Madison Mosby and the Moonmilk Wars

by Jason Winn

“She’s working with someone named Connolly.”

  “Perfect, go with that.”

  Graves shivered and rubbed his eyes. They both watched Shelby turn around and get back into her car. She backed out of the driveway and the two were left in silence, save for Madison’s sobbing.

  “We need to get her jeans off,” said Jane. “Just hold her still.”

  Graves did as he was told, and a minute later Jane was pulling on Madison’s jeans.

  Chapter 91

  Jane waited for Shelby to show up. She hadn’t smoked in five years, but she couldn’t recall the last time she’d wanted a cigarette so badly. The back of the limo smelled like cigarettes and whiskey. The driver had been told to put the divider up, and keep his eyes forward. The extra five hundred bucks cash would keep it that way, or so Jane hoped.

  She smoothed the edges of the long evening dress. The hemline came down just enough to cover her shoes.

  “Am I squishing you?” asked Ham Steak.

  The giant biker sat next to her, trying to hold in his breath and managing to barely keep to his side of the back seat.

  “You’re fine,” said Jane.

  “So I just put her on the ground, right?”

  “Yes, but don’t hurt her.”

  This whole plan was ill-advised, but it was the only thing she could come up with, given that scores of pissed-off sorcerers and mobsters were probably descending on DC at this very moment. Not to mention any locals Contessa could drum up.

  “She’s coming,” said Sean into Jane’s ear piece.

  Jane pulled the Bluetooth earpiece out of her ear and tossed it onto the floor. She took another look at the compact mirror she’d brought and saw Contessa Morano staring back at her.

  Contessa smoked. Jane looked across the street at the drugstore. She could just walk over there and buy a pack of Newports to complete the disguise. It’s not like the limo driver would care. Shelby would believe this if Contessa was smoking. Wasn’t that part of a good cover, looking the part? She hadn’t brought her purse.

  Shit.

  The street was calm. No witnesses. Not that it mattered. What were they going to see? What were they going to tell the cops? It would conveniently fit the plan, if they did. She looked around and saw no one.

  High beams lit up the neighborhood. A car pulled up on the other side of the street, right in front of the drugstore.

  “Go,” said Jane.

  Ham Steak got out of the limo, which groaned and lifted as he stepped out.

  Looking behind her to the end of the block, Jane registered Sean pulling into place. He parked his cruiser and waited. The tinted glass hid him from view.

  Shelby looked up and down the street, before seeing Ham Steak standing next to the limo. He waved her over. If Graves’ trick had worked she’d come up to the limo. She did.

  Jane checked her pistol and got out of the limo as Ham Steak wrapped a thick paw around Shelby’s arm and threw her to the ground. She landed with a slap of skin on pavement. Ham Steak pressed his foot onto her shin so she couldn’t get up.

  “Get off me,” Shelby shouted. She reached for something in her pants.

  Jane stabbed her pistol into Shelby’s face. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  Shelby jerked her head around to see Jane standing above her.

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m Contessa Morano.”

  Shelby looked like she wanted to say something. Her mouth moved, but no words came out.

  “But,” Jane continued, “you might know me better as the Rose Widow, and I don’t appreciate you attacking my warehouse.”

  “It, it wasn’t me. It was the Russians.”

  “We know you were involved somehow, Agent Painter. Your meddling ends now.” With that, Jane pulled the hammer back on her pistol. “Any last words?”

  Shelby gasped and tensed up. “Don’t kill me.” Her voice trembled. “I’m an FBI agent. I have children.”

  Ham Steak looked up at Jane, with a “don’t do it” look on his face. He gave a quick shake of the head and mouthed, “She’s got kids.” Jane wondered if he’d try to stop her.

  Blue light filled the street. A car engine roared, followed by two quick blips of a police siren.

  Shelby’s head sank. Ham Steak let go of her as Jane trained the pistol on the police car and opened fire.

  “Go!” Jane shouted to Ham Steak, who did his best to jump into the back seat of the limo.

  The police car’s windshield turned into a spiderweb of bullet holes. The cop rolled out of the driver’s seat and returned fire. Two bullets whizzed past Jane’s head, before she ran and jumped back into the limo.

  “Drive, bitch,” she shouted to the terrified driver. The two of them were thrown backwards as the limo took off, down the street.

  ***

  Shelby’s life had passed in front of her eyes. Every muscle in her body shook. She should be lying in a pool of her own blood and brains right now. She took the sweetest breath of air in her life and her muscles melted into the sidewalk.

  “Ma’am, are you all right?” the cop shouted.

  Shelby mustered a quick nod.

  The cop shouted something into his radio about “pursuit,” jumped into his car and sped off after the limo.

  Contessa Morano is the Rose Widow, and that bitch just tried to kill me.

  Shelby steeled herself and got to her feet on shaky legs. She pulled out her cell phone and dialed Colonel Baker.

  “Colonel Baker, here.”

  “I found her.”

  “Who?”

  Shelby realized that he probably had no idea who she was talking about. He was a killing machine, not completely in the know.

