Crimson Death
Page 199
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A voice down the hallway asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Go back inside, ma’am. Just a noise complaint.”
“Miss, could we step inside the room so we don’t attract more attention, please?” the older one asked.
I didn’t see a problem with it, but the bodyguards and I had a deal: I would remember to let them do their job. So I said, “Domino?”
“Sure,” he said, and stepped back, keeping me behind him as they came through the door. Once we were all in the room, it seemed a lot smaller.
“Miss, please step out where we can get a better look at you,” the older one asked.
It was reasonable since the lights were dim in the room, so I stepped out from behind Domino. I fought the urge to touch my hair; if I’d been that worried about it, I should have looked in a mirror before we opened the door.
He arched an eyebrow that was still black like his hair had been once. The young one gave me wide dark eyes. Apparently, I wasn’t meeting expectations for him either.
“Were you fighting?” the older one asked.
“No,” Domino said, “we were . . .”
“I didn’t ask you. I asked her,” he said, and even with the Irish accent, it was still a cop voice, abrupt and cutting across any nonsense.
Domino didn’t argue, just stepped a little back so I was more to the front. “No, we weren’t fighting,” I said.
“We had reports of a woman screaming, miss. If you weren’t fighting, what were you doing?”
I could have been coy, but I wasn’t good at it, so I decided to try the absolute truth. “We were having sex.”
He looked startled instead of cynical for the first time. His sidekick looked at the floor as if he suddenly didn’t want to look at me or Domino. I don’t think they’d expected me to just admit it.
“And that’s your story?” the older guy asked.
“It’s the truth,” I said.
Domino held his arms out so they could see the bloody scratches on them. “The sex got a little rough, but it wasn’t my girlfriend who got hurt.”
I blushed, didn’t mean to, but it helped our story, so it was a well-timed blush. “Sorry about that, Dom, really.”
“I’m not complaining, Anita, just explaining to the nice hotel security.” We shared one of those couple smiles, one that was actually not real for us, but we both played it for real. I realized that I’d gotten better at undercover work over the years; I’d never be great at it, but I was improving.
The older security person was looking from one to the other of us as if he knew something was off, but not what. If he’d been an on-duty cop he’d have probably found a way to check us out more, but he was hotel security and he’d done his job. We just needed to keep looking pleasant until he left.
The younger guy was so embarrassed that he still couldn’t look at either of us. With everything people do in hotel rooms, I wasn’t sure he had the nerves for the job. Then he looked up, and there was something in his eyes that didn’t match embarrassment and made him look older.
The older guy said, “Well, thank you for letting us in your room, and just keep the noise level down.” He started to turn for the door, and his fist lashed out at me as he moved so that it was just a continuation of the movement. I managed to avoid being hit, but the other fist was swinging back at me. The young one had rushed Domino, and we were both suddenly too busy avoiding getting hit to go for the only guns we had within reach.
76
THEY WERE MOVING in a blur of speed; all I could think of was Magda in the hallway with Mort. I remembered what he’d said: Don’t try to see it. Just feel it. I was faster than human, faster even than Mort, but I wasn’t as fast as the big fists that were flying at me. I managed to avoid the blur of his big fists, and blocked a few, but it was a waiting game. Either I was going to find an opening and cripple him, or he’d get through my guard and that would be it. I didn’t have time to look for Domino, or wonder where Ethan was, because it was everything I could do just to keep ahead of the fight I was in; I could hear the noises and got the sense of the fight that Domino was having in his part of the room, but that was it. And then there was a sharp pain in my chest. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t raise my arms. I couldn’t . . . A fist connected with the side of my face. The next thing I knew, I was on the floor looking up with the big guy sitting across my waist. I wasn’t completely passed out, but I was close, and I couldn’t catch my breath. Why did my chest hurt? I was stunned from the blow to my face, which made some things feel distant, but the pain in my chest and the fact that I couldn’t catch my breath, that wasn’t from this fight. I didn’t see the door to the connecting room open, but I saw him look up, saw his eyes react, and then his hand moved. I got a glimpse of a silver blur and thought, Knife. It felt like my right shoulder had been hit by a baseball bat and my arm went numb, but I was already numb and distant from the head blow; what was happening to me? I saw the younger guy go past toward the door behind me. I wanted to look for Domino and Ethan, but I still couldn’t move enough. It would pass. I knew it would pass, but would it pass in time?
