Liberty Begins (The Liberty Series) (23 page)

“Ah, John,” Darius said, snidely, like he was meeting a child on the playground that he particularly liked to bully. “I see you’re back. And this time, you’ve brought your whore.”

I didn’t even see John move; but the next thing I knew, I heard Darius scream. I turned my head to look through squinted eyes and I saw Darius’s nose gushing blood, just like it had on the bus.

I guess I should have expected that.

“I told you not to talk about her like that,” John said, matter-of-factly, flexing his knuckles. He fished in his pockets and produced a handkerchief, which he roughly applied to Darius’s nose. Darius yelled again, but the noise was garbled beneath the cloth.

“We’re letting you go,” he said, and Darius laughed shortly, unbelievingly, with the cloth hanging halfway off his face, only part of it still stuck to tacky blood. “We are,” John said, and his voice was dead calm. “Back to Brazil. But you’re working for us, now, like we talked about.”

“Lucky me,” Darius said, and I was surprised that he managed to still be snide. He was one tough guy, certainly tougher than he looked right at the moment. I couldn’t imagine that John was going to let him go back out into the public.

“You can appreciate that I have my reservations, of course,” John said, conversationally. He was seemingly unfazed, walking around with his hands now in his pockets. It was as if they were discussing something banal like the weather. “Not the least of which is your language. But I have no guarantee that you’ll perform as agreed.”

“I will,” Darius said, and this time the snide tone was gone from his voice. He sounded deflated. The handkerchief, spotted with blood, fluttered to the floor. “What choice do I have? If you don’t let me go, I die. If you let me go and I don’t do as you ask, I die. Why wouldn’t I work for you?”

“Precisely what’s been troubling me,” John said, turning around to face him, glancing at me sideways to make sure I was still standing and hadn’t passed out. “Why haven’t you done what we’ve asked? As far as my intelligence indicates, you’ve got no one looking for you. You are almost impossible to find even if someone bothered. And yet, for the most part, you’ve completely held out on us. Until we recently offered to let you go back into the field.

“I’ve been doing this for a long time. In this business I’ve become familiar with various types of people,” he continued, pacing again, his hands in his pockets. “They follow certain patterns. I’m familiar with your kind, which makes it easier to forecast your next step.”

John kept pacing but looked at him; Darius’s face gave nothing away. “I know you’ll go back, acting like you're working for us, because you’re right: you have no other option but to cooperate. But then, you’ll disappear. That’s your plan, anyway. Because that’s the thing you’ve been hiding from us, the thing I’ve known from the start: you’re an extremist. This is an end game for you. It’s not about money or your survival. You’re willing to pay the ultimate price.” He stopped pacing then, stood still and stretched. He looked perfectly calm. Darius’s face was impassive. He gave no acknowledgement whatsoever.

“I admire your commitment,” John said, “so please don't take this personally.” And in one fluid motion, he pulled his revolver out and fired at Darius.

“AAAGGHH!”
Darius screamed, clutching his knee and knocking himself and his chair over to the side. He landed in a heap on the floor, the chair on top of him. I heard him crying. Sobbing.

I went to run to him to help but John held his powerful arm up in front of me so I couldn’t move. He turned and looked at me levelly. “It'll be harder for him to run on crutches,” he said, matter-of-factly. I could feel all the blood drain from my face and the world started spinning around me. He grabbed me then and held me up.
“
Remember what I told you,” he whispered to me. “There’s a reason I’m doing this. A reason you can believe in.”

At the moment, I couldn’t think of any reason worthy of this. John sat me down on the floor and put my head between my knees. He started heading towards Darius. I was shaking. My knees were knocking, and they batted against the sides of my head as adrenaline and fear coursed through me.
How could this be? How could this beautiful man, who I had given myself to so completely, who had shown me so much kindness, be this hard? He was acting as a cop, judge, jury and executioner all at the same time...but what gave him the right?

It was like he could hear my thoughts; John stopped and came back to me. He kneeled down and gently grabbed my chin, pulling it up so I was facing him. My body was still shaking, and I found myself shaking my head at him,
No.
No, I can’t take anymore.
I could still hear Darius crying, but his sobs were muffled.

John leaned down so his eyes were level with mine. He held my chin steadily so I would stop shaking, trying to steady my gaze with his. “Do you remember what I told you, when we met?” he asked, and his eyes were moist. I could tell that my reaction was affecting him — Darius could scream, cry, gush blood and be on the edge of death, and that wouldn’t bother him — but my horror, my disbelief, was punishing John, causing him pain.

I shook my head, no. All I could remember right now was seeing him for the first time, when my heart stopped, and my world changed, forever. I wished I could forget it. I wished I could forget the whole thing.

“I told you that you were going to have to trust me. That you were going to have to play it out,”
he said, and I remembered, remembered being petrified that he would smell greasy French fries on my breath, remembered how heady it was having him close to me. I remembered having no idea what he was talking about at the time. It seemed a little clearer now.

“I love you,” John said, as he looked into my eyes and held my face between his two hands. “I would never hurt you. Do you understand?”

Somehow, through my shock, I found the strength to nod.
I did trust him.
No matter what else he did, who he made bleed, I knew in my heart he would never, ever hurt me. Not like that.

