses the small detonator in his hand.
I tear off my night vision goggles as the two back cars explode. The bombs planted in the road blow them straight up into the air, flipping one and tossing the other into a tree.
Both men out of the car dive to either side, and the driver pulls a gun from his back.
I squeeze the trigger.
He falls before he can take one step toward Colin.
My friend’s chuckle floats out of the radio. “Well, shit. That was bigger than I thought.”
Colin runs around the back of the building and climbs on his four-wheeler. He revs the engine. He finally cuts off the feed so I can say something.
“You okay?” I ask.
“That was fun,” he answers.
I turn my gaze back to the wreckage, wondering how many people they have stuffed into those cars. If the two back vehicles only contain the dead.
The last time I thought someone died in an explosion, it bit me—and my old crew—in the ass.
A few men climb out of the first two cars, and one man drags another out of the flipped vehicle. I count them while they gather behind cover, and I’m tempted to keep shooting.
“Wait,” Colin says.
I growl under my breath. “I see six well enough to stand,” I tell him. “You want me to take them out?”
“I just told you to fucking wait, didn’t I?”
“I wasn’t sure if you were talking to yourself,” I grumble. “Where are you going?”
“Back up to the house,” he says. He unloads his Winchester from the back of his four-wheeler. “Best defense—”
Is high ground, I finish in my head, then look to see why he stopped talking.
Grace walking out of the house cut him off.
My whole body locks up. All I can do is watch her through my scope. I need to be keeping track of the Argentos, but I can’t tear my attention away from her.
They both turn toward a noise I can’t hear, and Colin automatically steps in front of her. The man in the sling comes forward, motioning to Grace. I’m impressed he made it up the hill that quickly. He has a gun in his hand now, and he gestures for her to come to him. They drove one of the working vehicles up the hill. The other is still parked below, the headlights on.
Colin is fully shielding her, but she steps out beside him. She glances back at the doorway, to where Antoni has followed her. He takes two steps out onto the porch before Colin moves, lunging in his direction. He scoops the boy up and pushes him into the house, but that’s all the time that Grace needs.
She walks toward Marco’s right-hand. The coward might be waiting in one of the cars, but I think he’s even farther back than that. The Argentos sent their men to collect her.
That just pisses me off even more.
If you want something, you have to take it yourself.
My finger is on the trigger. Frank’s head is in my crosshairs.
I don’t flinch when I pull the trigger. He falls a split second later. I slide the bolt back and release the cartridge. It’s feather-light to slide back into place, reloaded.
Aim. Squeeze. Repeat.
And then, only Grace and Colin are left standing.
“Aye,” Colin says into the radio. “Didn’t leave any for the rest of us.”
“You were a bit busy,” I answer.
Grace spins around, then grabs the radio. “What the fuck?”
“You wanted them to take you?” I push up onto my knees, unable to keep looking at her. Disgust wraps through me. She would’ve given in without a fight?
What’s the point of this?
“Go, then,” I say into the radio. “There’s still a car down there, Grace. Run so you don’t miss your chance.” I turn it off and clip it to my belt, grabbing my rifle. I flick the safety on and sling it over my shoulder, picking up the case and tucking it under my arm. A long walk back in the dark—that’s exactly what I need to clear my head… and the taste of Grace off my lips.
That woman.
She’s hot and cold. Back and forth. What’s a guy supposed to do with that?
Save me, she says. Then she turns me in and acts surprised when I get back at her.
I jerk my head up at the sound of another gunshot. I don’t hesitate to whip my rifle around in front of me, trying to find Colin and Grace through the scope. Trees block my way, and I grunt in disgust.
I try not to let fear even begin to take over.
There are two choices here: I can go back up to the ridge and protect them from afar. Or… I can kick some ass up close.
13
GRACE
They fell like puppets with cut strings. One minute, Colin and I were staring down an army of Argento assholes. The next, they were gone.
I almost felt a twinge of sadness when Frank hit the ground. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s just the fact that death is such a scary, terrible thing. I used to ask my parents where we went after death, but they only ever traded glances and refused to answer.
It would’ve been nice if someone had given me the Heaven and Hell talk before I turned thirteen. That left a lot of wiggle room to come up with my own explanation.
Bodies disintegrated and souls floated around, haunting their loved ones.
That was an idea that sprang up around Halloween. Thoughts of ghosts and poltergeists gave me nightmares for weeks.
They became something else.
A plant. A dog. A fly.
I took particular pleasure in picturing Marco being reincarnated as a fly. Or a spider. Something I could crush under my palm.
Nothing.
The idea that most terrified me was this: nothing would happen. No bright light and tunnel, no conscious transformation, no haunting.
I picture that as one of the men rises, his gun pointed in Colin’s dir
ection. I picture a big yawning darkness swallowing me whole as I step in front of him—this man that I do not know, that I should not feel compelled to save.
Colin grabs me by the shoulders and shoves me sideways, throwing himself with the momentum. I land on my arm, and it explodes with pain. The bullet I was about to take for Colin splits the night open.
He leaps over me, lunging for the Argento. He hauls him halfway upright and hits the man with the butt of his gun. The Argento already has a gunshot wound, but apparently it wasn’t a killing blow like we thought.
Colin straightens and looks at me. “They were coming for you.”
I exhale. I’m pretty sure if I try to get up, my arm will give up on me. So I just… yep, I resign myself to the fact that I’m going to lie on the gravel for a minute. Nothing feels broken, at least. Just a burning pain in my arm like someone shot me… again, I mean.
Colin comes over and squats next to me. “You okay?”
“Well, besides the fact that we almost died, I’m peachy.”
He chuckles and holds out his hand.
I take it, and he pulls me to my feet like I weigh less than a bag of feathers.
“Glad to hear it. D should be on his way back.”
“Where was he?” I ask.
“On the ridgeline,” Colin answers. He goes to the door and tries the knob, but it’s locked. “Smart girl.” He knocks and calls out to Isabella.
I go for the men, drawing the kitchen knife that I had grabbed on a whim out of my boot. I drop the washcloth I had wrapped it in and edge closer to them. I barely recognize their faces.
Dalton shot some of them in the head. Tiny holes in one side, their scalps are obliterated on the other. Others caught his bullet lower, through the chest. One even took a bullet straight through the armpit, and I wonder if he was closer to shooting us than the others. He collapsed in a heap with his arm extended toward us.
The sound of a vehicle on the gravel drops me into a crouch. I creep toward the path, only for Dalton to emerge from the shadows. He takes one look at me, up and down, then transfers his attention on to Colin.