Whiplash: A Sports Romance (34 page)

I spin around to see Senator Lamb on his knees, forced down by two men dressed all in black with tactical gear strapped to their chests and hips. Masks obscure their identities as they stand over him with pistols in their hands, each one pointed straight to the back of his head.

I blink to sharpen my vision. Ropes hang down from the broken windows, attached to their belts. They must have propelled down from the roof and—

Two shots ring out simultaneously and my heart stops.

I open my mouth in a silent scream. Senator Lamb falls forward and lands in a clump at my feet. Blood rolls from his eye sockets where his eyes should be, but they aren’t there anymore.

One of the men in black turns around and grips the rope on his belt before jumping out the window. The other looks at me. Fear strikes me down. His eyes are as blue as ice and just as cold. He shifts his feet and takes a step towards me, his hand moving behind him.

“No…” I push off the floor, sliding backward to get away from him. He widens his stride and reaches for me. I look to the crowd for help, but everyone just rushes about in a blind panic.
“Help—!”

His thick fingers clamp around my throat, squeezing tight enough to hold me, but not hard enough to hurt me. He stares into my eyes with great amusement, getting off on the fear in mine.

My head screams at me to move, but I stare back at him, utterly helpless.

He raises his other hand, sliding a knife free from his belt.

Tears form in my eyes.
“No—!”

“Shh.”

My spit turns to acid in my mouth. I feel the cold touch of the blade against my left cheek and cringe in pain as the edge slides across my skin.

Finally, he drops me and casts one last look in my direction before leaping out the window. I quiver with adrenaline, still trapped in my own body. My cheek throbs with pain. I touch it to feel the broken skin and it paints my fingers red with my blood.

“Roxie!”
My father falls to his knees by my side and reaches for me. “Are you okay?!”

I stare at Senator Lamb’s lifeless body, unable to answer the question.

Chapter 3

Fox

I nudge the door open and step inside the farmhouse, balancing several grocery bags in my arms as I go.

“Is that you, Fox?”

“Yeah, Mrs. Clark,” I answer. “It’s me.” I walk into the kitchen and slide the bags onto the counter.

Mrs. Clark sits in her recliner across the room, staring into the television in the corner. The sound is at full blast; the only volume she can hear it at anymore and her eyes aren’t great for reading subtitles. I don’t mind it much. It’s the perfect volume for action movies and Mrs. Clark
loves
her action movies. She invites me over once a week to watch whatever new movie has come out. It’s really the closest thing I have to fun anymore. Sessions with Darla included.

She quickly grabs the remote to turn it down before spinning around in her chair to look at me. “Thanks again for running my errands,” she says. “Would have done it myself if it weren’t for this damn hip. Can’t wait for the warm weather to come back…”

I flash her a smile. “You know I don’t mind, Mrs. Clark. Everything still go in the same place?” I grab the bread from the top of a bag and spin around to stick it in the bread box on the counter.

“Yes, but you don’t have to do that. I can put it away.” She pushes herself out of the chair slowly and walks into the kitchen. “If you got a minute to spare, the light in the bathroom went out.”

“Again?”

“Must be a bad wire or something.”

“I’ll take a look at it.” I drop the gallon of milk in the fridge and head down the hallway towards the bathroom.

“Thank you, Fox!” she calls after me with a sweet voice. “What would I do without you?”

“Fall and die, I suppose,” I joke, chuckling softly. I climb up onto the toilet and unscrew the creme-colored globe to get at the bulb.

“Well, you’re not wrong about that,” she says. “Hey — you see the news today?”

“Nope.” I twist the bulb and the light comes back on. “Looks like the bulb got loose.”

“That girl you like is all over it.”

“What girl?”

“That Rocky girl.”

I pause. “Roxie Roberts?”

“Yeah, that one!” she says. “From those
Night Trial
movies we watched.”

I step off the toilet and walk back into the kitchen. “What happened?”

“See for yourself.” She points at the television. “It’s on every channel.”

I grab the remote and scroll the volume as loud as it’ll go. Correspondents sit around a table, barking theories back and forth over snippets of news footage, analyzing one clip in particular. Ticker tape scrolls along the bottom, warning that the footage might be disturbing to some viewers. After what I’ve seen, I tend to ignore warnings like that.

The footage starts with Senator Ronnie Lamb standing at a podium with his arm wrapped around a young woman—

Dani
. The ends of my lips twitch, just like they always do when I see her.

He shoves her aside and she takes a step back, her face shining with a polite expression, although I can tell how tortured she is. Then I see the black ropes falling down in the windows behind them. I focus on them until two black bodies swing down and crash through the glass.

Dani falls forward and my heart lurches in my chest.

“Run, Dani…”
I whisper, wishing for it to come true, but she stays on the floor with wide eyes. Terrified, frozen in her fear.

The two men in black force Lamb to his knees and place their pistols on the back of his head.

Snake Eyes.
One bullet through each eye. It’s their specialty.

They pull the triggers and Lamb’s body crumbles to the floor. Dani doesn’t scream. She doesn’t even look away from the blood creeping towards her shoes.

“Move…”

Lamb has been pissing people off on both sides of the aisle for over thirty years. It was only a matter of time until someone offed him but I would never have expected Snake Eyes to take the job. They don’t make a show out of it like this. The snake comparison doesn’t end with two bullets in each eye. They value stealth above all other skills. A hit in broad daylight? In front of a dozen news cameras? Someone wanted this to be very, very public. They wanted to send a message but to whom?

