Touch of Betrayal, A (27 page)

My heart rolled, hard and sharp, panic freezing me in place.

Keeping his gun hand rock solid, Mitch fired back. Red blossomed on the front of Burr’s shirt, spread.

I ducked from behind the truck, and aimed at Burr.

He fired at Mitch, hitting him in the chest. Cold terror held my hands steady. I fired. Once. Twice. Both shots on target. Burr went down.

I raced to Mitch, tossed the gun down, and cradled him in my arms. His eyes were closed, his skin damp with cold sweat. No way could I let him die before we’d healed our relationship. “Don’t die. Don’t you dare die, Mitchell Hunt. “Pain settled hard and fast in my chest. I groaned, a wild animal sound so loud I could hear it through the ringing in my ears.

“H-hurts.” He shuddered, his whole body lifting off the ground.

Yanking my shirt off, I wadded it up, pressed it tight to the hole in Mitch’s chest. Putting my weight on it with one hand, I grabbed my cell with the other. “Ambulance now! Mitch has been hit twice. Chest and shoulder.”

“On the way.” There was a catch in Annie’s voice, but she held steady. “Burr?”

“Three rounds to the chest. I think he’s dead.”

“Okay, El. Just a few more minutes. I’m right here with you.”

She was so wrong. No one was here with me. Even if she’d been standing next to me holding my hand, I was alone.

Mitch’s eyes fluttered open. “L-love you Suns-shine.”

I leaned forward, putting all my weight on his wound. “Love you, too. Annie heard the shots, Mitch. An ambulance will be here. Just hold on.”

Chill bumps broke out on my skin. “Why did you do that?” I demanded. “Try to protect me? We were okay behind the truck.” My voice croaked, scratchy with fear.

He clutched my arm, then his hand slipped away. “W-would have t-taken you.”

I could barely hear him, the words a mere whisper. Keeping pressure on his chest, I brought my ear to his lips, his breath warm against my skin. “H-had to be s-stopped. Valuable. L-love you. M-my fault.”

Oh, God, no. I couldn’t let him think that. “No, it’s not your fault. They would have found me, were already tracking me.” Sobs wracked me. I grabbed at the edges of Mitch’s shirt, pressing them on top of the wadded-up fabric covering his wound. Blood stained my hands, warm, his life draining out.

“Where the hell is the ambulance?” The shriek came from my gut. Tears clouded my vision, poured down my cheeks.

With shaking fingers, I brushed the hair away from Mitch’s forehead, bent and kissed him. My hands had left bloody streaks, stark against his gray skin. His blood tasted bitter-salty on my lips. “Stay with me, Mitch. We’ll make this work. We’ll find a way to fix everything. Please. Stay with me.”

Every ounce of my being pleaded with God to make this right. To keep Mitch alive.

Blood poured from his wound. So much I couldn’t slow it down. “Ambulance. Ambulance. Ambulance,” I chanted.

I buried my face in his neck, his skin cool to my touch. “I love you. Stay with me. Please, please stay with me.”

A loud rumbling sounded behind me. “Over here,” I yelled, twisting around.

Not an ambulance. The car that had been following us raced toward me. It screeched to a halt and six Asian men leaped out, circling me. They must have been tag-teaming with Burr, dropping out of sight when he rammed into us, showing up to finish us off.

My entire world tipped and rolled out from under me.

I held Mitch tight to my chest and watched the light leave his eyes.

Annie’s voice came through my cell, distant and weak. “ETA on the ambulance is three minutes. They’re almost there, El.”

“It’s too late,” I whispered, and stood to face the Wah Ching.

TWENTY-EIGHT

The group of Wah Ching
didn’t say anything.
Didn’t carry visible weapons. I wanted to die, wanted the pain to stop. We should have had a chance to heal from Mitch’s betrayal. Not to stay married, but to find a way to get on with living. He gave his life for me, and I would fight. Anything less would dishonor him. Anger surged, roiled in my gut. I bent, grabbed the .9mm from the ground, and then I leveled it at the biggest guy in the group.

“There’s more of you. Six to one makes it a sure thing that you’re going to win this battle. I know it. But I’ll take at least one of you with me.” Mitch’s blood made my hands slippery. I gripped the gun tighter.

