by Aden Lowe
Carrie tossed her own cards down, so I did the same. Evidently, the game was over. "Like how much longer?"
X shrugged a little. "Depends on how invisible you want me to be. Could take several minutes. Especially considering I'll be without backup to stay on you when I have to sleep."
Her serious gaze went to Azia. "Honey, are you absolutely sure this is necessary?"
Azia took her time responding, then gave a careful nod. "Yes, I am. Carrie, I'm scared enough to ask for help. Flag and X-Man do this kind of work. I'm terrified you're next on the killer's list, and they agree it's likely. I couldn't live with myself if anything happened to you, or your kids."
Sharp ferocity settled on Carrie's face. "Okay, then." She turned to X-Man. "I want you visible. Brian doesn't have family here, so if anyone asks, you're a distant cousin of his who hadn't seen him since you were kids. You didn't even know of his death." Damn, she wasn't too bad at the cover story business.
"And your kids?"
"Same thing. They don't know their father's family well at all. After his death, they took no interest in us. Some nonsense about my not sharing his life insurance with his family. I didn't bother telling them there was only enough insurance to cover burial expenses and the medical bills he left." Those words raised a prickle of anger along my arms.
"That takes some real fucking balls." X-Man beat me to it, popping his knuckles one at a time in a habit he used to cover a need for violence.
"Yes, it does. My mother-in-law actually said I owed her his insurance payout, because she raised him." Carrie twirled a strand of hair around her finger in what was probably a similar habit to X-Man's knuckle popping. "I told her she owed me a million dollars for undoing all the damage she did to him during his childhood. We haven't really spoken since."
X-Man sputtered with laughter and raised his bottle to Carrie. "I knew I liked you."
Azia's hand on my arm drew my attention. "It's getting late, Flag. I should get home and get some rest. Work tomorrow." Apparently she felt as much like a third wheel as I did.
"Yeah, let's head back. X knows how to reach me if something comes up."
Carrie's eyes widened as she looked at the wall clock. "Oh, shit, I didn't even notice the time! I'll be dragging tomorrow. Let's hope the kids take it easy on us, Azia." She stood and waved away Azia's attempts to help her clear the table. "I've got it. X-Man, I'll show you the guest room. I hope you don't mind the basement."
The women said their goodbyes quickly, and X-Man walked out to my truck with Azia and me. "This might be the best, and the worst, job you've ever pointed me toward."
I drew a blank on both of those. "How so?"
"She's hot as fuck, but damn, kids?" He chuckled. "I'll catch up with you tomorrow, man. We can figure out any other details and start digging for this killer."
I backed out of Carrie's driveway, headed for another long night of torture. "You got everything you need from your place? Like for work?"
"Oh! No, I don't. I brought some things home to work on over the weekend, and never even got the chance to look at them."
I turned toward her apartment, enjoying the light traffic of the late Sunday evening. Azia stayed quiet as we drove, which worked for me. I spent the vast majority of my time alone, so the prolonged presence of another person, especially one who fucking pushed my buttons, had me on edge. Silence made it marginally better, at least for the moment.
I tried to use the time to think ahead. Had I prepared for every possibility? Not very fucking likely, but I hoped the plans I put into place would do the job. Having X-Man nearby made me feel a little better, even though I wouldn't call him off his job.
We made it to Azia's building, and inside, without saying a word. In her apartment, she made a beeline for a desk in what might have been intended as a dining room. "This will just take a minute. I have it right here." She rummaged through stacks of papers and books.
I watched for a moment, until it became apparent whatever she searched for wasn't there. "You sure you didn't leave it somewhere else?"
Distracted, she shook her head. "No, it was right here. I kept looking at it and thinking I should look it over and be done, and putting it off again."
That fucking got my attention. "Okay, need you to look around. See if anything else is missing."
She looked up with wide, startled eyes. "Missing? You mean someone might have taken it?"
