Make Me, Sir
Page 56
Frantic with the need to get free, she scissored her legs to peel the rest of the torn tape from her ankles. Her wrists were still cuffed behind her, but move, move, move. She squirmed to the end of the box and kicked the flaps. The top burst open, and Gabi rolled out.
Too much light. Her skull blared with pain. Rain splattered against her. On the wharf, men were yelling and running toward the docks. She turned her head. Cesar sprawled on the dock near her. Farther away, men fighting. Grunts and curses. The figures blurred, cleared.
Marcus. A man in a slicker swung a thick metal pipe at him, and Gabi screamed behind the gag.
No, please, no. She struggled to rise. The blow missed Marcus somehow, and he hit the man, knocking him back.
In front of Gabi, Cesar pushed to his feet and drew the pistol from his overalls.
No! Gabi pulled her legs under her and dove at Cesar. Her shoulder slammed into the back of his knees. His legs buckled, and he yelled as he toppled backward.
A ton of weight landed on her back, almost yanking her arms from the sockets. Her knees scraped the concrete. Mouth still taped, she struggled for air.
“Bitch.” Cesar rolled off, lunged for the pistol just out of his reach. Sucking in air, she twisted and kicked his leg, sending him to his knees. A moment of satisfaction.
Face contorted with rage, he lurched toward her. Oh God. She rolled frantically away, over her bound arms.
“Gabi!” Marcus yanked her to her feet and whirled her aside. A pipe flew past her head. A man turned and ran toward a boat slowly pulling out of the slip.
Dizzy, Gabi staggered sideways. She caught her balance and turned back toward the men. Her breath stopped as Cesar pointed the pistol directly at her. “You fucking cunt.”
?Fucking cunt.? Hands tearing her clothing, yelling horrible names… Gabi’s body froze as her brain went blank. Marcus’s yell, “Gabi, down!” hit the surface of her mind and bounced away.
A brutal shove knocked her to one side. She hit the ground hard, breaking the paralysis. Marcus blocked her view of Cesar.
The sharp crack of a pistol shattered the air. Marcus made a low, horrible sound and jolted back, turning slightly. Blood, terrifyingly red, stained his light shirt. Growing bigger.
Nooo.
Snapping sounds like a multitude of fireworks deafened her, and Cesar screamed. He fell.
Cursing and yelling. Men—many men—thudded down the dock.
Marcus. She tried to sit up, failed, tried again. Oh please.
Cesar lay, eyes open. A uniformed cop stopped beside him, then kicked the pistol farther away. Another man yelled for an ambulance.
Still standing, Marcus had his hand pressed to his shoulder, and blood in a nightmarish flood flowed between his fingers. He’s hurt. God no. Gabi choked, rolled onto her knees, trying frantically to stand with legs that had no strength.
Someone grabbed her shoulders, holding her. Hands touching her. No no no. A tidal wave of terror took her, and she fought blindly, yanking her wrists, unable to scream.
The hands released her. She was free…and Marcus was there, his face filling her vision. She blinked. Not dreaming. Rain ran down her cheeks like tears as his warm fingers curled around her bare shoulder.
“Easy, sugar. It’s over. You’re safe, sweetheart.” His voice, like no one else’s, convinced her.
Her heart still raced, but she could only stare at him. He’s alive. She tried to talk and choked on the gag.
“Bastards,” he said under his breath, as he peeled the duct tape off her lips ever so slowly.
“Sir, you’re hurt.” A man bobbed at his elbow.
“In a minute.” Marcus pulled the rag out of her mouth. When she sucked in air, his eyes crinkled at the edges. “There, now you can sass all you want.”
As he touched her face with gentle fingers, someone knelt behind her and gripped her arms. She jerked, trying to escape, but Marcus held her shoulders, murmuring, “Easy, Gabi.”
Handcuffs. The man was unlocking her handcuffs. She held still, barely breathing, ignoring the pain as he pulled away the metal that had dug into her flesh. “There you go, sweetie.” She knew that voice.
As she brought her arms forward, the wrench of agony in her shoulders mattered not at all. Free.
Vance stepped out from behind her. “I want a blanket for this woman, and get this man to the hospital,” he shouted. “You asshole,” he said to Marcus. “Sit down before you fall down.”
