39. We Win Some, We Lose Some
39
We Win Some, We Lose Some
Lilith
After fifteen minutes, we allow Antonio to send Matt the code to open the garage door. We wanted to leave them in there until we got back; however, Antonio is correct that this is not the time to divide and conquer.
Matt immediately sends a brief summary of who, what, when, where, and how to the group chat. We go over the particulars silently, each of us preparing mentally for what we all assume will be the final chapter of a nightmare that has been following us for years.
Well, except for Agatha. She chatters to Antoinette, happily inhaling the bag of chips Mickey provided, knowing she hates going into anything on an empty stomach.
It doesn’t take us long to be near our destination, and we all prepare, inserting the special COMS into our ears and securing our phones in zipped jacket pockets.
Mickey leaves Antoinette and Agatha on a street corner, having already given them instructions on where we’ll rendezvous. He continues along the same road, then swings around into a parking garage, taking the first open spot we come across.
Exiting the vehicle, Mickey takes off ahead, making a beeline for his designated post. Antonio and I glance at each other, pausing for a moment to say whatever we can with a look. Then, with a final smile, we walk in separate directions, each carrying only enough weaponry on our person to allow us to move around inconspicuously.
Entering the building, I palm a revolver, then head toward the stairway, quickly descending until the lights begin to dim and the damp overrides the senses. Shivering, I slow my descent, sticking close to the walls, pausing near doorways to listen for anyone headed in my direction.
Reaching the bottom, I inch the door open, peering into the darkness before cautiously entering the room and shutting the door silently behind me.
I used to be wary of the dark decades ago before I learned the dark is the best camouflage—physically, emotionally, and mentally. The dark hides the truth, it puts a buffer between the here and now, and the demons that lurk around the edges of your psyche.
Sinking into the darkness, it cloaks me like a comforting old friend, allowing my others sense to take over. I move forward, sure-footed and content, calm in the familiarity of otherwise foreign surroundings because this is my wheelhouse, the safe space where I truly shine.
The glance I got of the blueprints of where Irina was supposed to be holed up appears to be accurate. My progress in the dark is slow, but soon, light begins to seep in, and I can make out basic shapes. A few more minutes go by, and then the telltale sound of voices echoes in the distance, becoming increasingly louder as I approach a large doorway.
Stopping at the side of the doorway, I continue to listen intently. Now that I’m focused, I recognize the din of many, many voices, and I cringe, knowing what awaits me once I enter the next room.
Another fucking clown-car warehouse situation.
Chatter in my ear confirms our group has reached their designated starting points, and the guys are nearing their own after their brief delay. I take a moment to center myself, my back pressed against the cool concrete wall, frowning as I finally pinpoint the odd warmth that radiates in my chest.
Contentment.
Laughing under my breath, I shake my head, a bit disappointed there’s no one here for me to share this insane revelation with. Whenever anyone has ever mentioned the concept of being ready to die, I always scoffed because the mere idea that readiness is a real thing when faced with inevitable impending death is preposterous.
But now, I get it.
Sighing, I push off the wall and turn into the doorway. There’s still no one nearby, and I mutter to myself about how none of these fucking people ever learn about blind spots and leaving yourself open for sneak attacks in these large, cavernous spaces.
I creep along the perimeter of the room, sharing pertinent details of my surroundings in a hushed tone to my COM. Everyone does the same in a methodical rotation, everyone knowing the clock is winding down on our clandestine recon.
Sure enough, Antoinette curses, indicating she’s been spotted, but then Agatha cackles almost gleefully, punctuated by shouting in the distance.
And then, all hell breaks loose.
I’m on the far side of the room, where fewer people are congregated, and at the shout, the group of four men look over but make no move to join the ruckus. Frowning, I approach carefully, taking out my other weapon so I’m fully prepared to take them out if they make a sudden move. I stop not even six feet from them, but they’re so distracted by what’s happening on the far side of the room that they don’t even notice.
“Freeze,” I say sharply, yet quietly, and they do, their backs straightening as they all become very still. “Keep your mouths shut, and turn around slowly.”
They all turn slowly, four sets of eyes staring in horror at the revolvers in both my hands. My lip curls, my guts twisting at the blatant fear in their eyes. Young eyes. Haunted eyes.
Fucking boys called to fight another battle that is not their own.
“If you don’t want to die,” I say firmly, “leave.”
Three of them nod, immediately making a move to do as I’ve instructed, but the fourth one puts his hand up, the glint in his eye suddenly tinged with defiance. His friends pause, their scared gaze shifting to their friend, who continues to stare at me in a challenge.
“Don’t do it,” I warn, my grip on my weapons flexing. “It’s not worth it.”
