A Perfect Storm
Page 114
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And if she got hurt in the bargain…well, at least Quinto would be free. At least a scumbag would pay.
If she’d gone to the others first, no way would they have let her be involved. Going to the bar was enough to get their panties in a bunch. Meeting in this neighborhood?
No, they’d have nixed the deal to try something else, and while she trusted they’d have eventually been successful, what would have happened to Quin in the meantime?
“Come, sit down, Quin. Let’s talk, okay?”
Shaking his head, he took a step back.
Her senses prickled. “I’m at least an hour early, so I’m guessing we have a little time, right?”
He breathed faster. “Actually…” His dark eyes lowered. He shook his head again. “No.”
Arizona felt the shift in the air.
Oh, shit.
She sprang from the seat just as three men approached, all from different angles.
Three! Well, they weren’t taking any chances with her, the buttheads.
She grinned as the first guy got close, and when he reached for her, she kicked out, catching him in the balls. He doubled over. At the same time she ducked a meaty fist from another man and spun around. She kicked him in the knee. It hurt him but not enough.
She could draw her knife, but she had no illusions about getting away.
Not from three men.
Showing her knife now would only put her at a disadvantage—she’d lose the knife for sure, and she had a feeling she’d need it later.
A hard arm wrapped around her neck, wrenching back her head, while others grabbed for her wrists. A cloth-covered hand clamped over her mouth.
She didn’t understand…until she breathed in the sickly sweet scent, and dizziness assailed her.
Chloroform.
No, hell, no! Anger gave her strength. She tried to hold her breath as she doubled her efforts, stomping toes, gouging shins, but the dizziness got worse.
She managed a solid head butt, got her heel into a soft groin…
Someone cursed while someone else laughed.
Off to the side, a man said, “Get her feet, you moron!”
A fourth man? What the hell? Had they sent a battalion after her?
Unfortunately, Quin was cowed enough that he jumped to obey, struggling to grab hold of her feet. She kicked him in the face, bashing his nose and sending him backward. Poor Quin crumpled to the ground, blood flowing.
Someone laughed even harder at that.
“You’re useless,” the man said. “Utterly useless.” And then, out of nowhere, she got clubbed in the temple.
And even as she faded, Arizona feared for Quin.
She also recognized the voice.
Joel Pitts. The homely little creep from the bar. The kindly, goofy artist.
Well, hell.
Now it made sense.
* * *
FROM THE TOP of an abandoned building, his eyes burning, Spencer watched Arizona being dragged into the pawn shop. Each of the men who’d dared to touch her would pay dearly. He’d see to it.
He had himself under icy control, because that’s what was needed.
But as soon as he had her safe again—
Jackson crept up beside him. “How many?”
“Counting the kid and the f**ked-up artist, five. The artist and the kid went in with her.”
“So the others are just guards, huh? That’s convenient.”
“She maimed them,” Spencer said, and he tried not to sound admiring. But damn, she was a handful and then some. If there hadn’t been so many of them, she just might have pulled it off.
Jackson leaned up to look over the roof and grinned at the sight of one guy rubbing his crotch, another still bent double, holding himself, and the third limping on a damaged knee as he went around to the back of the building. “Girl’s got deadly aim, ya know?”
Yes, he did know. He’d once been the recipient of that aim.
Before she’d come to trust him. Before she’d come to stay at his home.
Before she’d given herself to him.
Knowing he had to block those thoughts or emotion would overshadow deliberation, he shook his head. “Dare is watching the back exit?”
“Yeah. He’ll have that third guy covered, too. Unless they have an underground tunnel, they aren’t going anywhere with her.”
The building they’d dragged her into was square, squat and visible on all sides.
With the note she’d left, Arizona also had left detailed info about the area. She must have gotten up early enough to run the neighborhood through a program check. In one sentence she’d apologized to Spencer for not telling him her plans, and in the next she’d told him that if he insisted on getting involved, he should follow her instructions.
And he did.
“Could be a basement.” It amazed Spencer that he managed to string together coherent words with such blazing rage squeezing his throat and surging through his bloodstream. Trust went both ways, but Arizona would learn more about that once he had her safe.
“Probably is. At least a cellar or something like it. Most of these old shitholes have them.” Jackson chewed his bottom lip and shocked Spencer by deferring to him. “So what do you want to do?”
“Kill them all.”
“Seriously?”
Damn it. Jackson hadn’t sounded particularly shocked or disagreeable about that idea. Spencer shook his head. “No, not the kid.” He rubbed his tired eyes and accepted the truth. “I believe that’s Quin, the waiter from the bar. Arizona…cared for him, that’s why she’s here. He could be in a forced situation. And she’ll kick my ass if I let him get hurt.”
