by J. C. Allen
Best case, we were outnumbered about six to two. Worst case, Roost had one shot to make it work and then he was dead. If he failed, I had to go in, quite literally guns blazing—I might die, but I’d be willing to take Rock down with me. Sorry, Eve. But Rock’s death will give you the freedom you need. And you need freedom more than you need love—you’ll find someone else if I die.
Even though thinking that made me strangely jealous of a man that didn’t exist—the man who would later win Eve’s heart if I died—I chose to believe it was an honorable thought.
I gunned my chopper down to the very apartment I’d picked Eve up, thinking about how interesting a contrast this was. I’d gone from wanting to come to this place to see Eve to coming here to kill. This had gone from seeing my angel to now seeing the devil of my life. What was once heaven—or at least home to a member of heaven—had now turned into hell.
And I, Derek Knight, rode in on my trusty steed, respite with weapons to kill.
May this go well.
Dad.
Dustin.
Mom.
Maggie.
And daughter…
This is for you.
And Eve.
This is for you too.
I dismounted after doing a couple of slow drive-bys, trying to see if anyone was patrolling the streets or in the windows. I didn’t see any, but I also knew Rock would have the good sense to keep his blinds drawn on the meth lab. The police feared the Black Falcons, but even they had their limits for what they would permit.
Convinced I would have free entry, I parked my bike just outside the building, slid off, and moved toward the door. The stairwell had a little bit of lighting, but not much—it was quite obvious that the building hadn’t received maintenance in some time, probably because anyone not desperate for a dollar bill wouldn’t touch this place with a five foot pole.
I moved up the stairs one at a time, listening carefully for the sounds of danger, a Falcon, or anything else. I didn’t know what floor Matty was on, making this a more perilous adventure than normal. I wish I’d asked him on our phone call, but—
A door opened.
I froze. I didn’t have a silencer on my weapon, so I couldn’t just shoot and not draw attention. It had come from about two flights above. A single Falcon moved down the stairs, whistling to himself and muttering some swears under his breath. I had two options—move up to meet him, or go back down and hope he moved away.
Then I heard gunfire.
I had my cover. I moved up the stairs, flying like a gazelle. The Falcon had also become distracted by the noise, and he didn’t see me as I came up from behind and snapped his neck, letting him drop down the stairs. I heard footsteps coming from two more flights above me, running in the hallway.
“KILL HIM!”
Rock.
I had no idea why Roost had decided now was the time to open fire, as it all but brought the mission to a head. I hurried up the stairs as quickly as I could, hungry and desperate for the blood of Rock at any costs. I had turned into a werewolf, desperate for a kill. Nothing could stop my primal rage.
When I wrung open the door, two guards were coming down from the far end.
“Who—”
I shot them both before they moved forward any further. I heard more gunfire coming from a door around the corner, and I smelled it—that meth scent.
It was where the gunfire was coming from.
Which meant any second now, real fire was about to erupt in this building.
I kept my gun aloft in case anyone fired at me, but no one came. I pressed up against the wall just outside the door, prepared to whirl around, line up Rock in my sights, and fire.
At the last second, I saw a Falcon in the room across from this one—and with the decorations inside, I soon figured it was Eve’s—raising a gun. But he was cocky, moving too slowly to have any effect.
I raised mine and fired. I had given away my position, but the multitudes of gunfire from behind me told me that didn’t matter. I—
“Ahhh!”
Roost!
I turned the corner of the room and held my gun aloft.
Inside, three Falcons lay dead. Roost was not dead.
But he was in the grip of Rock, a gun cocked to his head and in a headlock, behind the meth lab materials. This wasn’t going to end well, no matter what. Roost was bloodied, weak, and limp. His eyes expressed as much.
“Well, well, well,” Rock said, smirking. “If it isn’t Derek Knight, the pussy of the Knight family.”
“You’re a fucking dead man, Rock,” I said.
“Me?” he said, and then he let out a laugh. “It seems to me that your man is the one whose about to die here. Your trusted second-in-command. The one who, let’s be honest, makes sure that the Savages operate properly.”
“Kill ‘im,” I heard Roost mumble, but his words were barely audible.
I was processing all of the information I could, trying to find a way that I could rescue Roost. But this wasn’t a movie—my options were limited, and there was no foolproof way I could kill Rock without killing Roost. Even if I landed a one-shot kill on Rock, his finger could pull the trigger, leaving a bloody mess.
“And then, you’ll be dead too, Derek. You know why? You don’t have the balls to kill me.”
He laughed mockingly, but his laughter had a tone of derangement from him. Almost like he was a madman who had truly gone psychologically mad. What he said made no sense—I might lose one of my own, sure, but Rock was going to die here. I would make sure of that, no matter what the cost.
“How does it feel, Derek Knight?” he said, treating my name like a curse. “How does it feel to know that your entire family is dead because of me? Me! Hah!”
My hand began to shake.
“And just in case you think I’m done, oh, I’m not. I’m going to kill this man in a second.”
My eyes briefly dropped to Roost. He had his gun in his right hand, hidden from view of Rock. He was… pointing it at me?