“I love you, too,” I whispered, and I felt myself gathering my strength. I did love him, and I knew he was a good man. There was a reason for all of this. There had to be.
“I’m okay
,
” I said. I was; I
still
wanted to get out of here, though. I didn’t want to see anymore or hear anymore. I just wanted to get the medic in here and get myself outside, see the sun, breathe in some fresh air.

He left me then, and I could hear him trying to sit Darius upright. I watched through squinted eyes. Darius moaned a little; John put his arms underneath his armpits and managed to lift him up and right the chair, which he was still tied to, at the same time. Then John stepped back.

Then they just looked at each other, and the silence was deafening.

“You fucker,” Darius finally said. “My people are going to know what you’ve done. They’ll find you. They always do. You
and
your whore,” he spat out, unapologetically, unafraid, like he was a crazy vampire looking straight into the sun. No fear. Just hate. Real hate.

“I’m sorry you felt you had to say that,” John said, resignedly, and he pulled his gun back out and fired, immediately, right into Darius’s other kneecap. I clapped my hands over my ears so I couldn’t hear his wild screams and curses.

“Come with me,” John said, lifting me up by the elbow and carrying me out of the room.

“John, no,” I sobbed, “this is so bad. I can’t take it.”

“It’s not that bad,” John whispered back, pushing through the door into the sunlight, letting the medic rush past him into the room. I briefly noted Matthew’s disapproving glare as we swept past him.

“John!” Matthew called angrily. “What the fuck?”

“Besides,” John said, steering me away from the scene and completely ignoring Matthew,
“it’ll be even harder for him to hide in a wheelchair.”

“Well, you warned me. You said I didn’t want to know,” I said. John and I were lying side by side next to the pool, under an umbrella. He’d officially given me the rest of the day off. When we went up to the big house Mr. Quinn took one look at me and ordered me to lay down on the couch. He’d made me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and served me a glass of milk.
And
we’d watched ESPN.

“I’m pretty sure I love your dad,” I said to John now, as I took a sip of the iced tea Mr. Quinn had sent out. “Yeah, that's delicious ... I definitely love him.”

“As long as you have enough love left over for me, that’s fine,” John said, twining his fingers through mine. This was the opposite of where we were two hours ago — in a blood spattered room, with me shaking and on the verge of vomiting, and John in ultimate vigilante mode. When he’d taken me out he’d immediately walked me to the ocean, sat me down, and splashed cool water on my face. “It's going to be okay,” he said tenderly, and stroked my cheeks. “I’m so sorry that you had to witness that, but I guess you should know.”

I’d nodded at him, slowly coming back to life with the cool salt water and the fresh air. I looked up at him and tucked a stray, shaggy hair behind his ear. “I still love you,” I’d said, and a smile broke out over his face. “I guess I love you more than I even thought, if we can go through that and I’m still sure.

“Plus, you
are
sort of a badass.”

He grinned then and his eyes lit up; my heart stopped and a shiver went down my spine. Had I had the energy, I probably would have tried to get him to take me to bed, but instead, I let him kiss me, tenderly, and then help me up. He led me to the house, where I took my much needed reprieve on the couch. What I didn’t tell him was that although his badass-ness was appealing, and sort of hot, it was not a long term situation that I could find tenable. He was going to have to find some other sort of day job in the future. My heart couldn’t take much more of any sort of drama. Especially the shooting sort.

About an hour later he came down with a bathing suit on and no shirt; looking at all the clearly defined muscles on his rugged chest very quickly perked me up. I sat up and he handed me a pink plaid string bikini; it was somewhat reminiscent of my stripping outfit. I held it up and looked at him quizzically.

“Remind you of something?” he asked, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “I miss that outfit sometimes,” he said, and gave me a dead sexy look.

“Well, if you’re good, and don’t shoot anybody else this afternoon, I’ll wear this and you can pretend,” I said, feeling slightly mortified that I could want him so shortly after what we’d done with Darius.

“Deal,” John said, grabbing me by the hand and leading me towards the downstairs bath. “Now, go change. Let’s go sit by the pool and pretend we’re on vacation.” He grabbed his sunglasses and headed out onto the deck, with his gorgeous, chiseled body, out into the sunlight, like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Maybe he really likes shooting people,
I thought, puzzled at his great mood, as I headed into the bathroom to put the bikini on. That didn’t seem right; I didn’t think that he enjoyed hurting Darius. But there was something about what we’d done in that room, something inherently masculine, that he did clearly enjoy. Maybe he liked protecting me, protecting my honor, in some animalistic way. There were some things about men I’d never understood, like why they liked to fight, watch sports (and fighting in sports) and violent movies. I had never understood how people could enjoy boxing, for instance; how they could get into a ring and find elegance in the sport of beating on each other, nor had I ever understood the people who watched and appreciated the sport. There was a similar quality to this, to what I perceived as the pleasure John took in our encounter with Darius. It was something he found pleasant about being so macho, letting his inner animal come out and be free and conquer.

I put on the bikini and looked at myself in the mirror. I looked different. Nothing physically had changed, except for the faint traces of what looked like muscles forming, but still: I
was
different. It was my eyes. Somehow, I looked older. I’d always looked at my own eyes to steady myself. Now they still comforted me, but they weren’t the same. I couldn’t trust them in the same way — they’d changed too much; I’d done too many things recently that I never thought I’d do, felt so many things I’d never thought I could feel. I hadn’t thought I was capable.