* * *
He looked so white.
Gabi sat next to Marcus’s bed with her arm pushed through the side rails so she could hold his hand. He had intravenous lines in his arm, and wires ran to a monitor showing his heart rate. She tried not to stare at the display, terrified the lines would suddenly go straight like they did in the movies.
But he’d made it through surgery, right? If he was in danger, the doctor'd have sent him to the ICU, not a surgical unit. Right?
“God, I hate hospitals,” she whispered to him. “Wake up, dammit. They said you woke up in recovery. Do it again.”
It had been a long, long day. When Marcus had been wheeled out of the emergency room, she’d pulled out her IV and followed. Sitting in the surgery waiting room, she’d stared at the television set and had seen horror instead. The gun. “Gabi, down!” Marcus stepping in front of her. Staggering back. The blood.
My fault.
When his grandparents had arrived, the nurses had freely offered up information about the progress of the surgery, so Gabi had moved closer to eavesdrop. She’d regretted it when the older couple started discussing the girlfriend they’d met in June, Celine, and arguing whether to call her. Thank God, the grandfather had said no.
The waiting had been interminable. Unable to sit still, she’d cuddled a teenage girl whose mother was in surgery after a car accident, then comforted an old woman whose husband wasn’t likely to survive.
After Marcus left the recovery room, his grandparents had sat with him for a while, then gone to make calls and get something to eat…and Gabi had slipped in.
Would he ever wake up?
Voices in the hallway caught her attention. Galen’s clipped New England accent and Vance’s rumbling baritone. Damn them. They were undoubtedly looking for her and would drag her back to the emergency room to finish getting treated. But she couldn’t leave Marcus. Not yet. Not until she saw him awake.
So maybe she wasn’t firing on all cylinders right now, but she didn’t care. He had to wake up. She had to say she was sorry.
She limped into the tiny bathroom to hide. Too dizzy to stand long, she sat on the toilet and waited.
Once they left, she resumed her vigil. She stayed upright, afraid of falling asleep. Her head felt like someone was pounding on it with a mallet. Her jaw didn’t want to open. She fingered it and winced. With every movement, her shoulders screamed as if they were hinges that had rusted shut after a decade in the rain. And her ribs… Well, although the X-rays said cracked, not broken, she sure couldn’t tell the difference. Damn Jang anyway.
None of her injuries compared to a bullet in the shoulder. “I’m sorry, Marcus. So, so sorry.”
If she hadn’t frozen, if she’d jumped away, he wouldn’t have stepped in front of her and gotten shot. She put her head into her hands and moaned. Be all right, please. Just be all right. Once she saw him awake, she’d leave and do whatever Galen and Vance needed. She wouldn’t stay—he wouldn’t want to see her.
She was just another trainee. One he’d felt he had to protect. He could have died.
More minutes ticked by.
Marcus groaned.
Gabi jerked upright and moaned as pain battered her nerves. She leaned forward, her hand clamping around his.
His eyelids fluttered. He looked at her, his gaze unfocused. But awake. Alive.
Thank you, God. Oh thank you.
She managed to stand. Bracing herself on the side rail, she touched his face. Warm. She ran her finger over the scratchy beard stubble, slightly darker than his hair, and traced a darkening bruise on his forehead. Beat-up…but alive.
His eyes cleared, and he frowned at the room, the IV stand, and the monitors.
“You’re in the hospital,” she told him, her guilt so heavy she had trouble speaking. “You got shot—because of me. But you’re going to be fine.”
When she released his fingers, his hand turned over to capture hers. He tried to speak, then cleared his throat. His voice rasped, the smoothness gone. “Are you all right?”
She choked. “Oh yeah. You’re the one who got shot.” Her throat constricted until her voice sounded as rough as his. “It should have been me. I’m sorry, so sorry.”
He tried to say something, but she couldn’t take more. She brushed a kiss to his cheek. “Good-bye, Marcus,” she whispered.
She limped out of the room as fast as she could. With relief, she spotted his grandparents coming down the hall. He wouldn’t be alone. Averting her gaze, she made for the elevators. A wave of dizziness crashed over her, and blackness edged the corners of her vision. No. Passing out not allowed, Gabi.
Everything was finished now. The case. Her stay in Tampa. Her time with Marcus.
