Chapter 12 Rosabelle
Rosabelle
One of the soldiers breaks off from the large group, charging forward with a palpable frustration.
“Okay, what the fuck?” he says by way of hello.
I take a quiet breath, then do a quick check of the magazine to see how many rounds I have left.
Five.
Tension tightens my shoulders.
James took my other gun. I can’t remember why I let him take my other gun.
Approximately nineteen soldiers surround me now. Twenty including James. I took out four earlier.
This must be everyone.
Then, a whisper: “Is that the girl?”
“Seriously, what’s going on?” asks the towering brunette.
James glances at me, his face unreadable.
“I don’t know,” says the guy from earlier. “I’m still waiting for an answer.”
“Malick?” The brunette’s eyes widen, as if surprised to see him. “Isn’t your wife in labor?”
This question pierces the haze of my mind.
I feel a cold prickle at my nape, a sick sensation pooling in my gut. I might’ve killed him. A different version of me might’ve killed him. I might’ve left his wife a widow, his newborn child an orphan—
No.
No.
Not now.
I wrestle my conscience back into its cage.
“Yeah,” says Malick, looking uncomfortable. He runs a hand over the back of his head. “I mean, obviously, it was unexpected.
A few weeks early.”
Soft murmurs from the group.
James props his gun against his shoulder, then pinches the bridge of his nose. When he lifts his head, he looks murderous.
“Get the fuck out of here.”
“But—”
“Now,” he says. “Go be with your wife.”
Malick looks around uncertainly. “Look, man, no disrespect— You know we all love you, but word on the street is you don’t
have the authority—”
James takes a decisive step forward and everyone surges back.
I hear my breath catch.
I’m struck anew by the sheer brawn of him, the untapped power in his body. James moves from skin to skin with disarming ease,
lulling people into a false sense of complacency just long enough for them to forget to be scared. He’s terrifying when he
steps fully into his strength. I can see now that it’s not an act. It’s not a premeditated strategy.
He’s heart and fury in the same body.
“Leave,” he says to Malick. “I’ll deal with Warner.” He looks around. “Where is he, anyway?”
No one answers him.
“Where the hell is my brother?” he says again, loudly this time.
“I—I don’t know,” says Liam.
“Great,” James says, still furious. Then he calls over his shoulder, my name like an expletive: “Rosabelle.”
I nearly flinch.
“Her name is Rosabelle?” says another soldier. “Seriously?”
“Rosabelle,” James says again, his voice even. “Come here.”
I don’t move.
James sighs. He turns to look at me, narrowing his eyes as he says, “Get over here. Now.”
I realize, with rising fear, that I might not have a choice. I take quick inventory of my injuries, compiling a nonexhaustive
list:
fractured ankle;
fractured ribs;
head wound;
shoulder laceration;
possible concussion.
My body is otherwise flayed by myriad cuts and bruises, my ankle so swollen now I can hardly put weight on it. My head is
still bleeding, though I think it’s clotted at least a little. The bigger problem is that I stopped moving for too long; I’ve
lost both momentum and adrenaline. And the truth is, I’m in no state to take on so many fighters alone.
James is still waiting.
I take a breath, then a single, cautious step toward him and the soldiers recoil like a school of fish, drawing back as one
body before lifting nineteen rifles at my face.
James mutters an oath.
I try to hide my limp as I slowly approach the group, keeping my face impassive and my head level even as I walk past the
blur of loaded weapons aimed directly at my heart. Whispers rise up around me like smoke.
“That’s her? I thought she was someone’s kid.”
“Why does she have a tail?”
“Shut up, you did not think that was someone’s kid—”
“Yes, I did!”
“Wait, is she wearing a cat costume?”
“You really thought someone decided to bring their kid to work today?”
I’m not ready to admit defeat.
I just need a new plan.
“Oh shit,” someone says, barking out a laugh. “I just saw the ears—”
Once I’m close enough, I hear James exhale roughly, losing some of his tension. Still, he seems angrier than I expected. He
shoots me a dark look when he says, under his breath, “This isn’t going to work if you can’t take an order to save your own
life.”
I look up at him, confused, but then I cast a glance at our audience and bite back my response.
“So—what now?” asks the tall brunette, looking around. “Has the mission changed?”
The guy with the broken nose nods at me. “I thought we were supposed to bring her in.”
James clamps an arm around my shoulder. “I’ve brought her in. Mission complete.”
