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Natches watched as Nadine leveled her own gun at Janey’s head.
“I’d love to kill her,” she told him vindictively. “Pop her little head right off, just like you did Johnny’s. ”
Natches lowered the gun, shifted away from the wall and forced Nadine in a better alignment with the window as he came closer to her.
Be in position, Alex, he prayed. God help them all, he better be in position.
He pulled the cell phone from his belt and tossed it to Dayle. He almost winced as Dayle cracked it against the table, busting the frame before he dropped it into the vase of water that held fresh flowers. So much for Cranston’s new toy.
“The gun, Natches. ” Dayle waggled his fingers demandingly. “Let’s not . . . ”
Pop.
Nadine went down, dragging Janey with her as Dayle jumped him. The fist that plowed into Natches’s jaw felt like a jackhammer. He went backward, the gun flying, clattering to the floor before he righted himself and faced an enraged Dayle.
“Just like Johnny,” Natches snarled. “What now, bastard?”
“Now I beat you to fucking death like I should have when you were a snot-nosed kid,” Dayle snarled.
Natches laughed as he shed his coat, feeling the blood pump through his body, adrenaline racing through his veins.
“I’m not a kid now, old man,” he sneered. “Come and get me. We’ll see who ends up with the busted ribs this time. ”
The second Chaya realized Nadine Grace had a hostage, and who it was, panic nearly flared in her throat.
“We have a hostage situation. ” She spoke quietly into the mic at her cheek that connected her to the team surrounding the house.
Alex was the closest in position, stretched out on the roof across the street, hidden from view by the branches of an aged oak growing beside it.
“Alex, confirm visual. ”
“Confirmed. Target acquired. ”
She heard the pop of the sniper rifle, her eyes widening as Cranston began to curse and order all agents to converge on the house.
“All agents, be advised, don’t interfere. Cover only. This is Natches’s fight. ”
“Are you insane?” Cranston turned back to her, his eyes bugging out of his head. “Natches will kill him. ” He pulled his own mic closer to his mouth. “All agents, detain—”
“No. ” Before Cranston could stop her she pulled the plug on his communications unit and stared back at him furiously. “Stop fighting me so I can get to Natches. We cover him, that’s it. This is his fight, Cranston. No matter what. ”
“And if his father manages to get a killing blow in? What then, Agent Dane?”
She breathed in roughly. “Then I’ll deal with it, Timothy. It’s his fight. It’s his pride. I won’t take it from him. ”
He cursed again, turned from her, and a second later they were running from the van to the sidewalk, racing to the two-story brick house that sat peacefully amid the residential street.
Neighbors were stepping from their houses as the sheriff’s car sped down the street, sirens wailing. And she wondered how Timothy had managed to keep Zeke from coming in sooner.
They rushed the house. Dawg and Rowdy with their black law enforcement vests made it there first. The door splintered as they went through it, and stood blocking the living room, staring back at Natches and Dayle Mackay in shock.
They were brutal. Fists were slamming into faces. Natches’s jaw and lip were bleeding; Dayle probably had teeth missing though. He was bleeding profusely from the mouth, stumbling back as Natches buried his fist in his ribs. And from the grunt of pain, it wasn’t the first time.
Dayle went to one knee, staggered, and then pulled himself back up. Lowering his head he charged Natches. A second later, he came up on his tiptoes, a wet groan leaving his throat as Natches buried his fist in his stomach and threw him back.
“Have you had enough?” Natches’s drawl was lazy, that dangerous sound Chaya swore she was going to make sure he never uttered again.
“Son of a bitch,” Dayle wheezed and charged again.