“Don’t kill that one,” the older guy said. “She’s having trouble breathing.” He didn’t sound Irish at all now, more Ukrainian, or maybe Russian, or something.
I heard the sounds of fighting and another sound that was wet and not good. Someone was hurt bad. What did he mean, Don’t kill that one? Why had the young one been able to just walk away from Domino? I heard sounds of struggling behind me. I still couldn’t catch my breath. My chest felt like he was sitting on it instead of my waist. There were bad sounds coming from the other side of the room where Domino had been. I could move now, I was pretty sure, but if I turned to look at Domino or Ethan, then the man on top of me would know I could move. I wanted to use that one chance to try to save us, not just look around. Fuck.
The wet, bubbling sounds in the other part of the room sounded more frantic. I sort of knew what they meant, but I didn’t want to think it all the way through, not yet. I started gasping for air—couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe . . . couldn’t . . .
“Take that thing out of him, before you kill her, too,” the older guy said.
I had to look now, but I knew. He was my animal to call, one of my moitié bêtes; he gave me some of his healing, speed, strength, stamina, and I gave him more power, but there were downsides.
My chest felt like it was collapsing, I was struggling to breathe, and it fucking hurt to try. I had to see. I turned my head, while I gasped like I was suffocating. Domino was pinned to the closet door with what looked like a sword hilt sticking out of his chest. Blood was bubbling out of his mouth; he coughed on it, choked on it. I had a shadow of the pain he was experiencing and the frantic struggle to breathe, drowning in your own blood while your lungs collapse and your body keeps trying to breathe, because your body keeps trying to work, even when it’s too broken to ever work again.
“Go back inside, ma’am. Just a noise complaint.”
“Miss, could we step inside the room so we don’t attract more attention, please?” the older one asked.
I didn’t see a problem with it, but the bodyguards and I had a deal: I would remember to let them do their job. So I said, “Domino?”
“Sure,” he said, and stepped back, keeping me behind him as they came through the door. Once we were all in the room, it seemed a lot smaller.
“Miss, please step out where we can get a better look at you,” the older one asked.
It was reasonable since the lights were dim in the room, so I stepped out from behind Domino. I fought the urge to touch my hair; if I’d been that worried about it, I should have looked in a mirror before we opened the door.
He arched an eyebrow that was still black like his hair had been once. The young one gave me wide dark eyes. Apparently, I wasn’t meeting expectations for him either.
“Were you fighting?” the older one asked.
“No,” Domino said, “we were . . .”
“I didn’t ask you. I asked her,” he said, and even with the Irish accent, it was still a cop voice, abrupt and cutting across any nonsense.
Domino didn’t argue, just stepped a little back so I was more to the front. “No, we weren’t fighting,” I said.
“We had reports of a woman screaming, miss. If you weren’t fighting, what were you doing?”
I could have been coy, but I wasn’t good at it, so I decided to try the absolute truth. “We were having sex.”
He looked startled instead of cynical for the first time. His sidekick looked at the floor as if he suddenly didn’t want to look at me or Domino. I don’t think they’d expected me to just admit it.
“And that’s your story?” the older guy asked.
“It’s the truth,” I said.
Domino held his arms out so they could see the bloody scratches on them. “The sex got a little rough, but it wasn’t my girlfriend who got hurt.”
I blushed, didn’t mean to, but it helped our story, so it was a well-timed blush. “Sorry about that, Dom, really.”
“I’m not complaining, Anita, just explaining to the nice hotel security.” We shared one of those couple smiles, one that was actually not real for us, but we both played it for real. I realized that I’d gotten better at undercover work over the years; I’d never be great at it, but I was improving.