They all wore red—do rags, bandanas over their faces, shirts—something red. My vision grayed, blending the blood covering my hands with their clothing. They moved closer.

I squeezed the trigger. Missed the big guy, nipped the one next to him in the arm. He swore, slapped a hand over the cut then pulled a knife.

My aim was off. Could have been the tears, or that my hands were slippery with sweat and blood. I adjusted my aim to compensate, and then squeezed the trigger again. Grazed the big guy’s arm, and threw him off balance.
Suck it up, Everly.
I drew in a deep breath, aimed, fired, got him in the chest. He went down.

A chill raced over my skin. I only had one magazine, so every shot had to count. Hollow, empty of everything but the cold, I spun, sighting on a short guy I caught moving in from my right, and shot him.

Someone moved in behind me, clamped his arm around my neck, and knocked the gun from my hand. He tightened his hold. No air. I fast-stepped, keeping up with him as he dragged me backward. My lungs labored for oxygen. I needed to break his hold before I passed out. Not much time. I primed my move, and when he stumbled, elbowed him in the ribs, and rammed my foot onto his instep.

“Son of a bitch,” he hollered next to my ear.

His hold loosened. While he was off balance, I tucked my chin into my neck. He’d bruised my trachea, and sucking in air hurt—a good hurt, because I could breathe.

The foul odor of stale cigarette smoke gagged me.

Someone grabbed my ankles. I kicked out, catching his chin. A string of muffled swear words colored the air, mixing with the wail of approaching sirens.

The pain hit the side of my head hard and fast seconds before reality faded to emptiness.

Awareness scratched at the back of my mind.
Nausea bunched, then spread through my belly. The scent of Chinese food clung to the air with sticky persistence, and tasted stale on my tongue. I gagged, forcing the bile back down my throat.

And then I opened my eyes. The room was dark, illuminated only by several flickering candles. Darkness was better. There’s room to hide from pain in the shadows.

My wrists were loosely tied in front of me, the rope rough and gritty. I was on a bed. Red was everywhere—the bedspread, the walls, the drapes. And my hands. Mitch’s blood. Pain welled in my chest, crushing the broken pieces of my heart.

The only door in the room flew open and the backlit silhouette of a woman filled the doorway. The harsh shaft of light momentarily blinded me. I squeezed my eyes closed, trapping the tears behind my lids. Mitch was gone. I’d never see his dimples again, or the way his wire rims slipped down his nose when he was reading.

“You’re awake. Good. We can begin work soon.” The woman’s voice was marked with a rich Asian accent, and the room vibrated with her intensity.

“Xifeng,” I whispered.

“Very astute of you, Everly Gray. I’ve been planning our meeting for many years.” Her clothes rustled, heavy silk slipping against itself as she moved toward the bed, and when she bent over me the scent of patchouli stuck in my throat.

Should I be afraid? I rolled my legs against the bed, and the knife sheaths rubbed into my skin. They hadn’t disarmed me. Too distracted by the sirens, maybe. Images that I’d picked up when I touched Mitch’s gun played a shadowy video on my internal screen. I knew what Burr’s accomplices looked like, the men responsible for Mitch’s death. For my parents’ deaths. They were mine now. On
my
kill roster.

Xifeng touched my head. I jerked away, and pain exploded in my skull. Damn, had that whimper come from me?

“Hold still, Everly Gray. The wound on your head is bleeding and should be tended. I want you in the best possible condition for my healing. After that, we’ll see if I keep you for a plaything, or—”

I had no interest in hearing about Xifeng’s plans. “It’s fine,” I interrupted her gloat. “A little blood doesn’t matter.” But a lot of blood… he’d bled out under my hands. I rolled to my side, dry sobs wracking my body.

Xifeng grabbed a handful of my hair and yanked. “Stop it. I cannot abide your mewling. If you’re alert enough to make such a disgusting noise, your wound doesn’t need care, and you can begin work on me immediately.”

I swallowed, choking on the pain, but she was right. Now wasn’t the time for tears. I ran my tongue around my mouth, trying to unstick the dryness. “What kind of work?”

