Chapter 7
MAVERICK
What a major fuck-up. I knew it would happen eventually, and I’m still surprised they found me out so soon. When I left my place this morning and made my way to Lyra, I knew I was being followed. And yet, as I try to lose the person, more and more men join the efforts.
I’ve made enemies working for different gangs and mobster families. The city is big enough to have several of them, always striving to take each other’s place. And it looks like they joined for a special purpose today—taking me out.
Even as they get me into an alleyway—the perfect spot to put someone down, even in daylight—there’s only one thing in my head.
They know me. They know there are always chances I’ll push through and survive this attack, even as six, then seven people get together to come after me. That’s why they must have a Plan B.
A plan that involves Lyra.
If they’ve been watching me close enough to know I’d take this path today, they know about her. They know where I was heading, and they’ll have to send someone ahead to capture her. Use her as leverage.
Several of these people I’ve seen before. Worked side by side with them for some mobster or gangster. Some are hitmen, the same as I am. None of them stand a chance.
Knives pointed at me—gunfights in the middle of the day catch too much attention—they attack.
Not one after the other, like in the movies, but together.
Coordinated. Ready for the onslaught. My heart thunders in my chest, shoving adrenaline into my blood flow.
The urgency to get to Lyra moves me. I dodge an attack and dive into survival mode.
Hatred for these people makes me choke, but there’s no time to take them all down.
If I leave this alleyway covered in blood, someone is bound to call the cops.
No, I have to run. I have to get to her.
Another dodge, a fist to the nose. I keep to the key areas, the ones where I’ll put these people down quickly.
A kick to a knee, another until I hear a crack.
If they can’t get up, they can’t follow me.
Someone buries a knife in the back of my shoulder.
I grind my teeth together, keeping the pain inside, locked in my lungs.
Whirling, I grip the man who hit me around his neck and shove him off, hard enough that his head hits the closest wall and he’s dazed for a minute.
They’re too many. A knife sinks into my thigh, the burn almost making me kneel.
Almost. I punch a throat, then steal a knife and sink it into another’s thigh.
Grunts and curses spill onto the ground with the blood.
I take another wound, this time to my arm, when I lift it to block.
Finally, I have the time to pull my hunting knife, and I stab knees and legs until the seven of them are on the ground, gasping for air.
Someone pulls a gun. I stride toward the man, dodge the first bullet, then slice his throat. Blood spatters my pants, but there’s no time to think of this now. I need the others to understand what’s happening to them if they insist.
No one follows me out of the alley as I rush down the empty street. That one bullet was enough to make people dart into buildings, and the cops are definitely on the way. I have to make myself scarce, disappear into the shadows, and run to Lyra as fast as possible.
My heart squeezes in my chest with fear. I shouldn’t have brought her into this. Should never have allowed my feelings to be louder than sense. No matter how hard I run, I fear it might be too late. They might already have her.
I debate shouldering the front door open, but the noise might alert the people inside, so I force myself to stop and break in the usual, quiet way. Taking the steps three on three, I reach Lyra’s front door.
Just as I hear her cry inside.
Nothing could stop me now. There’s no sense, no rationality that could hold me back. I throw myself against the door and it bursts open. My gaze combs the living room. I see her first. Wide eyes, panic across her features. Then I see the man, holding a knife too close to her.
Everything in me turns into rage. I see only red.
Pouncing on him, there’s not a thought in my head that isn’t about killing this fucker.
How fucking dare he? How dare he touch her?
Threaten her? My throat closes with a scream, and I reach a new, unthinkable level of wrath.
The man whirls around to face me, horror on his face as he puts the knife up.
I don’t fucking care. I’m too out of control to do anything other than attack him.
My fists pummel him as he sinks the knife into my shoulder. I pull it out with an animalistic grin, then close my fingers around his throat. First, I stab him in the thigh to make sure he won’t run, then I kick him down, ready to slice him from mouth to...
“Stop!” The sound reaches me through the haze of madness. “Stop, you’re going to kill him!”
And I want to say that’s the point, but not now. No, not before he suffers for touching her. But I turn to face Lyra, and there’s a new, sharp horror on her face. And she’s looking at me.
Fuck. What have I done?
I stop, pulling back, gaping at my hands. These hands don’t deserve to touch her. They don’t deserve to cradle her, to bring her pleasure. I’ve always known I’m too violent for a woman so good, but until now... What if I scared her forever?
She runs off, and I think that’s the end, but Lyra comes back with a small box in one hand and a kitchen towel in the other. She hands me the towel.
“Use this to restrain him,” she says in an empty voice before she breaks the box open and brings out a first aid kit. I still gape at her as she arranges gauze and tape in front of her, then she shoots me a glance. “Quick!”
I let the knife drop from my hands, then rip the towel into thin strips to tie the man up. He’s still dazed by my attack, so he presents no resistance. Lyra starts working on my shoulder with her gauze and tape, and it’s only then I remember I’ve been stabbed. Several times.
“You’re awfully cool-headed,” I tell her.
She shrugs. “Nurse.”
I nod. The pain burning at my nerves has nothing to do with the wounds. “I have to take this man away. Get rid of him before he’s missed. You can’t stay here.”
She swallows. “Why not? Because they know where I am?”
“Yeah. It’s as I expected. They saw a crack, a liability, and they went for it. I fought several in the street coming here. They know where you are, and they know they can hurt me by hurting you.”
Lyra says nothing as she cleans my wounds. Finally, she sighs. “Shit, we have to go to a hospital.”
“Why?”
“Because you need stitches.”
“I can’t go to a hospital, Lyra. That’s not how it works. I need to get you to safety and get rid of this fucker.” And I stuff some leftover fabric into his mouth just as he starts to complain.
“So I’m supposed to leave you bleeding?”
I reach out and cup her cheek. She stops, gazing back at me. “Lyra. Pack your things. Only the essential. We’ll come for the rest later.”
“Where are we going?”
I get to my feet. “To my safe place.”
Lyra fills a backpack with changes of clothes, documents, and the drawings the kids gave her.
In the meantime, I get to work at the door.
Need it to close so the neighbors won’t get in and find this fucker.
I tie him to the table’s leg, reinforce the cloth in his mouth, then hurry Lyra out.
This is not the way I wanted things to happen.
I wish she could go by herself, and I’d give her the passwords, the keys, but what if she’s being watched? What if my place is being watched?
We take a cab, and I guide the driver in circles to get him somewhat lost. The bandages soak through and soon I’m bleeding on the back seat. Lyra makes a face, but I can’t discuss this with her now. I pay the man handsomely as he leaves us a couple of blocks away from my haven.
After making sure there’s no one watching, I open the several locks, fetch the first aid kit, and Lyra stitches my shoulder as fast as she can.
She’ll probably have to redo her job once I’m back, but this is better than bleeding in someone’s car.
I rush back to her place, where I find everything untouched, then wait out the evening.
Once it’s dark enough, it’s easy to kill the man—no torture, just a slice through his throat—then ditch his body.
Into a suitcase, I put the rest of Lyra’s clothes and books, the pictures without the frames, and the candles, leaving behind only her furniture, and I make my way back to her.
This wasn’t supposed to be like this. She’s safe, but for how long? I can’t put her in danger anymore. No matter how much I love her.