Plain Jane and Mr. Wrong (Plain Jane Series Book 4)

by Tmonique Stephens

  Now everyone freed their weapons and climbed to their feet. “Is there another way out of here? Tripler asked.

  Yes, all the illegal rooms had an escape route. Through the hidden connector to the poker room—hidden to protect special clientele in case of this precise scenario. It led to another door next to the staircase. Down to the exit in the alley and freedom.

  Pavel grabbed the table that had been brought into the room in two pieces. With Leonid’s help, he shoved the two pieces apart and flipped it onto its side, quietly. Next, he pointed his H&Ks at the closed door. Leonid followed with his Smith & Wessons.

  Bruno was already at the bar, pressing the hidden button beneath the counter. A click and part of the wall behind Harden separated.

  “Let’s go.” Bruno ordered and limped to the door, his hand pressed to his healing wound. His instructions weren’t necessary. Tripler and his men were already lined up behind Bruno.

  Harden was aware of Pavel and Leonid waiting for his lead. Their faith in him unshaken. Where he led, they followed.

  Tripler stopped and let his men surge past him. “You staying?” His expression said “you’re crazy.”

  Harden grinned, but there was no humor in the stretch of his lips. Head cocked to the side indulgently, as if he were about to impart invaluable knowledge, he pointed his gun at the door. “I know who’s on the other side. I ain’t leaving ’til it’s over.”

  “Someone’s come to kill you,” Tripler said more to himself than to Harden. His attention shifted to his men calling his name, demanding he follow them to safety. “And you’re going to stay?” His flat brown eyes shifted between Bruno, Pavel, and Leonid. “You’re all staying?”

  “Only if they want to.” Harden tipped his head to the hidden exit. “I’ll contact you when this is over.” Attention forward. “Right now, he’s on the other side of the door gathering his courage.”

  “Who?” Tripler asked. “The Russian?”

  It wasn’t a secret Alezandar Karpovilov wanted him dead. This would be a lot more fun if he were on the other side.

  “His brother’s on the other side of the door. Now, get while the getting is good.” Pavel ordered.

  Tripler’s vice president tugged on his arm. “Let’s go, man.” While his master at arms took position next to Leonid behind the first overturned section.

  Slowly, Tripler shook his head. “Nah. I’m staying.” He took position next to Harden.

  Harden glanced at the Ruger in Tripler’s hand. “You sure? This ain’t your fight.”

  Tripler shrugged. “You die, the deal with the syndicate goes tits up. The club needs this deal, and you’re my best bet at getting and keeping it.”

  “Practical. I like that.”

  Bruno lined up next to Harden, and the rest of Tripler’s men picked a spot just as the door opened and Colin strolled inside.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  I can’t stay here. Can’t.

  Even though she was frozen to the spot, terrified of leaving, terrified of staying, Jentry had to do something to warn Harden, and get out of here. Both of them out of Catalyst and out of danger. Plus, she was freezing. The cold seeped into her body from all directions, especially the tile under her feet.

  Her joints snapped, crackled, and popped as she unclenched from the tight ball she’d curled into. Her tread was silent as she crept out of the bathroom, though she made like a leaf in a hurricane as she scurried past Marilyn’s body.

  “I want to go. I dahn’t want to stay.”

  “Leave befahre you see yooehr ’andy work? Ashamed or afraid you betrayed Harden Gage?”

  “Not ashamed, but I’m naht a fool.”

  That was Hillary. Hillary did this! And she was headed this way with someone. Jentry raced back to the bathroom and huddled there.

  “Colin wants you ’ere. You want to be ’is wahman? Shoeht your hole and do what yooehr tahld.”

  “Fine.” Hillary huffed. “I need ta pee.” She slapped the door and the hinges squeaked as she pushed it open. The rat-tat-tat of her heels on the locker room’s concrete floor signaled her arrival in the bathroom.

  The toilet stalls were across from the showers. Four stalls. Four showers. If she picked the last one… The curtain didn’t go to the floor. It stopped mid-calf on Jentry.

  The first stalled opened, closed, and locked. Jentry didn’t breathe any easier. Marilyn’s body was out there, blood congealing, and Hillary didn’t even pause on her stroll to the toilet. No shout of surprise, no “oh my God” outcry. She stepped over, around, or on the body of her coworker. That cold-hearted bitch.

