Chapter 27 #2
I want to tell her a hundred things. That I love her. That she’s mine. That they will die for touching her. Instead, I let the chain between us take the strain as I lean in, until my knees finally brush hers. I keep my voice low, for her alone.
“They can break my bones. Cut me open. Put bullets in me. I’ll still find a way to kill them all. And I’ll do it with your name in my mouth.”
Tears kiss her beautiful face. “I know.”
Every hit they give her lands in my chest. Every flinch is a nail in my spine. I wrench and the gash opens again and again, rope chewing bone, ligaments screaming. I don’t quit.
Because this is my fault. I never had any right to her. I should’ve left her in her world of coffee and books and quiet. But she said yes. She said she was mine. And I swore I’d keep her safe.
They don’t stop touching her. Every time I jerk forward, they yank me back. The one crouched in front of her traces the knife from her jaw down to the hollow of her throat. I can hear her breath hitch before she steadies it.
I lunge again. My shoulders pop silently, already out of their socket, in protest, fire running down my arms, but I keep straining.
“Cassius,” she says, sharp enough to cut through the noise. “I can take it.” This time, it’s not a whisper. The man in front of her slaps her hard enough to knock her down, but he holds the back of her chair with his other hand so she doesn’t topple over.
Something cracks in my chest.
“Stop—” I grind the word out, half-growl, half-plea.
“Not so tough now,” the one behind me says, shoving me forward so I can’t miss a second of it. “Are you sure you’re the Machine?”
The rope shreds another layer of skin when I pull. My wrists slip, just enough that I think—maybe—I drop my head for half a second—enough to catch Lindy’s eyes. She’s scared. She’s hiding it, but I know every version of her fear. I know she’s breathing in odd count breaths and waiting for me.
I twist, and rip at the rope like I can tear through it with sheer rage.
My vision goes black around the edges. Still, I keep going.
I’ll give them my life if it means she walks out of here whole.
But they don’t want my life. They want her.
They know hurting her, making me watch them hurt her, is more torture than they could ever physically put me through.
A deep boom rattles the concrete walls. Another. Then shouting outside. Boots pounding. The door bursts inward. Nikola steps through like a blade in human form, Dmitry right behind him, moving in a sweep that drops two men before they even reach for their guns.
Gunfire erupts from outside in short, controlled bursts and the roar of motorcycle engines. Dominic charges in with Vex and Havoc, cutting down anyone in front of them. Havoc’s shotgun thunders, tearing a hole clean through the far wall.
Marco’s voice cuts through the chaos, sharp Italian curses and orders, his men flooding the space like a tsunami.
One of Spider’s men grabs Lindy as a shield, but Marco puts a bullet between his eyes. Lindy’s rope snaps, she’s shoved forward, and I catch her in my lap before she hits the ground.
Her ribs move under my hands. “You’re safe now, Lindy girl.”
“You good, man?” Dominic asks, and when I nod, “We’re going to clear the building.
Sit tight and then we’ll get the fuck out of here.
” She nods against my chest, shaky but alive.
The six men who I owe her life leave. Accord or no, my debt to them will never close.
Blood, time, money, whatever they need, whenever they ask.
Loyalty. Family. Whether we ever say the words or not.
My world tilts back into place. The gunfire outside thins to sharp, distant pops. A radio crackles in the hall. “Second floor clear.” Another voice answers, further away. And then—heels on concrete. A figure steps in through the broken doorway.
Hair pinned smooth, lipstick the color of blood after it dries on concrete in the sun. Her dress doesn’t cling; it contains. When she smiles, it’s for the cameras she obviously knows are there. Madrid in her vowels, razor-sharp blades in her consonants.
This bitch. I haven’t been played like this in decades, not since I was a fucking kid. She sat at the pool with my wife. Lindy was nice to her, liked her.
She lifts a wrist, slides silk back. A black widow inked clean and deliberate on the inside of her forearm. “Men,” she says lightly, gaze flicking to me. “Always assume the crown’s on a man.”
She’s not wrong, but I never left out women as a possibility because I thought they were weak.
I left them out because I couldn’t imagine a woman standing by while children are sold off, raped, killed.
Couldn’t imagine one looking at what I’ve seen and choosing it.
The drugs, the weapons, the money, what the fuck ever, I understand greed, but I can’t even stomach the things those kids go through so to think a woman could…
“Let me guess,” she says, pressing the end of her pistol to my forehead.
The metal is cold, but I don’t flinch. “You’re wondering how I could sacrifice the children.
Let me tell you something about children.
” She slides the barrel down the bridge of my nose, stopping at my chest, forcing a barrier between me and Melinda’s body.
