Hell Bent

by Heather Killough-Walden

  It was the bravest and most ridiculously unintelligent thing she’d ever done in her entire life. In fact, the only reason she did it in the first place was because she figured Sam was going to kill her anyway, no matter what he promised. He was an assassin, after all, and he’d so much as said that he never left a mark alive. And she just didn’t want to be tortured first.

  For a long, drawn-out moment, Sam didn’t say anything.

  And then he sighed. And stood. “I was afraid you’d say that, Annabelle.” He shook his head. “It sure is a shame.”

  Annabelle stayed where she was, on her knees, and closed her eyes. Sure, it would be nice to stand and face death on her feet, looking it in the eyes. But it just wasn’t practical. Too hard on the nerves. And hers were already shot.

  She heard Sam cock his weapon and her heart surged up into her throat. Her world tilted on its axis. She couldn’t believe this was actually it. The end. And she’d fought with Jack. She was going to die. Holy crap, she was going to die!

  “Do me a favor and take off your clothes, Annabelle. This has to look a certain way. Better you do it. There’re only so many ways I can bring myself to violate Jack’s trust.”

  Annabelle’s eyes flew open.

  What?

  She looked up at Sam. He was holding the gun down at his side. A silencer had been screwed onto the barrel. A bullet had been chambered. It was ready to go, but he was waiting for something.

  “Take off your clothes,” he repeated. “No mugger in his right mind would kill a woman like you without raping her first. Underneath it all, this is a job, like any other,” he continued. “It’s gotta look right.”

  “Like hell,” Annabelle hissed at him, suddenly furious. A red film spread before her eyes, tainting everything slightly pink.

  “Get up, then,” he ordered.

  She didn’t move.

  He swore under his breath and came forward, grabbing her injured arm and yanking her to her feet in one hard tug. She cried out in pain, echoing her muscles’ scream, and automatically began struggling in his grip. She couldn’t help it. It was a natural reaction to what he threatened.

  And then Sam grunted as something hard and flat slammed into the side of his head. He spun away from Annabelle, releasing her suddenly so that she fell, off-balance, against the wall.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Annabelle steadied herself in the corner between the wall and the ground and used her good hand to shove her hair out of her eyes so that she could see what was happening.

  Both figures were dressed in black from head to toe and the darkness in the alley lent them the airs of twisted, writhing shadows. Still, Annabelle knew one of the figures too well not to recognize him.

  Relief flooded her system, but she didn’t have much time to contemplate her changing luck, as Sam’s gun suddenly went spinning out of his grasp, hit the wall just above Annabelle’s head, and then fired off a round. A loud laser-like whisper accompanied the sound of cracking brick and shattering stone. Pieces of the broken wall went sailing across the alley. The shards were wickedly sharp, as Annabelle learned when one of them sliced across the left side of her neck, etching a red and ragged line before it disappeared.

  She felt it slice her but barely noticed any pain, her attention was so fixed on the two struggling men and the now disowned gun. Without giving it second thought, she began to crawl forward on her hands and knees, scraping the ground with her palms in search of the weapon.

  Jack’s rage boiled just beneath the surface of his focused exterior. Sam had thus far managed to block every one of his blows except the very first. The gun was gone, but only because Sam had chosen to let it go so that he could fight without its encumbrance. And everything that Jack knew, Sam knew better.

  “Settle down, Jack, and we’ll talk-” Sam began to say, but was cut off as one of Jack’s fists again made its way all too close to his jaw. He ducked and blocked and dove to the side, countering with his own assault.

  Jack, for his part, didn’t waste energy speaking. And anything he could have said at that point would only have made things worse. If you can’t say something nice…

  He couldn’t believe this was happening. He just couldn’t believe it. A part of him, deep down inside, was being ripped into shreds. It echoed the physical pain in his body, sore and damaged from the Colonel’s assault and the shots he’d taken from his men. Only, this was worse. Much worse.

  It affected his ability to fight. Any battle required a certain amount of concentration. Combat against someone who knew what he was doing required intense focus. A battle against Samuel Price demanded nothing short of perfection. At the moment, that was something Jack couldn’t give.

