Out of Plans (The Mercenaries #2) (15 page)

“Oh my, they are angry, aren't they!? C'mon, darling, let's get out of here!”

Three shots later, and two gun men went down. There was a bit of a struggle, with Damiano trying to get her to go ahead of him. She found it an interesting juxtaposition – that he could break her fingers and threaten to burn people alive, yet still tried to protect her and keep her safe. Almost sweet. Then she braced herself against the column and literally kicked him in the ass. He stumbled down the hall and fell into the room, bullets following him every step of the way.

“Ready!” she shouted.

“Got you covered!”

The rifle started firing, and she dashed from the column to the wall. She went to sprint the remaining distance, when there was another crash, this time from the back of the house.

“
LILY!
”

She froze for a second. Just a second. Should never hesitate, but she couldn't help it. She wasn't used to hearing her name in situations like that – she and Kingsley never used their real names. They had call signs. Of course, Marc didn't know that, because Marc had never worked with them before; didn't know they had a certain way of doing things. So hearing her name screamed out like that, in a place she'd never been before, she was startled.

Not as much, however, as she was a moment later when a very large man stepped out from around another column and pointed his shotgun directly at her. He pulled the trigger.

As she was knocked off her feet and thrown backwards from the force of the hit, all she could think was ...

Fuck me, De Sant really is bad luck.

Everything was muffled, like she was wearing headphones. She couldn't breathe. Or at least, it felt like she couldn't. She was laying on her back, but didn't quite remember hitting the ground. Her entire chest hurt, like she'd been struck by a gigantic fist. She wanted to move, wanted to feel her body, to assess the damage, but she couldn't lift an arm.

I can't die like this. How stupid. After everything I've been through.

A shadow fell across her, and as she gasped for air, she rolled her eyes around till she found the obstruction. The man who had shot her was leaning over her, grinning like an idiot. She winced and waited for him to point the shotgun at her head, but he didn't.

“One million dollars, holy shit,” the guy was laughing. “One million if I bring you in alive.”

The bounty. He's talking about the bounty. But if he wanted me alive, why did he shoot me?

It was right around then that Lily realized she wasn't bleeding. She coughed and finally managed to lift a hand to her chest. She felt around and discovered there were no bullet holes. What the hell? She had watched him fire the gun, she had felt the shot.

He grabbed her arm, obviously with the intention of picking her up, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Every tiny breath she took, it felt like her lungs were on fire. Her head was throbbing, and she was pretty sure she was crying. She could barely move, let alone fight back.

There was movement to her left, and before she could look, the fat man's head exploded. Then Damiano Ledo was leaning over her.

“I can't breathe,” she gasped, clawing at his arm as he wrapped it around her waist.

“You'll be okay,
corazón
, remain calm,” he said in a soft voice, hauling her to her feet. But she couldn't quite stand yet, her head was spinning because of the whole lack of oxygen thing she had going on, so Damiano simply picked her up.

She wasn't sure when it had happened, but Marc had joined their little party. A small fight ensued over who should carry her, but then a smattering of gunfire in their direction solved the problem. Kingsley and Marc laid down cover while Damiano ran towards the back of the house.

Lily's brain was having a huge argument with her body. She knew she should hold still, should calm down, should try to breathe. Her body, though, was having none of it. It squirmed and moved and panicked, worried that each breath was the last, nervous that she hadn't found her bullet wound yet.

There weren't many people in the house – the attack hadn't been premeditated, so there was no plan in effect. Everyone had just bumrushed the courtyard. Damiano kicked open a back door and they all ran into an alley.

They didn't stop running for about six blocks, winding their way through the neighborhood via backyards and side streets. Behind one house there was an ancient looking detached garage, and Marc was able to get the door open. The guys went to do a recon of the house while Damiano took her into the garage and finally put her down, leaning her against a wall.

“How are you? You can breathe?” he asked, staring into her face. She gritted her teeth.

“Yes. Better, at least. What the fuck happened!?” she asked, pressing both her hands against the left side of her ribs. The pain was radiating from that area.

“It was a twelve gauge bean bag round. Used for riot control, I keep them in the house for ...
interrogation purposes
. May I lift your shirt?” he asked for permission even as his hands began to pull at the material. She nodded and lifted her arms as best she was able.

“A bean bag gun?” she wasn't even sure what that was.