“No.” I stiffen, alarm sounding through my body. “Wait—”
James doesn’t meet my eyes. “Try again next time, Rosabelle.”
“James—”
“Hey, where’s Kian?” a woman asks, looking around. “Why isn’t he here?”
Liam points at me. “She killed Kian.”
“What?” Someone gasps. “No—”
The group erupts into agitation.
“You killed Kian?” James goes briefly slack, stunned as he looks at me. “Really?”
“Who’s Kian?” I whisper, eyes widening as I take in the chaos. “I didn’t kill anyone. I mean, I didn’t think I—”
“I saw him,” Liam shouts, his face mottling with color. “He was covered in blood, passed out on the ground—”
“All right, everyone calm down,” says a familiar, disembodied voice.
James stiffens beside me.
A body materializes out of thin air in the distance, the sight of him striking my memory like a match. Black hair, impish
eyes. I remember fighting him in the morgue. I remember lifting a gun to his head.
I remember his name: Kenji.
My pulse picks up.
“Kian’s not dead,” Kenji says as he approaches, his boots echoing. He looks at me, sparing me a searching glance that leaves me unsettled.
Then he narrows his eyes at James. “You didn’t disarm her?”
James turns to me sharply. “Shit, yeah, sorry, I’m going to need the gun,” he says, reaching for the strap.
“No,” I whisper, taking a measured step back.
“You and me?” Kenji says to James, his eyes darkening. “We’re going to talk later. I don’t know what the hell you thought
you were doing today, but just to be clear? Fuck you.”
James glowers. “Great,” he says. “Can’t wait.”
I look from Kenji to James, confused.
I take another step back.
Kenji turns to the group. “Kian’s with the girls now,” he’s saying. He unearths a familiar pair of manacles from his jacket
pocket, the sight of which sends my heart rate rocketing. “Warner called them in hours ago as a precaution. We didn’t know
how bad the night would get. But no casualties tonight.”
Tension releases from the room with a palpable exhalation; shoulders falling; eyes closing. They’re relieved. Wrapping things
up. They think this is over.
No.
No.
I begin to panic.
“Rosabelle, I need the gun,” James says, lowering his voice. “You’re outnumbered and injured; there’s nowhere to go. Please don’t make this difficult. If you don’t give up your weapon I’ll have to physically disarm you—”
“And James is right,” Kenji is saying, heading toward me now with the manacles. “We’re done here. Go home. Get some rest.
And congrats to Malick—”
A couple of people cheer.
Adrenaline floods my body, sharpening my senses as my heart pounds. The pain in my head nearly retreats as my thoughts clarify
and clarify.
This can’t be it.
This can’t be over.
“Let me do that,” James says to Kenji, nodding at the manacles. “Last time the settings were way too high—”
“Hell no,” Kenji says, shooting him a dark look. “Get out of here, bro. Warner’s waiting for you.”
“What? Where?” Then: “Why?”
“Why the hell is she still armed?”
James swears again. “Rosabelle—”
Kenji shakes his head angrily, tucking away the manacles before pulling a gun on me. “Drop the weapon, Rosabelle. I’m not
your boyfriend, okay? I have no problem taking you out. In fact, I’m still pissed at you for throwing a knife at my leg.”
I look around blindly, backing away.
“Now,” Kenji barks at me. “And I want your hands where I can see them.”
I hardly hear the conversations around me as they swell and retreat, voices clamoring, bodies surging, but I can feel the tension in the room shifting again: relief reorganizing into fear; easy whispers rising into terse warnings.
There’s a collective rush of sound, the soft clatter of weapons lifting to meet my heart again.
James drags a hand through his hair.
“Do you know how to count, Rosabelle?” Kenji cocks his head at me. “Let’s count together, okay? I’m going to give you five
whole seconds before I show you how this gun works. You ready to learn math and physics at the same time?”
I feel like I’m somewhere outside of my body. Heat prickles along my skin, my nerves flaring and fading with sensation.
“Five—”
“Bro, c’mon, this isn’t necessary—”
The pounding in my head grows louder.
“—four—get the fuck out of my way, James—”
My mind coils tighter and tighter.
“Just let me talk to her for a second—”
I move slowly, as if in a dream, unhooking the rifle from around my neck. My feet seem to sink into the ground, the heft of
the cold metal hitting my palms just as I begin to form the rough shape of a desperate plan.
Last chance.
“Three—”
Five bullets.
“Two—”
Clara.
Clara—