  Sam was older than he was, but he was still young enough. His mentor had kept in shape. It was a given in their line of work. To anyone watching, their struggle would have seemed almost choreographed. Things didn’t normally look the way they did in Hollywood, but Sam and Jack had been sparring for more than two decades. And neither of them had forgotten a single thing.

  Except that Jack was wounded and he was tired. Real fear for his, and Annabelle’s lives kept his body moving fast and hard. How long he could keep it up was uncertain.

  “God damn it, Jack, just hear me out!” Sam managed to get in a good shove, square against Jack’s rock-hard chest, and it knocked the younger man temporarily off balance. He slammed back against the alley wall.

  “I wasn’t gonna kill her!” Sam yelled, his hands up at his sides, in a gesture of peace. “You know me better than this, Jack! If I was gonna do it, do you really think I’d have wasted any time?”

  Jack’s fevered brain processed Sam’s words even as he pushed back from the wall and dove for Sam once more. This time, Sam easily side-stepped Jack’s attack, using his leg to trip the younger man, who caught himself in a roll and was up and on his feet again in a split second.

  They faced one another in the dark alley and Sam shook his head, his dimly lit expression one of supplication. “Come on now, Jack. Think about it, will ya?” Sam was out of breath as he entreated his old friend. Jack stood stock still, watching his mentor carefully.

  Annabelle’s fingers brushed against something that slid forward as she moved. Her breath caught and she reached for it, knowing, instinctively, that it was the gun. She grasped the grip firmly and raised the weapon. Then she slid back against the wall again and glanced up at the two men facing off.

  She could see Jack’s blonde hair shining in the dim light from the street lamp several yards away. She waited, unsure of what to do.

  “How could you do this, you son of a bitch?”

  “I’m not as picky as you are, Jack. Never have been,” Sam said, softly, keeping his hands up in that placating gesture. “Handler came to me with an envelope and I took it – like I always do. I didn’t know it was Annabelle’s.”

  “You could have turned it down,” Jack said.

  “I didn’t know who she was, Jack, until you introduced us at the air strip last week. What was I supposed to do?”

  “Nothing, God damn it! Nothing, Sam!”

  “I can’t do that, Jack!” Sam yelled back, his ire obviously up, even as he just as obviously fought to control his temper and reason with Jack. “I can’t do that and you know it. Once you’re in, you’re in. I’ve never turned down an assignment before. If I started now, I would be in the next envelope. You know that, Jack. You know that.”

  Jack stared at his old friend for a long, quiet time. And then, in a tone as low and deadly as a cougar’s warning growl, he asked, “What were you going to do to her?”

  Sam drew in a deep breath, closing his eyes momentarily as he did so. He ran a hand through his hair. “I was just trying to scare her. I need the intel. That’s all. If she’d have spilled, I could have turned the rest over. You could take her underground.”

  “For the rest of her life, Sam?” Jack’s eyes flashed blue fire.

  “Jack, think about this, will ya? If not me,
then someone else. Her life’s as good as forfeit now and that’s the black and white of it.”

  Annabelle listened, her heart pounding too hard against her rib cage. It sort of hurt. She felt very dizzy. Whatever Sam had given her was having an unpleasant effect. It made her angry. A part of her wanted to shoot him right now and be done with it.

  With that thought, she leveled the gun and aimed down the barrel.

  “What exactly was the assignment, Sam?” Jack asked.

  “At the time, they wanted the message that Max had left behind. But a lot’s happened since then. Now they want the vial. And I have to kill Brandt.”

  At that, Jack laughed. It was a humorless, hard laugh and it gave Annabelle a chill.

  “And what about you, Sam? What excuse are you going to give them for the delay?”

  “No excuses, Jack. Never any excuses. They’ll have to take it or leave it.”

  “And you’re the best,” Jack said, his expression both hard and poignant at once. “So, why not take it?” His Sheffield accent had turned mocking and his tone held no kindness. “Better, by far, than losing their best hit man.”

