“Help!” she screamed, even though she knew there was no one in the flower shop overhead except for the tattooed douchewad who had tipped a hat to Venom on the way in. “Help me!” she cried again as Venom caught up to her.
He grabbed a handful of her hair, stopping her forward momentum in a heartbeat as strands pulled loose and tears stung her eyes. And then he had a hand around her throat, dragging her backward. She lost her balance, suffocating in his grip as her bootheels and the too-long barstool legs scrabbled across the floor, seeking traction but finding none. Her vision tunneled. Her struggling heartbeat was a loud whoosh-whoosh in her ears.
Then…she was airborne. Venom launched her onto the nearest pool table. She landed hard, her hip bone taking the brunt of the impact and sending agony up her spine. She barely had time to suck in a lungful of much-needed oxygen before Venom was on her. His massive weight pinned her to the pool table’s green felt top until the bones in her hands tied behind her back threatened to break.
“I’m gonna fuck you ’til you beg me to stop, you stupid cunt,” he snarled, his mouth an inch from her face. “And then I’m gonna fuck you some more.” Blood dripped from his ruined nose onto her upper lip and cheek. She gagged, turning her head away. But he grabbed her chin in a brutal grip and forced her to look at him, using his other hand to press the barrel of his handgun tight against her temple. His eyes were as black as the pits of hell and promised just as much punishment. “You stuck your nose into my business… My business!” he thundered. “And now you’re gonna pay.”
Still keeping the gun against her head, he released her chin so he could reach down to unbutton her jeans.
This is it, she thought. A lone tear slid from the corner of her eye. It was so hot that it burned her skin. This is the end. Too bad she’d never found her father’s murderer. Too bad she’d never see Donny walk down the aisle with a good man. Too bad she’d never know if there could have been a future with Ozzie or if—
A metallic-sounding bang sounded from somewhere behind them. It was followed a half second later by the clink of something metal hitting the ground outside. Samantha tilted her head in time to see the back door burst open with enough force to drive the doorknob into the drywall. Light poured into the basement in brilliant yellow rays. The man standing on the threshold was nothing but a black silhouette. Still, Samantha would recognize those broad shoulders, those lean hips, and that flyaway hair anywhere.
“Ozzie!” She choked on his name. He had found her! Against all odds, he had found her! A thunderstroke of relief blasted through her. It was quickly replaced by a flash of terror when Venom lifted his pistol.
* * *
There were certain sounds Ozzie would never forget.
The drone of black flies circling a battlefield awash with bodies and blood. The shriek of dying horses high in the mountains of the Hindu Kush after a smart bomb obliterated a Taliban stronghold. And Samantha’s desperate cry for help as he’d been freezing the padlock on the back door.
When Ozzie kicked into the flower shop, the first thing he saw was Venom. A mass of grizzled hair, tattoos, and bulging muscles, the biker looked like an evil cartoon ogre masquerading as a man. The second thing Ozzie saw was Samantha beneath the brute. Her face was bruised and bloody. Her shirt was torn open. And there was terror in her wide eyes when she screamed his name.
Something came alive inside him then. Something that was blackhearted and sharp-toothed. He’d killed before. Of course he had. But there had never been any pleasure in it. No satisfaction in seeing a life here one minute and gone the next. But when Venom lifted his weapon, aiming for Ozzie’s head, a jolt of pure joy blasted through him when he squeezed his Beretta’s well-worn trigger. With a roar of sound and fury, his weapon belched up a red-hot lead projectile that flew true and drilled that motherfucking biker straight through his evil heart.
Blood sprayed. The end of Ozzie’s trusty Beretta smoked. And the biker blinked once. Twice. His mouth fell open in shock, as if he couldn’t believe he had actually been bested. Venom gave a wheezy death rattle, his eyes crossed, and he fell sideways. He was so close to the edge of the pool table that his body toppled off, hitting the floor in a heap of denim, leather, and chains.
Rot in hell, you sonofabitch! If Ozzie had any saliva to spare, he would have spat on the floor. But ever since he’d heard Samantha’s scream, his mouth had been bone dry.
Regulating his heartbeat as he had been taught back in BUD/S, and using the adrenaline that heightened all of his senses, he stepped over the threshold and into the Basilisks’ lair. A quick three-sixty told him it was pretty much what he had expected. A long bar, two pool tables, plenty of dartboards, and a foosball table. The air was ripe with the smell of spilled beer, stale cigarette smoke, and dirty sex. But except for the dead man and the woman Ozzie loved more than life itself, the place was blessedly empty.
He counted himself a lucky bastard. When he’d kicked down that door, he hadn’t known what he would be facing. Two men? Twenty? What he had known was there was only one guarantee in life. And that was that no one gets out of it alive. So he’d figured if he had to go out in a blaze of glory saving Samantha, it wasn’t such a bad way to end it.
Still, he didn’t dare let down his guard. He’d been twenty-eight hours into a twelve-hour mission, sweating his balls off in one-hundred-and-eight degree heat, too many times to bank on this little rescue mission being over. He kept his Beretta up and aimed, quartering the room as he slowly made his way toward Samantha.
She rolled onto her side, her long hair obscuring her face as she peeked over the edge of the pool table at Venom’s dead body. Blood oozed onto the floor around the biker. Ozzie wasn’t sure if it was just his imagination, but he would swear Venom was already beginning to stink. Or maybe that was just the sulfuric smell of the asshole’s rotten soul leaving his body on its way to hell.
A door leading to another room caught his eye. Making his way over to it, he palmed the knob and threw it open. A quick battlefield scan left, right, and center told him the place was empty except for a big table and glowing neon beer signs.
Blowing out a breath, he turned to find Samantha lying on her side, no longer looking at Venom. Her legs were splayed awkwardly, pieces of a broken barstool taped to her calves. Her shirt hung open. And a sound came from the back of her throat. It was one to add to his list of things he’d never forget.
Brass-balled, tough-as-nails, take-no-shit Samantha Tate was whimpering…
* * *
Samantha never cried.
Well, that wasn’t true. She had cried for weeks after her father died, and then for a full day after Donny ran the story that brought the alderman down. But other than that? Zippo, zilch, we’re talking a big, fat goose egg. And she wasn’t really crying now. But she was on the verge, teetering on a knife’s edge.
Why?
Well, because she had thought for sure she was dead. Because when Venom lifted his weapon, she had thought for sure Ozzie was dead. But neither of those things had happened, and now she was so overcome with relief and gratitude that it was all trying to explode out of her in—
“It’s okay, sweetheart.”
He was there! Alive and whole and strong and brave! He got her into a seated position, her legs straddling his lean hips, her head on his shoulder as he used the bottom of his boot to shove Venom’s corpse further beneath the table.
“We have to be quick,” he whispered, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a folding knife. “I counted one asshole upstairs who might decide to come down and investigate if he’s a dumbshit. If he’s smart, he’ll hop on his bike and get the hell out of Dodge.” He pointed toward the back door. “Hear that?” The distant sounds of sirens drifted in from outside. “The cavalry is on its way.”
