Chapter 9
Poison
Who the hell are you?
––––––––
M y ears ring, the shards of pellets flinging in my face. I didn’t realize the man who was holding me unlatched my arm and pulled a gun. The man in front of Anita falls forward. Garbled noises shout out from beside me as my ears go deaf.
Bam, bam, bam.
One of the men who had me confined drops to the floor; then the last one is shot in the head before he can retaliate. The gunshots crack against my ear, and I growl out, pressing my palms to my ear. “We’ve been breached!” I hear through muffles from one of the other men.
“Fuck!” I shout, my ears still ringing from the sound no longer present, but I take the chance to grab for the gun on the floor and take aim at whoever’s standing. I shoot at two of them. Leaving the mystery man who likes to shoot next to people's faces alone. I’ll deal with him after. He quickly knocks off the last three, still aiming at the door without looking at us.
I shake my head to get the pain scorching in my ear to stop. Anita rushes to Mal, cutting through the plastic, then getting to Boone.
There’s no time to figure out what the fuck just transpired. Everything is happening so fast; there is no way to plan the next movements, only that we need to survive. We each grab a gun from a dead man before we have to deal with whoever was called. I glance at Anita quickly, scanning for anything out of place before the door bursts open. At least ten more men barge into the room, guns raised and ready to kill us all.
“Lower your weapons!” the man at front of the group shouts.
“Boss,” Bedford's voice sounds out with distortion. “Duck.” The ringing in my ear subsides slightly, but it peaks at the garbled voice that's saying something I can't comprehend.
Fuck?
“Lower them now!” he demands again.
What the hell is Bedford saying?
“Duck!” It is the clearest thing I hear until my eyes dart to my team. Anita and Mal both run, hiding behind the mini bar and shooting at the door. I aim, shooting at three men, but more seems to tumble in. The men retaliate, shooting back, more glass breaking, bullets flying our way. Boone, me, and the fucker who followed us, fling ourselves behind the desk, hoping to block their bullets.
I look out the window frantically, watching a drone fly overhead. My brows scrunch, bewildered, but there's no time to think as bullets fly in, shattering the glass. I shield myself so the glass doesn’t stab me in the face.
For ten seconds straight, grunting men, the sounds of bullets piercing the air, something like thick glass crashing, liquid pouring around me as more bodies fall, and the hammering of a machine gun fills my surroundings.
Everything finally stops.
“You're welcome,” Bedford chimes before the drone flies away. My ear drum recovers gradually, his voice coming out clearer. “That’s the last of the men. For now. There could be more coming up. You all need to leave now.” His face comes out rushed and perturbed.
“Good work. We’ll see you.”
Boone peeks over the desk, making sure there's no man left standing. He looks at me and nods his head. I return the gesture. My gun still in my hand, I raise. There are bodies of men everywhere, glass shards over the desk and the floor, a destroyed fish tank, and water floods the room.
My main concern is Anita. My eyes narrow toward the mini bar I caught her jumping behind, the pounding in my chest won’t seem to stop until I have confirmed she’s okay. The swelling in my throat inflates like a gas balloon, constricting my breath as I kick past boots and limbs, the water sweeping the hem of my pants.
Was she shot in the crossfire? Did someone shoot at her, or did Bedford not see what he was doing? As soon as I approach the bar, Anita shoots up, gun in hand, aiming at me, blood coating her hands and cheek.
My eyes widened. “What the fuck?”
I rush over, ready to examine her inch by inch, until I notice Mal on the floor with a black fabric wrapped around her leg, her face paling only slightly. She looks up at me with hazy eyes. “Hey boss.”
Panic ensues in my body, and I scatter to the floor. My throat tightens as I touch her leg, looking over the damage. “Goddamn it, they shot you. We need to get you out of here now,” I say, darting my gaze to her face and leg as heat rushes up my neck. I ready myself to scoop her in my arms, all the thoughts of losing her going through my head. No, she can't fucking bleed out. She can't.
Anita kneels beside. “No one shot her. There was a glass shard in her leg. I pulled it out.”
“Yeah, I’m fiiiine. Just purfeck,” Mal slurs, raising a lazy thumb.
My body slacks. She’s okay. “What’s wrong with her?”
Anita pats Mal’s red leg. “She may have drank half the whiskey right there.”
I glance at the decanter. There's not a drop left. “Shit.” I lift her light body, her arms wrapping around my neck as she groans.
Boone rushes over; he barely shows emotion, but worry fills his face seeing Mal like this.