  At this, Sam said nothing. He just pulled his gaze away from Jack’s and stared at the ground. And then, as if he’d only now noticed what she was doing, his gaze slid to Annabelle and the gun in her hand. He didn’t move. He just watched her, his expression a mixture of curiosity and defeat.

  “You gonna shoot me, darlin’?” he asked softly.

  Annabelle didn’t answer.

  “Shoot him, Bella.”

  She blinked. She glanced at Jack. He was serious. “What?”

  “Shoot him. Do what I tell you. Pull the trigger.”

  Sam’s expression didn’t change. He still hadn’t moved. He just watched Annabelle, a strange twinkle in his eyes, despite the sadness in his face.

  “It’s the only way out of this mess, Bella.”

  Annabelle chewed on her lip. Her jaw was sore. Her whole body was sore, actually. Despite the drugs already in her system, she yearned for a pain killer. And that sort of pissed her off too.

  Her gaze narrowed. She came to a decision.

  Sam’s eyebrow raised.

  She aimed carefully and pulled the trigger. Then she pulled it again. She pulled it several more times, all in quick succession, until the clip was empty and the chamber was clear.

  And Samuel Price was still standing.

  Annabelle lowered the gun, her gaze still steadily locked on Sam’s. Very slowly, Sam straightened and turned around. There, in the brick wall behind him, the bullets had etched a perfect circle around the shadow made by the outline of his head.

  He whistled softly.

  Jack swore under his breath. “You should have killed him, Bella.”

  Sam turned back around to face Annabelle, a new expression now dominating his handsome features. What was it? Admiration? Gratitude? It couldn’t be… respect?

  “You owe me, Sam Price. Big time.” Annabelle stood very slowly so as not to fall over from the dizziness that assaulted her. She pushed the hair out of her eyes once more with her empty hand and then added, softly, “Asshole.”

  She wobbled on her feet and Jack was at her side immediately. He gently took the empty gun from her hand and shoved it into the waist band of his jeans at the small of his back.

  Without the solid weight in her hands, Annabelle lost the last vestige of a grounding sensation she had. While she sort of had the same kind of high she got from Vicodin, there was none of the pain killing effect and she was a lot dizzier. Suddenly, the world tilted again and she lost her balance.

  Jack caught her easily and turned to Sam. “What and how much of it did you give her?” he asked, all business.

  “A small dosage of ketamine,” Sam answered as he slowly made his way toward them. “And I carefully measured it.”

  Jack’s sapphire eyes shot daggers at the older man. Sam waited a few feet away – at a safe distance – while Jack tried to lift Annabelle into his arms.

  “No, Jack. You’re too messed up. Just help me walk,” she told him softly, pulling slightly away from him and gesturing for him to put his left arm beneath her right. He complied, deciding not to argue with a woman who was drugged up, almost raped, and had just fired an entire clip of rounds into a brick wall.

  “It was nice shootin’, darlin’, but you shouldn’t have wasted all those bullets,” Sam said then.

  From where she nestled against Jack’s chest, Annabelle licked her lips and tried to clear her head. “Why’s that, Sam?”

  “Because they weren’t for you, sweet heart,” Sam answered, his gaze sliding from the two of them to something just over their shoulders. “They were for them.”

  At that, Jack instinctively spun around, releasing Annabelle, and looked toward the alley’s exit. Shadows crossed through the light and then hugged the walls. They were maybe ten yards away. Sam joined him, taking up position at his side, their quarrel with one another temporarily put aside.

  “Who?” Jack asked softly. A simple question, meant for a simple and quick answer.

  “The Colonel’s posse, maybe. Not Night. He works alone.” Sam answered, his gray eyes scanning the alley’s shadows, his hands flexing and un-flexing at his sides.

  Jack had figured as much. It was now patently obvious to him that Sam was the “other” hit man that the Colonel had talked about. The Colonel would now believe that the two of them were competing, in an official capacity, for the same job. Night wasn’t even an issue in this game – he was a wild card, and therefore didn’t count.

  The Colonel most likely assumed, at this point, that the assignment was to get any and all possible intelligence from Annabelle Drake and then kill her and anyone else involved with this mess.