“Yes. Instead of shells, that shot gun fired a bean bag. Same velocity. I'm very sorry,” he told her.

“For wha-
oh my fucking god,
” she groaned as his hand pressed on her ribs. She squeezed her eyes shut tight and spots danced across her eyelids.

“The good news is, I don't think any of your ribs are broken. You will have a very large bruise, be very sore for a while,” he warned her before pulling her shirt back into place.

“Awesome. I thought I'd been shot, I thought I was dead,” she sighed, dragging her fingers through her hair.

“You are very lucky.”

“I'm worth a lot of money. He was trying to collect the bounty.”

She realized he was staring at her, and she finally held still.

“You are a very brave woman,” he commented. She smiled.

“Just doing my job.”

“You have your truce. You were right about everything. Stankovski will no longer be welcome in
any
part of South or Central America. Whatever your goal is with him, I am at your service. Anything you need, I can get it for you,” he assured her.

“Good. Cause we're going to need a lot of stuff.”

Before she could elaborate, the door to the garage burst open. Kingsley strode across the room, heading straight for her. Marc came in behind him and slowly shut the door.

“Are you alright!?” the Brit demanded, but before she could answer, his hands were wandering over her torso.

“I'm alright, it was just a bean bag,” she assured him.

“
Bean bag!?
”

Damiano explained what that meant.

“I'm fine. Not even a broken rib. Hurts like a bitch,” she managed a laugh.

“I am so sorry, sweetheart.”

Lily had barely lifted her eyes to look at Marc when Kingsley swung around on him, his fist leading the way. He landed a solid right hook, right across Marc's jaw, and both men stumbled across the garage. They slammed into a wall, grabbing each other by their shirts.

“
You almost got her killed, you bloody idiot!
” Kingsley was shouting. Lily was stunned. She'd never seen him so upset before, she wasn't sure how to process it.

“I know that! But she's not dead, and
you're
the one who encourages her! You're the one who has been dragging her all over the goddamn world, shoving her into situations just like this! Exactly what I didn't want for her!” Marc yelled back, then kneed Kingsley in the stomach.

Kingsley was a more skilled fighter, but he was angry beyond being rational. Marc was heavier and hit harder, and seemed almost as angry, which actually made him more effective. It was a pretty even match. Any other time, and it would have been fun to watch them beat each other to a pulp, but Lily knew right then wasn't the time, and definitely not the place.

She went to move forward, to get in between them, but she took one step and was painfully reminded of her run in with the bean bag. She cried out and bent in half, holding onto her ribs. Damiano grabbed her arm, to steady her, then moved towards the pair of fighting mercenaries.

“Stop it! This is insanity! Do you have any idea the kind of noise you are making!? The kind of men who are probably looking for us!?” Damiano hissed, standing between them and forcing them to step apart. “I have heard rumors about both of you, about what professionals you are, how highly recommended you are. I'm certainly not seeing that right now.”

That seemed to work on Kingsley. He stepped back, his chest heaving while he wiped at a bloody lip. Marc didn't move a muscle, though he did keep his hand against his own ribs and his weight off his right knee.

“She should be dead, and that's on you,” Kingsley growled, before hocking spit and blood onto the ground.

“She shouldn't be here, and that's on
you,
” Marc snapped right back.

“You can both prove just how manly you are later, but for now, I'm alive and I'm relatively well, so can we please get the fuck out of here?” Lily hissed.

“I will make some calls. May I see your list of the people who are no longer my friends?” Damiano asked.

Lily handed over the list and Kingsley gave him a burner phone. When he went outside, the three of them stayed in the garage, mired in a beyond awkward silence. Lily finally leaned back against the wall, experimenting with taking deeper and deeper breaths.

“Alright, love?” Kingsley asked, heading over to her and pulling her shirt up.

“I will be. He checked, said nothing was broken,” Lily assured him. He was glaring at her rib cage, at the ugly red mark that was covering almost her entire left side. Then he looked into her eyes.

“I saw you on the ground, and I don't think I've ever been more afraid, darling,” he whispered. She smiled.

“
Flirt
. You're not scared of anything,” she teased, trying to make him feel better. He didn't say anything, just kept frowning down at her.

“Let me check her.”

Kingsley moved away and Marc took his spot. His touch was gentle, his fingers probing her individual ribs. He frowned as well, then swung his pack around to his front, digging around inside of it.

