“Almost done.”
She served them the two steaks and the greens and was just reaching for the big pot of boiling pasta when the boss man looked toward the back door, head cocked.
“That him? Or just that sniveling, little Olson fuck?”
“Not sure, man. Might be Meathead. Want me to go check?”
“Let me go,” said George, her mouth moving in a mad attempt to distract them even as she went for the pot of boiling water. If it was Clay they’d heard, then she could help by keeping their attention focused on her. “Let me go, and I won’t say a word. You can—”
Faster than he looked, the big man slapped George hard across the face before grabbing her and holding her tight against his body. “You think I’m lettin’ you go? I’ll fucking tear you apart. And then, when that asshole gets here and sees you, bleeding from every hole, I’ll make him watch while I do it again.”
“No!” George screamed as Ape dragged her away from the water and her only chance at escape. Her body thrilled with fear, but also with a secret curl of triumph. If he was focusing on her, then Clay was safe.
Assuming that had been Clay at all. She hoped it wasn’t, for his sake.
Somewhere, deep down, she did something she hadn’t done since the days before Tom died. She prayed, not for herself, but for Clay. Over and over again, the mantra the only thing she had left. Please don’t let Clay come. Please, God, keep him away. Please don’t come. Please don’t come.
OceanofPDF.com
20
It had all come to this—to this moment, to his actions right here, in this place. His woman’s house, with those fuckers who had their hands all over her. Silently, he moved in close, eyes flicking between the ground and those cheerily glowing windows. For once, he was glad she didn’t have curtains back here.
He squinted as he approached. Two guys: just Ape and Jam. Good, although there might be a third up front. Fine. He could handle three. They might be mean as fuck, but he had justice on his side. He’d kill them if he had to. If it was the only choice, he’d blow them all sky high before he’d let them touch George.
Here he was, no plan, just apeshit insanity. He got close enough to see her stirring something at the stove. Her face was pale and worn, but she looked whole. He didn’t realize how tightly he’d been wound until he saw her there: safe, whole, even now lighting up the room from inside, and fuck, he loved her so much it hurt.
There was someone close to the porch, he realized as he drew closer.
Shoving the gun into his pants, he picked up the first thing he found—a piece of clapboard siding—and stalked the man slowly, calmly. He’d take this one down and keep the element of surprise.
From inside, the sound of voices got louder.
Ape spoke, and she responded, the words not yet clear. He was right up next to the guy, a Club prospect he dimly recognized, when the sounds separated themselves into words.
The sharp sound of flesh hitting flesh, followed by Ape saying, “You think I’m lettin’ you go? I’ll fucking tear you apart. And then, when that asshole gets here and sees you, bleeding from every hole, I’ll make him watch while I do it again.”
Something blew in his mind, and he lost it in an entirely new way—like bits of his brain had exploded all the fuck over the place and there was nothing human left inside but anger and the need to kill. But even so, he held back.
Until he heard George’s screamed “No!” and then it was on.
He swung the board and hit the prospect on the side of his head, watching him go down. Not dead. Good, not dead, but incapacitated, because he wasn’t like them. He wasn’t a murderer, damn it.
The hinges squeaked as he yanked the screen door open. Should have oiled them came the surreal thought as he charged across the porch, secrecy gone now that they’d hurt her.
He got to the inner door next, swung it open, and he was inside.
“Stop right the fuck there.” The words halted his progress, each one an ice pick in his heart. Frozen, he took in Ape with George by the stove, noting the way the man held her by the hair, keeping her head tilted back at a painful-looking angle. Water bubbled madly not a foot from where they stood.
Ape’s other hand reached behind him and came out with that little fucking ax. Slowly, viciously, Ape ran the blade down her body, from neck to breast and back up to the hollow beneath her throat. It was sharp, Clay knew. Sharp enough to slice, and George let out a noise, a mewling sound more devastating than anything Clay’d ever heard, when the asshole pressed the blade into her perfect, unmarred skin.
“Drop the gun.” Ape smiled. “And the…board.” This last was said with a half chuckle.
Rage and something else mingled in Clay’s head in a way he couldn’t take the time to decipher. Slowly, carefully, he dropped both weapons, tamping it all down, using that moment to get his thoughts straight. Forcing calm. He was smarter than these fuckers. Smarter, better trained. And he had a whole lot more at stake.
“You always were a stupid fucking superhero of a know-it-all cocksucker, weren’t you?” Ape went on before hawking a thick, slimy one right onto George’s wood floor. “Always knew we shouldn’t trust you.”
Tightening his fist, the fucker pulled George up harder against him, drawing a thick, dark drop of blood from her neck and sending Clay’s pulse into overdrive. “You here for this?” the asshole went on, voice setting fire to Clay’s nerves as he shook George’s head by the hair. His thick knuckles were tight enough to whiten the skin along her scalp. “You know you got a rat in your organization, Special Agent?”