  A man waited for her skinny ass, otherwise Jentry would wait for that stall door to swing open and wrap her hands around the bitch’s throat.

  Oh, the temptation sent additional adrenaline surging to her muscles.

  The toilet flushed and the stall opened. The rat-tat-tat made its way to the sink. Running water, the snap of a paper towel, then the retreating sound of her heels leaving.

  Jentry waited a few seconds, then tiptoed out of the shower stall. The locker room was empty, just her and Marilyn and a congealed pool of blood. A coopery scent clung to the air, so thick it was visible.

  Marilyn’s eyes were open, staring at the last thing she’d ever see. Which had to be Hillary. Colin and his men, she’d brought them here, was the gatekeeper who allowed them access.

  Jentry stood over Marilyn. She knew this woman, didn’t like her, but that was beside the point. She was dead and leaving her on the cold floor, cast away like rubbish… It was wrong. Offensive.

  She kneeled next to the body. Hand trembling, she closed Marilyn’s eyes. “I’ll make her pay. I promise.”

  “May as well get my coat.”

  Jentry heard Hillary’s voice when she hadn’t heard the rapid click of her heels and suddenly, she was there—in the room with her—inches away.

  Had she not seen Jentry or did she assume no one other than the body would be here to greet her?

  Hillary stopped. As stiff as the body between them, she gaped at Jentry while her surprise gave way to horror.

  One blink and Jentry leaped over Marilyn. She slammed into Hillary and didn’t halt until a wall met Hillary’s back.

  “Jentry.” She gasped. “What are you— You have ta leave, hide.”

  It was all noise, white haze buzzing in Jentry’s head while red colored her vision. “Leave?” Her forearm went across Hillary’s throat. “Why? I want to know why.”

  Hillary bucked and twisted, trying to break free, but on a full stomach, she was barely a buck ten. She opened her mouth to scream and lost her front tooth to Jentry’s fist. It stung. Jentry’s knuckles hurt like a bitch but it was worth it to see a gap in Hillary’s smile. Jentry followed up the punch with another to Hillary’s throat. No more screaming.

  Gagging from the blow her lies and deception caused, Hillary dropped to her knees.

  Jentry fisted Hillary’s long, pink hair and hauled her to her feet. “I asked you a question. Why, Hillary?”

  Tears in her eyes, Hillary shook her head. “I dedn’t—”

  “Don’t lie!” Jentry hissed when she wanted to scream it in Hillary’s ear until it bled. She couldn’t scream when any second one of Hillary’s henchmen could enter the locker room and blow them all away.

  The helpless, confused “I don’t know what you’re talking about” look vanished from Hillary’s face and was replaced by cold-blooded calculation and blatant jealousy. Still struggling to free herself, Hillary said, “It was ’er or me. If I dedn’t kell ’er to prove me lahyalty, Colin wooehld’ve kelled me.”

  Her accent was so thick, Jentry only caught part of what Hillary said. “You killed Marilyn to prove your loyalty?”

  “Yes!”

  “Was it just wrong place? Wrong time? Or did you plan to kill her all along?”

  “I planned to deliver you to Colin!” Hillary racked her fingernails across Jentry’s jaw and down her neck before she jerked away. Hillary took
the opportunity to shove Jentry away and lunge for the door to the lounge. Jentry snagged Hillary’s sweater, throwing her off balance, then yanked. The heels Hillary strutted around in didn’t help keep her upright. One ankle snapped like a twig while the other twisted. She went down hard, but before she screamed and brought someone running, Jentry landed on Hillary’s chest, pinning her to the floor. She grabbed Hillary’s head—her pink hair a cotton candy cloud haloing her face—and smashed it into the tile. Hillary went limp. She wasn’t dead. Her chest continued to rise and fall steadily under Jentry’s ass.

  Jentry sat there, on top of Hillary when she should have been, what? Running, hiding again? She sat there listening for the stampede of heavy footsteps in the hallway coming to rescue their snitch.

  Everything was quiet, except for the pounding of her racing heart and the steady drip of a bathroom faucet.

  They must be upstairs with Harden. God.

