Rock Chick Reckoning
Page 130
Oh man.
I got down to business and said into the phone, “Okay, multiple grenades just blew up my apartment. We’re cut off at the backstairs. We’re in the hal on the second floor and Mace is going back toward the backstairs.”
“Stop him.”
Shitsofuckit!
“Mace, stop,” I cal ed, quiet and quick. “Monty says stop.” Mace stopped, twisted and looked at me.
“More,” I said into the phone.
Monty didn’t hesitate. “You’re surrounded. Al exits cut off. They’ve disabled the outside cameras, we tried to turn on the inside cameras but they’re off-line. Before they got to the cameras, we saw at least six of them approach and breach the house. They’re inside. First unit to the scene, ETA, five minutes. Mace needs to hole you in until backup arrives. Out.”
Without delay I relayed this information to Mace.
“Surrounded. No exit. Outside cameras disabled. Inside off-line. At least six men inside. Backup five minutes. Monty says we need to hole up.”
Mace started moving back just as more bul ets tore through the door we just went through.
When this happened, I didn’t think. I’d been shot at a lot recently and been caught unaware and therefore didn’t respond appropriately.
Not this time.
This time I dashed to the next door off the hal , opened it and raced in. Juno came with me. So did Preston. Mace fol owed, slammed the door, locked it and then turned to his father.
“Move this shit,” he ordered, circling his hand around in the air. Preston nodded and immediately father and son started moving jumbles of furniture in front of the door.
I slunk to the back of the room with Juno, crouched low, knees to chest and went back to Monty.
“We’re in, I think, the third room down to the left coming down the hal from the back. They’re on our floor.”
“Hang tight,” Monty advised.
Right. Hang tight. Great. Good advice.
Effing hel .
“Roger that, hanging tight,” I whispered, deciding against doing this with sarcasm as Mace shoved a huge, old rickety wardrobe in front of a dresser his father shoved in front of the door and I stared at the furniture noting that unfortunately none of it was made of steel.
Effing, effing, hel , hel , hell.
“Stel a, a squad is three minutes out. Another unit two minutes behind them. Luke one minute behind them. You’re good,” Monty assured.
Gunfire exploded, loud and terrifying, bul ets thudding in and through the furniture in front of the door. I went down to a hip and thigh, my arm with the hand not holding the phone shot out and curled around my dog and I pul ed us both down so far my forehead was resting on the dusty floor.
The gunfire kept sounding, hideous, excruciatingly loud. I felt my lungs seize, my breath evaporating, not on a joyride, beaming to a different galaxy in order to get the ef out of Dodge even as I felt Mace crouch low beside me.
We were good.
Right.
Not even close.
More gunfire but this was Mace returning fire, probably warning shots to let them know he was armed. He only shot twice but the gunfire outside ceased.
I sucked in breath.
“Two and a half minutes, Stel a,” Monty said in my ear.
“I’m movin’,” Mace whispered to me, my heart froze, my neck twisted, my eyes shifted his hard, determined face and my breath disintegrated again.
Then it came back in a fiery rush and I whispered frantical y, “No. They’re two and a half minutes out.”
“Babe, these guys are not stupid but they are desperate.
They’l aim low or kick in. They got no time, they know it and they got six men. We got one with one gun. We don’t have two and a half minutes.”
My hand went from Juno, shot out and I grasped the material of the arm of his tux. “No,” I pleaded.
“Stay low,” he returned.
“No,” I whispered, not to his order but to his going.
He didn’t listen. He jerked his arm free and his eyes shifted to his father.
“She’s in your care,” he whispered, the words held weight, they had meaning no one could miss then he moved, crouched low, he went to the side wal then around the furniture and I lost sight of him.
“Oh my God, Monty,” I whispered into the phone. “Mace is on the move.”
“Fuckin’ fuck, f**k, f**k. Maverick. Fuck! ” Monty clipped in my ear.
I didn’t feel particularly soothed by this reaction and because of that I felt tears wel in my eyes then I felt Preston close and heard Juno whine. I looked to my dog to see her low on her bel y but her eyes were aimed at where Mace disappeared.
My dog loved my man.
I loved my man.
And he was going to keep me safe.
Or die doing it.
Oh God.
“Monty,” I breathed, my breath now coming fast, in pants, more adrenalin tearing through me, so much, I was tingling from head-to-toe, so much, I could feel it saturating my system. I was drowning in it.
“He’s good, Stel a, he knows what he’s doin’ and he’s been in worse spots than this,” Monty told me.
This was not exactly welcome information. It was actual y scary information but nowhere near scarier than my current scary situation so I let it slide.
Then I thought no more when the sound of more gunfire fil ed the air but through this I heard furniture move (no joke!) and then a door open (oh God!) then a grunt, a shout, more gunfire, more gunfire, stil more gunfire, another grunt, a thud, a man’s scream, more gunfire, another thud, another man’s shout, the sickening sound of bone breaking, a man’s strangled cry, more gunfire…
Then silence.
I held my breath, eyes on my dog, Juno’s eyes not having moved from the spot where she last saw Mace.
“Stel a?” Monty cal ed in the phone.
My head turned and my gaze shifted, catching Preston’s.
He was on his knees, bent forward, torso twisted my way, his body mostly shielding mine from the door. His eyes were on me and I saw it, clear as day, fear was written al over his face and not the kind of fear a man feels when his life was in imminent danger. The kind of fear a man feels when his mind is consumed with the possibility that another one of his children had been struck low.
Even considering the terror I felt which took most of my attention, it was stil difficult to witness.
“Stel a?” Monty’s voice was sharp in my ear.
“Monty,” I whispered back, having nothing else to say, holding Preston’s gaze, reading his look, knowing I was wearing the same terror with only a nuance of difference on my face.
