It was Fassell that barked out the address, not even bothering with the tired warning of, "Come alone."
Lauren twisted her wrists again, wishing she could just have her hands free so she could rub her eyes, gently pat the stinging red mark left on her cheek. MacGowen was pacing back and forth in front of her, spinning a knife absently in his long fingers. He was good, talented, she had to give him that. He caught her watching him and grinned at her. "Yes, I've been practicing," he agreed, as if she'd asked him a question. "That little craft blade - it was sharp mind you - but not nearly effective enough." He spun the knife on his palm again, fascinated by the play of light on the steel. "This, however, is as sharp as a Masamune Katana. They used them for slicing through diamonds, rock, human bones as easily as tissue paper." He smiled up at her, and for a moment, she could see Thomas's expression in his dark grin. "Maybe I should start on you?" MacGowen offered nastily, "Give your dear husband something to scream about when he shows up? You're so pretty..." he was coming closer, and Lauren gritted her teeth, picturing tearing off his finger in a single bite.
The scrape of a shoe made them both look up, and Lauren sagged in relief. Her beautiful husband looked her over, carefully impassive but she understood. No distractions, he had work to do. "Showing off, MacGowen? How childish. But you still are daddy's little man-boy, aren't you?"
There was a groan as Number Three came from behind him, grabbing Lauren's handcuffed wrists and dragging her over to a hook, lifting her to hang her there, high enough that her toes barely touched. "Williams, for once in your life, just do the sensible thing. Keep your mouth shut," he pleaded, stepping back as his partner approached Lauren again. When Thomas moved too, Michael shook his head, lifting the Glock to point it at him. "Ah, ah," he chided. "I warned MacGowen you never listened to common sense. Don't make me hurt her."
Every step the loathsome MacGowen took closer to her made Lauren try to edge away, eyes fixed on that vicious knife. She knew perfectly well Thomas had a plan. He probably had dozens of plans. But- all it would take is one swipe from his blade and her throat would be opened, ear to ear. He circled behind her, tilting his knife back and forth teasingly. "Your guards are busy right now," MacGowen said casually, "trying to hold off my Bratva lieutenants. You're alone, Thomas. Just like at school. No one wanted anything to do with a penniless bastard. That hasn't changed, has it? Your people turned on you so easily,brother,"he emphasized mockingly. "I'm going to dump your carved-up corpse at the foot of Mogilevich, right before I graciously accept control over Jaguar Holdings-"
"Asweaccept control over Jaguar Holdings!" hissed Michael and as the two men glared at each other, Lauren saw Thomas's hand move slowly to the small of his back. She knew no matter how well they frisked him they'd never get all his weapons. And as Number Three and MacGowen leaned into each other's orbit, Mrs. Thomas Williams remembered a certain trick her husband had taught her in the Fun Dungeon, one that required quite a bit of core strength. Eyes darting once to Thomas's suddenly concerned ones, her legs swung up, spread wide, and then wrapped around Fassell's neck with the intensity of an anaconda, swinging furiously from her hips to knock the man off balance. She was already cringing, waiting for his gun to go off, likely into her leg to loosen them and then right through her heart but instead Mssr. Boucher was there, shooting Michael in the head and waving his hand to a bodyguard to lift her shaking body off the hook. The arms dealer put a grandfatherly arm around her.
"Are you all right, dear? Are you hurt?" He was carefully turning her, trying to keep her back to the room, but she forced herself under his arm and whirled to look for Thomas. "Non, non, Lauren, you must not..." Boucher's voice fuzzed out like a bad radio signal turning silent as she watched her husband cut his brother to pieces. A hand, as he'd promised, a vicious strike through the heart. An ear...
When the impeccable Thomas Williams looked up, there was a spray of blood across his white shirt, up his neck and over his left cheek. His eyes were glittering and there was a flat set to his mouth, like he'd forgotten how to look human. Then his gaze landed on her, he sighed and rose to his feet, stepping across the room in two big strides and holding her with his face buried in her neck, whispering, "I love you, I'm sorry. I love you, I'm sorry. I love you, I'm-"
"Shhh..." Lauren tried to sound soothing, but it came out more like a croak. "It's all right now. It is."