I grit my teeth as one of them reaches behind his back. He pulls out his knife and leans over Dani, wrapping his thick fingers around her neck. Anger swells in my chest as the blade scratches across her cheek and blood spills down her face. I feel the pain of it myself, charging up my cheek from my lips to my ears. I run my fingertip along my own scar; the one I keep hidden behind a beard as Darla accurately pointed out. I’ve had it for two years, ever since my first mission in Snake Eyes.

So that’s what this is. Lamb isn’t the target; he’s the perfect patsy. The news media will argue day and night over who is behind this political assassination but it was never about him or his policies. They needed this to be big.

They wanted to make sure I’d notice.

I step closer and watch as he leaps out the window. It’d be optimistic to think the police caught him. Mercer is way too good to get caught so easily.

Mercer Black. He was my friend. Not so much anymore.

“Horrible, isn’t it?”

I pull my eyes away to look at Mrs. Clark. “Yeah. It is.”

“Poor girl. She’ll be scarred for life.”

“Excuse me, Mrs. Clark. I’ll be right back.”

She mutters a response and slides back down into her chair while I step outside.

Snake Eyes and I didn’t exactly part on good terms. There’s only one way out of Snake Eyes and that’s with two holes in your skull. I wasn’t about to go out like that and in order to escape them, I had to improvise.

Somehow, Mercer has figured it out, but Mrs. Clark’s guest house has definitely done its job. He can’t find me, so he’s going after the one thing he knows I care about. Slicing Dani’s cheek was a warning meant only for me.

Show yourself or she’s next.

I think I’ll enjoy shooting him in the head.

***

I knock on Mrs. Clark’s door and patiently wait while Sammy growls and barks at me through the window.

“Calm your tits, Sammy!
It’s just Fox.
”

I grin to hide my real expression as she opens the door. “Hey, Mrs. Clark,” I greet.

She keeps the door open wide and walks back inside towards the kitchen. “Come on in, honey. You hungry? I was just about to make a sandwich and I’d be happy to make two.”

I close the door behind me. “No, thanks. I just stopped by to let you know that I need to do some last-minute traveling.”

“Oh?” she asks. She bends down to pull some lunch meat from the refrigerator and snatches a clean butter knife from the drying rack by the sink. “Where you off to?”

“Just…” I hesitate and tap a finger against the counter. “A family thing.”

She raises an inquisitive brow. “I was beginning to think you didn’t have one of those…”

“Yeah. Me, too.” I look down at Sammy. He’s still at full alert, sitting directly between me and his master. I haven’t had blood on my hands in years but this mutt can still smell it on me. Always has. “Anyway, I don’t know how long I’ll be gone but I wanted to let you know.”

“Don’t you worry about me, Fox.” She handles the butter knife with more precision than you’d expect from her old, pale hands — an after effect of her years as a trauma nurse. It’s what I like most about her. She’s not at all squeamish and could easily handle herself it if weren’t for that hip. “I’ve got Sammy and Harvey to keep me company.”

“Right.” I flash a genuine smile. “Take care, Mrs. Clark.”

“You, too, kiddo.”

I step outside and rub my hands together as I make my way towards my car. The cold has lingered longer than necessary, teasing a spring just over the horizon. I look around, taking in my last lungful of Iowa farm air, memorizing the picturesque world around me. Big farmhouse, the guest cabin, even the old barn out across the field. I rub my hands together again. They always feel a little cold, at least… until the moments before a kill. Then I have to submerge them in ice water to make them feel normal again. I feel that warmth now, reigniting a feeling in me I thought was lost.

I lower myself into my car and sit back against the seat. Here I am, doing the exact thing I told myself I would never do again. Not just for my own safety, but for my family’s as well. My mother. My stepfather. Dani. Each one of them will be in danger if I ever show my face again. Most of all, though, none of them will ever look at me again if they find out about the things I’ve done.

I pause with my fingers lingering above the ignition. I should stop now and go back inside. It’s not right to uproot them now. It’s been five years since I left home and two since I was “killed in action.” They’ve had a chance to mourn, a chance to get over it and move on without me. It wouldn’t be fair to them if I suddenly showed up again. And what would I say to them?
Sorry. I wasn’t really dead. I’ve been hiding out in Middle of Nowhere, Iowa in an old lady’s guest house. Pass the mashed potatoes, please.

But Dani is in danger.

Mercer will come back for her and when he does, he’ll put her through unbelievable torment just to get to me. I can’t ignore that in favor of living my lie a little bit longer.

I lick my lips and relish in the rush of memory tingling my senses. She tasted so sweet and warm back then, like freshly baked apples. Young, beautiful, but she didn’t know it yet. Not back then. She was just little Dani Roberts. The girl down the hall.

I push the guilt aside and turn the key.

***

“Hell-o! Who is this?”

I press the receiver closer to my ear as the dull, rumbling LAX crowd passes by the pay phones. The woman in the booth next to mine makes eye contact with me before glancing down my black suit with a seductive smile. I turn my back to her and grip my bag a little tighter. “Boxcar, it’s me.”

“Me?” His voice squeaks back. “I don’t know anybody named
Me
.”

“Boxcar…”
I glance around for prying ears.

“No, I want to hear you say it,” he chuckles. “I want you to tell me that I died. How else could I be talking to a dead man right now?”

“You’re not dead and neither am I.”

“Obviously.”
I hear the clacking of a keyboard beneath his voice. “I don’t suppose you’re about to bless me with an explanation?”

“Not just yet,” I say. “I need your help.”

“Did you try turning it off and back on again?”

“Little more technical than that, Box.”

“You came all the way back from hell to ask for
my
help?” he jokes.

I pause as a man walks a little too close. A nervous habit, but not unnecessary. “Are you in L.A.?”

“Nope, I’m a bit farther east these days.”

“How far?”