Chapter Twenty-Four
Before I can open my mouth to scream, Thomas punches Nico square in the nose. He goes down instantly, his body hitting the pavement with a loud smack.
“Nico!” I cry, reaching for him.
He looks up at me, blinking rapidly. There’s already the ghost of a purple bruise forming below his right eye. When he attempts to speak, he coughs twice, then pulls his hand away from his mouth.
Blood.
My stomach sinks. At the very least, he’s concussed.
“Bind his arms and legs,” Thomas tells Clarisse, who spits out her bubble gum in response.
“Then tape his mouth shut. And no weird ranting this time, okay? I’ll search his things.
Once we find the book and hand it over to Little Lester, I say we knock this loser out and go.
Doubt anyone’s going to care if we rough up this pretty face.
Plus, we’re shit kidnappers. Let’s stick to thievin’ from here on out, leave the rest to the Shrug. ”
Clarisse inclines her head in my direction. “What about the mouthy chick?”
“Leave her. She’s too dumb to understand what’s going on. Darlin’, she’s the one who got in our car in the first place. We’ve already got the brains behind this operation.”
And even though I fear for Nico’s life, even though I’m furious that these people won’t leave us the hell alone, I can’t help but smile.
Because these C-list villains? They’re underestimating me, just like I knew they would. And that’ll be their downfall.
I continue to shake and shudder by Nico’s body, pretending to weep. But from where he’s lying, he can easily see that my face is dry as my vagine during sex with Job.
“What are you doing?” he mouths.
All I can do is wink.
“Get back, girl.” Clarisse shoves me away, using the same rope as before to bind Nico’s ankles.
Good. I hope Nico remembers everything I taught him about escaping from restraints. And he soon proves me a capable teacher. Behind me, Clarisse is ripping duct tape. And Thomas is too busy tearing apart Nico’s backpack to notice anything amiss.
I creep up behind him and tap him on the shoulder.
“What?” He continues rummaging, tossing a pair of Nico’s boxer briefs onto the street.
“S-sir,” I stutter. “There’s…there’s something you should know.”
He turns around then, his face bored. “What is it, sweetie?”
First, I kick him in the balls.
He immediately doubles over.
Next, I crouch and elbow him in the gut.
He tips his head back and howls in pain.
Opening up the perfect opportunity for me to stick my fingers in his eyes.
“Don’t mess with the heroine.” I step on his abdomen as he collapses on the ground. “Or the man she loves.”
I knew my black belt in tae kwon do and those self-defense classes I took at the YMCA after reading the second ATOSAS book would come in handy.
At first they were just for fanfic research, but then I really grew to love the feeling of getting stronger, of being able to defend myself from bullies like Kyle.
I swore to myself that I’d never feel helpless again.
But the last time we crossed paths with Thomas and Clarisse, they tied us up before I had a chance to show off my skills.
Not this time around.
Not with Nico’s life at stake.
The entire thing happens so quickly that Clarisse misses the action, turning around at the last minute and gaping in pure shock. When she sees Thomas doubled over on the sidewalk, clutching his junk, she lets out a shriek so shrill, I think it’s an ambulance siren.
“Baby!” she cries. “What did she do to you?”
She abandons Nico’s half-bound wrists in order to fall over her nearly passed-out partner, fussing over his injuries. While she’s distracted, I use Angel’s key to scoop up the gum she spat on the sidewalk.
And dispose of it in her bird’s nest of blue hair.
“You witch!” she wails, as if I’ve done more damage to her than Thomas. “What did you just do to me? To my hair?!” Clarisse clutches her chest with dramatic flair. “I’ve been hit!” She claws at a nonexistent bullet wound, falling next to Thomas on the sidewalk. “I’ll have to cut it all off!”
I run over Nico, who is already rotating his hands, attempting to loosen his ropes so he can slide his wrists out. Without hesitation, I move to his ankles, freeing his legs from the restraints. We move in tandem, as if our movements are choreographed, rehearsed.
When I’m done, I rip the duct tape from his mouth, wincing at the sound of it tearing away from his flesh.
“Behind you!” he shouts the moment he’s free.
I feel a cold object press against the back of my head.
Slowly, I turn around to face M.C. “the Shrug” Lester.
He’s holding a small pistol, now pointed directly between my eyes.
The worst part?
He’s smiling at us.
“Very good,” he says. “Poetic shit, that stuff you were mumbling under your breath about the marrow of shrouded words or whatever the fuck. That really was a pretty line. But you see, gunpowder beats paper.”
He cocks the gun, and I hear it click, just like they do in the thrillers.
Ugh. I hate thrillers.
“Just give me the notebook and get on your knees,” he says. “I know you have it. It’s easy to see this guy cares about you. You’ll be good collateral until I collect what I’m owed. I’m real good at reading people.”
Sure he fucking is.
This guy? He hasn’t read a day in his life.
Maybe if he had, he’d be able to see what’s coming next.
But still, with Nico beside me and a pistol pointed at my face, I forget how to breathe. How to think. The Shrug has the advantage here, and he knows it.
“Hand me my bag,” I say.
“You,” he nods toward Clarisse, keeping the gun and his eyes trained on me. “Will you stop rolling around on the ground and bring me her purse, please?”
Clarisse sniffles but obeys.
He’s the false queen Talassa to their Nix and Naia.
And I think we have his lackey’s ledger.
There’s no way that one muscle man’s notebook has the power to take down an entire organization, but there has to be something incriminating enough in there to make Little Lester travel all this way, right?
Maybe we hold more chips than we realize.
And once he takes the book back, he’s going to get away with everything.
But at least Nico will be safe.
And then I hear footsteps, and a voice says, “Not so fast.”
I recognize that voice.
Roy stands across the street, dressed in a giant fur coat and bare legs that can’t be comfortable in the cold, holding what appears to be a bedazzled pink can of mace.
Next to him, Kalli is demonstrating her most intimidating scowl, a taser in one hand and a phone in the other. When I look closer, I realize she must be filming. Live streaming, if I’m not mistaken. That familiar blinking red light taunts the Shrug, who squints in confusion.
And in front of them, Angel grins, walking toward us and swinging a baseball bat—signed by Babe Ruth, no less. They’re wearing an elaborate top hat and raincoat. Purrtha Mason hums at their feet.
My very own Upper Shoal.
They’re here to defend me.
Fight for me.
With me.
To remind me, once for all, that I am not in this alone.
I hear police sirens swelling in the distance.
Angel’s smile only grows.
“Don’t screw with the Salty Girls,” they say.
The Shrug hesitates, lowering his gun in surprise.
And then Angel takes a big swing.