  Jentry pushed off from Hillary. The bitch wasn’t going anywhere for a while. She climbed off, uncertain what her next move should be, but she had to make one. Any second someone would come looking for Hillary. Jentry couldn’t be here when that happened.

  Too close to the exit spilling into the alley, she had to leave and get help. Who was that help when the police were out of the question? Julius! She opened the side door of the locker room just a fraction, and listened. There were voices, though not close. This lower level was a labyrinth with massage rooms, the spa, pool, plus the locker rooms and boiler. Harden built the place to cater to his members, and cater it did.

  It would take time to go through all the space where someone could hide. Now was the perfect time to leave. So why was she frozen?

  Because she was terrified. This was Calista’s scene and if she weren’t pregnant, her badass cousin would be the first person Jentry would call. Unfortunately, she was very knocked up and Jentry was on her own. She poked her head out off the door.

  Five bodies. Blood everywhere. Two of them were Harden’s bodyguards, neither one Quincy. Where was he? She hoped he was alive. He wouldn’t leave her, he wouldn’t. Stepping over the bodies and avoiding the blood, she padded down the hallway, her bare feet softly slapping the polished tile.

  The plan: Get to the alley. Get to a phone. Call Calista, who’ll tell Julius to send the cavalry before Harden was killed. The exit lay dead ahead. A few more feet and she’d be—

  A door creaked opened and footsteps echoed coming her way from the side hallway leading to the boiler room. In the middle of the hallway, out in the open, she had no place to hide. Then she saw him and didn’t need to. She didn’t know the guy, but he wore the kitchen staff uniform. However, the men’s locker room was in the wrong direction, which was beside the point when he was here and had to help her.

  “Hey,” she whispered way too loud to her ears. The guy kept moving, didn’t even look her way, though he had to have heard her. She was certain they didn’t have any deaf employees. “Hey!” she shouted and rushed forward.

  “You stop right there.” Behind her a deep voice commanded.

  Jentry spun. A big guy was coming up fast, charging forward, and it wasn’t one of Harden’s men, couldn’t be with a gun trained on her. Did he want her to stop or the deaf guy at the exit? Which didn’t matter when this was her only chance to escape.

  He wouldn’t shoot her. She was too valuable as a pawn to kill, that’s if Harden wasn’t already dead.

  She sprinted forward, relieved when the deaf guy’s head cranked around and he saw her. And she saw the gun suddenly in his hand and pointing directly at her. But why? Why point it at her when she clearly wasn’t a threat?

  Her mouth dried. This was how it ended? All of her went weak. Every muscle. Every bone. She crumbled in increments, gravity taking over, and drawing her down.

  The gun jerked, just a fraction in his hand. No sound due to the suppressor. The insane part of her swore she saw the bullet leave the muzzle and braced for the impact as she said a silent prayer for her daughter to be safe and to be loved all the days of her life.

  Except, it wasn’t her that landed like a tree in the forest, not quietly, but with a solid thud. The gunman behind her landed without a groan or a twitch. Nothing. One bullet and over. Done. Gone.

  Two more men came from the spa at the end of the hallway. This time she heard the quiet pfft, pfft. One then the other, quickly followed by two heavy thuds.

  “Psst.”

  She whipped around, expecting to be next and received a smile, a bright, goofy smile from the guy wearing a staff uniform. He shoved the gun into the small of his back and retrieved his phone from his pocket.

  “Gotta go.” He pushed open the door and stepped over a body sprawled across the threshold.

  He left her alive. Why? Why when it would’ve been so simple to pull the trigger again and end her life? It made no sense. Jentry lurched to her feet. She was alive. Worry about that later. Get the hell out of here now!

  She sprinted for the easy out, only to have the door slammed in her face. One foot braced on the wall, both hands on the handle, and no matter how much she pulled, it wouldn’t budge. And she gave it all she had. What the fuck had he done to the door? When it was open, she could see the alley. Freedom was right there! Then he stepped through the exit and now it wasn’t.

  She had to get out of here. Beyond frustrated, on the brink of screaming, she gave up. But she didn’t give in. There was another way out of this joint that wasn’t the front door or the alley, and all she needed were the stairs to get there.

