Chapter Eighteen
Two uneventful nights passed.
Ace and Justice had taken turns staying with her. This evening, Justice pulled guard duty again. She’d made herself and Justice some supper. Once again, they’d watched television.
And still, nothing had happened.
Vick was getting more worried by the second. It’d be great if Simon decided to back off after she’d shot his tire and ran from him, but she doubted it. The jerk was probably waiting until her guard was down.
Since Jasper had staged a stakeout at her place, she hadn’t seen him. His brother’s wedding had been this weekend. She was dying to call him up and find out how his plan to infiltrate the event and talk some sense into his grandmother had gone.
But his absence was probably a blessing. Knowing Jasper, he’d ask even more probing questions she couldn’t answer.
Things with her brother were still up in the air. According to Brighton Place, he’d never come back. Vick thought he’d probably found some hidey hole to shoot up in. Given her circumstances, she couldn’t run around Hell’s half acre trying to find Jack. Rundown abandoned buildings would be the ideal spot for a kidnapping. She couldn’t risk it until she knew what Simon had in store for her.
“How’s your lady friend?”
Vick couldn’t take the prolonged silence anymore. It was nearly midnight—the witching hour. Lots of scary scenarios were playing on a loop in her head, and she needed a diversion.
“Fine.” Justice didn’t elaborate.
“Come on. You know all about Jasper and me. The least you could do is give me more details.”
“Her name’s Etta May Jameson, and like I said, she’s okay.”
Now we’re getting’ somewhere.
“What’s she like?”
“Honest, selfless, pretty as pie supper.” Justice grinned.
“Sounds like a special girl.”
“She is, and way outta my league.”
“You’re kiddin’, right? The Four Horsemen are known for rushin’ in to save people from sketchy situations. And on top of all of it, you’re a freakin’ war hero.”
“Ain’t no hero. Never have been.” His face went blank once more.
She wondered if he’d learned how to shut down his emotions in the military.
Yet she could still pick up the pain and anger coming from Justice. She didn’t know what happened to him, but it must’ve been awful.
Earlier today, she’d violated his privacy by hacking into naval intelligence. From his service record, she knew he’d been out of Afghanistan for over a decade, but clearly, Justice hadn’t dealt with his demons yet. The details she’d been able to glean were scant. She wondered if he’d been sent on some “off the books” missions.
“Justice, we just met, but I like you.”
“You do?” He raised a brow.
Vick giggled. “Don’t be so surprised. If you ever wanna talk, I’m here for you.”
“Thanks, darlin, I appreciate it, but I’d rather keep my peace.”
“If not me, then maybe Etta May can be your soundin’ board.” She raised a brow.
He huffed a breath. “I’m too fucked up for that.”
“Why?”
“I can’t ever have a relationship with a woman, not like that.”
Why not? What did he mean?
“Now, try to get some shut eye.” He flicked the television off and stood. “I’m gonna walk around the place and check the doors and windows one more time.”
With a sigh, Vick slouched down in her chair and tried to relax.
***
Once again, they both drifted off to sleep in the wee hours of the morning. After he’d checked her townhouse, they’d turned off all the lights and sat in the dark, waiting to be ambushed, but zilch had happened.
And then her eyes snapped open.
Someone’s here.
Vick wasn’t sure how she knew, but something was off. She could feel it, an uneasiness, and a sense that they weren’t alone.
She listened intently to a sound coming from the spare bedroom, a slight creak. Then she heard footfalls on the carpet, slow and deliberate moving down the hall. Bast lay sprawled on her lap, fast asleep and whoever made the noise was much bigger than her cat.
When she glanced at Justice, he was already awake. He pressed a finger to his lips.
Vick nodded.
Justice grabbed his gun. “Get behind me,” he mouthed.
Vick set Bast down and did as she was told. The cat scurried beneath a chair.
Together, she and Justice edged down the hallway in the darkness. The blood roared in Vick’s ears, and her chest tightened. Vick stood right behind him, stepping when he did.
Through the shadows, she saw a raised gun.
“Gimme the girl and no one gets hurt.” Vick didn’t recognize the voice, but the accent was Southern.
What would’ve happened if they hadn’t woken up? Would the man have put his hand over her mouth, forced her out of the apartment at gunpoint?
Vick shivered.
Justice gave a nasty chuckle. “Oh, somebody’s gonna get hurt alright.” He cocked the gun.
Justice had been right about a hired gun, and he stood a good six feet away from them, pressed against the wall. His features were impossible to make out—he wore black clothing and a ski mask. The man was shorter than Justice with a wiry build. Vick guessed he’d probably squeezed in through the guest room window.
Her stomach clenched. Please don’t let there be a shoot-out. This ain’t the O.K. Corral.
“Doesn’t have to go down like this. I got no quarrel with you.”
“What’s your name?” Justice kept the man in his sites. “You don’t sound like one of the cartel boys.”
“Call me Mark, and I’m from around these parts.”
“You’re a merc then?”
“Yeah, I’m only in this for the dough.”
Mark, or whatever his real name was, worked as a mercenary. Sometimes the cartels utilized sub-contractors, men who only cared about collecting a fee. It’d be easier to use someone this side of the border, so the gunman didn’t have to cross any security checkpoints and leave a paper trail for law enforcement.