  Which was probably what brought them to their current situation.

  “I think it’s obvious, by now, that the Colonel has access to your files,” Jack whispered. It was why the Colonel had managed to track them down in New York, and it was why they were here now. They’d either bugged Sam’s equipment or were tracking him somehow. One cat was leading the other cat to the mice.

  Sam nodded. “I’d suspected as much. A problem that will get fixed shortly.”

  And then a chunk of the wall exploded just above Jack’s left ear, sending brick shrapnel flying in every direction. Another chip struck Annabelle, this time on her cheek, beneath her right eye, and she hissed. She was really getting tired of being beat up in various manners.

  Jack hit the ground, taking Annabelle with him and covered her own body with his as he thought, furiously, about what to do next.

  Help is coming, he thought. I just need more time…

  But both men were sore and tired, and Jack and Annabelle were injured. The only gun they had between them was empty because Sam had seen to it that all of Jack’s ammunition had gone mysteriously missing before he’d headed out after Annabelle.

  Sam was clever that way. And short sighted.

  Shadows continued to scuffle along the end of the alley way and Jack closed his eyes, waiting for more shots to fire. Just a little more time…

  But no more shots were fired.

  “They know you’re unarmed, Jack,” came a voice from behind them, in the deeper shadows of the alleyway.

  Jack turned his head toward the sound. He couldn’t believe that after twenty years, he would still recognize it so well.

  A match was struck in the darkness and the end of a cigarette hissed to life. Jack watched the light draw closer, becoming brighter in time with the slow sound of boots on concrete.

  “So, I’ve ordered them not to kill ya.” Annabelle managed to get her own head turned as well, and just as she caught sight of the man who came into the light, Jack pulled himself off of her and stood to face him.

  “What are mates for, eh?” The man smiled, flashing straight white teeth.

  Annabelle stared at him from where she lay on the concrete ground. She’d seen him before, she was sure of it.
She thought for certain she would clearly remember a face like that – handsome in all the right ways, but still… wrong, somehow. Framed by all that blue-black hair. With eyes like ice. Blue ice.

  Where had she seen him before?

  The man’s gaze slipped casually from Jack’s to where Annabelle lay. She still hadn’t moved, the drug having drained nearly all of her ability to stand even one last time. So, instead, she pushed herself onto her side and let her head gently drop. Her eyelids were so heavy.

  Sam had given her too much. Or maybe it was the ale, too.

  Whatever it was, she blinked slowly up at the man with black hair and blue topaz eyes and wondered who he was. And knew she’d seen him somewhere before.

  He smiled at her. It was a secret, knowing smile.

  “Aye, luv. Good evenin’.” His smile spread and he looked back at Jack. “Nice bit o’ fluff you’ve got there, Jack.” He took a drag off of his cigarette and then lowered his arm by his side, returning his gaze to Annabelle. “Been admirin’ ‘er from the shadows.”

  Jack didn’t move. He didn’t breathe. He knew better.

  The man’s gaze trailed from Annabelle to Sam, who was standing a few feet away from Jack, and wore much the same careful, wary expression. He and Sam stared at one another for several long, intense moments, and then the man chuckled softly.

  He took one last drag off of his cigarette and dropped it to the concrete, smashing it under his black boot. He looked at the ground as he did this, utterly unconcerned with any threat of being taken by surprise or overcome by the other two men in the alley.

  Annabelle watched him crush out the cigarette and then move toward Jack. “They told me to come after ya,” he said, shaking his head as he spoke. “Actually thought I’d take the job.” He shrugged then, extremely amused. “So I told ‘em I would.” He grinned, his light blue eyes twinkling. “Keeps ‘em on their toes, eh?”

  The conversation had gone personal, the man’s voice so low that Annabelle could barely hear him. He was speaking to Jack, alone.

  Jack cocked his head to one side. “Keeps who on their toes, Adam?” he asked, his own voice just as soft. He and Sam had been wrong about the men surrounding them. They weren’t the Colonel’s men. They were Adam’s. They’d underestimated Night’s erratic yet careful randomness. And Adam Night was not a good man to underestimate in any way.