She wanted to go home.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The sound of songbirds in the garden drifted in through the open window of Zachary’s bedroom, and he smiled at the peaceful melodies.
Too much light. Her skull blared with pain. Rain splattered against her. On the wharf, men were yelling and running toward the docks. She turned her head. Cesar sprawled on the dock near her. Farther away, men fighting. Grunts and curses. The figures blurred, cleared.
Marcus. A man in a slicker swung a thick metal pipe at him, and Gabi screamed behind the gag.
No, please, no. She struggled to rise. The blow missed Marcus somehow, and he hit the man, knocking him back.
In front of Gabi, Cesar pushed to his feet and drew the pistol from his overalls.
No! Gabi pulled her legs under her and dove at Cesar. Her shoulder slammed into the back of his knees. His legs buckled, and he yelled as he toppled backward.
A ton of weight landed on her back, almost yanking her arms from the sockets. Her knees scraped the concrete. Mouth still taped, she struggled for air.
“Bitch.” Cesar rolled off, lunged for the pistol just out of his reach. Sucking in air, she twisted and kicked his leg, sending him to his knees. A moment of satisfaction.
Face contorted with rage, he lurched toward her. Oh God. She rolled frantically away, over her bound arms.
“Gabi!” Marcus yanked her to her feet and whirled her aside. A pipe flew past her head. A man turned and ran toward a boat slowly pulling out of the slip.
Dizzy, Gabi staggered sideways. She caught her balance and turned back toward the men. Her breath stopped as Cesar pointed the pistol directly at her. “You fucking cunt.”
?Fucking cunt.? Hands tearing her clothing, yelling horrible names… Gabi’s body froze as her brain went blank. Marcus’s yell, “Gabi, down!” hit the surface of her mind and bounced away.
A brutal shove knocked her to one side. She hit the ground hard, breaking the paralysis. Marcus blocked her view of Cesar.
The sharp crack of a pistol shattered the air. Marcus made a low, horrible sound and jolted back, turning slightly. Blood, terrifyingly red, stained his light shirt. Growing bigger.
Nooo.
Snapping sounds like a multitude of fireworks deafened her, and Cesar screamed. He fell.
Cursing and yelling. Men—many men—thudded down the dock.
Marcus. She tried to sit up, failed, tried again. Oh please.
Cesar lay, eyes open. A uniformed cop stopped beside him, then kicked the pistol farther away. Another man yelled for an ambulance.
Still standing, Marcus had his hand pressed to his shoulder, and blood in a nightmarish flood flowed between his fingers. He’s hurt. God no. Gabi choked, rolled onto her knees, trying frantically to stand with legs that had no strength.
Someone grabbed her shoulders, holding her. Hands touching her. No no no. A tidal wave of terror took her, and she fought blindly, yanking her wrists, unable to scream.
The hands released her. She was free…and Marcus was there, his face filling her vision. She blinked. Not dreaming. Rain ran down her cheeks like tears as his warm fingers curled around her bare shoulder.
“Easy, sugar. It’s over. You’re safe, sweetheart.” His voice, like no one else’s, convinced her.
Her heart still raced, but she could only stare at him. He’s alive. She tried to talk and choked on the gag.
“Bastards,” he said under his breath, as he peeled the duct tape off her lips ever so slowly.
“Sir, you’re hurt.” A man bobbed at his elbow.
“In a minute.” Marcus pulled the rag out of her mouth. When she sucked in air, his eyes crinkled at the edges. “There, now you can sass all you want.”
As he touched her face with gentle fingers, someone knelt behind her and gripped her arms. She jerked, trying to escape, but Marcus held her shoulders, murmuring, “Easy, Gabi.”
Handcuffs. The man was unlocking her handcuffs. She held still, barely breathing, ignoring the pain as he pulled away the metal that had dug into her flesh. “There you go, sweetie.” She knew that voice.
As she brought her arms forward, the wrench of agony in her shoulders mattered not at all. Free.
Vance stepped out from behind her. “I want a blanket for this woman, and get this man to the hospital,” he shouted. “You asshole,” he said to Marcus. “Sit down before you fall down.”
* * *
He looked so white.
