What Lies Within (47 page)

Rafe didn’t know how much longer they fought. Time slowed in life-and-death combat. Either that, or accelerated out of control. Nor could he have said how many Nortes he’d fought.

All he knew was the battle. The sounds and sensations, the pain when fists landed, the split-second reflexes that brought his cane up to keep iron bars and bats from ending him. That and the presence of his men.

Endless noise and fury swirled around him. And then, in one sudden moment that was shocking in its stillness, it was over.

Rafe and Sabada stood, still back to back, poised and ready for the next attack. It didn’t come.

They scanned the darkness around them, watching, listening. And then Sabada’s tension eased. “They’re gone.”

Bodies lay on the ground around them, some moaning, some ominously still. The only people standing were Rafe and the Pride, and King K and what was left of the 22s.

King K, his face already bruising, one eye closing, moved to stand over one of the moaning Nortes. He raised a hand, and Rafe realized he held a gun, now pointed at the Norte’s head.

“No!”

King didn’t look up. Just kept fierce eyes on his enemy. Rafe vaulted over the prone bodies in front of him, was at King’s side in a heartbeat, then froze as the gun jerked up and trained on his chest.

FIFTY-SEVEN   

N
o!

This couldn’t be happening!

Kyla gripped the edges of the window. At the sight of the gun trained on Rafe, her heart stopped, then slammed into overdrive. She spun, only to run into the hulking 22 who was her captor. She pushed back away from him. “I’m going outside!”

She was two steps from the door when he bellowed, “Stop!”

She froze, ready to fight if she had to, but he just walked past her and opened the door. “Mama always said to hold the door for a lady.”

She brushed past him and hurried outside.

Rafe sensed more than saw his men start toward them, and gave the stop signal, all the while holding King’s fierce gaze. “Lower your weapon, King.”

“What? You think we on the same side now, soldier boy? That you can tell me what to do?”

“He isn’t. But I am.”

They both looked to the side. Tarik stood there, feet planted, arms crossed. “Drop it, Jamal. This man is not your enemy.”

“No”—he jerked his chin toward the young man on the ground—“but he is. And he needs to die.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

Rafe almost lost his composure at the sight of Kyla. What was she
doing
out here?

She stopped beside Tarik. “King, please. The police are coming. They’ll take care of that man. And the others.”

“We take care of our business our
own
selves.”

Kyla started to speak, but Tarik stopped her by stepping forward. By doing what Rafe couldn’t. Not without getting shot.

He walked to King and put his hand on the gun.

Kyla held her breath, heart pounding.
God, please! Don’t let it end this way. Not before I have a chance to tell Rafe how I feel about him!

“You don’t want to do this, Jamal.”

Tarik’s low words held so much emotion, Kyla couldn’t fathom his brother not being impacted. But King stood there, a statue in flesh and blood. For a moment the two brothers were locked in silent battle. Kyla risked a glance at Rafe, saw that his eyes were fixed on the gun.

And King’s finger on the trigger.

“You wrong, L’il Man. I
do
want to do this.”

Kyla almost cried out at King’s hard words.

“But I won’t.” King lowered the gun.

Relief so intense it buckled her knees swept her, but she didn’t go down. Rafe was there, arms around her, folding her close against that broad chest. “I
told
you to wait inside.”

His breath warm on her face, Kyla felt her strength returning. She fixed King K with a glare. “Do you always manhandle women to get your way?”

“Only the stupid ones.”

She tensed, but slight pressure in Rafael’s hand stilled her. As irritated as she was with King, she wasn’t ready to leave this man’s arms.

Not even close.

He’d come so close. And now …

It was all ruined. All his work. All his careful planning.

Destroyed, right before his eyes.

He’d watched the Nortes fall back and run. Defeated. His last hope, defeated! Then new hope sprang to life when that useless piece of humanity, King Killa, aimed the gun at Rafe Murphy.
Shoot!
his mind screamed, willing the animal to listen.
Shoot him!

But the gun lowered, and now they stood there, men who should be enemies, at peace. Peace! What
right
did they have to peace?

His gaze drifted past them, those disappointments. Those worms! And settled on one person. The person who caused it all, his loss and humiliation. His defeat. All because of one cursed woman too stupid to know she was defeated.

Kyla Justice.

How dare she?

How
dare
she!

Turn around. Walk away before they see you. Before they realize the part you played in all of this
.

