by Ann Aguirre
“We can’t stay here,” he said decisively. “They have to be tracking you through sightings of the Marquis. The only question is, do we drive on to Fargo and hope for the best or do we pick another place here?”
“Goddammit,” she bit out. “This sucks so hard it’s not even funny.”
Reyes paused, astonished at her vehemence. “Explain?”
“This is everything I own,” she added. “This stuff may not seem like much to you, but it’s all I have, and I’m going to have to leave it behind. To make matters worse, the last two rooms I’ve rented have been damaged—” Reyes remembered the broken lamps at the last place. “—and that means the motels are going to call the cops. I had to leave my tag number here, too.”
“Shit.” The last thing he needed was interference from the local authorities. He could handle drug-dealing thugs; he could handle other hired guns, but he wasn’t a cop killer. “Then we need to get out of South Dakota before they run your plates. Do you have warrants in any other states?”
“Yeah,” she admitted. “I do.” She didn’t tell him what the warrants were for, though a shadow flickered in her gaze. “But I’m too wrung out to drive for long. I need food and sleep.”
In the sickly neon glow, he could see the shadows beneath her eyes. He’d never noticed before how fragile she seemed after using her talent. It seemed to require an insane amount of energy to fuel it. Instinct made him want to stand and fight. They’d flown from trouble once too often for his tastes; he didn’t like running when he didn’t even know what he was running to. It required too much faith from a man who had nothing of the kind.
“I have reserves,” he heard himself say. “I can go all night if I have to.”
Kyra offered him a wan smile, looking weaker by the minute. “I bet you’ve been waiting your whole life to deploy that line.”
“Pretty much. Let’s ride, sweetheart. I’ll stop for hot dogs and a slushie from a convenience store up the road.” Reyes finally understood her predilection for junk food. It offered the fastest boost in quick sugars, preventing her from crashing after a job. The beer had been a bad idea, depressive when she needed energy.
“Can I talk you into buying me some chocolate, too?” She turned her back on everything she’d lost and went with him back toward the Marquis.
Chocolate, roses, a Shelby Mustang, or a condo in Aspen . . . shit, he’d buy her any damn thing she wanted. He was so lost. “Yep.”
“Rey, I do believe you’re the sweetest-talking man I ever met.”
“Dammit,” Dwight said, stepping out from the shadow of the car. “And I was so hopin’ that would be me.”
CHAPTER 19
Kyra sighed, trying to hide her nerves. “You just don’t learn, do you?”
The sound of a gun being cocked drove home the seriousness of the situation. If she didn’t play this just right, she’d wind up with a scarlet hole in her forehead. With her life in Dwight’s hands, she might wind up worse than dead. She’d always thought people who wound up on life support long term suffered worse than those who went out clean.
“Toss me your keys. Now. Or I kill you two here, foregoing the fun of beating the shit out of you first.”
She weighed her options. The barrel pointed at her forehead made resistance unwise, and she didn’t know enough about this bastard to risk touching him. He might be like his henchman . . . or she might wind up with something worse than useless, like a gift for making great meth. It was too damn bad she couldn’t take Rey’s skill anymore. This would be over in a heartbeat.
But her lover would handle this. In a one-on-one fight, she couldn’t imagine the guy who could beat him. Dwight was beyond stupid for coming after them personally.
“What’d you do with Steve?” she asked, buying time.
“Shot him in the head,” the asshole answered promptly. “And tossed his worthless ass in the river. Which is exactly what I’m gonna do to you, if you don’t make this a mite more entertaining for me. I said keys. Now.”
“I’m not going to give you another chance to walk away from this,” Rey said conversationally. “You do understand that, right?”
Dwight shifted his focus to Rey and signaled with his left hand. Motorcycles roared all around them, headlights splitting the dark like crossed laser swords. “Your warnings mean shit to me. I brought enough guys this time to put some serious hurt on you. You do understand that, right?”