Chapter 40 – I Know the Oddest People
In which there is blood and retribution. Answers, but more questions. Because life in The Corporation can be like that. Incredibly irritating.
Even though Lauren knew her husband could barely contain his impatience, she continued to dab compulsively at the blood sprayed heavily across his beautiful face. He was attempting to speak with Boucher, who seemed amused by the couple's efforts to Handle The Situation. Simply the fact that therewasa dead body - in several pieces - on the floor and Number Three from Jaguar Holdings was sporting a bullet wound in his forehead would seem to be a cause for concern. But Lauren noted that the grandfatherly Frenchman didn't seem the slightest bit perturbed by the grisly scene, meaning it wasn't the first time he'd been involved in one.
I know the oddest people, she thought, trying to decide if that was amusing or horrifying.
Chuck was holding her hands, squeezing them gently and looking into her eyes. It occurred to Lauren that he was checking to see if she was in shock. Clumsily clearing her throat, she forced a smile. "I'm uh... I'm good Chuck. It's all good." He gave her his professional smile, the one she secretly called the "You're full of shit" smile, but he simply nodded and kept close. "Did you find my shoe?" Lauren asked suddenly, "I kicked it off on the other balcony so you'd know what direction they took me?"
"Yes, Miss Lauren," Chuck agreed sedately, "of course, we also had your GPS tracker in your necklace."
"Oh, yeah..." she nodded, feeling ridiculous.
But then his rough hand opened and her necklace was there, her bodyguard pressing it into her hand, closing her fingers over the torn clasp. "They ripped it from your neck," he said, pausing for a moment. His throat worked as he swallowed. "I was not there for you."
Lauren absently pressed her hand to the side of her neck, feeling the abraded skin there for the first time. "Well Chuck, I was in the bedroom, Thomas was right there. Number Three screwed us over. It's not something you could have predicted-"
"But I should have," he interrupted her, eyes a bleak gray, "I should-"
It had been some time since Lauren had had the nerve to interrupt Chuck, but she did, figuring this was a conversation that was going nowhere. "Hey, did you see my thing with knocking over Number Three? That was pretty good, right?"
As she hoped, Chuck's face cleared and he squeezed her hand holding her St. Margaret's medal. "Fierce and savage. Like a dragon."
Suddenly, the room seemed full of people. Clara was there, along with Arabella, Martinsson, his men, Thomas's men, Boucher's men- it was crowded and the groups eyed each other coldly. Thomas broke the ice. "Clara darling, I regret to inform you that you're a widow. I apologize, it couldn't be helped."
The sweet-faced girl who had shocked Lauren so many times on this trip shocked her again. Clara walked over and put her coat over her husband's ruined face. "Poor Michael." It was all she said, but Lauren could tell - for a moment at least - that the girl was sincerely sad over Number Three's brutal end. Looking up at Lauren, she smiled wryly. "It wasn't a real marriage, but sometimes, it felt like one. Just for a bit." And then she was all business. "Since we're all here," she nodded at Martinsson, "perhaps, Sir, this is a good time to discuss your approach with Bratva tonight?"
As Clara moved back to stand by her, Lauren mumbled, "Daaaamn, girl. Who the hell are you? I'm liking badass Clara."
The girl's suggestion was a good one, and the main players pulled closer, discussing how to handle the upcoming affair.
"They won't be expecting me alive," Thomas smiled unpleasantly.
Boucher nodded to Martinsson, "Nor will they be expecting us at all. So, the surprise is on our side, yes?"
Lauren tried to follow the rapid-fire negotiations as well as she could, still a little woozy from whatever knockout cocktail MacGowen had stuck her with. Absently rubbing the handcuff marks on her wrists, she wondered how they could walk into yet another meeting with the terrifying and effusive Bratva wives. She wasn't feeling particularly tough at the moment, but she was pretty sure she didn't get to head back to the hotel for a hot bath and a nap. Turning back to Clara, who was following the discussion, Lauren whispered, "Okay, out with it. Who the hellareyou? Seriously? Because you deserve an Academy Award right now."
Laughing soundlessly, the other girl gave her a one-armed hug. "I'm just Clara. But I'm also Clara Martinsson."
"GET THE HELL OUT!"