"We don't know yet, but it's possible." I hated the way fear made all the blood drain from her face. "That's why we have to look around. Don't leave my side, and don't touch anything, just look." Fuck, I should have paid closer attention, taken precautions against someone getting into her place. Instead, I was too fucking distracted with the way her delicious ass looked in her jeans, and as a result, I could have led her right into the killer's hands.
She gasped when I drew my gun, but followed directions and stayed close as we worked our way from room to room. Everything looked pretty normal until we reached her bedroom. Clothing littered the floor, along with shards of glass from a broken mirror.
Azia clung to my arm, trembling with fear, as we worked our way further into the room. Her bras and panties lay in a shredded heap on her bed. "Oh, God! He…" She pointed to something specific on the bed, and spun around, turning her back on the destruction.
I took a closer look at where she pointed. A cute pink bra and panty set lay separate from the others, with smears of what looked like semen all over them. Mother fuck! I pulled her out of the room and wrapped her in my arms while she shook with fear and anger.
Rage, unlike anything I had ever experienced boiled through my blood. The anger I experienced from all the atrocities I had witnessed, all over the world, was dwarfed by what I felt now. Those victims were all strangers, and although there was no physical assault, Azia was mine in a sense, whether she knew it or not. Any man who tried to fucking mark her as his territory better prepare for a beating.
The angle of my view into the kitchen allowed me to see parts of the room not visible earlier, and we hadn't gone in there yet. The word SLUT had been smeared over a cabinet door in something red and sticky looking. DIE WHORE was scrawled across the tile floor with ketchup.
Even more anger burned in my gut, focused on myself. I should have taken precautions. An hour or so earlier, I would have risked her life in an encounter with the motherfucking killer. The need to shield Azia from the kitchen suddenly overrode the rest of it. "Alright, baby, let's get out of here. We'll find what you needed tomorrow."
She nodded in agreement while her tears dampened my shirt. "Okay." Her voice quavered like it did back in high school when Tammy Wingate led the other cheerleaders in a nasty prank. They broke into Azia's locker and trashed it, ripping up all her textbooks, the poured beer over everything and topped it off with used condoms. Bitches stood back and giggled while the principal yelled at Azia in front of everyone and placed all the blame on her.
My girl didn't resort to violence, though. She put an Op-Ed in the local paper naming them and listing their transgressions against other students. Public shaming, combined with embarrassed parents, put an end to the mean girls club they had going.
"He needs to be gone, Flag." She straightened her spine, ready to do battle. "I've never wanted to hurt anyone so badly before."
Going from what I knew of her character, before, Azia wanted someone to do something about the killer. Now, she wanted to fight, to put him in the ground herself. It was the difference between grief and anger. Mourning those she cared for, she felt helpless to personally do anything to stop him. Now, furious and violated, maybe she didn't know what to do, but she was willing to do it. Would that include violence? I sure as fuck hoped so, since there may be no choice in the matter.
I kept my head up and got her the fuck out of there. Once I had her safely in the truck, I felt a little better. I had seriously underestimated this man, but now I would be ready for his next move. He wouldn't get that close to her again. I drove to the m
otel, watching for tails out of habit.
There were a few more cars in the lot than before, leaving me to suspect the motel's clients included a fair number of people who worked in the area, but weren't sure enough of their jobs to move. Instead, they spent their work week in a motel room, and went home for weekends. That actually made things a little easier for me. No one would think anything of my truck parked in the lot more than a couple of nights.
I parked and helped Azia out. She seemed a lot calmer than before, but I felt the tension simmering within her. Her movements were stiff and tense, and anger still flushed her face. Anyone who pissed her off tonight better watch the fuck out. I resisted the urge to crack some kind of joke as we walked to the room. I preferred to keep my neck in one piece.
Searing heat blazed along my ribs just before I heard the shot ring out. Azia gasped as I grabbed her and ran for the door. "Get the key card ready. We have to get in fast." My own gun felt reassuring in my hand, but no target presented itself.