Impotent rage roiled through him, heating the blood flowing through his veins. Walk away? Slink into the darkness like some defeated cur? No.

Bile surged into his throat.
No!

He’d almost won! She’d been afraid of him. He knew it that night in her apartment. He would have taken care of her then, if not for that blasted cat. A fine job he’d done hiding those scratches.

His feet moved as though of their own volition, carrying him closer to his tormentor.
His
tormentor. Raw laughter clawed at his throat.

I thought
you
were the tormentor, they the ones who suffered. But here you stand, helpless. An old fool with nothing to show for his so-called genius
.

Words too foul to utter seeped through his heart and mind, poisoning whatever remnant of reason resided there. As it shriveled and died, vengeance rose with an unholy howl to take its place. It wound its way through him, energizing him, tightening his grip on the rifle in his hands.

The rifle …

They will kill you. That man of hers and his soldier friends. The minute you shoot, they’ll retaliate. And they won’t miss
.

A gloating triumph bubbled up from within him as he lifted the rifle, fixed Kyla Justice in his sight. Death was a small price to pay for ending hers.

The cross hairs trembled, and he stilled, drawing in a steadying breath. There. A perfect sighting, right in the middle of her oh-so-smooth forehead.

His finger tightened, and he felt his tight mouth relax into a smile. “Good-bye, Miss Justice.” He laughed, and it felt good. “I’ll see you in hell.”

King K didn’t know what made him turn.

A nudge, though he wasn’t sure if it came from beside him or within. No matter. No time to think about it. There was only time to turn his head, but that was enough. Because there, just behind them, he saw what no one else did.

A rifle. Pointed directly at them. No, not at them …

King spun. No time for a warning. No time to do anything but throw himself at Kyla Justice. He heard her cry as he hit her. Almost smiled at the muffled outrage as he wrapped her in his arms, covering her with his body.

A heartbeat later he felt a sting at the back of his neck. Everything shifted. Slowed. He tried to move, to control his body, but it had stopped listening to him. Though he told his legs to move, they buckled, and he fell like a stone, taking Kyla Justice with him. Off in the distance chaos exploded. Angry voices. The
pop pop
of gunfire. A woman screaming. But it was all so tinny. So distant. And he was too tired to listen.

“Jamal.”

This voice caught him. “Tarik …” He forced his eyes open, saw his brother kneeling beside him, tears streaking his face. “Don’t cry,
hijo
. Don’t cry.”

Tarik’s fingers dug into King’s shirt. “Don’t you leave me! You hear? Don’t go!”

He wanted to do as his brother asked. No, demanded. But he was tired.

So tired. He focused his will on one hand, managed to lift it, lay it over his brother’s. Their eyes locked.
“Te amo, hijo mio.”

His eyes drifted shut, and he sank into an engulfing void.

Kyla lay beneath King K’s heavy form, too stunned to cry. His arms were locked about her, his body curled over her like a weighted, protective blanket. Eyes squeezed shut, she dug her fingers into the heavy leather of his jacket. Waited. Held her breath. Listened.

But she knew. There was nothing for her to hear. No breath. No heartbeat.

No life.

King K was gone.

“Kyla!”

Rafael’s voice came to her, frantic, pleading. But still she couldn’t move. Couldn’t make herself leave this one who had given all to save her. She’d only caught a momentary glimpse of the shooter before King hit her, but she’d seen all she needed to.

Sheamus.

The rifle in his hands trained on her. A bitter smile on his face.

“Kyla, please, mija! Talk to me! Are you all right?”

King K’s body was tugged away from her. For a moment she resisted, held on to him, willing life back into his still form.
Live! Please, please, live!

But other hands were stronger, and King was lifted away, leaving her exposed. She cried out, covering her face. Strong arms encircled her, cradled her close against a solid chest. Hands cupped her face.

“Kyla, look at me.”

She looked into Rafael’s eyes. Saw the fear, the worry, the burning anger. And, underlying it all, saw something that stole her breath.

Love. A deep, unwavering love that told her everything she could ever need to know.

She lifted a hand, pressed it to his face. “Rafe …”

“Are you all right?”

She swallowed at the raw, hoarse words. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not hurt?”

A shiver ripped through her, and she looked toward King K. Tarik was there, holding his brother’s head in his lap, tears streaming down his face. Kyla groaned, and turned back to Rafe.

“He saved me.”

FIFTY-EIGHT