Chapter Ten #2
Kara was all elbows and knees, her breath loud and animal. She pummeled my ribs, aiming for the floating ones where cartilage breaks more easily. I grunted, tried to clamp her arms, but she was faster than last time, fueled by something that felt like revenge.
We crashed into the filing cabinet. It tipped, vomiting a year’s worth of ledgers onto the carpet. She got an arm around my throat, squeezed. I clawed at her wrist, dug my nails in, but she didn’t let go.
“Still think you can win?” she spat, voice right in my ear.
I stomped on her instep, hard. She grunted, loosened her grip, and I threw my weight sideways. We rolled over the spilled ledgers, wrestling for leverage. Her cut snagged on a desk leg, so I yanked it, twisting her body down and pinning her head against the laminate.
I remembered what Buck used to say about fights. Hit the other guy first, and last, and never let up in between. So I hit her, palm flat, straight to the nose. She made a horrible sound, half-choke, half-laugh, and blood gushed instantly, bright and hot.
She bit my wrist. Her teeth sank in, right over the blue vein, and she ground down until I yelped. I let go, and she rolled free, grabbing the brass paperweight off the desk. She swung it at my temple. I dodged, but it clipped my eyebrow, and the stars went white-hot for a second.
My left eye swelled, vision blurred. I felt the warm tickle of blood down my cheek, mixing with sweat.
Kara got to her feet first. She was panting, blood on her mouth and chin, eyes narrowed to slits. She held the paperweight in one hand, the other scrabbling for something—anything—on the desktop.
I saw the trophy, the one I’d used earlier. I lunged for it, caught the base, and hurled it at her. It hit her shoulder, spun her sideways, and she dropped the paperweight.
I used the opening. Grabbed her by the back of the head, slammed her face into the desk edge. There was a wet crunch and more blood. For a second, I thought she’d go limp, but she straightened, smiling, blood filling her teeth like a vampire.
Then she punched me in the throat.
The wind left my lungs. I gagged, staggered back, and nearly tripped over the toppled chair.
She pressed her advantage, grabbing the lamp and swinging it by the cord.
It hit my forearm, snapping the bulb, scattering glass.
I caught the base, yanked it from her, and chucked it at her face. She ducked, just barely.
We circled, breathing hard, sweat and blood on every surface. She went for the letter opener this time, glinting wicked in her fist. I backed off, out of reach. My vision tunnelled to the weapon, her hand, the way her knuckles flexed before each lunge.
She dove after me. Her whole weight landed on my hips, pinning me to the floor. I twisted, got a knee up, but she straddled it and punched my jaw. The world went bright for a split second, and I tasted blood in my mouth.
She left, stumbling down the hall, leaving a trail of blood and broken promises.
I lay on my back, leg screaming, the letter opener still embedded. I stared at the ceiling, watched the slow pulse of the overhead light, and tried to slow my breathing.
My hand found the gun. I chambered a round, pointed it at the door, and waited.
No one else came.
It was just me, my pain, and the knowledge that this war had only just started.
I lay there for what felt like an hour, then dragged myself upright. I wrapped my belt around my thigh, above the wound, and cinched it until the pain became a cold numbness.
I limped to the window, pulled the blind, and peered out.
The street was empty. Kara and her goons were gone.
I sat in the chair, still clutching the gun, looking at the wound.
The blood had a rhythm. A heavy, dull pulse. By the time Boss burst through the office door, my thigh was slick with it, the carpet below a Rorschach of misery and failure.
“Jesus Christ, Selene.” He dropped to a knee beside me. His hands shook, but his voice was steady—always the pro, even with bullets flying or his boss leaking out on the floor. “You’re bleeding like a stuck pig.”
He ripped the letter opener from my leg, which should have made me scream, but I just grunted.
I’d lost the ability to care about pain, or maybe the adrenaline had burned it out of me.