Steady under pressure, Azia unlocked the door in record time, allowing us to duck inside. "Oh my God! What was that?"
"Stay low. Get to the bathroom." As soon as we were safely behind another wall, I turned on the light. "He followed us somehow. Probably put a tracker on my fucking truck while we were in your place. That was him trying to eliminate the competition." I winced and pulled my shirt away from my throbbing ribs. "He almost managed it, too."
"You're bleeding!" She grabbed a clean towel off the rack. "Let me see." Just like that, she took charge. "What do we do now? Police?"
I shook my head and gritted my teeth as she pressed the towel against the wound. "No. We're bugging out." Her forehead creased with confusion for a moment before her attention went to something else.
Chapter Twenty
Azia
"You need a doctor!" Fear sharpened my voice, and I didn't even care. What if he bled out, right here in the motel room with me?
His mouth curved into an easy smile. "For this? Not fucking likely. It's a scratch and looks worse than it is."
"You were shot!" The point needed no further argument. Gunshot wounds meant an ambulance and lots of police.
One finger brushed my hair back. "No, Azia. I've been shot before. This is most definitely not. In a few days, it'll be healed. Stop worrying. I've had far worse injuries."
The words drew my gaze to search for traces in the harsh light of the motel bathroom. Scars lurked within the lines and swirls of the tattoos covering his chest; some faint and silvery with age, while others were bolder, a little darker, and one, a perfect circle high on his chest, was still pink and new.
Without permission, my fingertip brushed over the scar. "What happened?"
"A businessman in Mexico ordered the kidnapping of his rival's wife and daughter. I was hired to retrieve them. In the process, one of the businessman's fucking goons got the drop on me. I killed him for it." The casual way he spoke of killing another human being startled me, but not as badly as his lack of concern over being wounded himself.
I looked further, picking out more old injuries, and wondered at the stories behind each. All that time, lost. Time he and I should have had together, living the life we were supposed to live. An unexpected lump grew in my chest, forcing me to look away from him.
A soft touch under my chin lifted my face to him. "Don't look away from me, Azia."
"Why not?"
He leaned closer, so his breath tickled along my cheek. "Because I would never hurt you."
I considered the words carefully. "I know, but you frighten me."
A furrow of something, maybe confusion, crossed his brow, then disappeared. "Why are you afraid of me?"
Yes, I should clarify. "Not of you. For you."
He blinked, not bothering to hide his lack of understanding now. "For me?"
"Flag…you take this all too lightly." Frustration moved my hand in a gesture that encompassed all of him. "You have more scars than I can count, and you laugh them off. Being shot, even if it isn't serious, is nothing to laugh at. I just found out you're actually alive. I don't want to lose you again. So, please, don't just throw your life away." My teeth sank into my lip as I waited for his reaction. His silence got to me. "I'm sorry. I had no right to say that."
He leaned in close again. "You're biting your lip, Azia." I started to explain, but his mouth closed over mine, hard, possessive, demanding. He overwhelmed my senses for a few brief moments, then drew back, breathing hard. "Fuck! You're killing me." The low words failed to make up for the absence of his touch.
I gulped air, trying to regain some sense of normalcy, as Flag stood and moved away. Fresh blood on his side drew my attention and planted my feet back on the ground. "No, I'm putting a bandage on that wound."
Relieved laughter filled the small bathroom. "With what? I'm assuming you don't have a full field medic kit stashed in your bra?"
A giggle escaped before I could stop it. "Sorry, no such luck. But I do have a tampon and a lint roller in my toiletries bag."
One eyebrow went up. "Uh, okay? How do either of those help? We trading them for bandaids?"
I smiled again. "Sit." I pushed him to sit on the toilet. "Let's get that little scratch cleaned up." The bleeding had mostly stopped, but a bit of his shirt clung under the forming clot, meaning fragments could be embedded in the wound. I didn't know a lot of first aid, but I was pretty sure that would be a very bad thing if left alone. "Should I wash it out? There's some of your shirt stuck."