Kyra chose that moment to hurl her keys at Dwight’s face. As she’d suspected, he was a righty, and his gun hand came up to try to catch them. As soon as the pistol stopped targeting her, she hit the ground and scrambled toward the Marquis. The car was a grand old dame and would offer a hell of a lot of cover, if she could just get there. A gunshot rang out, and she felt a bite in her calf. Fire slammed up her leg; her knee buckled, dumping her face-first on the asphalt.
Fuck. The son of a bitch shot me.
Hot blood bubbled from the wound, but there was nothing she could do about it at the moment. Kyra heard a crash, and she wriggled around so that she could peer out from beneath the Marquis. From the wreckage, she guessed that Rey had toppled the line of bikes, as they were crashing together like dominoes. A number of bikers had allowed themselves to be distracted by the damage to their rides. Others looked more interested in taking it out of Rey’s hide.
He vaulted over one of the fallen motorcycles and wheeled into a group of five like a wrecking ball. Kyra heard Dwight cursing, but he couldn’t open fire without risking injury to his own guys, and the bikers wouldn’t forgive him if he shot one of them. She hadn’t gotten a clear look at how many men there were, but from what she could tell from her low vantage point, Rey was kicking the shit out of them.
He was a terrifying combination of brute force and elegant violence. Like a born killer he wheeled into a move that left four men groaning on the ground. His left leg lashed out, a sweep swiftly followed by a one-two kick. She remembered using that move herself. As he fought, Rey radiated beautiful kinetic energy, always in motion. That flow came from both tarung derajat and Jendo.
She didn’t doubt he could take them all on. All she needed to do was wait and stay out of trouble, not offer herself as a bargaining chip. Her calf throbbed, but she tried to ignore the pain. Dwight swore as he scrambled around the car, trying to get the drop on Rey. Then, in the distance, she heard sirens. The motel manager must’ve called the cops.
“You have to make a choice, Kyra.” Rey spoke near the left rear tire. “How bad is it going to be if the cops take us in?”
The police would just haul in everyone who didn’t run. They used a butterfly net approach to sorting out situations like this. She squeezed her eyes shut. Little as she liked to admit it, given the circumstances, Dwight would be the lesser of two evils. It should prove to be a lot easier to escape his custody.
She exhaled unsteadily. Using elbows more than knees, she pulled herself out from under the car. “Surrender. Let him take us.”
“Glad to know you’re not complete punks,” Dwight said. “It’s better to finish this without local law enforcement. You’ve gone and pissed the boys off. Now get your asses in the trunk.” He popped it and slammed his hand on the side for emphasis.
Given the way Rey had just decimated his muscle, she marveled that the guy still wanted to take them somewhere private, but maybe Dwight had sampled his own product. He didn’t seem too quick with logical deductions. Dumb as a stump, her dad would’ve said.
Now she could see lights on the horizon. If they didn’t get the hell out of here, they were done for. With a record like hers, it would take months to sort through the red tape. Rey boosted her into the trunk and then slid in behind her. The top slammed shut, leaving them precious little room. Somebody—presumably Dwight—took off in the Marquis, tires squealing. A squad car squawked its siren as they tore onto the highway. Kyra heard the sounds of pursuit as a sudden turn slammed her face into Rey’s shoulder.
“That’s gonna leave a mark,�
� she muttered.
“See if you can roll away from me. It will be better if we spoon.”
“Okay.” Kyra struggled, trying to get some weight on her knee. She heard an oof as she hit him with an elbow. She managed it, but a spike of fire lanced through her leg. Biting down on her lip, she tried to strangle the whimper, but he heard it.
“What’s wrong?” Rey took a deep breath then. How he could smell anything besides rusty metal and exhaust, she had no idea. “Shit. You’re bleeding.”
“I’ve got a slug in my calf,” she said, trying to sound casual. “No big. It didn’t hit anything vital.”
“Shit,” he bit out. “If I’d known, I would never have gone this route. You need medical attention. The authorities could have provided it.”
“That and two years in prison,” she muttered. “No, this is better. We can outwit this asshole. He thinks he’s some kind of redneck Harvey Keitel. Don’t worry, my leg will be fine. Just get me a bottle of Thunderbird and I’ll dig it out myself.”
