Final Stand

by Helen R. Myers

  “You’re better than okay. You’re beautiful and brave, and I can’t stand watching this, seeing you get hurt over and over.”

  She could do without him admitting deeper feelings. This all would have been easier if she’d never been introduced to the tender side he repressed, self-medicated and otherwise tried to eradicate to punish himself. She had no use for it now, no use for anything since her future held nothing, certainly no chance to wake in his arms to a day without threat.

  Yet, despite that internal conflict, when he pressed his lips against her neck, she arched into the caress, and when those caresses streamed down her throat into the V of her shirt, she wrapped her arms around him with the avidity of one parched and starving.

  She didn’t know or care which of them pulled open the snaps of her shirt, just that it happened. She craved the hot night air and his hotter, humid mouth on her breasts, his strong fingers mastering the clasp of her bra…craved to fit a lifetime of sensation into this waning ember of her life. In no other context could this make sense, but nothing else that had happened did, either.

  When he cupped her in his hands, she pressed herself into his mouth. As the fire within spread, she straddled his thighs.

  Although his hands continued to caress, Gray spoke with doubt. “I didn’t intend…”

  No, he would desire but resist. Mr. Sacrifice. Saint Gray. For once Elias had it right. But she couldn’t go on without this moment to sustain her.

  “Kiss me again.”

  He didn’t need a second invitation. Sinking his hands into her hair, he locked his mouth to hers. There was no time for flirting, no time for modesty. Passion ruled. Their kiss was bold and greedy, and with each stroke of their tongues, their hands gripped harder, grew more frantic. Sasha couldn’t keep any part of her still and rocked against him, pressed her breasts against his chest. When that wasn’t enough, she tugged at his T-shirt so that they could at least touch flesh to flesh.

  It just made it worse, the soft mat of his hair teasing her sensitive nipples, her lushness against his hardness. Gray groaned and lay back on the bed, taking her with him.

  “God, I want,” he breathed between kisses. “I want this more than I want air.”

  Sasha loved the words. They melted her from the inside out, even as his touch did the opposite. But she couldn’t answer in kind. She didn’t trust her own voice. So she showed him.

  Me, too, as she ran her teeth and tongue along his neck until he shuddered. I want you, when she did to his nipples what he’d done to hers.

  But being able to touch and not have was as much torment as pleasure. And so, breathless, she sat up.

  She waited for him to meet her gaze.

  The veins in his temple and neck throbbed, but when she unfastened the snap on his jeans, he sat up, too, and did the rest. At her first stroke, as she held him hot and hard in her hand, he urged her to her knees to slip down her jeans and panties.

  “You have to let me get something,” he said, bending to nuzzle the dark curls he’d just caressed.

  “No. I’ve never been with anyone this way…just the two of us. Just…us.”

  Realizing what a revealing remark it was on so many levels, she resolved the issue herself by taking him inside her all at once. As ready as she was, it was too much, too fast. Her gasp had Gray attempting to ease her off him, but she tightened her arms as well as her inner muscles.

  Losing control, Gray groaned and crushed her to his pounding heart. “Forgive me. I can’t let you go.”

  “Don’t.”

  His hands were unsteady as they stroked the length of her back, drove into her hair to urge her to meet his gaze.

  Knowing what was coming, she kissed him and murmured, “No more words.”

  “Damn it, you’ll listen for once. They’re not just words. I know it’s supposed to be impossible—”

  She pressed her fingertips to his lips only long enough to replace them with her mouth. “Kiss me…and come. Come inside me. Please.” Each whispered word was a caress all its own, augmented by her rhythmic rocking against him.

  Careful of her wound as he was of his size and strength, Gray nevertheless gripped her hips and helped intensify the ride. Time was their enemy—there was no denying it—but so was desire. Feeling its capriciousness undo him, Gray groaned into her mouth, “Ah, God, not yet. Not yet,” as the pressure built.

  But Sasha’s body had never been so ripe, full of heat and him. And she wanted the rest. Repeating the subtlest tightening of internal muscles she felt him lose control, and the power of it sent her with him over the top.