  She ran down the hallway to the staircase. That man—the pretend employee—had killed three men she knew of and was certain his tally was higher. Why he left her alive—thank you very much—she had no idea. She’d keep the praise until she was outside breathing free air.

  Quietly, she pushed open the door and stopped short of tripping over a body. Her heart knocked against her ribs even though it wasn’t one of Harden’s men. Stepping over him, her brain naturally went to who killed him, but that question was answered on the next landing. Quincy, he was sprawled face down and not moving.

  “Ohmygod.” Tripping over her feet, she nearly went headfirst down the stairs, rushing to him. “Quincy! Quincy!” She crashed to her knees beside him. One eye was swollen shut while the other was covered in blood from a bleeding head wound. But worse, blood pooled beneath his torso. It took all her strength to flip him over to find the wound. Landing on his back, he groaned, and she was never more relieved.

  She cupped his face. “Hey. Hey.” Whatever platitude she was about to sprout died at the blood soaking his abdomen beneath his fist. It was a lot of blood.

  “Leave me.”

  She smoothed dark strands of hair off his sweaty brow and away from his pasty skin. She had to get him out of here because he didn’t have long. “How did you get here?”

  “I killed the three in the hallway. Ted and Ben were down. I tried the exit before going back for you. Couldn’t open it. That’s the only reason I left you, Jentry. I wasn’t going to lead you into an ambush.” He shifted and groaned, his features twisted in agony. “Decided to try the garage and found that asshole on the stairs. I got him in the head.”

  He got you in the gut. “Can you stand?”

  He shook his head. “Leave me. Get to the garage and get out of here.”

  “Alright. Then let’s go.” No way in hell was she leaving him to die.

  “Don’t think…I’m going anywhere.” His voice faded in and out.

  Jentry grabbed him by the lapels and forced him into an upright position. “Yes. You. Are.” She manhandled his suit jacket off his broad shoulders, balled it until it was compact, then swapped it for his hand. His sharp inhale and low groan let her know how badly it hurt. She gave a silent apology and pressed down on his abdomen, she had to. “Come on. We’re getting out of here, getting you to a doctor and getting help for Harden.”

  He sighed. “I’m too weak to fight you and climb to my feet, so let’s do thi
s.” He handed her his gun. “I hope your claims of knowing how to use this wasn’t bullshit.”

  Two years ago, on a range with plenty of time to regulate her breathing and take aim, yeah, she was a crack shot. “So you heard about that, huh?” Keeping him talking may help distract from the pain.

  “Everybody heard how you pointed a gun at Bruno.” His laugh ended on a hiss and a moan. He swayed like a drunk on a three-day binge. “He was proud of you.”

  “Bruno?” Quincy had to be mistaken. Bruno hated her.

  Quincy nodded. “Yeah. Bruno.”

  “Wow.” She draped Quincy’s arm around her shoulders, taking what weight she could, and it was a lot. One step at a time, they were almost there. It was a long fucking staircase, but she could see the exit. It was right there.

  “They all like you. You’re good for the boss. You’re good for everyone.”

  It was the tone in his voice that caused her steps to falter and her head to crank up toward his pained face. He looked at her, and what she saw in his eyes confused her, until it didn’t.

  Uncomfortable, she looked away and spotted a weird looking gray brick attached to the wall with some type of antenna sticking out of the top with a green light steadily blinking.

  “What is that?” She reached out to touch it.

  Quincy snatched her hand away. “Plastic explosive,” he whispered aghast. “Similar to what I saw in the military.”

  She heard explosive and her brain blanked. She went deer in the headlights, and faced with imminent danger, froze as her brain churned and returned to the goofy guy with the gun in the hallway. She didn’t have any proof, just a strong suspicion he was responsible for the bombs. That’s why he didn’t shoot her. Because she and everyone in Catalyst were the walking dead.

  “A fuck lot of explosive.” His arm stretched across her front, reaching for it.

  She clamped onto his arm, certain he’d lost his damn mind. “Run?” she asked afraid to blink.

  “This much plastic, we’ll get caught in the garage. We’ll never make it.” Gently, carefully, his fingers closed around the blinking antenna as Jentry moved up two steps. What he said about not getting away ringing in her ears. She had so much to live for and, right now, dying would suck.