“Then you ain’t got a dog in this fight. Why don’t you show yourself and tell your boss, the lady ain’t interested. No means no.”
“Can’t do that. I’ve got a reputation to uphold, and I always get the job done one way or another. And since you ain’t willin’ to play nice…” Mark fired off a shot, and they both hit the floor.
Then he sprinted back down the hallway and slammed the door shut behind him.
The bullet ricocheted off the wall, and then Vick felt a sharp bite of pain in her shoulder.
With horror, she watched as blood soaked her shirt. She’d never been shot at before. Vick couldn’t quite process what had happened. It all seemed surreal.
Justice fired a round and then raced down the hall.
Numbly, she followed him. Her ears rang from the shot and none of this felt real, like some kind of waking nightmare.
By the time, they reached the room, Mark was gone. The curtains flapped in the breeze. The wooden window frame was bent because it’d been jimmied open.
“Dammit.” Justice slammed a hand against the wall.
Vick slowly peeled back the fabric to reveal the wound. The blood felt thick and hot to the touch, staining her fingers, slipping down her arm.
Justice turned to face her and then his jaw went slack.
“He got me.”
“You’re hurt.” Justice stared at the bleeding gash on her arm. “Shoulda been me, not you.” His lower lip trembled and sweat beaded on his forehead.
“Yeah, but I’m okay.” Vick gingerly moved her shoulder.
It was painful, but not to an unbearable degree. Vick didn’t see a bullet hole, though it’d cut a path along her skin. She wasn’t an expert on gun wounds, but maybe the hitman had only grazed her. Wouldn’t she be in a lot more pain if he’d scored a direct hit?
Justice reached for her and then clutched his stomach. Backing away, he shook his head, then bolted down the hallway into the bathroom.
Vick heard retching sounds.
Oh no. Didn’t he mutter something about blood?
In his mind’s eye, Justice might be back in the desert facing God knows what.
Seconds later, Justice walked out.
“Hey, are you okay?”
“Yeah.” He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and nodded, as though he’d pulled himself together. “We need to take care of your wound.” Justice examined it. “It’s only a graze. It could’ve been worse.”
“Do I need to go to the emergency room?” Her arm ached, throbbed like it was on fire.
He didn’t respond. Justice gaped at the blood on his fingertips, as though in some sort of trance.
“Justice?”
He braced a hand against the wall, as though he might collapse.
“Justice!”
He startled, eyes going wide.
“Hey. It’s me. You don’t look so hot.”
“Yeah, but I feel even worse.” Justice sucked in a breath. “And I’m useless to you right now. You should tell your mafia buddies what’s goin’ on.”
“Why?”
“Because Simon got himself a pro, not some two-bit cartel thug. This here situation just got FUBAR. You need more protection than Ace, and I can provide.”
This can’t be happening. Vick had to persuade the bikers to reconsider. She didn’t stand a chance against a mercenary on her own.
“Who’s Simon and why’s he tryin’ to hurt you?” Weapon raised, Jasper walked down the hall.
Oh no. Jasper must’ve let himself in. And he’d probably been watching her place like he’d done the other night.
Justice lifted his gun. Vick noticed a sheen of sweat on his chest, which had dampened his shirt.
“It’s okay. It’s just Jasper.”
“Fuckin’ catlike mafia bastards.” Justice blinked and then holstered his weapon.
“Vick? What’s goin’ on?” Jasper demanded, completely ignoring the biker.
She scrambled for a plausible excuse and came up with nada.
“Yeah, Vick, what’s goin’ on?” Justice echoed with a raised brow.
And then Jasper’s gaze lit on her arm. “You got shot?”
“It’s only a scratch.” She shrugged and then winced from the motion.
“Only a…” Jasper trailed off, a vein throbbed in his forehead. “Okay, I’m at my limit.” He eyed her. “What the fuck is goin’ on here? Who’s Simon? And who shot you? Was it the dickhead who went runnin’ through the bushes?”
“Get a good look at him?” Justice asked.
Jasper didn’t respond. Instead, he was focused on her.
“It’s a long story.” All of a sudden, she felt cold, and Vick’s vision swam.
“Can’t wait to hear it, Vixen.”
“Did you see the guy?” Justice asked again.
Jasper turned to face Justice. “Nah, he was wearin’ all black, covered head to toe. Had to be a pro. I chased his ass to a van down the street, but he took off before I could get to him.”
“Get a license plate?”
“Nope, he had an unmarked vehicle.”
“Fuck. This shoulda been grape duty. Instead, we gotta a cartel and hired guns in the mix.”
Vick had no idea what grape duty meant, but Justice needed to shut his trap. She could feel Jasper’s eyes boring into her as he waited for an explanation.
“So, you’re her bodyguard, not Vixen’s boyfriend, right?” Jasper asked.
“Yeah, but this one’s above my pay grade. I was just fuckin’ with ya earlier, man.” Justice turned to Vick. “You’re in good hands.”
“But Justice—”
“He’s right. I’m gonna take it from here.” Jasper held out his hand, and Justice shook it. At least, this time, they didn’t try to squeeze each other to death. “Thanks for watchin’ my girl.”
“Sorry, Vick, but I gotta bail.” Justice jogged down the hall, and then Vick heard the front door slam shut.
And there went her last hope.
Jasper’s expression was stern. “You’re comin’ home with me. No arguments.”