“They don't feel broken, but there could be a fracture. Definitely some swelling. I'm gonna wrap you up. It'll hurt at first, but it should help you breathe,” he told her, pressing the edge of an ace bandage against her skin. She exhaled as much as she could and held still as his arms went around her. She stared into his eyes as he made the first wrap, wincing when he pulled it tight.

He was right, it hurt while he wrapped. The pressure was excruciating. But when he was done, she stood up straight and took a couple of experimental breaths. It didn't hurt quite as much as it had before. She looked down her body and laughed. The bandage went from under her sports bra to just past her waistline, and was so tight that it squeezed an extra inch off her.

“At least I have a sexy figure again,” she tried to joke, tried to alleviate the tension in the room.

“Sweetheart, you're always sexy,” Marc sighed, then he smoothed her shirt back into place.

In the end, they called for a taxi. Damiano was too paranoid to trust anyone. Two yellow cars eventually pulled up in front of the house. Kingsley went out as point, his eyes peeled for any interference. Damiano helped Lily limp her way to the car, and Marc brought up the rear.

“I meant what I said. Anything you need, call me at this number,” Damiano said as he helped her into the backseat. He handed her back her piece of paper, with a long phone number scrawled across the back of it.

“You'll be hearing from us soon,” she assured him.

“Thank you, again. All of you. I would be dead, if it wasn't for you. I won't forget that.”

“We're counting on that,” Marc replied, then got into the back with Lily and shut the door. Kingsley slid into the front seat and Damiano pounded on the roof, telling the cabbie to go.

“Tell me something,” Lily sighed, struggling to find a position that wasn't painful.

“What?” Marc didn't look at her, just glared out the front of the vehicle.

“How come whenever we try to do something together, it always gets so fucked up?” she managed a laugh, though she really felt like crying.

“I think you were right – we're just bad luck, sweetheart,” he replied, his voice low.

They stopped at the apartment only long enough to get their stuff. Kingsley was still pissed off and barely spoke to her. He didn't say anything at all to Marc. Lily swallowed five extra strength tylenol and chugged an airplane bottle of gin, then packed up all her shit.

They wound up at a seedy motel, just off I-95 north. Kingsley got them a room with two twin beds; she wasn't sure how he was going to fit on his, he was around six-foot-four. Marc got his own room, several doors down. He hadn't spoken much, either, and Lily watched as he disappeared through his doorway.

“This was all a very big mistake. I'm terribly sorry, darling, but I can't allow this,” Kingsley started talking the moment she shut their door.

“Allow what?” Lily asked, laying flat on her back on her bed.

“De Sant is reckless. He's not himself. I've never seen him behave so unprofessionally. He almost got you killed. If you hadn't been there in that garage ...” his voice trailed off while he paced the length of his room.

“If I hadn't been there ... what would have happened?” she was curious.

“I would have shot him.”

She laughed.

“You're joking.”

“The fuck I am.”

“Law, he's your friend. You're
friends
,” she reminded him. He stopped pacing.

“He's dangerous. He wants to talk about the way things are handled in this business!? I promise you, anyone else would have a put a bullet in between his eyes for making a rookie mistake like that,” he growled. Lily finally sat up.

“I'm mad, too – I'm the one who got shot, after all. But you're upset because it was me. If it had been anyone else, you'd just laugh this off,” she pointed out. He glared at her.

“Of course I'm upset because it was you! If anything happened to you, Lily, I ... I don't know what I would do,” he said, before starting to pace again.

She was surprised, and of course she was touched. But she was also a little annoyed. Back in Africa, Marc had started talking to her the same way, right before he'd ditched her ass. What did she have to do to prove to these men that she didn't need them to be her guardian angels!?

“Hey!” she snapped, getting to her feet and forcing him to stop in front of the door. “Nothing is going to happen to me, you don't have to worry about me. I can take care of myself. And even if something does happen, you'll do exactly what you've done in the past. You'll finish the job and you'll move on. Just like always.
Nothing
has changed.”

“Are you joking!? Nothing has changed? Darling, I hate to be the one to point this out, but
everything
has changed. Do you see any other people hanging around me for six straight months? Any tales of partners from the past? And yes, you may be capable of taking care of yourself, but we're friends, Lily, and friends take care of
each other
.”