The older security person was looking from one to the other of us as if he knew something was off, but not what. If he’d been an on-duty cop he’d have probably found a way to check us out more, but he was hotel security and he’d done his job. We just needed to keep looking pleasant until he left.
The younger guy was so embarrassed that he still couldn’t look at either of us. With everything people do in hotel rooms, I wasn’t sure he had the nerves for the job. Then he looked up, and there was something in his eyes that didn’t match embarrassment and made him look older.
The older guy said, “Well, thank you for letting us in your room, and just keep the noise level down.” He started to turn for the door, and his fist lashed out at me as he moved so that it was just a continuation of the movement. I managed to avoid being hit, but the other fist was swinging back at me. The young one had rushed Domino, and we were both suddenly too busy avoiding getting hit to go for the only guns we had within reach.
76
THEY WERE MOVING in a blur of speed; all I could think of was Magda in the hallway with Mort. I remembered what he’d said: Don’t try to see it. Just feel it. I was faster than human, faster even than Mort, but I wasn’t as fast as the big fists that were flying at me. I managed to avoid the blur of his big fists, and blocked a few, but it was a waiting game. Either I was going to find an opening and cripple him, or he’d get through my guard and that would be it. I didn’t have time to look for Domino, or wonder where Ethan was, because it was everything I could do just to keep ahead of the fight I was in; I could hear the noises and got the sense of the fight that Domino was having in his part of the room, but that was it. And then there was a sharp pain in my chest. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t raise my arms. I couldn’t . . . A fist connected with the side of my face. The next thing I knew, I was on the floor looking up with the big guy sitting across my waist. I wasn’t completely passed out, but I was close, and I couldn’t catch my breath. Why did my chest hurt? I was stunned from the blow to my face, which made some things feel distant, but the pain in my chest and the fact that I couldn’t catch my breath, that wasn’t from this fight. I didn’t see the door to the connecting room open, but I saw him look up, saw his eyes react, and then his hand moved. I got a glimpse of a silver blur and thought, Knife. It felt like my right shoulder had been hit by a baseball bat and my arm went numb, but I was already numb and distant from the head blow; what was happening to me? I saw the younger guy go past toward the door behind me. I wanted to look for Domino and Ethan, but I still couldn’t move enough. It would pass. I knew it would pass, but would it pass in time?
“Don’t kill that one,” the older guy said. “She’s having trouble breathing.” He didn’t sound Irish at all now, more Ukrainian, or maybe Russian, or something.
I heard the sounds of fighting and another sound that was wet and not good. Someone was hurt bad. What did he mean, Don’t kill that one? Why had the young one been able to just walk away from Domino? I heard sounds of struggling behind me. I still couldn’t catch my breath. My chest felt like he was sitting on it instead of my waist. There were bad sounds coming from the other side of the room where Domino had been. I could move now, I was pretty sure, but if I turned to look at Domino or Ethan, then the man on top of me would know I could move. I wanted to use that one chance to try to save us, not just look around. Fuck.
The wet, bubbling sounds in the other part of the room sounded more frantic. I sort of knew what they meant, but I didn’t want to think it all the way through, not yet. I started gasping for air—couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe . . . couldn’t . . .
“Take that thing out of him, before you kill her, too,” the older guy said.
I had to look now, but I knew. He was my animal to call, one of my moitié bêtes; he gave me some of his healing, speed, strength, stamina, and I gave him more power, but there were downsides.
My chest felt like it was collapsing, I was struggling to breathe, and it fucking hurt to try. I had to see. I turned my head, while I gasped like I was suffocating. Domino was pinned to the closet door with what looked like a sword hilt sticking out of his chest. Blood was bubbling out of his mouth; he coughed on it, choked on it. I had a shadow of the pain he was experiencing and the frantic struggle to breathe, drowning in your own blood while your lungs collapse and your body keeps trying to breathe, because your body keeps trying to work, even when it’s too broken to ever work again.