“Is that supposed to be funny?”
She didn’t answer. But if he felt with careful fingertips, he’d find a small scar in the fleshy part of her upper arm. This wasn’t the first time she’d been shot. Her dad had been nearly hysterical with remorse. After things went bad in Reno, he’d wanted to quit the life. He’d promised to get a real job, rent a house somewhere. By then sixteen, Kyra hadn’t been able to imagine what the hell that would be like.
How could she go to school when she couldn’t even touch somebody casually? There would be no dances for her, no senior prom. No, the way they lived was better, and she’d convinced her dad of it, too. God, she missed him. After he died, she’d felt so alone, like nobody would care ever again whether she lived or died.
They careened wildly in the trunk and the sirens seemed to fade away. At least Dwight was good for that much. Kyra closed her eyes, half sick with memories, movement, and fumes. The reverberation of the car felt strange beneath her ear, and as if in response to an unspoken request, Rey’s arms went around her, one beneath her head and the other across her waist.
When he spoke next, she felt the warmth of his breath against her ear. “You cut him, you know. When you flung the keys at his head.”
Kyra smiled. “Good. The son of a bitch deserved it.”
“And then some,” he answered grimly. “He’ll get his, have no doubt. We just didn’t have time to deal with him and the bikers that were still standing before the five-oh rolled up.”
“How many did you drop out here? I didn’t have a great view.”
“There were nine on the ground who couldn’t run for their rides.” Rey sounded matter of fact, like he hadn’t broken a sweat over it.
“Who the hell are you? The bionic man?”
“Yep. Didn’t you hear? They rebuilt me . . . they have the technology. But it cost twenty million this time.” She felt him smile against her hair. “Inflation.”
“Fine,” she muttered. “Don’t tell me.”
“You want all my cards on the table? No problem. Someday I’ll tell you all my secrets . . . right after you spill yours.”
He had her there. Kyra hadn’t exactly been straight with him. “Fair enough. You think this is the time and place?”
“You have something else on the agenda?”
Reyes waited. He’d never known anybody like her. At its core, the magnetism between them felt elemental. Everything he’d spent his life working toward seemed ephemeral when compared to Kyra’s fire. He tried not to hold his breath, but the truth was, he wanted to get this shit in the open. She needed to stop being so damn stubborn and let him in. He wanted it with every fiber of his being, not because he wanted to finish the job, but because he wanted to help her.
But she would have to take the first step.
“No,” she said eventually. “I don’t have anything else planned, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to be backed into a corner. I don’t want your secrets that bad.”
Damn her for being a stubborn pain in the ass. Maybe he’d have to do it. If he told her about his contract with Serrano, it would start a shit storm, and she was injured. Better for them to focus on getting out of this mess, and then he’d tell her. In that moment, Reyes realized he’d made his choice. He had no intention of doing this job any longer. He’d jumped feetfirst into her mess and overall, he wasn’t unhappy with the decision.
“I trust you,” he said then. “But I can see why you wouldn’t think that I do. I mean, you don’t even know my real name.”
From her tone, that surprised her. “I don’t?”
“Nope. Rey’s just a nickname.”
One nobody but Kyra used, he added silently. The men who hired him knew him as Mack, a tongue-in-cheek nod to Mack the Knife. He figured it was healthy to have a sense of humor about his work.
“Then what is it?”
A ghost of a smile flickered and disappeared. “Porfirio Ten-Bears Reyes.”
She was silent for several long minutes. “Huh. Hope you don’t mind if I keep calling you Rey.”
“I’m used to it.”
Whatever she might have said became moot. The car skidded to a stop and the trunk popped open. Since Kyra was closest, a pair of hands reached in and dragged her out first, tearing her away from him. The hauler took no care with her injuries, and she cried out when he banged her leg against the fender.
“Let go of me, shit for brains!”
“I don’t think so,” Dwight said. “I made the mistake of looking away from you once. I’m using you as collateral to make sure your boyfriend behaves himself. Otherwise we’ll have some collateral damage.” The dealer laughed as if he’d made a really hilarious joke.
