Fight Dirty (26 page)

CHAPTER 47

Y
ou killed Bree?” Deidr
e’s
voice was strangled. She rushed Sean. He whirled, the gun now pointing at her belly.

Morgan could have run. She should have run. All sh
e’d
been thinking about was when to run.

Her body faced the tree line where she might escape into the forest. It was far, maybe too far to outrun a bullet. But it was her only hope. Somehow her feet took her in the other direction. She charged between brother and sister, pushing Deidre aside before Sean could use the gun and inserting her own body between them.

They were now so close, Deidre pressed against her back, her sobs shaking both her and Morgan. In front of Morgan, Sea
n’s
chest heaved as he fought to regain control. Which left Morgan trapped in the kill zone, a pistol mere inches from her heart.

“Why?” Deidre cried out. “Why did you kill her?”

“I
t’s
your own damn fault. You told her. Everything. What were you thinking?” Sea
n’s
voice rose in pitch, sounding more like a scorned lover than a con man cutting his losses.

“Bree was going to help me. Sh
e’d
stay here so I could marry Reverend Benjamin. She was going to save us both.”

“You’re an idiot. Benjamin doesn’t love you—he loves to hate you, to hurt you. And BreeAnna, she was going to tell. About the baby, about everything. She was going to ruin everything.
I’d
be in prison for the rest of my life. Is that what you wanted?”

“No. Of course not. But it has to end, Sean. Can’t you see that? We can start over. You and me, just like i
t’s
always been. You and me and the baby.”

Sean shook his head in regret. His mind had been made up as soon as he aimed the gun at his sister, Morgan knew.

“I’m sorry, Deidre. I thought by silencing BreeAnna, I could save you, but sh
e’s
ruined that.” He glared at Morgan as if this was all her fault.

Stall, she had to stall. Someone would be here soon—if not Jenna and Andre, then Greene. Or a helpful fireman. Surely someone cared about fifty kids alone in the middle of nowhere.

No. Of course not. That was the point, wasn’t it?

Finally she understood what Bree had found so compelling about ReNew. More than a chance to fit in with other outcasts, misfits. Bree believed she could help those kids. That they needed her.

Unlike her own family.

Robert and Caren Greene had used their daughter like a do
g’s
chew toy, a plaything for their egos and marital power struggle. The
y’d
taught Bree that she was worthless, that she didn’t matter.

But here, at ReNew, where her gift of music had made such a difference, where her gift of friendship helped Deidre find a path to salvation for her and her unborn child, where her willingness to pay the price to protect the others from the Re
v’s
twisted need
s . . .
here, Bree had mattered. Sh
e’d
had the chance to change everything.

Here at ReNew sh
e’d
never be alone again.

Morga
n’s
mind whirled, sifting through a myriad of possibilities. Bree might have found hope and fellowship here at ReNew, but Morgan was on her own. She couldn’t count on anyone arriving in time to save her.

Just like all those hours waiting in the dark for her father to finish his business, trying to block out any tiny remnant of fear or emotion that would betray her to him, she was all alone.

“You don’t need to do this, Sean,” Morgan tried again. “I’m here to expose the Reverend. He made you use those kids to blackmail their families. You had no choice.”

His face twisted into a sneer. “You have no idea what the hell you’re talking about. The Reverend didn’t use us—we used him. At least we did until she”—he waved the pistol at Deidre—“went and got religion, fell in love with what Benjamin was feeding her. All that bullshit about purging sins and being purified. You two deserve each other; you’re both twisted freaks.”

Deidre lunged forward. Morgan grabbed her arm, holding her back. “Don’t you say that, don’t you dare say that about him! H
e’s
a good man, a great man. He can lead us all to salvation.”

Clearly still conflicted about the good Reverend Doctor. Which wasn’t helping, not at all.

“A good man? How can you still believe that? The old man gets his kicks out of torturing kids and breaking them down until they’re mindless pools of self-pitying jelly. Oh and his idea of sex is seeing how much pain you take before you pass out.”

“H
e’s
trying to save my everlasting soul,” Deidre protested.

“You’ve been locked up here since you were twelve. What the hell could you have done that takes seven years of his sadistic torture to cleanse your soul?”

Deidre drew in her breath so sharp and fast that Morgan felt the hairs on her neck bristle. “You know what I’ve done, you know my sins can never be forgiven,” she said in a tight whisper. “I’m wicked, as wicked as Eve when she seduced that serpent into giving her the apple and then turned her evil wiles on Adam. I deserve to be punished.”

“Fine by me. You want to be saved, to meet your Almighty Maker? Glad to oblige. Get in the trunk, and it will all be over with real soon. They’ll blame the fire, say it spread to the car. Then I can get the hell out of here while Benjamin takes the fall.”

Morgan had no idea what they were talking about, but there was no mistaking the threat in Sea
n’s
voice as he detoured from hostage taking to outright murder. Sh
e’d
lost her chance to reason with him, thanks to Deidre making it personal. Why did people have to let their emotions run wild like that?

He jabbed her with the pistol. “Move. Both of you.”

What emotion drove Sean? Self-preservation, obviously. And greed.