The defiant boy falters, glances at his friends, and then back to me, his chin lifting. He opens his mouth and postures a bit, but before he can say a word, I interject, “I will kill you. And after I kill you, I will hunt down every person who has ever loved you and kill them, too.”
He blinks, some of that defiance dimming as he searches my gaze, but he doesn’t stand down, obviously still conflicted. He leans toward me, but the other three grab him, keeping him in place, so he leans away from their hold and says quietly, “She will find us and do worse.”
“She won’t find you because she will be dead.”
He searches my eyes again, and I don’t know exactly what he sees there, but he relaxes and shakes his friends off. The defiance in his eyes changes, relief shining back at me as he nods his understanding.
They turn as once, each glancing in their own direction, ready to make a run for it when I stop them. “Wait.”
The previously defiant boy turns back to me as I secure one of my weapons and reach into my pocket, pulling out a business card I always carry there and holding it out to him. Hesitantly, he takes it, frowning as he reads the front.
THE END
He flips it over, frowning again at the numbers printed there, so I say, “Call it. They’ll help you.”
He looks up at me suspiciously, and I attempt to give him my best reassuring smile, but the chaos on the other side of the room is spreading, drawing my attention. After a moment, he nods again, shoving the card into his pocket before they turn and make a run for the exit.
I watch after them, ensuring the door closes on their departure, and then turn my focus back to the task at hand, thankful my intuition didn’t get me injured or killed this early in the mission.
Concrete flies around me, a bullet buried in the concrete beam beside me. Ducking down, I curse loudly, annoyed that I didn’t get back on target sooner. More bullets bounce around me, and I crouch lower against the beam, peeking around to see where the gunfire is coming from.
A lone man with a big gun approaches, and I roll my eyes, wishing I could get a direct shot without having to come out of my hiding spot.
The gunfire ceases, and I peek out again, snorting as he stands out in the open, reloading his hand cannon. Smiling, I come out from behind the beam, gun hand raised as I move into a spot where I have a clear shot of him.
His eyes widen, his reload hitching as he loses focus, but then he drops the hand cannon, yanking a pistol from his jacket, lifting it, and rushing toward me just as I squeeze the trigger.
Click.
My gun misfires, then clicks again and again, the cruel smirk on the advancing man’s face punctuating the predicament I’m currently in.
Shit.
I glance around, seeing no one nearby I recognize, then quickly turn my attention back to my immediate problem, closing the distance between us. He lifts his arm higher, points his gun, and stops.
Bracing myself, I watch his hand, waiting for the telltale squeeze around the handle a split second before the trigger finger pulls.
“Lilith,” Mickey shouts just as the gun fires—bang, bang, bang—the force of his body hitting mine, sending me sprawling. The impact takes the wind out of me, and we slide a few feet from the momentum of the fall, coming to rest some distance from the center of the chaos.
Lifting my head, I see the man with the gun still walking toward us. He squeezes the trigger again, then frowns when nothing happens, tossing the gun aside as he continues closing in on us.
Choking for breath, I quickly roll onto my hands and knees, using the wall to stagger to my feet. Supporting myself on the wall, my hands close around the hilt of a sword displayed directly in front of me, relief washing over me as it easily lifts from its holder.
I turn my head slightly, listening, waiting. I remain motionless until the air shifts around me, until the last second before his hands would close around my neck, and then I spin, stepping out and back with one foot as my hands lift, swinging the sword around in an arc meant for death.
He doesn’t see it coming. His eyes widen almost comically, the bloom of red at his neck slow to start but soon drips, then runs freely, and he falls to the floor as his hands are still lifting to his wound.
“Incoming,” Mickey says sharply, and I look up just in time to see two more men bearing down on me. I turn my body, holding the sword out of sight until they’re almost in front of me.
Shouting, I leap forward, shoving the tip of the blade into the throat of the first man, then spinning away, using the momentum of the move to yank the blade free. Swinging back around, the blade sings through the air, cutting deeply into the side of the other man’s neck, then sliding free.
They both stand there, momentarily stunned, blood slowly seeping, then spurting freely as they both sink to the ground, toppling face-first onto the concrete.
A glance around reveals no obvious incoming attack, so I turn back to Mickey, dropping the sword at my feet. I kneel beside him, patting his arms and chest, looking for blood. “Are you hurt?”
Mickey slaps my hands away and attempts to sit up but then groans and falls onto his back, panting slightly. “They got me somewhere. Hurts to breathe.”
“Should’ve killed him a bit slower,” I grumble, yanking his suit jacket open and noting the blood on his shirt.