I got down to business and said into the phone, “Okay, multiple grenades just blew up my apartment. We’re cut off at the backstairs. We’re in the hal on the second floor and Mace is going back toward the backstairs.”
“Stop him.”
Shitsofuckit!
“Mace, stop,” I cal ed, quiet and quick. “Monty says stop.” Mace stopped, twisted and looked at me.
“More,” I said into the phone.
Monty didn’t hesitate. “You’re surrounded. Al exits cut off. They’ve disabled the outside cameras, we tried to turn on the inside cameras but they’re off-line. Before they got to the cameras, we saw at least six of them approach and breach the house. They’re inside. First unit to the scene, ETA, five minutes. Mace needs to hole you in until backup arrives. Out.”
Without delay I relayed this information to Mace.
“Surrounded. No exit. Outside cameras disabled. Inside off-line. At least six men inside. Backup five minutes. Monty says we need to hole up.”
Mace started moving back just as more bul ets tore through the door we just went through.
When this happened, I didn’t think. I’d been shot at a lot recently and been caught unaware and therefore didn’t respond appropriately.
Not this time.
This time I dashed to the next door off the hal , opened it and raced in. Juno came with me. So did Preston. Mace fol owed, slammed the door, locked it and then turned to his father.
“Move this shit,” he ordered, circling his hand around in the air. Preston nodded and immediately father and son started moving jumbles of furniture in front of the door.
I slunk to the back of the room with Juno, crouched low, knees to chest and went back to Monty.
“We’re in, I think, the third room down to the left coming down the hal from the back. They’re on our floor.”
“Hang tight,” Monty advised.
Right. Hang tight. Great. Good advice.
Effing hel .
“Roger that, hanging tight,” I whispered, deciding against doing this with sarcasm as Mace shoved a huge, old rickety wardrobe in front of a dresser his father shoved in front of the door and I stared at the furniture noting that unfortunately none of it was made of steel.
Effing, effing, hel , hel , hell.
“Stel a, a squad is three minutes out. Another unit two minutes behind them. Luke one minute behind them. You’re good,” Monty assured.
Gunfire exploded, loud and terrifying, bul ets thudding in and through the furniture in front of the door. I went down to a hip and thigh, my arm with the hand not holding the phone shot out and curled around my dog and I pul ed us both down so far my forehead was resting on the dusty floor.
The gunfire kept sounding, hideous, excruciatingly loud. I felt my lungs seize, my breath evaporating, not on a joyride, beaming to a different galaxy in order to get the ef out of Dodge even as I felt Mace crouch low beside me.
We were good.
Right.
Not even close.
More gunfire but this was Mace returning fire, probably warning shots to let them know he was armed. He only shot twice but the gunfire outside ceased.
I sucked in breath.
“Two and a half minutes, Stel a,” Monty said in my ear.
“I’m movin’,” Mace whispered to me, my heart froze, my neck twisted, my eyes shifted his hard, determined face and my breath disintegrated again.
Then it came back in a fiery rush and I whispered frantical y, “No. They’re two and a half minutes out.”
“Babe, these guys are not stupid but they are desperate.
They’l aim low or kick in. They got no time, they know it and they got six men. We got one with one gun. We don’t have two and a half minutes.”
My hand went from Juno, shot out and I grasped the material of the arm of his tux. “No,” I pleaded.
“Stay low,” he returned.
“No,” I whispered, not to his order but to his going.
He didn’t listen. He jerked his arm free and his eyes shifted to his father.
“She’s in your care,” he whispered, the words held weight, they had meaning no one could miss then he moved, crouched low, he went to the side wal then around the furniture and I lost sight of him.
“Oh my God, Monty,” I whispered into the phone. “Mace is on the move.”
“Fuckin’ fuck, f**k, f**k. Maverick. Fuck! ” Monty clipped in my ear.
I didn’t feel particularly soothed by this reaction and because of that I felt tears wel in my eyes then I felt Preston close and heard Juno whine. I looked to my dog to see her low on her bel y but her eyes were aimed at where Mace disappeared.
My dog loved my man.
I loved my man.
And he was going to keep me safe.
Or die doing it.
Oh God.
“Monty,” I breathed, my breath now coming fast, in pants, more adrenalin tearing through me, so much, I was tingling from head-to-toe, so much, I could feel it saturating my system. I was drowning in it.
“He’s good, Stel a, he knows what he’s doin’ and he’s been in worse spots than this,” Monty told me.
This was not exactly welcome information. It was actual y scary information but nowhere near scarier than my current scary situation so I let it slide.
Then I thought no more when the sound of more gunfire fil ed the air but through this I heard furniture move (no joke!) and then a door open (oh God!) then a grunt, a shout, more gunfire, more gunfire, stil more gunfire, another grunt, a thud, a man’s scream, more gunfire, another thud, another man’s shout, the sickening sound of bone breaking, a man’s strangled cry, more gunfire…
Then silence.
I held my breath, eyes on my dog, Juno’s eyes not having moved from the spot where she last saw Mace.
“Stel a?” Monty cal ed in the phone.
My head turned and my gaze shifted, catching Preston’s.
He was on his knees, bent forward, torso twisted my way, his body mostly shielding mine from the door. His eyes were on me and I saw it, clear as day, fear was written al over his face and not the kind of fear a man feels when his life was in imminent danger. The kind of fear a man feels when his mind is consumed with the possibility that another one of his children had been struck low.
Even considering the terror I felt which took most of my attention, it was stil difficult to witness.
“Stel a?” Monty’s voice was sharp in my ear.
“Monty,” I whispered back, having nothing else to say, holding Preston’s gaze, reading his look, knowing I was wearing the same terror with only a nuance of difference on my face.