  The tremors lingered, and she yearned to prolong them, to repeat what they’d shared. But reality could allow only spare minutes, so they clung tightly to imprint what sensations they could. Before the first flush of passion receded fully, she ran her mouth along his collarbone, collecting a bit more of his essence. The fleeting caress spawned another spasm from Gray, so very present inside her.

  Sadly, however, the sounds of the outer world were invading their dark oasis. The exodus seemed to be resuming in bits and spurts, and after what had been a brief respite, Jessie was barking with new insistence.

  They had gambled with fate all they could dare.

  With a last kiss, Sasha eased off Gray and began reaching for her clothes.

  He, however, couldn’t stop touching her, her beaded nipple, her kiss-swollen lips. “This has only made it worse,” he murmured.

  “I know.”

  “I want—Sasha, sweetheart, let’s get Jessie. I’ll get us out.”

  Here we go, she thought. “I can’t. That’s not an option for me.”

  “Everyone’s going. Can’t you hear them?”

  What worried her was that Borodin could be observing it, too, and, as a result, initiate a change in plans.

  When she failed to respond, Gray began adjusting his clothes. She could tell by his brisk movements that he was upset with her.

  “You can’t still be thinking of staying.”

  “Yes.”

  “You can’t win.”

  “I’m not seeing this as a contest. It’s what needs to be done.”

  Weary from the pace she’d been keeping all week, on top of the emotional strain of the last twenty-four hours, she picked up her gun and extra clip and headed for the living room. At the door, she eased to the side, unlocked the dead bolt, then swung the door wide.

  All that greeted her was Jessie’s louder barks. Her eyes were well adjusted to the darkness by now, and as she stepped outside, she studied her surroundings. Everything seemed as it was, but it didn’t take light to gauge the amount of dust in the air due to the fleeing residents of Bitters.

  A sudden cry had her ducking into a defensive position.

  “Frank, don’t leave me. I need you.”

  Recognizing the voice, she looked toward the police station where she saw a shadowy skirmish going on. Two people were wrestling, and then one fell to the ground. The other dived into the patrol car and keyed the engine. Gears grated and tires screeched as he backed recklessly into the street and then sped away.

  Sasha ran, but by the time she made it to the front of the station, she could see Elias’s patrol car turning sharply at the dirt road and following the last car.

  Unbelievable, Sasha thought. Worse yet, he’d left behind Gerri Rose.

  She went to the sobbing woman lying in the fetal position on the ground. How had she managed to get away from Tim, or did he even know she wasn’t in their house? Sasha could only hope the girl hadn’t done something really insane. There was no time to deal with another crime scene right now.

  “Come on, Gerri,” she said, touching the woman’s shoulder. “You have to get away from here. It’s not safe.”

  “I don’t c-care. I can’t live without him an-anyway.”

  “Trust me. It’ll be easier than you think. Come on.”

  The girl allowed herself to be assisted, but continued weeping. “How could he? I told him that I loved
him, a-and he acted like—He left m-me.”

  “Yeah, he’s a regular prince. Now that you know, maybe you’ll wake up and figure out he’s not the answer to your problems, not to mention your dreams.”

  As she steadied the younger woman, another vehicle turned out of a side street by the library, but rather than head up the dirt road, it turned toward them. Sasha was about to reach for her gun when she recognized the engine’s characteristic cough.

  It was the white pickup. She stared in amazement as it pulled beside them and a young man, a heavier and blonder rendition of Tim Pike climbed out.

  “Ger?” he called in a childlike voice. “Tim says it’s okay for me to bring you home. He said it’s okay to pick up ice cream if we hurry. You want a cone, Ger? I got money.”

  Gerri Rose pressed her hand to her mouth, either to stem her sobs or hold back a hysterical laugh. Nevertheless, aided by the young man, she slid across the bench seat of the pickup. When he settled back behind the steering wheel, he waved cheerfully at Sasha.

  “Bye-bye!”