Frankly, Reyes was a little surprised he knew the word. From the strangled sound, he guessed somebody had an arm around Kyra’s neck. He remained still in the trunk, considering his options. His course of action depended on how many bikers had kept up with Dwight in outrunning the cops. He’d left a number of them too incapacitated to ride.
“Up and at ’em, cholo.” That had to be Dwight. Doubtless he’d follow that witticism with wetback, greaser, and spic. “Hands where I can see them.”
“Technically speaking, that’s inaccurate usage.” Reyes climbed out of the trunk slowly, assessing. They stood in a salvage yard, surrounded by miles of wreckage. Ten men, including Dwight, ringed them. A burly bastard held a knife to Kyra’s throat, mandating good behavior. “No chinos, no wifebeater, no hairnet. I don’t even have a low rider. Now in the Peruvian sense, it’s accurate. I am a person of mixed mestizo descent.”
“Shut up, bitch.” Somebody slammed the butt of a gun into his nose, smashing the cartilage. Pain blazed like a red comet through his brain. “The way I figure it, you owe me an ass load of money . . . damage to property, lost revenue, and the like. Since I’m a businessman, I’m going to give you a chance to repay me.”
“What makes you think we’ve got money?” Kyra wheezed out.
“Who said anything about cash?” Through the blood in his eyes, Reyes saw the man shake his head. “I figure I’ll make a ton if I drop this crazy fucker into some bare-knuckle cage matches. And you . . .” Dwight ran a thick fingertip down Kyra’s cheek. “With a mouth like you’ve got, you’ll earn me a fortune.”
“You’re dumber than you look, if you think that’ll work long term,” she snarled. “The minute you turn your back, I’ll put a knife in it.”
“See, that’s the thing,” Dwight said, remarkably composed, “when people care about each other, they’re reluctant to take risks. They’ll put up with shit they’d never tolerate otherwise. Tell me, cholo, what would you do to keep me from ordering him to cut her throat here and now? Would you suck his dick?” He gestured to one of his sweaty henchmen, standing ready with a .45.
Across the distance between them, he met Kyra’s gaze with his own. She was trying to tell him something with her fierce tigress eyes. They slid downward, lighting on the thug’s arm around her ne
ck. The man was enormous, his biceps the size of redwoods. Of course. He started to smile. Whatever ability the man brought to the combat table, she owned it now.
“Sure,” Reyes said quietly. “But I can’t deep throat. You broke my nose.”
“See?” Dwight smirked at Kyra, ostensibly helpless in the big guy’s grip, and then jerked his head at Reyes. “So prove it. On your knees.”
Without an instant’s hesitation, he walked over to the guy Dwight indicated and dropped to his knees. Dumbass. He reached toward his zipper as Kyra made her move. Instead of a small woman, the shithead found himself holding a juggernaut who tossed him like a Frisbee. He landed on two other guys, and she roared with rage.
Reyes went for the .45 in his target’s hand. He broke the other man’s arm in a smooth motion, and then rolled knee to knee, plugging anything that moved and wasn’t Kyra. She fought like a berserker, no skill, just strength and rage. She picked up a hunk of metal and went to town. It wouldn’t have surprised him at all to see her pull somebody’s head off with her bare hands.
In the end, it was a little bit like skeet shooting. She’d knock ’em down and he put a bullet in them. A few bikers managed to make it to their cycles and spun the hell out of there, but Dwight went down with lead in his thigh. Reyes strode up to him, intending to end him, just as Kyra got there.
“He’s mine,” she said, forestalling him. “This fucker shot me and then took some lame idea about pimping me out.”
He’d never had a partner before, never known anybody who would make good on his threats. Reyes hesitated; he’d promised Dwight he would go scorched earth, and every instinct told him to just put a bullet between his eyes, making sure the job got done right. That was the way he’d always operated. The dealer writhed on the ground, moaning in pain.
At last he stepped back. “Take him, if you’re sure you have the stomach for it.”
“He hurt you,” she said in a voice as dark as night. “Hell, yeah, I do.”