He tore a strip from a tablecloth he’d grabbed from the bar, wadded it, and pressed down until the world narrowed to a pinpoint.
“Keep pressure here. Don’t pass out on me,” he barked, using his pit boss voice.
I nodded, face pressed to the cold desk. Every muscle below the waist was fire, but my arms still worked. I used them to reach the bottle of whiskey on the bookshelf, popped the cork, and slugged it. The burn reminded me I was still alive.
“Did you get her?” he asked, voice tight.
I shook my head. “She ran. But she’s hurting. That’s enough for now.”
He looked at the mess. The shattered lamp, ledgers, and blood everywhere. “We need to get you to a hospital.”
I let out a sharp laugh, bitter as bile. “Unless they rebrand the ER as a fallout shelter, I’m not interested.”
Boss tied off the makeshift tourniquet, his fingers knotting it so hard I thought he might break my femur. He patted my shoulder, then started picking up the scattered files one-handed, the other holding me in place.
“Where are the girls?” I asked.
“Joker’s in the parking lot, Spade and Aces outside on the street. Nines is in the security booth, still ghosting the cameras. Glitz is prepping the cash drop.” He didn’t look up. “They’re waiting on you. Also waiting for Kara to return. Joker wants a shot at her.”
I fished my phone out, punched in the code with trembling fingers. “Put the place on lockdown. No one in or out.”
He nodded, eyes never leaving my face. “And you?”
I struggled to stand, using the desk for leverage. My leg shrieked, but I forced it straight. “I’m going to Jack Smalls’ house.”
Boss’s jaw clenched. He looked at the wound, the blood, then at me. “You’ll never make it two blocks.”
“Watch me.”
He put a hand on my arm. “Selene, you can’t—”
I cut him off with a glare. “Call the girls. Tell them to meet me there. We finish this tonight.”
For a second, I thought he might argue. Instead, he just nodded, slow. “You’re fucking crazy,” he said, almost admiring.
“That’s why you work for me.”
He grinned, helped me to the door. My left leg was dead weight. I hopped once, twice, and got it moving. With each step, I felt the blood seeping down, soaking into the sock, the shoe. It didn’t matter. Only the next move mattered.
Boss got me to the exit. The lights outside were so bright they made my eyes water.
The crew was waiting. Joker, still limping from her own gunshot; Spade and Aces, arms folded, eyes hard; Nines, silent and twitchy, glued to her tablet; Glitz, phone pressed to her ear, already arranging whatever it took to keep us invisible.
Joker whistled when she saw the mess on my jeans. “Damn, boss. Need a tampon?”
“Just a new set of pants,” I shot back.
She grinned, then got serious. “What’s the plan?”
“Jack’s house. Tonight.” I let the words hang, heavy. “We walk in, we end it. No survivors.”
Spade nodded. “You don’t want him alive?”
“Dead. I want his whole operation dead.”
Glitz looked up, her gold lipstick smeared from a nervous habit. “You sure you can walk, Prez?”
I didn’t answer. I just started limping toward the bikes.
Joker caught up, put an arm around my waist to steady me. “If you bleed out, can I have your office?”
“If you can clean it,” I said. “And don’t get sentimental. This isn’t a suicide run.”
She looked at me sideways. “Feels like one.”
We mounted up. Boss handed me a bottle of water and a handful of painkillers from his own stash. I dry-swallowed them, never taking my eyes off the horizon.
The Strip was a wound in the dark, red and gold and bleeding promise. But the real action was in the quiet neighborhoods to the west, where men like Jack Smalls built their fortresses, surrounded by stone walls and private guards.
I started the engine, the bike’s vibration a welcome distraction. The others lined up, a pack of wolves ready for a blood trail.
As we rolled out, I glanced down at my leg. The bandage was already soaked, but I didn’t care. The pain kept me sharp, kept me angry.
Time to kill Jack Smalls. For me, for the club, for Zeke, for all of Vegas. I would deal with Kara when the time came.