Chapter 34

Krista

 

Compassionate eyes meet mine.

My gaze skitters away. I'm so ashamed I can barely breathe.

Words come out of the judge's mouth. When he gets to the part where he reads my full name, his chin jerks up.

“What?” Allen asks in a sharp voice.

“Krista Glass?” the judge asks.

I nod.

“Are you a schoolteacher?”

I nod again, a surreal sensation of deja vu moving through me.

Fate is a strange teacher, sometimes throwing a curve ball.

“This has nothing to do with continuing the ceremony,” Orson states swiftly.

The old judge turns to Orson. “Humor me. I'm doing what I have to, but I want this question answered.” His astute eyes take in me and Allen. “This is clearly not a love match.”

At least that much is obvious.

“Do you teach special needs?”

“Yes.”

“Adults?”

“Not until recently.”

“Get on with this,” Allen grits from between his clenched teeth.

“No,” the judges answers Allen, then quickly asks me, “Are you acquainted with Brett Rife?”

“Trainer!” My heart sings across the connection, however strange, between this judge and Trainer.

His expression darkens, and he turns to Orson. “Did you manufacture this on purpose?”

Orson shakes his head. “No, but I must admit the irony is scrumptious.”

I back away, and Simon grasps my elbow. “Wait—what is happening?”

“I am Judge Hammerstein. I was a lawyer representing a young man who killed another in the defense of his mother.”

Trainer.

“The one bribe I ever begged for was to free that young man from an injustice he would have faced. I couldn't bear it.”

Oh my God.

Judge Hammerstein face turns to me. “He loves you.”

I grab his arm. “I love him too.”

“Enough!” Allen roars, shoving me hard enough to send my body flying backward.

I land on my back, head cracking against the polished wood floor.

Stars cloud my vision, black crowding the edges of my sight. At least I'm not married to him. Through the fog, I hear shouts and a loud crash. Dropping from the platform of wakefulness,

I dream of Trainer's face above mine. His crisp, grass-green eyes and deep-brown hair appear for a moment then vanish.

Then I free fall into the deep gray of unconsciousness, hoping I die.

 

*

Trainer

 

“Wait.” I grasp Noose’s arm, and he stills without looking at me but instead, where I'm looking. “That's Judge's ride.”

Noose snorts. “Fluke of fucking flukes. I don't think I like that.”

I know I don't.

“Let's roll,” he whispers urgently.

We move through the woods as silently as guys our size can.

Noose deftly avoids all the twigs and brush that's dry enough to signal our entrance.

I copy him.

As we sail around the corner of the huge structure, two guards taking a smoke break look up with matching expressions of surprise.

Like a silent locomotive, Noose barrels into the closest one, grabbing the skull of the other, and bashes them both into the side of the house.

Straightening, he adjusts his vest. “Feels good to wear my cut.”

That is his comment after the two men lie bleeding at his feet.

“Relax,” he says, “you'll have plenty of fun inside, just taking out the sound alarms.” Sliding to his haunches, he removes the two slim ropes from his back pocket.

In less than a minute, he’s tied the dudes together, nut to butt. He balances their emptied automatic weapons perfectly between their unconscious bodies.

“That's pretty as fuck,” Noose comments. Then his eyes slide away.

“Hear that?” I ask.

He nods. “Lots of yelling.”

We bolt, going for the back door.

Noose finds it locked.

“Fuck it.” He steps backward then kicks the door.

Lock holds.

I push him aside, thinking of Krista in there with Allen.

Giving it all I have, I run at it, blasting my foot through it.

The thing swings wide, bashing against a wall, and crashing into something glass. The tinkle of shattered crystal is like rain hitting the fancy marble floors.

The big fucker I recognize from before doesn't charge us.

Probably because shit's going down in the room where I saw Krista.

We rip through the endless hallway and turn the corner.

Krista's flat on her back, a bubble of blood seeping out of her mouth. Her chest rising and falling.

But what keeps me in place is Judge.

Allen Fitzgerald has wrapped his hands around the only father I ever had.

Judge's face is purple, his worthless hands flailing uselessly around Allen's face like pale flags.

Ginormous is trying to pull Allen off.

My eyes move to Krista then Judge.

Decision made—even if it's the wrong one—has me moving before the first gunshot goes off. The bullet buzzes by my ear. I ignore the searing pain. Gotta get to my lady.

 

*

 

Beautiful gray eyes open. Eyelashes like black lace flutter against too-pale cheeks as they sweep closed again.

“Krista,” I say, gathering her close, ignoring the scalding liquid of my blood running down the side of my neck.

Carefully, I stand with Krista cradled against my chest. I turn.

Freeze.

Some old dude has a gun pointed at Noose, who's grinning like he just won a million bucks. “Come on, ya old coot, shoot.”