“Take her and leave. She needs immediate care. Bedford knows what to do.”
“What about you?” he questions, folding Mal into him.
I glance angrily over at the man who is wiping left over shards of glass off his suit. “I have something I need to handle.”
Boone hesitates for the first time, sweat over his forehead, and some blood from the glass on his cheek.
“I’ll see you there.” His jaws clench before carrying Mal off.
Then, without thought, I step to Anita, examining her sliced knees and the bloodstains on her hands and face.
“Are you okay?” My native language is coming out thick and heavy. I don't give her time to answer before I use my hand to search her, like a prison guard patting down an inmate. I need to make sure she is okay.
Please be okay.
That happening to Mal scared the fuck out of me. I searched everywhere because when adrenaline fills the body, you’d never know you were even shot.
“I’m okay, Ronan,” she says softly. I don’t stop until I’ve conducted my own thorough examination.
Once I see she is free from injuries, I lift her chin again, staring deep into her droopy eyes. And it was the moment I knew that I would go through the depths of hell for her. “Good. And now I am.”
I bite down on my jaw, steadying my gaze on her before gripping my gun. My thoughts go back to the man who killed his own people. The one that threw Mal in the room like a piece of meat.
He catches on and raises his hands as I advance on him. He’s not even presenting fear, he’s stoic with the understanding of what’s coming.
However, I need answers. He surprises me when he draws his pistol from his back. I form a smile. “Go ahead, do it,” I goad, directing the gun to the vicinity of his head. Anita appears on the other side with a gun on him as well.
“Figure it out, my man, because you’ll be the one to get shot,” I add, speaking low enough for him to hear me.
Sweat forms over his head. “I’m not here to kill you.”
Anita cocks her gun. “Then what is your purpose, besides the massacre you just pulled? Where’s your honor? You just killed your men. Why the hell would we believe you?”
He aims the gun at Anita now, and turmoil blazes in. “Don’t you fucking point that gun at her. Point it at me,” I grit gravely. “Do that again and the only thing you’ll be seeing is the pavement outside that window. Understand?”
He squeezes the gun, his finger flexing around the handle. He hesitates, pursing his lips, hating the demands I’m spitting at him. I don’t give a fuck. Nobody threatens her. Nobody .
When I see he doesn’t budge, I position my pistol, cocking it, ready to take aim at his face.
He relents, twisting the gun at me. “Okay. The only way this works is if she puts down her weapon. How do I know she won’t shoot me?”
“You won’t know. That’s what makes this so fun,” she says sultry, it’s almost like she’s moaning and talking simultaneously. I can’t help but crack a filthy smile.
“She puts the gun down.” He urges only by flicking the gun in her direction, not pointing it. Good man.
“Not happening,” she quickly retorts. I can tell she’s not letting up because she doesn’t trust he won’t shoot me. I love that. But the only way he talks is if he feels we won’t pull any funny shit. Yet. If his story doesn’t add up, I’ll just shoot him before he can finish his last word.
“ Anita . Put the gun down,” I urge. Knowing she likes it when I say ‘can you’ or ‘please,’ I add in a little touch to help her amend. “Please.”
I look over at her, confirming it’ll be fine. I have Bedford with his machine gun, anyway. She blinks for a moment, her eyes skating down, then up. Her chest rises and falls before she lowers the gun.
Once I see she's calmer, I focus back on him. “Talk.”
He hesitates, flicking back and forth between us both. “I’m Jax. I’m searching for my daughter.” His voice becomes choked and shaky. The emotion is prevalent on his face. “I have been searching for her for three years now.” It comes out hollow. And it hits me in the chest like a bag of bricks. Three years?
“Then why are you working for him?”
He raises his hands. Then tossing the gun to the floor to show his peace. “Months after my daughter went missing, I looked and scoured every part of Long Island, every nook and cranny. Every piece and part. I came up with nothing. I was in a line of,” he blinks and his face darkens, “serious work. Before I left the business, we came into contact with a man named Victor the Vicious. We knew the line of work he was involved in. We brushed past it. He wasn't our target.” His shoulders stiffen as he drives down memory lane. “If my daughter was safe and sound, I didn’t care for anything else. That was a mistake. Months later, some men snatched my daughter while she was walking home from school.”
I continue listening. I haven't lowered my gun yet. But if he was willing to kill the men he was working beside, then there must be some truth behind it.
“She has a hearing disability but wears a hearing aid. I’m worried that—” He lets out another shaky breath and his eyes divert to the ground. “I met some people who knew how to get recruited by Victor. I thought by connecting with him and working by his side, I would find my daughter. But it’s only me. I have no other resources.”
