“Ya don’t need a hostage if all ya wanna do is talk!” Hew bellowed, his voice like a battle cry as it carried over the short distance. “Let her go as a show of good faith!”
Black Widow’s hot breath scalded the back of Sabrina’s neck when she hollered, “If I let her go, what’s to stop you from loading her up and riding away? Or sending a bullet through my brain?”
“That’s why it’s a show of good faith!” Hew shot back, his accent clipping the words like an ax striking wood. “There aren’t any guarantees. You either trust us or ya don’t!”
A taxi passed by, the driver craning his head at the scene. Sabrina had to appreciate the situation from his point of view. Two women were huddled on the sidewalk while two huge, intimidating men on motorcycles yelled and gestured.
Great. The last thing we need is the authorities showing up, she thought.
She was close enough for her voice to float across the inches between her and the assassin without her having to raise it. “The Black Knights aren’t liars. To a man, they hold true to their word.”
A ragged breath sawed in her ear. Then another as Black Widow ran through her options.
“Promise you won’t kill me!” the assassin finally demanded. Her voice cracked. Barely. But Sabrina heard it. “Promise you’ll hear me out!”
Sabrina caught the flick of Hew’s eyes toward Boss. For the span of two heartbeats, the men communicated without words. Then, Boss gave a dip of his chin, and Hew raised his voice again.
“Ya have our word! Now, let Sabrina go!”
Five interminable seconds ticked by. And Sabrina counted each one. Then, miraculously, the gun barrel pulled away from her spine, and the cuff around her wrist popped open with a muted shnick.
She immediately rolled her shoulder forward, working out the familiar tension. If she never had to spend another second with her arms wrenched behind her back, it would still be too soon.
“Come here, Sabrina.” Hew motioned with a big hand, keeping the other casually wrapped around the butt of his gun. “Come to me.”
Gladly, she thought, bolting toward him.
It wasn’t dignified. It wasn’t careful—not that there was a way to do either in the heels or form-fitting dress. It was like her soul depended on it. The warm air whipped her face. Her pumps clacked a quick rhythm against the pavement. And she never once looked back to see what Black Widow was doing.
When she made it to Hew, relief blew through her like hurricane-force winds. His jaw was set at a hard angle. Danger seemed to shimmer off him like heat from the sidewalk in the middle of August. And he only spared her a quick glance, a half-second to scan her face and search for injuries, before his focus snapped back to the assassin.
“Get on.” His voice was urgent and only for her ears. “Careful of the exhaust pipe.”
“I remember,” she assured him, tossing her purse strap over her shoulder so she could hike her skirt high enough to swing a leg over Freedom’s seat.
She had to keep the hem bunched indecently high across her thighs to straddle the bike and Hew’s hips. But she didn’t give a rat’s ass about decency. All she cared about was wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her chest flush against the broad wall of his back. And going home.
“Toss your piece into the gutter!” Boss barked, pointing toward the storm drain hole that was cut into the curb.
Black Widow’s eyes rounded. “You’re crazy if you think I?—”
“You’re not coming anywhere with us armed!” Boss’s voice cut her off as cleanly as a guillotine’s blade, just as a city bus rumbled by.
Sabrina caught a glimpse of a half-dozen faces in the windows. Only one was turned toward her. But she saw the woman blink in confusion and then frown in concern.
Come on, come on, she thought. We need to take this thing off the street!
“You got something you want us to hear?” Boss continued. “You’ll do as I say!”
Sabrina saw the hesitation in Black Widow’s face. The sawing of the jaw. The twitch of the cheek. For a moment, she wondered if the assassin might decline to see this thing through.
Whatever this thing is, she thought.
But desperation won out in the end.
After a sharp jerk of her head, Black Widow strode toward the curb with that familiar feline grace. Then, with expert aim, she tossed her pistol into the storm drain’s yawning black mouth. It fell into the waiting abyss and landed at the bottom with a satisfying thunk.
“There!” the assassin snarled. “Happy now?” She nervously scanned the road and buildings around them. “Can we get off the goddamned street?”