“Noose, no!” I shout, but my eyes go to Judge, who's spluttering, trying to capture breath he can't.

The big bodyguard has Allen against him, pinned.

Not for long, I think before Allen does one of his karate moves and has the guy upside down and flat on his back.

Allen faces me.

“Give me the cunt and get the fuck out of here. She's not worth dying over.”

I look down at her. Back at him. “Yeah, she is.” My voice is soft and urgent.

Never meant nothinʼ like I did those three words.

As I watch, Lariat silently moves behind the old guy with the gun.

The rope wraps his neck with a wrist flick and the smooth fingers of his free hand.

When the barrel of the gun flies up, another bullet goes off, and Noose falls to the ground.

I clutch Krista tighter.

Allen smiles.

I never been so torn. Noose is down, Judge can't breathe, and Krista's hurt bad.

Wring appears at my elbow. “Give her to me, loverboy. You got business with this douche.”

Allen doesn't move his face from mine. Carefully, I slide Krista to Wring. Trusting him with the most precious thing in the world.

The old man slumps to the floor with a wheezing last breath, gun clattering outta his limp fingers.

Allen doesn't turn, and I don't stop.

As we charge each other across the large room, Judge fades. The bodyguard. My brothers.

It's just me and this final Arnie. A man who tried to hurt my lady.

He can't be allowed to live no more.

Even if it means I can't, either.

 

*

 

Allen Fitzgerald has already taught me so much. All his dirty tricks and his martial arts shit.

Got it.

Judge told me I was a quick study of humanity, whatever that means.

I understood that I don't give myself over for the same beating two times in a row.

Like now.

Allen does a classic move, trying to grab my arm. I dive at him like sliding in at home base, taking his feet from underneath him and rolling over him. Tucking my arms underneath his pits, I bring my knee up between his unprotected legs and thrust hard. Real hard. Like I'm trying to reach his throat. Fitzgerald makes a strangled sound, I release him and see he’s holding a knife.

I bring my fist down on his wrist, chopping hard. He almost loses control, but with a spin, Fitzgerald's close enough to strike my chest, slicing hard.

Blood splatters, raining on his upturned face.

Don't know how bad I'm hurt. I keep working at him like I'm not.

“Trainer!” one of the brother's scream.

My hand reaches out randomly. For anything. Finding something solid, I wrap my fingers around the weight. Lift.

The thing I grabbed musta rolled off a table. Amber liquid still coats the interior, and the cut crystal shines in the light before I smash it against Allen's temple.

He makes a gurgling shout. Heaving the knife, he slices my arm holding the bottle.

Ignoring the new injury, I sit up on my knees, straddling his body. My vision wavers, and lightheadedness tries to stop me.

No!

Allen's form sharpens beneath me again.

I bring the fat, rounded end of the decanter down on his head. Something vital cracks.

My shoulders cave forward. Gray leaks in at the sides of my vision. I begin panting as the room does a slow spin.

I raise my arm. Strike.

Again.

And again.

Shit splashes where Allen's head was, and with a tired smile, I slump to the side, releasing the bottle.

Blinking, I watch the bottle rotate slowly across the floor, stopping only when it hits the body of the big guard.

Guess one of the guys got ʼim, I think before passing out, then a final thought threads through me before I give it up.

Krista's safe.

 

*

Noose

 

“I assume you brought the accelerant?”

Wring nods. “Hell, yes. Fire does more than keep us warm.” He winks.

“Listen, you fuckers. Trainer's bleeding out, and his girl doesn't seem too fucking healthy, either. Stop swapping spit and get it torched.”

I sigh. “Hate wrecking nice shit.”

“Whatever,” Lariat mutters.

“Already tap-danced around the perimeter.” Wring inclines his head.

I nod, squatting. I take a long drag on my smoke then touch it to the neat line Wring made. Fire catches, licking the line like a long-lost lover. In a whip of blue and orange, it slides up the gasoline, hitting the accelerant Wring used.

He notes the propane tank. “Let's split. That Tylenol capsule is going to blow.”

The white-and-red tank stays silent.

But halfway back to the Nova, I almost fall, nearly dumping an unconscious Trainer on his ass when it blows. I twist his body, taking in the half of the mansion torn away by the blast, like a giant took a bite out of a mansion sandwich.

Lariat and Wring jog ahead of us, knuckle tapping when the big boom sounds.

Evidence gone, I think. Guess it doesn't matter how rich a person is, if it's your time to go, happens no matter how much cash ya got.

I jog after them.

Worry creeps in, and I pour on the speed. Trainer's lost a lot of blood.

There's never been a man more deserving of a chance at happiness. I’m determined to make sure it happens.