“How old is your daughter?” Anita asks
He looks up, gazing at her. “She was fourteen when she was taken. She’s seventeen now. Three years in a scary place going through God knows what, nothing to hear.” He shuts his eyes, his head twisting to the side.
I shake my head. “You don’t know that. If there’s any hope, I’m sure she still has her device.”
“You look quite young to have a daughter that age,” Anita inquires, tilting her head, searching for the lie.
He cuts his eyes at her. “That’s what happens when you're pushing eighteen and have a child on the way.”
Jax takes another breath before continuing. “I’ve heard of you. Your name floats around the dark web. I know you’ve both killed four of his last business partners. I know you’re Venom.” He raises his chin. “You mark your victims. So, I’ve studied you. It was difficult. You're hard to find. So, I connected the dots. It took months, but it got me somewhere. If you could both get further than I have in three years, then I knew you could be the ones to help me get my daughter back,” he admits, eyeing us.
My brow scrunches at his words. Now I’m piecing the clues like a puzzle.
“I knew Victor was running from someone, so I guessed it would be you. That’s why I planted that invitation after we set the building on fire.”
I can see Anita looking at me from my peripheral. Well, that’s a turn of events.
“It was you?” Amazement wanders in me as I creep on a smirk. “Someone could’ve caught you.”
“It was worth the risk.”
“How can we believe you?” Anita speaks out, reservation peaking in her tone. She has every right to not trust him. “For all we know, this can be a ploy to get us killed.”
He doesn’t back down from her argument. “This is my daughter.” He reaches into his pockets. Anita and I draw our guns. His eyes widened slightly. “I’m just getting a picture.” He draws out slowly.
“Sorry, habit,” Anita says, lowering her weapon. I do the same. Although I’m still attentive to his every move.
“Here.” He passes me the photo. It’s a Polaroid, the edges worn and torn from years of mistreatment. Stained with bits of dirt and blood. You can tell he always keeps it with him. It tugs at a deep place in my soul.
Anita steps into me to get a view. It’s a young girl, with golden-brown skin and two puffy ponytails.
She looks of complete innocence and naivety. Like a sunflower blooming in the sun. Anita releases an agonizing sigh.
“The mother?” I ask, looking up.
“She left. After we couldn’t find her, she left. Said it was my fault.”
That’s fucked.
“What’s her name?” I edge on. Searching for a stammer or hesitation.
“Gabrielle. Gabrielle Evans.” There's no twitch in his lip or sudden blink to disclose a lie. He’s telling the truth. But I still dig further.
“Bedford!” I call out by pressing the earpiece.
“Did you all make it yet?” Bedford cuts through.
“No. Not yet. I need you to look up a name. Tell me what you find. Gabrielle Evans.”
Anita cuts her eyes to me. I can see a whirlwind of questions pooling on the horizon. A second later, Bedford comes back.
“Gabrielle Evans. A thirteen-year-old honor roll student disappeared in broad daylight around 4 p.m. She was last seen walking home from school. Police have found no evidence or a body.”
I knew he wasn’t lying, but you can never be too damn sure. “Why should we trust you?” I probe, handing the photo back to him.
“You can. I’ll prove it.” He holds up a steady palm again, taking his phone out of his pocket, and he dials a number. He puts it to his ear, waiting for an answer.
“Yes. It’s done. He fought the hell out of us, but he's dead. Along with the rest of the crew.” He keeps a blank stare on me.
I raise a brow, looking back at Anita, who keeps a dubious expression. After the phone call, he hangs up. Stuffing his phone back in his pocket.
I point at the pocket. “Are you going to explain what the hell that was?”
“If he thinks you're dead, then it’ll become easier to strike him without him seeing it coming. I hate him just as much as you do, and I can help you find the kids,” he spits out. “He trusts me. I want nothing more than to see him six feet under.”
“We don’t need your help killing him. His death will be inevitable. Priority number one is getting those kids back home safely.” Sirens sound out from outside. I rush to the window, looking out to see police cars parked around the entrance. Some make their way inside already.
Anita wipes the gun with her dress before tossing it. “What do we do about him?”
Jax watches us tentatively, his shoulders squared and raised.
“You give us a solid location for the kids. Then, we’ll discuss finding your daughter,” I say, gripping Anita's elbow and dragging her along with me.
He nods with satisfaction, following my direction. “How will I contact you?”
I look over my shoulder. “We’ll find you.”