Aw, who knew Kingsley was such a big softie?

“That's means a lot, it really does, but I can promise you that if it had been you who got hit back there, I wouldn't be freaking out right now. I would bandage you up, tell you to nut the fuck up, and I would continue with the mission. I just want the same treatment,” she told him.

“This discussion is closed. De Sant leaves tomorrow, we continue on with the mission alone,” Kingsley stated, his voice hard. Lily was shocked.

“What did you just say!?”

“You heard what I said. It wasn't a discussion. We move out at six.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“Don't talk to me like that. I am not your employee, or your sidekick. This isn't a dictatorship, so you can't tell me what to do,” she snapped back at him.

“You wouldn't be here if it wasn't for me, so I think I bloody well can,” he growled.

That hurt. Kingsley had never been mean, just to be mean. He was a jovial person by nature. Things rolled off him easily and quickly, and he rarely took anything too seriously. Except his job. And now, it would seem, her.

“Well, you
bloody well
thought wrong! And if that's how you really feel, then you can just fuck right off and go back -”

Lily let out a shriek as he swung her around, roughly slamming her up against the door. His forearm came down across her clavicle, pinning her in place. She glared up at him, but held still. He obviously had more he wanted to say, and though her first instinct was to plant her knee in his groin, she didn't want to provoke him into a real fight. Even angry to the point of being stupid, Kingsley would still win.

“Let's cut the shit, Lily. Why are you fighting me on this? It's not because you think I'm being unfair. It's because of
him,
” he hissed.

Ah. It all comes back to Marc.

“Don't deflect, Law. You're the one with the problem here,” she told him, trying to push him away. He didn't budge.

“Six months,” he started. His voice was low, but a lot of the anger was gone. “We have spent almost every day together for
six months
. He lied to you, he left you, he wouldn't be here if it weren't for some deal you made, and he almost got you killed, and yet … you still choose him.”

When Lily had first joined up with Kingsley, she had expected him to say something like that; it had been so long that she'd actually begun to believe that he was above that kind of behavior.
Wrong
. She wanted to get mad at him, to get upset that his feelings were ruining a beautiful friendship and an even better partnership. But she couldn't even do that; all she could do was stare up at him and frown. It was a serious moment, between friends. Two people who had been through hard times. A woman who was very lost, and a man who had been lost for a lot longer.

When he leaned in and kissed her, Lily wasn't entirely surprised. She squeezed her eyes shut tight and went with it. It was cliché, but she felt like she was being ripped in two. Six months apart, and she still felt bound to Marc.
Chained to him
. But she owed so much to the man in front of her. If Kingsley needed this from her, then maybe she should give it to him.

He moved, pressing his hands flat against the door, boxing her in before he leaned all his weight against her. Then his lips wandered down the side of her jaw, working their way to her neck. She flattened herself and tensed up, her stomach clenching with anxiety. Despite all the time they'd spent together, he still felt so foreign to her.

So unwelcome.

“Law, this is a bad -”

He wasn't messing around with the next kiss. His tongue filled her mouth, shocking her, all while his hands went into her hair, holding her to him. He swung them around, moving her to a bed. Her legs hit the mattress and she fell backwards. He fell with her, landing on top of her.

“Please be quiet. It's been a shitty day,” he begged, his teeth scraping her bottom lip. One of his hands moved over her body, pressing down heavily against her breasts.

“We can't do this,” she whispered, getting a hold of his grabby hand.

“I could make you forget all the bad that's happened,” he whispered back. She laughed.

“I'm sure you could, but I'm not willing to find out. We're friends. Don't ruin that, Law. Get off me,” she instructed. He ignored her and just pressed himself down harder.

It was an unbearable feeling. Wanting to give him what he needed, but knowing it was wrong. That she was wrong for him, that
they
were wrong. She felt awful. Marc had broken her apart. Kingsley had built her back up.

You were alone in the beginning. You'll be alone in the end. You technically don't need either of them, so stop feeling like you owe something to everyone.

“Get off of me,” she stated in a loud voice.

“Darling, just give me a moment, and you'll understand what it is you've been missing out on.”

“
Now,
” her voice got louder and she shoved at his shoulders. His tongue traced its way down her cleavage.

“Stop talking, please.”