"No, it's not deep so anything will be on the surface. It won't be a problem."
"Hmm. Okay. But for the record, I think you're just a chicken to get it properly cleaned." With no antiseptic available, I soaked a clean washcloth with hot water, and added soap, to swab away the blood around the injury.
He hissed when the cloth touched his skin. "Absolutely right." Muscles tightened, but he stayed quiet.
Finally, I got all the blood wiped away, then sat back a little to decide what to do next. Hand sanitizer. Yes. That would ensure everything was clean. I dug in my bag for the little bottle and squeezed some onto a cotton round, normally used for removing makeup.
Flag grunted when the cold gel touched him, but he tolerated it without asking questions. The little tube of Vaseline for chapped lips provided a protective barrier to keep anything from sticking to the wound. Still, he stayed silent, but he watched with interest.
Next, I opened the tampon, flattened it, and fit it over the ugly graze. The first sheet of adhesive from the lint roller went into the garbage, but the next three served as tape to hold the tampon in place.
I sat back and surveyed my handiwork with something approaching satisfaction. Given my limited supplies, the makeshift bandage on Flag's side didn't look too horrible. Dressing his wound gave me something to focus on other than the situation, at least.
"There. All done."
Flag stared at me in amazement. "How did you know to do that?"
I looked away. "I don't know. I use a lot of things in ways other than how they're intended, I guess. I think it comes with being a Kindergarten teacher." He hated it. I should have just let him wait, like he wanted. "Look—"
"This is fucking genius. I've seen plastic wrap used to dress a chest wound, but a tampon and a lint roller?" He laughed. "Rufus won't fucking believe this. And I might never live it down. Thanks Azia. You do good work." He glanced at his watched. "We have a couple of hours to kill, so we might as well get some rest."
"I thought it wasn't safe to be in there?" Surprise had my mental wheels spinning again. Had he forgotten about the killer outside with the gun?
"Should be fine now. He probably beat it, afraid the police would be called. But we'll still take some precautions." He stood and turned off the lights, except the single dim bulb that served as a sort of nightlight. "Wait here." A moment after he left, several low noises came, like cloth rustling, and fabric sliding across another surface.
Left to my own devices, my mind returne
d to what I said to him, about not wanting to lose him again. The thought had played around the edges of my consciousness from the moment I recognized, and although I gave it some consideration, I hadn't thought much about what his being alive meant to me. No matter what his present turned into, I wanted to be in it. No, I needed to. Now that I knew he still lived, I couldn't imagine going to back to not having him. Even if he no longer loved me, even if his life were too dangerous now, I couldn't give him up.
"All clear now." His low voice from the other room sent a thrill through me. "Come on out."
Terrified, and expecting a bullet to whiz by my head at any second, I looked around the edge of the wall. He had one of the bedside lamps turned on, but shrouded with one of his black t-shirts, cutting it to only a dim glow. The mattress and box springs from the bed he slept in last night stood on end, barricading the window.
"We're good now." He nodded to his work. "That will block him from seeing the light, especially with it dimmed, and even if he takes a shot, that will at least slow a bullet, and would stop most." He grinned. "So at least we're not stuck sleeping in the bathtub." His confidence and humor reassured me a little.
"Well, that's good. You'd make a very lumpy pillow." My own attempt at lightheartedness fell flat. Too many images slid through my mind at the idea of me lying on top of him.
He swallowed hard, as if we both looked at the same photo album of possibilities. "Let's, uh, get comfortable. We can rest for a couple of hours, then make our next move."
"Earlier you said something about bugging out. What did you mean?" The shorts and t-shirt I slept in last night sat at the top of my bag. After a moment's debate, I stepped into the bathroom to change, but left the door open.
"We'll be going to another location, one where I can keep you safe more easily, and focus on getting him instead of dodging bullets at every move." The items in his pockets jingled, then his boots thudded to the floor. "We have his attention now. Time to move in and end it."