“I’m going to hunt your little whore—my little whore—down. And do you want to know what I’m going to do to her?”
“Don’t you fucking dare!” I barked.
“Oh, I think I will dare,” Rock said.
I noticed again Roost’s gun pointing to me… but then it kept going past me… it was going to…
“I will rape her until her body breaks in half. I will mutilate her skin as the man you killed should have. I will sever her head and send it to you. I will—”
“Derek! Down!”
Roost’s words reached me at the same time I saw the finger pull the trigger. I began to drop down as what he had done occurred to me.
“Motherfu—”
His bullet tore through the lab equipment and burners, setting off a massive explosion that rocked the room and left me deaf. I remained on the ground, rolling, trying to put out any flames, but the fire spread even more throughout the room and out into the hallway. The entire floor soon erupted with smoke and flames.
Then, just before I made a break for it, Roost appeared, grabbing my leg.
“Go,” he said. “I’m dead anywho.”
“Hell fucking no,” I said. “Roost, you—”
But just as I sat up to get him, a gunshot hit me in the shoulder, dropping me to the ground. I turned to see Rock leaning against a table, grinning.
I raised my gun and unloaded every fucking round I had into him.
I wish I could say that I uttered some dramatic words as every bullet riddled his chest, with one in his head for good measure. I wish I could say that as each shot fired, I thought of each person of mine that he had killed.
But in truth, it happened so quickly and with such violence that no such thought came. He was dead in a matter of half a second, and my gun had emptied out in the same period of time.
Disgusted, I threw the gun at his face, landing it right on his nose.
“Asshole!” I roared.
But then the adrenal
ine wore off, and I realized just how much pain I was in. Which was to say, a fucking lot.
So much so that I needed a moment I didn’t have, just lying there.
But then Roost grabbed my arm again, and I realized he really was dying. He’d lost too much blood, and what little chance he’d have of surviving had gone when he sacrificed himself by blowing up the meth lab to take Rock down with him.
“Derek…” he said. “Show Eve… ya love her… I know you do… tell her… and… treat ‘er ‘ell… love ya.”
And like that, he collapsed.
“Roost!”
But there was no point in wasting any further breath. He was gone.
And the pain—oh, the fucking pain, God, the fucking pain. Rock hadn’t shot me in the chest, but my shoulder and chest seared—and my face was probably scarred too…
I’d won… I deserved a break, did I not? For what I accomplished…
I’d avenged everyone… my parents… Dustin… Maggie…
Eve…
I had earned… something…
Goddamnit… what had I… I’d done it…
I just…
I just wanted to lie down… there…
By the wall… I’d lie down. Heat rose, right? So I’d be safe…
My eyes began to close…
14
Eve
It’d been ten long minutes of me running out of options.
I’d tried so many different ways to get the door open, even going so far as to try to find a screwdriver to take the hinges off.
I tried kicking down the door, a laughable idea given its reinforcements and my weak legs.
I tried ramming my shoulder into it, hoping by some miracle that the reinforced door would fall.
I even woke Tara up to help me, but that proved fruitless, and she just told me to give it up and go to sleep. “You think he’s lived this long by dying at the first sign of danger?” was her way of trying to reassure me and get me to stop moping; it didn’t work very well.
I slumped against the door, pounding my fists weakly into the door.
This was bullshit, most especially because I would never have any way of knowing if he’d lived until probably several hours from now. I certainly wouldn’t sleep until I got a clear answer. Fucking Tara. Crystal. Whatever. Will it matter when Derek dies and Rock comes here, wiping out the Saviors and us in the process?
Then I got really crazy and thought to get a gun to blow open the door… except that while the room had a ton of bullets, it didn’t have any more guns. You have got to be fucking kidding me.
I even thought of lighting the maps on fire, thinking maybe it would set off a fire alarm or something and the door would open. But considering everything in here—and the fact that Derek almost certainly would get rid of me if I pulled that stunt—I refrained, as tempting as it was.
Hell, I got so desperate I started to think of what they did in movies. Didn’t they use paperclips or powder or…
Just stay here, I thought when I realized how insane my thought process had gotten. You’d be a liability out there.
I couldn’t accept that notion, but it seemed I had no choice.
“Okay, Eve,” I said out loud to myself, taking a deep breath. “We’re gonna think. That’s what we’re gonna do.”
But even that idea proved laughable. What did I think I was doing for the last fifteen minutes? It wasn’t not thinking. It wasn’t being a ditzy idiot. It wasn’t being stupid.
I was wracking my brain for every possibility…
But surely, I hadn’t considered every possibility. I mean, another member of the Saviors could come and open the door—I hated the idea of relying on outside help, but it was possible, at least. I decided that if someone was here, if I heard noise, I’d bang like hell until they let me out.
If it was Rock? Well, I’d be a dead woman at that point anyways, either with a bullet to the brain or because he’d burn the place down. It was just a matter of choosing my death penalty then.
Then a motor kicked in. The cold air blustered on my face.
“Oh, thanks, Derek,” I said. “Leaving me to freeze, real cool.”
I looked up at the vent. It was surprisingly not as high up as I thought—standing on the table could have led me to it.
