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“And the rest of your club? Why aren’t they standing guard here?”
“They are,” he said, standing and pulling a curtain to the side slightly where he could see Preacher and Raven perched in a shadow that would stay cast for maybe twenty-five more minutes as the sun shifted across the sky. Others were beyond the perimeter, and it would take them less than a minute to converge. Lord knew he could usually survive a minute of torture, maybe two if it was a good day. Though the nervousness he was experiencing was new, as if he finally had something to live for and the fight in him came from a different place.
“Mother, May I Sleep With Danger,” Bree said under her breath.
“What was that?”
“A bad Lifetime or after-school special movie,” she said, waving her hand. “I don’t even remember the premise, just the title. Every part of me is screaming it.”
“Darn, I was hoping you were asking permission to crack my ice cube tray.”
Before she could respond, the sound of a car pulling up directly outside had a concert booming from the rush of blood in his ears, blocking all audible sound. Playing it smooth and sarcastic was his trademark, and he knew he’d made a mistake when he let Bree come along. His need to protect her should have extended to shielding her from herself. Turning to her, he leaned down, needing one final taste of her lips before twisting his neck from side to side and opening the door.
The sheet-white face matched the snowy hair on Mrs. Parker’s head. She’d lived in Vegas long enough she knew who the players were as well as he did, the ones you took on versus the ones you let go with God and move on from. As she sat in the older sedan, he tried to see why she hadn’t gotten out of the vehicle. He bounced from the single step and crossed the pavement to where she sat, and she lowered her window.
“Mr. Winter”—her voice trembled, eyes pleading for help—“I’m here for the children.”
“I thought you were just going to look at the trailer,” Bree interjected as the woman’s head bobbled on top of a shaking form. “Are you—”
“What?” Mrs. Parker’s voice was louder than it needed to be. She leaned down, her finger pressing the button to pop the trunk, and whispered low, “Please say he’s okay.”
Pulling his Glock, Ice stepped back, keeping a good eight feet between him and the trunk. His heart thundering, he could hear his brothers slipping from the shadows since he’d engaged a weapon. The trunk wasn’t one of those pop-high-in-the-air types. It was one of those with no spring, the barely cracked kind. If he tapped the roof, would it raise, or would he have to give up a bit of control and reach with his hand?
Bree came from around the other side of the vehicle. He barely made out her form, but was glad he knew the body well enough to not fire. Her hand slowly reached for the sun-kissed burning metal. She hooked her thumb under the lip on the side and tossed it up before running to the front as if she’d dropped a small explosive.
Inside, a small boy was passed out with a man curled up behind him, the eyes dark as midnight with a mind to match. A surgical blade glinted in the near-midday sun as the Doctor adjusted the angle to attempt to blind him. Bright yellow burned him, but he dare not move. At this point, he had the upper hand.
“You here to negotiate?” Ice asked. The distant sound of men’s boots crunching on the bits of gravel they had in the parking lot gave him landmarks, his mind creating plot points in a very tight and detailed map.
They were shielded by the building between the Review and where Ice parked his trailer, and the man was angling himself to lift the small child and extricate himself from the trunk. Wary of what Ice felt was a growing crowd around him, the arch of men fanned out, giving the Doctor no escape. At what point had the hit man with serial killer skill fallen so far, allowing a way to be caught as easy as this? Every fiber in his being told him more was coming or this wasn’t the Doctor. This was a distraction. Watch the right hand so you don’t see the left—
Ice swung around, his gun searching for the target he knew had to be there, only to discover the sound of boots crunching and his brothers coming to help him had been an illusion. His eyes cut to the far corner, where all he saw were Preacher’s boots getting hit by the sun as his body lay in velvet darkness. There’s no way the man in the car was the one who’d taken out a half dozen brothers around the place.
Were his children safe? Had he inadvertently made Nunez a sacrificial lamb to the slaughter? For the last hour, he’d played out how this would go, the possible delays in a situation he thought he had home court advantage with. By the time he swung back around, it was Bree being held, the gun pressing up to her temple, her eyes glassy from a distance as tears streamed down the cheeks he’d moments ago cradled in his hand. The woman, brave enough to run into the fire, now doused as an arm wrapped around her neck, tightening as he held the body he’d claimed after she offered it so freely to him.
This was why the Doctor was so effective. Both men, twins in their dark souls and unremarkable looks, it would be nothing for them to be lost in a crowd. Even when he saw the one who had run from Bree’s home, if he’d simply picked up a hose on the side of a house along the street, Ice wouldn’t have been able to say the man wasn’t the owner. And now, Bree stood, steadfast, trying to hang on to the strength she possessed and he’d stupidly been convinced of. Why hadn’t he put her in her place as he had so many before her?
Because he couldn’t, not really, not his Bree, not the luscious woman he couldn’t get enough of and wished he’d met a month ago. Then she would have been prepared. She would understand the world he came from instead of believing the lies and exaggerations of Misty. The woman couldn’t keep track of her lies, and that made her deadly to all who were around her.
Two lives were directly threatened, and he wondered if the men charged by the corpse. Was there a max? If so, he could easily offer himself for Bree. In the car, he saw Mrs. Parker hadn’t removed her hands from the steering wheel. She should be running to the back to check on the child there. Instead, her knuckles were near white, and he tried to remember if he’d ever heard of the Doctor being an explosives expert. Or maybe the brother was a different hit man Ice hadn’t learned about, but Brambilla knew.
Was Angela hurt enough she’d go to kill beyond the first circle of the family? All over a man who had broken her heart?
“We gone keep standing here twisting our nuts?” Ice asked, the extended time burning his shoulders, and he wished he was as good of a shot as Caliber. That man could circumcise a fly at fifty paces. Best Ice could hope for were the fates guiding his bullet, but the fates had just as much of a chance of hitting Bree, and that wasn’t an acceptable risk.
“I have a contract,” the man holding Bree said, “one I plan on honoring. Eye for an eye. I can make it painful or painless. You’re the one bringing collateral damage into the picture.”
“If you wanted the kids, you could have easily killed them when you killed Misty,” Ice reasoned. “You did what you wanted with John, not sure what eyes are left?”
The man in the trunk crawled over the small child, onto the pavement, keeping the blade extended before dragging the lifeless toddler behind him. Did they have three hostages if they counted Mrs. Parker? Or was it two because the kid being dragged like a rag doll was actually dead? There wasn’t the time to look and see if the kid was breathing.
Fubar came from around the corner of the building, his eyes darting between all parties as he pulled his gun the moment he saw Ice’s was drawn.
“Anyone not in leather is open to being shot,” Fubar warned.
“Not really the time,” Ice countered. “The Doctor here is going to give me his terms.”
“The children, once we told our employer—”