Enough was enough. Keeping her hand completely flat, she slammed it into the side of his neck. He let out a shout, and she used his surprise against him, digging her knee into his hip and forcing him to roll off her and onto the floor.

“I told you to stop,” she snapped, scooting to the edge of the bed. Kingsley was slowly making his way to his knees, rubbing at where she'd hit him.

“I should have listened,” he grumbled.

“No shit. We've been at this for six months now, Law. Don't fuck it up at the touchdown line,” she informed him. He groaned and climbed to his feet.

“You Americans and your sports references. You sound incredibly stupid when you say shit like that,” he told her. She thwacked him in the Adam's apple, making him gag.

“Watch your mouth. Don't get attitudey with me just because I wouldn't let you fuck me,” she called him out.

“Do you really think that's what this is about!? Me just trying to fuck you?” he asked, staring down at her.

“That's how you operate, right? Shitty day, better fuck somebody. Angry at Marc, why not fuck someone he's fucked. Upset over me, so why not fuck me. You don't care about me, Kingsley. You're
using
me. You just care about making yourself feel better. I'm your scapegoat. Your charity case, so when you're feeling bad about what a bad guy you are, you can look at me and feel better.”

She wasn't sure where it had all come from, but she hadn't been able to stop once she'd started. She was just so tired of these men trying to turn her into their idea of who she should be; they couldn't just take her as she was. Her words were mean, and she regretted them instantly, but she didn't say anything. Just glared at Kingsley while he stared at her for a long moment. Then he cleared his throat.

“I see. That's what you really think of me.”

His voice was soft, and it felt like a piece of her heart broke off.

“Kingsley, I -”

“Cheers, darling,” he gave her a nod, then stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Lily screamed and swung around, knocking a lamp off a nightstand. It hit the ground with a crash, but she was still pissed. Pissed off at Kingsley, for ruining a good thing. Pissed off at Marc, for coming between her and Kingsley. But most of all, pissed off at herself. For being a callous bitch. For not being able to care about Kingsley the way he seemed to care about her. And
especially
for not being able to let go of her feelings for Marc.

Goddamn Marcelle De Sant. Ruins shit when he's not even in the fucking room!

She leapt to her feet and went into a frenzy. She yanked open Kingsley's rucksack and dug out his shave kit. Once she had it, she knelt in front of the dresser and pulled out her knife, carefully removing most of the stitching around the bottom of the leather bag. It was a false bottom, almost an inch and a half of extra space. In that space, there had originally been batting, giving the bag a cushiony bottom for its contents to rest on. Months ago, in the dead of the night, she had removed all of it, and replaced it with something. At first glance, it just looked like a bunch of tissue paper. But as she unwadded the paper, diamonds came into view. A whole lot of loose stones.

There were several items Kingsley was never without. First and foremost, his big gun, Sheila. Also, his custom made suit that had been personally designed by Georgio Armani. And his shave kit, which carried all of the toiletries he needed to look immaculate. She didn't trust herself with the stones, but she didn't want Kingsley to know she had them. So she split the difference and used him to hide them, without him even knowing it.

She got the canvas bundle from her backpack and unrolled it, adding the other diamonds to it and then hastily folding it back up. Next she grabbed her Glock, checked that it was loaded, and tucked it into the back of her jeans. Then she grabbed the canvas bundle and rushed out the door, barely managing to shut it behind her.

She marched straight down to Marc's door and banged on it. He didn't answer at first, and she wondered if he'd dipped out on them. He'd been so quiet, so morose. So unlike himself.

Except, you don't know that, because you don't really know him. Keep reminding yourself of that.

He wasn't gone, though. After she'd banged and kicked on the door for a solid thirty seconds, it finally opened. He was back in the sweatpants, and wasn't wearing a shirt. He had a bandage wrapped around his hand, and she tried to remember if he'd gotten hurt in their little scuffle with Damiano's men.

“Jesus, is there a fire?” he growled. She glared and pushed past him.

“You need to tell me what you know,” she said, walking to the other side of his room, keeping distance between them.

“About what?” he asked, shutting the door. She turned back towards him. There was a light on over the mirror in his bathroom. It bled into the main room, turning everything around her a pale blue, but casting the rest of the room into shadows. He hadn't turned on any other lights.

“About Stankovski,” she said, taking a deep breath. Preparing herself for the fight that was coming.