Standing on the table…
Without hesitation, letting Tara remain in her dreamy state, I hurried over, rising up on the table and reaching for the vent.
I reached for the screws, prying my tiny fingers over them and muttering thanks to every god and goddess that had ever existed when they started to come loose. One of them fell to the table at one point, producing a loud clang, but Tara was so far gone that she didn’t even react in her sleep. You needed a rest, huh? Take as much as you need.
Eventually, I got it all off, taking care to place the vent cover gently on the table. I had to exert what little strength I had to pull myself up, but thank heavens for my small size—it allowed me to move into it and out of the office. Funny how the Hollywood stunts actually turned out to have some basis in reality.
I crawled—the space, though sufficient for me, was still a bit claustrophobic—until I came to the back space. I could practically hear the difference, the night crickets and birds audible in this shaft in a way they had not been in the office. I had to exert a little bit of oomph on the one spot I saw I could drop out of—and in doing so, the vent clanged hard on the ground—but I’d accomplished my mission.
I was free.
Now… what?
Well, that was simple, really. Everyone of importance would be at my old place—Rock, Matty, and Derek. By a rough estimate based on going from Derek’s place to here, it was not more than a mile away, but a mile was too goddamn far for me to walk it. I needed a ride.
The back had plenty of Savior vehicles I could borrow—including a few bikes—but no keys. So, that became my next mission—find keys.
I looked all over the area and came across all sorts of items and boxes of paraphernalia I’d never hoped to see—drugs, guns, some sex toys that not even I had learned about as a hooker.
But no keys.
Then it hit me—if the office had all the planning and all the loaded guns and ammo, why wouldn’t it also have keys? Derek had locked me from the outside, but now I was on the outside, so it wouldn’t take but a turn of a knob to get me inside.
I headed back in, kind of half-hoping Tara was awake so I could get her humorous commentary on the situation. But then again, I was other-half-hoping she was asleep so she didn’t talk me out of or force me out of my decision.
I unlocked the door, pushed it open, and found her now snoring. She’d actually fallen asleep even more than she had before. That’s my girl, Tara. You’ve earned this!
It didn’t take long to find the keys, hanging on the wall near some cabinets. I just had never paid attention to them when I first walked in, because why would I? The keys weren’t to the outside of the office, so it was quite obvious that I would have seen them as nothing more than the color of the wall—mere decoration, not objects of practical use.
I just grabbed the first set I found and went outside, pressing the unlock button and looking for headlights or brake lights to shine like it was Christmas. A giant truck—a Ford, I think, but I wasn’t great with cars—shined. That was good enough for me, even if it had been ages since I’d driven anything; in fact, I don’t think I’d ever driven a truck, period.
But now was not the time to question myself. Now was the time to move. The only thing that would have stopped me was if the vehicle was manual and not automatic.
Which, fortunately, it was not.
I threw the truck into reverse, backed out—nearly hitting boxes in the process—and then speeding off, barely checking for traffic as I followed the general direction to my old apartment. All seemed as normal as it could for a late night drive through the city.
That’s when I saw the smoke.
I cried out, flooring the accelerator.
Running two lights in the process—miraculously passing between rushing honking cars as I did—I brought the car to a screaming stop right outside. Throwing myself from the car, I barreled towards the burning building.
No firetrucks, I noted, looking around. No firetrucks, no cops.
Not yet.
You better move quickly. If Derek’s alive, the cops are going to want to speak to him.
Or anyone else in there…
I only realized then that I had failed to bring my own gun.
“Fucking stupid!” I cursed myself out.
But, then again, if there was fire going like this, and there weren’t people outside, that meant everyone was inside. And if that was the case, the issue wasn’t more firepower, but just more fire.
You have to help.
Hoping this meant that the building’s blaze was a somewhat young one, I held out that Derek hadn’t been caught in the initial blast. I nearly stumbled at the sight of a familiar, flaming paintjob and started screaming at the sight of Derek’s motorcycle. Though I’d had no reason to assume he hadn’t made it there, the sight of his bike only worked to cement the reality that he was here.
And if he wasn’t out here, then that meant he was inside.
There was no doubt I was going inside now.
I sprinted into the open door, coughing immediately at the repulsive smell and the intense heat. It almost stopped me dead in my tracks.
Then I heard gunfire a few floors up, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to stop now.
I struggled to breath as I moved up the flight of stairs to my old room. I pushed, ignoring the blurred vision, the tears, the smoke, the stinging around me. No other gunshots came from above, which, in my haze of lacking oxygen, told me that the fight had ended.
But who had won?
And were they coming my way?
I could not wait to find out. If Rock won, I wanted to meet death quicker. If Derek won, I wanted to see my man sooner.
Two flights up, I saw a dead body and nearly gasped—but it was not of a man I recognized. I kept moving forward, trying not to think of the gnarly way his neck looked.
Halfway up the last flight of stairs, I missed my step, slamming my shin and yelling the loudest expletive I’d ever uttered in my life. In doing so, I only inhaled more smoke, coughing as more swears came out. Once again, it was almost enough to get me to run back downstairs. Heat rises, you idiot. It’s only going to get worse.