If she’d gone to the others first, no way would they have let her be involved. Going to the bar was enough to get their panties in a bunch. Meeting in this neighborhood?
No, they’d have nixed the deal to try something else, and while she trusted they’d have eventually been successful, what would have happened to Quin in the meantime?
“Come, sit down, Quin. Let’s talk, okay?”
Shaking his head, he took a step back.
Her senses prickled. “I’m at least an hour early, so I’m guessing we have a little time, right?”
He breathed faster. “Actually…” His dark eyes lowered. He shook his head again. “No.”
Arizona felt the shift in the air.
Oh, shit.
She sprang from the seat just as three men approached, all from different angles.
Three! Well, they weren’t taking any chances with her, the buttheads.
She grinned as the first guy got close, and when he reached for her, she kicked out, catching him in the balls. He doubled over. At the same time she ducked a meaty fist from another man and spun around. She kicked him in the knee. It hurt him but not enough.
She could draw her knife, but she had no illusions about getting away.
Not from three men.
Showing her knife now would only put her at a disadvantage—she’d lose the knife for sure, and she had a feeling she’d need it later.
A hard arm wrapped around her neck, wrenching back her head, while others grabbed for her wrists. A cloth-covered hand clamped over her mouth.
She didn’t understand…until she breathed in the sickly sweet scent, and dizziness assailed her.
Chloroform.
No, hell, no! Anger gave her strength. She tried to hold her breath as she doubled her efforts, stomping toes, gouging shins, but the dizziness got worse.
She managed a solid head butt, got her heel into a soft groin…
Someone cursed while someone else laughed.
Off to the side, a man said, “Get her feet, you moron!”
A fourth man? What the hell? Had they sent a battalion after her?
Unfortunately, Quin was cowed enough that he jumped to obey, struggling to grab hold of her feet. She kicked him in the face, bashing his nose and sending him backward. Poor Quin crumpled to the ground, blood flowing.
Someone laughed even harder at that.
“You’re useless,” the man said. “Utterly useless.” And then, out of nowhere, she got clubbed in the temple.
And even as she faded, Arizona feared for Quin.
She also recognized the voice.
Joel Pitts. The homely little creep from the bar. The kindly, goofy artist.
Well, hell.
Now it made sense.
* * *
FROM THE TOP of an abandoned building, his eyes burning, Spencer watched Arizona being dragged into the pawn shop. Each of the men who’d dared to touch her would pay dearly. He’d see to it.
He had himself under icy control, because that’s what was needed.
But as soon as he had her safe again—
Jackson crept up beside him. “How many?”
“Counting the kid and the f**ked-up artist, five. The artist and the kid went in with her.”
“So the others are just guards, huh? That’s convenient.”
“She maimed them,” Spencer said, and he tried not to sound admiring. But damn, she was a handful and then some. If there hadn’t been so many of them, she just might have pulled it off.
Jackson leaned up to look over the roof and grinned at the sight of one guy rubbing his crotch, another still bent double, holding himself, and the third limping on a damaged knee as he went around to the back of the building. “Girl’s got deadly aim, ya know?”
Yes, he did know. He’d once been the recipient of that aim.
Before she’d come to trust him. Before she’d come to stay at his home.
Before she’d given herself to him.
Knowing he had to block those thoughts or emotion would overshadow deliberation, he shook his head. “Dare is watching the back exit?”
“Yeah. He’ll have that third guy covered, too. Unless they have an underground tunnel, they aren’t going anywhere with her.”
The building they’d dragged her into was square, squat and visible on all sides.
With the note she’d left, Arizona also had left detailed info about the area. She must have gotten up early enough to run the neighborhood through a program check. In one sentence she’d apologized to Spencer for not telling him her plans, and in the next she’d told him that if he insisted on getting involved, he should follow her instructions.
And he did.
“Could be a basement.” It amazed Spencer that he managed to string together coherent words with such blazing rage squeezing his throat and surging through his bloodstream. Trust went both ways, but Arizona would learn more about that once he had her safe.
“Probably is. At least a cellar or something like it. Most of these old shitholes have them.” Jackson chewed his bottom lip and shocked Spencer by deferring to him. “So what do you want to do?”
“Kill them all.”
“Seriously?”
Damn it. Jackson hadn’t sounded particularly shocked or disagreeable about that idea. Spencer shook his head. “No, not the kid.” He rubbed his tired eyes and accepted the truth. “I believe that’s Quin, the waiter from the bar. Arizona…cared for him, that’s why she’s here. He could be in a forced situation. And she’ll kick my ass if I let him get hurt.”