  He cut a slow, wide U-turn and drove away, leaving Sasha to stare after them. Dear heaven, she thought, wrapping her arms around her waist.

  “That’s Tim’s half brother, Lonnie Metcalf,” Gray said, coming up behind her. “He’s a little slow.”

  Things were moving way too fast for her. Sasha purged a deep breath trying to make sense of it all. “In all honesty, I don’t care if he has the IQ of a gnat,” she replied. “That’s the truck.”

  37

  Gray did a double take. “No way. Lonnie? He’s a simple, sweet guy. Mrs. Metcalf had him late and there were complications with the birth. He doesn’t even have a license, but everyone knows him and just kind of looks the other way. As slow as he drives, there’s not much danger of him hurting anyone, and he only uses the truck in these few blocks to run errands for his mother. She’s pretty much an invalid now.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t him driving the other night,” Sasha replied. “But that’s the truck. Not that it matters anymore,” she added, glancing at the eastern horizon. The telltale hint of light had her heading into the police station.

  Gray followed. “What do you mean it doesn’t? What are you doing?”

  “Frank’s gone.”

  “That bastard. That cinches it for sure now. Without—whoa.”

  He followed Sasha into the station, to the gun case, where, after testing the lock, she positioned herself sideways and kicked at the lower right corner. It took three tries, but finally the heavy sheet of Lexan popped out of its aluminum frame. She finished pulling it free, then reached for a .12 gauge, opened a box of shells and began loading.

  “Want something?” she asked him.

  “I have one, remember? Got it the old-fashioned way, too.”

  “I don’t plan on keeping it, Slaughter. One way or another, they’ll have it back in a while.”

  She then grabbed up a full box of shells and exited the station. Outside, the horizon was definitely growing lighter. It was time, Sasha thought with a sense of finality. She increased her pace, but the dust kicked up from the road hung over the town like fog and kept gagging her. On the plus side, it might help with visibility.

  “You can’t do this,” Gray said at her elbow. “Without Frank you don’t stand a chance.”

  “Nothing he did or said ever gave me the idea that he would be much help anyway.”

  “Do you hear yourself?” He gripped her above her raw elbow and spun her around. “You don’t stand a chance.”

  “There are still people here,” she countered, pointing with the shotgun. “You know that some are too old or infirm to leave even if they wanted to. What you don’t know is Borodin. He’s capable of making them pay if I run like Elias did.”

  “And if you stay,” he snapped, “you’ll die. Don’t you get it? You’re alone.”

  She met his angry gaze. “Am I?”

  The hint of dawn added a glint to his fierce eyes and accented the grim lines bracketing his hard mouth. But she was not intimidated. He looked intense and passionate when he made love, too. The memory left her all the more aware of his essence still warming and wetting her. How could he think she would feel alone when she carried him so close?

  Dropping his hand, he slowly shook his head. “You are the most courageous, stubborn, foolish—I won’t stay. I’m not going to watch you commit suicide.”

  Although inside something withered and died, she replied with amazing calm. “I know. I saw it in your eyes before you said anything. The truth is, I don’t want you to either.”

  As she resumed walking, he was like a great, growling mastiff. “Do you want me to beg? Fine, I’m begging. Come with me. I know those rough trails better than anyone born here. We don’t have to go as far as the ranches, I can get you to high ground where we’ll get a signal and call the sheriff. Hell, we’ll call the FBI.”

  “Borodin will be gone by then. Out of their reach or that of any U.S. authority. I can’t allow that to happen.”

  “Fuck him. For every Borodin that goes down there are two to take his place. You know that. At least you’ll be alive.”

  “Alive and living with the memory of what he did to my mother.”

  He must have seen the resolve in her eyes or heard it in her voice, because suddenly he swore and whipped her around again. This time he captured her face between his big hands and kissed her. “Then think of this,” he rasped against her lips before kissing her again, this time all but stealing the remaining breath in her lungs. As Sasha began to feel light-headed, she reached to steady herself by taking hold of his wrist, only to bump him with the box of shells. That and a subtle shift in the air had her succeeding in breaking the contact. She lifted her face to the waning night.