Gabi sat next to Marcus’s bed with her arm pushed through the side rails so she could hold his hand. He had intravenous lines in his arm, and wires ran to a monitor showing his heart rate. She tried not to stare at the display, terrified the lines would suddenly go straight like they did in the movies.
But he’d made it through surgery, right? If he was in danger, the doctor'd have sent him to the ICU, not a surgical unit. Right?
“God, I hate hospitals,” she whispered to him. “Wake up, dammit. They said you woke up in recovery. Do it again.”
It had been a long, long day. When Marcus had been wheeled out of the emergency room, she’d pulled out her IV and followed. Sitting in the surgery waiting room, she’d stared at the television set and had seen horror instead. The gun. “Gabi, down!” Marcus stepping in front of her. Staggering back. The blood.
My fault.
When his grandparents had arrived, the nurses had freely offered up information about the progress of the surgery, so Gabi had moved closer to eavesdrop. She’d regretted it when the older couple started discussing the girlfriend they’d met in June, Celine, and arguing whether to call her. Thank God, the grandfather had said no.
The waiting had been interminable. Unable to sit still, she’d cuddled a teenage girl whose mother was in surgery after a car accident, then comforted an old woman whose husband wasn’t likely to survive.
After Marcus left the recovery room, his grandparents had sat with him for a while, then gone to make calls and get something to eat…and Gabi had slipped in.
Would he ever wake up?
Voices in the hallway caught her attention. Galen’s clipped New England accent and Vance’s rumbling baritone. Damn them. They were undoubtedly looking for her and would drag her back to the emergency room to finish getting treated. But she couldn’t leave Marcus. Not yet. Not until she saw him awake.
So maybe she wasn’t firing on all cylinders right now, but she didn’t care. He had to wake up. She had to say she was sorry.
She limped into the tiny bathroom to hide. Too dizzy to stand long, she sat on the toilet and waited.
Once they left, she resumed her vigil. She stayed upright, afraid of falling asleep. Her head felt like someone was pounding on it with a mallet. Her jaw didn’t want to open. She fingered it and winced. With every movement, her shoulders screamed as if they were hinges that had rusted shut after a decade in the rain. And her ribs… Well, although the X-rays said cracked, not broken, she sure couldn’t tell the difference. Damn Jang anyway.
None of her injuries compared to a bullet in the shoulder. “I’m sorry, Marcus. So, so sorry.”
If she hadn’t frozen, if she’d jumped away, he wouldn’t have stepped in front of her and gotten shot. She put her head into her hands and moaned. Be all right, please. Just be all right. Once she saw him awake, she’d leave and do whatever Galen and Vance needed. She wouldn’t stay—he wouldn’t want to see her.
She was just another trainee. One he’d felt he had to protect. He could have died.
More minutes ticked by.
Marcus groaned.
Gabi jerked upright and moaned as pain battered her nerves. She leaned forward, her hand clamping around his.
His eyelids fluttered. He looked at her, his gaze unfocused. But awake. Alive.
Thank you, God. Oh thank you.
She managed to stand. Bracing herself on the side rail, she touched his face. Warm. She ran her finger over the scratchy beard stubble, slightly darker than his hair, and traced a darkening bruise on his forehead. Beat-up…but alive.
His eyes cleared, and he frowned at the room, the IV stand, and the monitors.
“You’re in the hospital,” she told him, her guilt so heavy she had trouble speaking. “You got shot—because of me. But you’re going to be fine.”
When she released his fingers, his hand turned over to capture hers. He tried to speak, then cleared his throat. His voice rasped, the smoothness gone. “Are you all right?”
She choked. “Oh yeah. You’re the one who got shot.” Her throat constricted until her voice sounded as rough as his. “It should have been me. I’m sorry, so sorry.”
He tried to say something, but she couldn’t take more. She brushed a kiss to his cheek. “Good-bye, Marcus,” she whispered.
She limped out of the room as fast as she could. With relief, she spotted his grandparents coming down the hall. He wouldn’t be alone. Averting her gaze, she made for the elevators. A wave of dizziness crashed over her, and blackness edged the corners of her vision. No. Passing out not allowed, Gabi.
Everything was finished now. The case. Her stay in Tampa. Her time with Marcus.
She wanted to go home.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The sound of songbirds in the garden drifted in through the open window of Zachary’s bedroom, and he smiled at the peaceful melodies.
