“Who was the man?”
“What man?” Sergio snaps back.
The last few seconds of my assailant’s life stampedes into my thoughts, dragging its usual trail of distress. I push it out again, far more successfully than I’d been able to up till now. I wonder if my recent beating has reorganised the flotsam in my head, rejigging the severity considering the latest threat.
“The one I killed.” My response throws him. It’s been so long since we traded in anything but euphemisms and double talk that reality seems blunt. Harsh.
“He’s with some gang or other, I don’t know. Nobody I’ve dealt with before.”
“You seemed cosy enough when you were upstairs.” A pinch of indignation is sprinkled over the words. “Who were you handing ‘the package’ off to?”
Sergio slides down the wall, legs bent in front of him, hands dangling between his knees and holding the tumbler so tightly it’ll soon crack. “We weren’t told.” He bites on his bottom lip then guzzles the last of his glass. When he tops it up, he takes such a generous swig that he’ll soon need another. In a whisper, he adds, “I think their plans got derailed and we were the stopping point until they could regroup and think of a new one.”
My eyes scan him from each straggled hair left on top of his head to the dirty soles of his shoes. Miserable, yes. Deflated, yes. Lying?
“So you were going to…?”
His gaze hooks onto mine and refuses to let go. “We never got that far. If you hadn’t intervened, I’m not sure anybody would’ve come.” He pauses for long enough that I think he’s not got anything more to say, then adds, “Their new plan might’ve been for us to be caught holding the bag.”
“That doesn’t…” I shake my head, trying to follow his suggestion to see where it leads but I can’t understand it. “Why would someonewantyou to be caught?”
“To get it over with once things went pear-shaped. Who knows?”
“And you’re certain Andrej wasn’t involved?”
Sergio shakes his head, but the gesture morphs into a shrug. “Why would he be? They’re on the same side.”
“So were you.”
He laughs, starting at a chuckle then building to a roar until he can’t help himself, shaking his head until he wipes tears from his eyes. “I’m aligned with whoever keeps me alive and pays my mortgage.” He raises the glass to me. “Does it look like I came out on the right side of that?”
In one gulp, the tumbler is empty again, but this time Sergio doesn’t refill it. He stands instead, making his way across the room towards me. Stopping far enough away that I’m not overtly threatened. “They owe you one. Help me explain to them…”
“I can’t explain anything to anyone.” I wave to my face. “This happened just from going out to one of their parties for the first time. I can’t protect myself.” The worse thought occurs. “I’m not even sure who I’m meant to avoid.”
His shoulders slump. “I can’t believe I got fucked over after all these years.”
I catch his eye and suddenly can’t stop laughing. The man tried to kill me with his car but here we are, sharing a drink and hoping no bad guys are coming to destroy us as we speak.
Well, Sergio might hope that. I’m hoping Baxter’s stormtroopers get in here soon because that’s the only reason I came back here. To pass on the information the only way I knew how.
As though my thoughts summoned them, there’s a rustling from outside. The sound of large men attempting to be quiet.
We both fall silent, Sergio reaching across to flick off the lights. I’d prefer to turn them back on just in case somebody still wants me to survive but there’s no time. Instead of a knock at the door, the entire structure sags inwards, the battering ram used to gain entry tossed down the line as men surge into the cramped space.
My foot catches the teacup, spilling its contents across the floor as I jerk my arms into the air. I hope somebody takes note.
The men coming in are dressed all in black, guns pulled, thick balaclavas making it impossible to see their faces. One grabs me and pushes me roughly outside. I stumble on the top step and nearly fall forward but strong hands grab me.
Baxter.
His hand cups the wounded side of my face, eyes tracing the damage in the scant light before he pulls me into the safety of his arms. I feel his thumping heart against my chest as he squeezes me so tightly it’s like he’s trying to meld us into one.
We stay like that for long minutes while men bustle around and above us. When he relaxes the hold, he presses a trail of kisses against the edges of my swelling face, working around to my lips. Even with such a tender touch, his mouth is possessive, aggressive, and meltingly sweet.
I’m not the only one with bruises. As Baxter pulls back, I see his swollen eye. Take his hand and see the split skin, the swelling, the darkening knuckles.
“You should see the other guy,” he whispers and my eyes close briefly before real life once again intrudes.
