Page 18 of Dazzle
She finally goes limp beneath me, understanding dawning as I sneak another glance past the bed. There’s a figure in the shadows outside. Just one that I can make out, though that’s no guarantee that he doesn’t have back-up. I lie still for long moments, thankful that she remains motionless as I strain to make out sounds from beyond the shattered window.
Finally, the sound of boots over glass tells me that our attacker is coming closer. Perhaps he thinks he’s managed to take us out. I stare down into Andy’s eyes and put a finger over my lips. She gives a nod, and I slide off her, then pull myself silently on my belly across the floor. A quick look past the end of the bed shows me the silhouette of the gunman. Still only one. And the idiot has his back to us, a phone to his ear.
He’s calling someone. I hear a muffled voice.
“Took him out, boss,” he says. “Just some guy. I’m going in now to get the girl.”
How the hell could he possibly know that?
The way he came in shooting, he could have riddled us both with bullets. Or neither of us.
The guy’s a complete amateur.
As he continues talking, I rise silently and step through the destroyed window. It’s only when I suck in a breath as my bare feet crunch over glass shards that he spins around, eyes wide. But it’s too late. I’m on him before he can raise his gun. His breath rushes out as he hits the ground beneath the significant weight of my body. He may be a chunky fucker, but his brief scrabble is about as effective as Andy’s had been. I smack him sharply in the face with a well-aimed headbutt, then grab him around the throat. He thrashes and kicks, arms flailing uselessly, but I don’t release my grip on his throat until I feel him sag and stop fighting.
I haven’t killed him…yet. There are answers that I need, and right now, this moron is my best source of information.
By the time he comes round, I’ve rolled him onto his belly and hiked his elbow up behind his back.
“Don’t!” he squeaks out when I hike his arm an inch higher.
“Who sent you?” I snarl as he stops struggling. He shakes his head, and I twist his arm further.
“I can’t…I can’t tell you!” he chokes out. I yank his arm even higher. Another fraction of an inch, and something’s going to go pop.
“I think you’ll find that you can,” I hiss into his ear.
“I can’t!” he bleats.
“He’ll kill me!”
“Not my problem,” I respond. When I shift my weight and press his face against the floor, he lets out a cry. The sound of glass grating tells me I’m probably making mince out of his cheek. Another incentive to start talking. But he’s still shaking his head. The next time I yank on his arm, I hear the “pop,” and he screams like a girl. I know I’ve probably dislocated his shoulder. It’ll hurt like a bitch. I could probably put it back in…if I felt like it.
I don’t feel like it.
“Who?” I repeat, grinding his face into the glass. I’m having a strange sense of déjà vu. Memories of days spent with Raoul and Dario dealing with bad guys. And there’s no doubt in my mind that this is a bad guy. Hurting him satisfies me in a way that’s probably twisted, but there’s an honesty to the interaction that I’ve missed since I left Dario’s team.
“Whitlock,” he blubbers through snot.
“Mark Whitlock!”
I feel something course through my veins that feels like ice, and I rise quickly, leaving him there. I’m cautious to avoid the glass when I step back through the window, still barefoot. It’s the safety kind that doesn’t really explode into dangerous shards, but there’s still enough to have scared the shit out of the goon outside. I’m pretty sure he’s going to be even less of a pretty picture after this. And that shoulder will keep him busy while I get the pair of us out of here.
Andy is standing staring at me when I reach her. Her mouth hangs open.
“What… What did you do to him?” she asks.
Ignoring her worries right now, I am more fury after hearing that name.
“WHAT. THE . FUCK does Mark Whitlock want from you!”