  “It doesn’t matter. Her name is Contessa Morano.”

  There was a pause, while Colonel Baker typed something on the other end. “Looks like she has a very nice house outside of Philadelphia.”

  “Good, burn it to the ground, after you find and terminate her with extreme prejudice.” This was personal now.

  “Copy that. We’re on the move.” The line went dead.

  ***

  Shelby sat in her kitchen with a bag of ice on her lip as he waited to hear back from Colonel Baker. It was almost dawn and she could hear the kids rustling around upstairs. If it hadn’t been for that brave cop, she wouldn’t ever hear that sound again. She was pretty sure she’d be crying right now if she weren’t so exhausted.

  Her phone buzzed. It was Baker.

  “Well?” asked Shelby.

  “It’s over.”

  “Contessa? Please tell me you got her.”

  “Confirmed dead.”

  Now the tears came. Madison was safe now. The Rose Widow was finally dead.

  Colonel Baker continued. “And if you’ll forgive me for saying, that was some wild shit. I’ve got five men in the hospital right now.”

  Shelby wanted to act like she cared, but she couldn’t muster the empathy. She’d figure out a way to commend them later. “That’s great news, Colonel. Excellent work.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, the boys were excited to see some action the last few days.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. And the house?”

  “Leveled. Homeland Security is working with the local authorities to make sure they understand it was a gas explosion.”

  “Tragic.”

  “Hopefully we’re good for a while, now.”

  “I think so, Colonel. Please let your men know how thankful I am and that they saved countless lives through their bravery.”

  “I will.”

  Shelby ended the call before tossing the ice bag into the sink and going upstairs to hug her babies.

  Chapter 92

  Madison stood over Margaret’s body. The tears had stopped, along with all her emotions. At that moment, she felt nothing. Just an emptiness in the middle of her chest. Jane walked up to her.

  “It’s done,” said Jane. “I think Shelby bought it.”

  “Great,” said M
adison, without looking up.

  “You all right?” asked Jane.

  “I can’t even have a funeral for her,” said Madison, running her hand through her hair. She wished things could be different, but it was impossible to tell anyone what happened. The hunters, like Shelby, would drag her off in chains. How long would it be before she and Graves ran out of tricks to keep them at bay? “She was the mother I always wanted.” Madison placed a Winter Rose stem on Margaret’s somber face. “Good-bye, Margaret.”

  A new coldness ran through Madison as she watched Margaret turn to dust, just like the Preens and that big mouth courier, Hank Mahoney. Margaret wasn’t an enemy. She was family and now nothing more than a pile of clothes and ash.

  “How the fuck am I going to explain this?” she asked no one in particular.

  “We’ll deal with it,” replied Jane. “You’ve at least got to be happy that you’re safe now. The Russians are gone. Preen is dead. So are the Moldens. And Contessa is about to be killed by Shelby. You’ve won. And we’ll find Sarah. I promise. Sean and Wrench are looking for her right now.”

  Madison looked up at her, with a face of stone. “Yeah, lucky me. I won.”

  With that, Madison turned on her heel and made for the house. It was time to get blackout drunk, “celebrating” her victory.

  The End

  Author’s Note

  Dear Reader,

  Many thanks for taking the time to read Madison Mosby and the Moonmilk Wars. This novel represents over a year of evenings and weekends lost behind a keyboard. If you are someone who has suggested that I watch some fantastic TV show, movie, or play a video game – and I’ve said no – the story you just read is why.

  If you would like to receive updates for the next installment of the Moonmilk Saga, please join my mailing list at www.jasonwinn.com.

  My sincerest thanks,

  Jason Winn

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to take this opportunity to thank the organizations and people below, without whom this book would not be possible.

  My family, who tolerated my constant pleas for quiet when I am hunkered down in my office writing. Thank you, Melissa, Alex, Kaelen, and Madison for letting me indulge my passion.

  Julie Myers for her continued work as the cover model. Thanks so much for volunteering to be Madison. And, thanks to my wife Melissa for taking the photos.

  My beta readers, who took the time to read early drafts and help me shape the story from a primordial ooze into a coherent narrative.

  Mike George

  Erica Gravely

  Shea C. Megale

  I also want to thank my parents. My mother who taught me the value of a good story, through countless hours of reading to me before bed each night. And my father, whose relentless shaming of my adolescent laziness eventually made me realize the value of the delayed gratification one receives after much hard work. Don’t worry Dad, your lessons are evangelized to your grandchildren on a daily basis.

  Lastly, I want to thank one of my good friends, Rene Boucher. In November of 2015, she and I were waiting for ice cream after an evening of intense bible study, or drinking I can’t recall for sure. I asked her if she’d read a story that was Harry Potter meets Breaking Bad. Her response of “oh yeah,” was the final push I needed to start writing the Moonmilk saga. Without that affirmation, Madison Mosby would never have been written.

  If you enjoyed this book and would like to read more of the Moonmilk Saga, please go to www.JasonWinn.com for more information.

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