  Dawn’s promise caressed her like a ghostly hand.

  Sasha gently pushed against Gray’s chest. “You’d better get going while you can.”

  He stared at her as if she’d just struck him, then he let his hands drop to his sides and curled them into fists. “Damn it, Sasha.”

  She used the back of the hand with the shells to stroke his chest just over his heart. “I know.”

  This time when she walked, she walked alone. Before she reached the guest bedroom, she heard his truck start up.

  38

  The box of shells hit the dresser top with a thud. He was really going to do it. Sasha hadn’t believed Gray could bring himself to leave. The sound of his truck left her both weak-kneed and angry. At the same time, she didn’t want to be responsible for his death any more than she could bring herself to hate him for making the wiser decision.

  She looked at the bed. The bedspread was rumpled and bore the imprint of their bodies. She leaned over and smoothed the cover until there was no more sign of them.

  Knowing she had to get out of there, she picked up the shells and her suitcase and made a final, cursory inspection of the room before exiting. She had no idea where she meant to go yet, if she could indeed find a good spot to put up a decent challenge. She just wanted to get away from here to protect Gray’s property from damage if at all possible, and to get away from the rest of the residences. Hopefully, if she physically disassociated herself from them, maybe Borodin would leave the townspeople alone as he’d said. In any case, he would never expect her to come at him.

  However, she was at the doorway when a patrol car pulled up on the street between the clinic and police station. It was the deputy sheriff’s vehicle. For an instant her heart lifted with hope, only to see the passenger window ease down, exposing…Borodin.

  The vehicle gunned forward, cutting a sharp right, causing it to fishtail as it sped into the yard. That added to the sand and gravel already in the air and left Sasha feeling as though she was inside an hourglass.

  Sand…time…hers had run out.

  Backing into the house, she slammed and bolted the door. She knew locking it was a joke, but she was buying herself a chance to get some cover. Tossing her suitcase out of
the way, she rushed to the couch, pushed it farther from the wall and dropped behind it.

  Within seconds there was a short burst of gunfire, a violent kick. The door flew open and the room exploded with a series of shots. Lamps shattered, tables splintered and upholstery stuffing flew as though a grenade had erupted in a chicken coop. Grimacing at the flying debris as much as the deafening blasts, Sasha crouched as low as she could, knowing a few coils and the wooden frame wouldn’t deflect all the bullets for long. She waited for the inevitable pause.

  When the moment came, she gave a warrior’s yell and brought the .12 gauge around the side of the couch and fired, pumped and fired again. The massive form silhouetted in the doorway jerked, then stumbled back into the yard. Before he hit the ground, she was charging down the hallway.

  39

  God, no.

  Gray was halfway down Main Street, about to cut a sharp U-turn and return to the house, when a movement drew his gaze to the rearview mirror. It was a patrol car. As it hesitated back by the clinic, then tore into the yard, he saw the bold print Sheriff on the side of the white vehicle and comprehended the magnitude of his mistake. No way did that vehicle carry legit cops. His last-ditch effort, that desperate brainstorm to scare Sasha out of this hopeless idea, had failed. Not only was she too noble to run, his underestimating her courage was forcing her to face those Russian thugs alone.

  Unwilling to sacrifice the precious seconds it would cost to make that U-turn, Gray jammed the truck into Reverse and slammed his foot on the gas pedal. The truck seemed to move in slow motion, until he hit the brake pedal just as hard and tires screeched and skidded in protest, proving otherwise. Without a second’s thought to the abuse he was delivering to the transmission, he rammed the gearshift into Drive again and drove his foot to the hilt on the gas pedal, once more charging into the yard after the Russians.

  What he saw ahead of him chilled his blood. The patrol car stood at an angle in front of his house. Three of the doors were wide open and he saw three men dividing up. As the biggest one turned his front door into kindling, a bald-headed guy circled to the side of the house.