Conversation would be good here, Everly. She’s psycho. They like to talk.

I rubbed my face against the bedspread, wiping away the few tears that had escaped.

“You’re going to heal me, of course. I know your mother passed magical gifts to you. And that your friend was infected with the enchanted poison, which she has survived, and has since delivered a child. A vulnerable child.”

Rage broke through the pounding in my head. The bitch had threatened Madigan. I swung my legs off the bed, rolling up to sit. The room pitched. “Damn, but that hurts. What’d he hit me with?”

“His fist.” She snickered, backing out of touching distance. “You can still function. I’ve been watching. You’re resilient when it comes to protecting your family.”

Watching me? I shuddered, wanted the ropes off my wrists. Resilient? Was she making any sense at all?

Doesn’t matter, Everly. Talk to the crazy woman. Get out of here. Get to Madigan before it’s too late.

 
“Madigan’s in trouble,” I whispered.

“Yes. She will be the first person to die if you refuse to heal my scars. My people will see to it.” Pride colored her words.

Her people? My brain wasn’t working right. Red swam into my vision. The Wah Ching? Was she talking about the gang members assisting her? I shifted, testing my muscles, calculating the odds of taking her out so I could escape. Not good.

If I could get her to leave the room… “Water?” I croaked.

She snapped her fingers and a man appeared from someplace to my left. He stepped in front of me and shoved a plastic bottle into my hand. Images sped across my internal screen, and I looked up, trying to see his face. Too dark, but my fingers didn’t lie. It was the man I’d bought Chinese food from the other day, probably the restaurant proprietor. That meant I had to be in a back room of the infamous establishment where we were to have met with Burr. So there was definitely a connection between the rogue spy group and Xifeng.

I lifted the water bottle to my mouth, was stopped by the lid. A short burst of anger cracked along my nerves, clearing some of the haze from my brain. “You want to cut these ropes off so I can unscrew the top?” It wasn’t much as far as intimidation went, but I managed to saturate the words with a hint of bitch.

The restaurant proprietor-slash-thug let out a disrespectful sniff that had to have been accompanied with a curled lip. Too bad the dark hid his attempt at macho. He grabbed the bottle, unscrewed the top, and shoved it against my palm, spilling half of it on my hands and in my lap. The cold saturated my cargoes, pulling goose bumps out of my skin. It helped to clear my head. I brought the water to my mouth, gagged. The spilled liquid had mixed with the blood on my hands and the scent triggered the image of Mitch’s sightless eyes. No way could I allow him to die without a damn good reason. This had to end. It would be my tribute to Mitch.

I cleared my throat. “I believe I have a dinner reservation this evening.”

“Yes, it worked out well,” Xifeng said. “We stepped in to eliminate any confusion about who was in control of you. All of my
partners
have had limited life spans.” Another snicker, quieter this time, and sinister.

A surge of adrenaline slammed through me, and I downed the water in three gulps. No way was this bitch going to win. Not after what these people had done to Mitch. “Let’s get on with the healing then, shall we?” I twisted to face Restaurant Proprietor Thug. “I’ll just take my meal to go as soon as we’re finished. And you’ll have to free my hands. I use them to heal.”

Xifeng snapped her fingers again. RPT was on it in a flash, slipping his knife from the sheath I’d spotted when I picked up the Chinese food. He sliced through the ropes, deliberately nicking my wrist. My blood mixed with Mitch’s. I wiped my hands on my pants, cleaning off as much of the damp stickiness as I could. If I had a chance to use my knife, I was going to take it, and I wanted clean, dry hands—the better to keep my thrusts well-aimed and steady.

“Leave us,” Xifeng said. “Lock the door, but remain directly outside and assure that no one disturbs us.”

When the door clicked behind him, she slowly raked her gaze over me. Not that I could see, but my body itched with the intensity of her stare. “If you are unsuccessful, I will deliver you to my Wah Ching family for torture.” She chuckled. “They need the practice.”

My brain must have short-circuited because her words bounced off me, like a protective shield stood between us. I didn’t know a damn thing about torture techniques, but I’d watched a documentary on gangs and should have been terrified. Could I even gather healing energy when I was this numb?