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“But—”
I move onward, my gun in one hand, Beau in the other, practically manhandling her. “He’ll be fine.” I don’t know that at all.
“What if—”
“Beau, I haven’t got time for this,” I hiss, poking my head around the corner, seeing my Range Rover up the street. A BMW is directly outside the funeral home, a driver at the wheel. Where the fuck is Goldie?”
And like she’s heard me, she appears at the back of the BMW, armed, and walks down the side of the car. The whooshing of a bullet leaving a chamber sounds and blood splatters the screen.
Goldie looks at the door to the funeral home, and I whistle to get her attention, just as a thud sounds behind us, accompanied by a rush of foreign words. Polish.
I release Beau, giving her a look to suggest that if she moves, she’ll be getting it, and she holds her hand out. I’m not a stupid man. I give her my gun and arm myself with the other in the back of my jeans as I lift a trash can and gently place it down by the wall, stepping up and plastering my back to the bricks. I’m about to tell Beau to get in position by the gates, but she’s already there, poised, ready. I hate the sense of unstoppable pride I feel. Hate that she knows what she’s doing.
A head appears over the wall, and before he has a chance to spot me, I grab his jacket and haul him over. He hits the floor with a splat and Beau has a bullet in him before I’ve even aimed.
“Three more,” Goldie says, joining us.
Bang!
“Two.” Beau moves back against the wall and looks at me. There’s no amusement on her face. No smugness. She’s just doing what needs to be done, and I fucking detest that she does it so fucking well.
“Concentrate,” I order, peeking up as another head appears. I reach back, straining, gritting my teeth through the pull of my muscles, and yank the fucker over. His gun fires while he’s sailing through the air, and I see Beau lean back, her eyes widening. “Beau,” I yell, a million unwanted memories flooding back as I jump down off the trash can and run to her.
More bullets fire, one after the other, pinging off the metal rods of the gate. I flinch and duck, feeling one graze the back of my arm. I make it to Beau, slightly confused when I find her still standing, dread squeezing every one of my internal organs.
She looks at me, lifting her arm. I see a hole in the sleeve of her shirt and flat-out panic, yanking it up her scarred arm. Nothing. I turn her arm over, checking every inch of it. No holes. No blood. “Jesus,” I whisper, pushing her against the wall with my body, effectively hiding her. Being a human shield.
“One more,” Goldie says, standing above the motionless body of my latest victim and pulling the trigger.
“Where’s the girl?” a thick Polish accent says.
I inhale, feeling Beau moving ever so slightly, her eyes pointing downward, like she’s gaging something. She is. Fuck me, I need to stop underestimating her. Worry is natural. She lines her legs up with mine and stills, slowly lifting her head and looking up at me. Her eyes tell me what to do. I follow the sound of the voice, looking behind me, seeing a gun aimed at Goldie, another at me.
Goldie immediately drops her weapon, and I follow suit, keeping my arms by my side, making myself as wide as possible as I return my attention to the wall. And to Beau. “One o’clock,” I mouth.
If I wasn’t body to body against her, I wouldn’t know she’d moved.
Bang.
“Fuck me!” Goldie yelps, as I fly around, seeing The Shark hit the deck, his eyes open, a bullet hole placed precisely in between his eyes. Beau’s soon pushing her way past me, going to the body and standing over it. She considers him for a few moments, then pokes his thigh with the toe of her converse, like she needs to check he’s really dead.
I look at Goldie. She’s staring at Beau, somewhere between awe and shock.Jesus fucking Christ.
I go to her, taking the gun. “Stay,” I order seriously, before going to the gates and peering through. A bin labelled INCINERATOR is by the door. “Bolt croppers?” I look back at Goldie, who nods sharply and jogs off, returning a few seconds later. She takes care of the thick chain raveled around the gate with ease, the metal pinging loose with one cut, and I pull the huge trash can out onto the alleyway and flip the lid open. Beau takes the initiative to hold it, stopping it from rolling away, while Goldie and I start collecting up the bodies and dumping them inside one by one, my muscles getting another punishing. We leave the biggest for last, Goldie and I considering The Shark for a moment, also taking a quick breather, before moving in. I take his arms, she takes his legs.
“Jesus,” she grunts, going a little blue in the face. “They should have called him Megalodon.”
I have to agree. The guy is a ton weight. “Ready,” I heave, bracing myself to hoist him up.
“Yep.”
We both strain under the weight of him and slowly but surely ease him up to the trash can, getting him on the edge and nudging him in on top of his men. Beau flips the lid and frowns when she tries to push it back into the yard of the funeral home.
I give her a hand, ignoring her indignant look when I push it along with relative ease. “Don’t even think about lifting more weights,” I warn, knowing she would, just to prove a point. I love her petite, athletic frame.
“Arnie,” she says, taking off around the front.
“God damn it, Beau,” I breathe, going after her.