“They’re resilient little fuckers. They live through things I’ve seen kill grown men. ”
“Because you took away any other choice,” Lindy screams from my lap. “You made survival the only option. Hell is too good a place for the evil inside you.”
The muzzle snaps toward her too fast for a warning, too fast to move. The first shot rips through Lindy’s shoulder, the sound cuts through me like it’s my own flesh tearing. Her body jerks, head dropping forward.
“Lindy!” My roar shakes the ceiling.
The second shot strikes my thigh, my teeth slam shut. The third finds me nearly center mass. Air leaves my lungs in a rush. The world tilts sideways, but I keep my eyes on her.
She’s still breathing.
If I die here, it won’t be from the bullets or the blood loss. It’ll be her breath stopping first.
The room echoes with my pulse, each thud weaker than the last but it’s so fucking loud.
The bitch’s heels fade. The door slams shut like a coffin lid.
If it’s the last thing I do I will kill her.
This isn’t some romantic moment where I beg God to stay alive so that I can see Lindy again.
This is me selling my soul to the devil.
Living so that I can skin that cunt alive.
For a few seconds, there’s only the drip of blood on concrete. Mine. Hers.
Then boots again, controlled this time. The door swings wide.
Sava, in all black and a mask, but I know that step. Gun in her fist. Eyes like ice. She takes one look at me and crosses the room fast.
“No,” I rasp. “Get Melinda.”
“You’re worse.”
“Now, Sava.” We lock eyes. She hesitates long enough for me to see she’s weighing how bad I am, but then she moves to kneel at Lindy’s side.
“You’re going to be okay, Melinda,” she murmurs, slicing rope clear with a flick of her wrist. “I’m gonna carry you.”
Lindy’s head lifts, dazed. “Cassius.”
“I’m right here,” I grind out. “I’ll be right behind you.” It’s a lie. The weight dragging me down says I might not be behind anyone ever again. But if she believes it, she’ll fight, she’ll hold on. I’ve never needed anything more.
Shouts, deep, familiar voices. The Accord is back.
Sava hauls Lindy up, cradles her like a baby.
She’s gotta hate the fact that she can’t hold her weapon and Lindy, but Nikola, Dominic, and Marco will protect them.
I let myself breathe once, shallow, sharp.
Lindy’s getting out. I just have to survive long enough to follow.
Shadows flood the doorway behind Sava. Nikola first, the air itself makes way for him.
Dmitry right on his heels. Marco’s men move low and precise, collecting everything that could lead us to the Spider’s center.
We know her face now. Computers. Tablets.
Radios and cellphones off the dead, all go with Marco’s men.
Dominic storms back in with Havoc and Vex and helps load up Spider’s digital footprint.
Sava’s got Lindy halfway to the hall when a body lunges from the side. Havoc’s there first, grabbing the man by the jaw and snapping his neck without a word, like swatting a fly.
“Clear!” Dmitry calls, voice sharp.
Nikola’s eyes cut to me. He says something in Russian I can’t process past the ringing in my ears, then he’s at my side, knife flashing to my restraints.
“Get her out,” I choke, my voice barely more than a growl.
“She’s out,” Nikola says, cutting the last rope. My arms drop, dead weight, eyes locked on the end of the hall where Sava is shoving Lindy into Dominic’s waiting arms. He’s got her shielded against his chest.
“Your brothers are watching,” Dom says. “Adrian’s scrubbing the cameras. Atlas is okay. Hear me? He’s fine. Elsie’s at the hospital for you and your girl. Eland’s running interference with the cops. We’ve got you, brother.” He tightens his hold on Lindy and starts barking orders to clear a path.
“Up,” Nikola says, because he’d never lay hands on me while I’m conscious. I try. My legs don’t listen. Chest’s a furnace; every breath drags glass.
“On your feet, Machine.”
I plant a boot. The floor tilts. Black licks the edges of the room, then ebbs. I bite it back and push. Breathe in odd counts, like her. In three. Out five. In seven. My ribs feel wrong. Thigh’s fire. There’s a wet rattle high in my throat.
Nikola steps in, shoulder wedged under my armpit, belt fisted in his hand to haul me up. Pain detonates; my vision strobes white, then red. I hate the weight I put on Nikola. Hate needing it. Hate that he doesn’t even grunt. My knees fold, but he doesn’t let me hit the ground.
The black comes again, a tide I can’t hold.
I fight it until my hands shake and the bullet heat in my chest goes cold at the edges.
Just before it takes me, there’s a shape by the busted door.
A man in a Bolo-Hat, tipped low, watching like he’s been waiting on me since the day I put my first body in the ground.
He touches two fingers to the brim in a slow salute.
“Not yet,” I tell him, or think I do. The last thing I see before they drag me out is Dmitry tossing black widow charms over the bodies like fucking confetti, the metal glinting red in the light.