“You’ve always had a penchant for the dramatic,” Mickey jokes, then coughs, flinching in pain.
“Don’t move, old man,” I instruct, trying to keep myself centered enough to fix the problem. “I can use your belt to help stop the bleeding.”
I move for his belt, and once again, his hands slap me way. Frowning, I meet his eyes, immediately shaking my head at the truth I see shining back at me. “Don’t fucking do that. You’re fine. You’re going to be fine.”
Sighing, he shakes his head. “Not this time, Lils.”
“Absolutely not—“ I fume, but he interrupts me, his gaze and his voice steady,
“It’ll be okay. You’ll be okay.”
“No. I will not be okay.”
“I love you, kid,” Mickey murmurs, a small smile on his lips. “It’s been an honor living my life by your side.”
“No. No. No,” I mutter forcefully, my hands gripping his suit jacket as I lean in close. “Don’t fucking do this, you dickhead.”
He smiles faintly, a low, pained chuckle escaping. “It’s time, Lils. No fucking takebacks.”
“Fuck you,” I sputter, blinking back the burning in my eyes. “You don’t get to make that call.”
He smiles. The motherfucker smiles up at me, his chuckle now echoed by a gurgle. “I did my job to the very fucking end, Lils. I’m an old man who can rest easy knowing you no longer need me.”
“Of course, I need you. Don’t be stupid,” I say hurriedly, refusing just to accept his bullshit right now.
His smile broadens. “Give it a rest, Lils. Just tell me you love me, then go finish this.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Gritting my teeth, I push back the slew of denials I want to spew everywhere. I ignore my urge to shake him, to scream and shout back at reality with wishful thinking and childlike fanciful diatribe.
“I love you.”
He smiles again, his hand squeezing mine.
And then nothing.
His eyelids droop, his hand releases me, and the light in his eyes dims.
And he’s gone.
The chaos that surrounds me fades. The shouting ceases, the cursing is muffled, and the lights flicker dramatically as bulbs explode from bullet ricochets.
My heartbeat stutters in my chest.
My breath stops in my throat.
My hand moves to the sword’s hilt on the concrete beside me. Gripping it tightly, slowly, I come to my feet, my eyes focused on my dead uncle at my feet.
The last surviving elder of my family. The man who gave up his entire life to see that, if nothing else, I survived.
Agony jackknifes through me, and I choke it back, stomp it down, and shove it away with the blunt ends of the rage bubbling inside me.
Fuel. Focus. Fire.
Ignoring the urge to charge forward, I back away, skirting along the wall, making my way carefully around until Irina comes into view. She’s surrounded by men, watching the carnage around her with absolute delight because that’s what monsters do. They start a war, then sit on the outskirts and watch others fall from the blade of their own arrogance. For nothing.
Glancing around, I take a quick headcount of my people, relieved to find them all still standing, if not a little worse for wear.
A gunshot rings out, then another and another, and three of the men around Irina drop to the floor. Another gunshot, another body drops, and I turn my gaze in the direction of the gunfire, my eyes connecting with Antonio’s briefly.
He’s cutting me a direct line to that fucking bitch.
More gunfire is directed at her and her guards; more bodies drop to the floor until finally, they all start to scurry, some even breaking away and making a run for it. She screeches just as reinforcements arrive through the doorway, and I curse, wishing I had stayed over there with a lot of ammo to cut them down before they managed to enter the room.
Irina cackles, her men suddenly looking a bit less scared as they see help arriving, a few even gloating, taunting. The other men swarm around, reinforcing the few men still standing, but then, gunfire in the middle of them has everyone shouting and pressing outward.
Frowning, I move a bit closer, attempting to see what has everyone in such a tither. The men once again scurry, some falling to the floor dead, others shouting and cursing as a few more make a break for the exit, giving me a clear view of what’s going on.
Darius fucking Hughes cuts through the crowd, shooting people point blank in the face as he closes in on Irina, his eyes daggers of fury.
It only takes him a few more steps before he’s on her, his arm wrapping around her throat, the barrel of his gun pressed to the side of her head. “Back off.”
Her features twist, the fear reflecting off the whites of her eyes as she yells, “Do what he says.”
Everyone backs off.
Darius’s arm tightens on her neck, obviously intent on choking the very life out of her. Her hands yank on his forearm, her nails scratching viciously, but he doesn’t flinch, his expression lethal, his voice cold as he says, “It’s time for you to die.”
“I don’t fucking think so,” a voice says from the darkness.
We all freeze, our eyes searching the wall behind Darius.
Dmitri comes into view, his weapon pointed at Darius’s head as he looks around the room. “Well, isn’t this a happy reunion?”
Fuck.