“We can create a diversion, Sean. So you can get away with all that money. You were the one behind the blackmail scheme, right? Smart guy like you, I bet you have all that money socked away in some offshore account. You need us to buy you time to get to the airport. Let us go and we can do that.”

“No,” Deidre screamed, darting around Morgan to get at Sean. “He killed Bree; we can’t let him get away with that.”

Sean aimed at his sister, but instead of shooting her, he hit her with the gun butt so hard that she staggered back, knocking Morgan over before Morgan could take advantage of the opportunity.

“Get up and get in the car,” Sean repeated, his voice now devoid of emotion. “I won’t ask again.”

There was no ignoring the gun he pressed against Morga
n’s
temple. Maybe there was a weapon in the car trunk that she could reach, one better than the padlock she still held—and it would get Deidre out of the line of fire.

Morgan led Deidre, who was now weeping silently, to the trunk. Sean remained behind her, the muzzle of the pistol digging into Morga
n’s
bare neck right at the top of her spinal cord. She was freezing, out here in the night air dressed in nothing but a sports bra and torn scrub pants, no shoes, but she embraced the cold. It numbed the pain from the lacerations crisscrossing her back and kept her focused.

She helped Deidre climb into the trunk. Deidre knelt in the opening, unwilling to let go of Morga
n’s
hands. “I’m so sorry, Morgan. I
t’s
all my fault.”

All Deidr
e’s
fault? For what? Letting herself be used by the Rev? O
r . . .
something else?

“Deidre, wh
o’s
the father of your baby?”

The other girl said nothing. But her gaze left Morga
n’s
to search out Sean.

“I’m so sorry. I’m evil, I know I am,” Deidre wailed. She released Morga
n’s
hands and covered her face.

Morgan wanted to lash out at the girl for her self-pity and weakness. But she held back. For one thing, it wouldn’t do any good. And for another, she hated to admit how alike she and Deidre were. Both molded to be the perfect fish for their respective father figures. Both trained to obey without question.

And in the end, both victims.

CHAPTER 48

M
icah knew he was taking a terrible risk. But Nelson had passed out, and he could barely carry the larger bo
y’s
weight another step, and if that really was Bre
e’s
father holding the Rev prisoner, then maybe Micah could reason with him, unlike the lady—she must be some kind of a cop—behind the Tahoe across the parking lot.

Nelson didn’t have time to wait, he realized as he laid him down in the headlights and saw how much blood covered Nelso
n’s
pants and Mica
h’s
own body. “Mr. Greene,” he called to the man in the Lexus, ignoring the others. “I was a friend of BreeAnn
a’s
. She was so proud of you. Said you were the kind of guy others could count on in an emergency—said you even once got caught in a cave-in while working a mine.”

Greene blinked, startled by his words. Good. Anything to end this fast so Nelson could get the help he needed.

“I was your age,” Greene said. His voice sounded as distant as the memory. “Just turned eighteen. Roughnecking it, trying to find veins of coal in an old mine, long stripped bare. It put food on our table, barely. Me, my dad, uncles, and cousins, we were all there when the roof crashed down on us.”

“Bree said you saved them all. Said you were the one who got them out. Can I count on you to help me save my friend?” Micah swallowed, his spit tasting of soot and blood. “Please, sir. Help us.”

He locked his gaze with Green
e’s
, ignoring the tall black guy who crept up on Green
e’s
blind side, a gun aimed at the older man. Greene nodded, slowly, then blinked fast as if holding back tears. “They killed my baby.”

“I know, sir,” Micah said. “I miss her, too. Help me and I’ll tell you all about her time here. Your daughter—sh
e’s
just like you. She saved us all.”

Tears streaming down his face, Green
e’s
gun slipped from his hand and clattered against the blacktop. Sirens sounded in the distance, but the black guy didn’t wait. He lunged forward, popped the SU
V’s
door open, and grabbed Greene, spinning him to the ground.

The lady with the gun came running around. She pulled a pair of plastic handcuffs onto Green
e’s
wrists and tugged them tight. “Help the boy,” she told the black guy. “First-aid ki
t’s
in the back.”

Micah pressed down with his entire weight, trying to slow the blood seeping from Nelso
n’s
leg. The black guy ran to the Tahoe, then back to Micah just as the bright lights of a fire truck and cop car appeared at the far corner of the fence line. The guy crouched beside Micah, ripping open a bandage from its plastic packaging.

“My nam
e’s
Andre,” he told him. “Don’t worry, your friend will be fine. I’ve seen this QuikClot work wonders with worse wounds.”

Micah released his makeshift bandage and sat back to give Andre room to work. For the first time since escaping the fire, he shivered, feeling the cruel March wind against his bare chest. The ReNew building was now totally engulfed, flames crowding through windows and the roof, reaching to the sky.

His ears rang with the noise—not helped by the shouts of the firemen and the police officers. He shook his head to clear it and looked around.

Where the hell were Morgan and Deidre?

Every instinct in Morga
n’s
being screamed at her to run, run, run. Yet, she stood her ground, despite Sea
n’s
gun jabbing into the flesh at the base of her skull.

Not because she was any kind of hero. Not because she was willing to risk her life to protect Deidre and her unborn child. Not because she was frozen with fear.

No, it wasn’t fear Morgan felt searing her veins. It was anger.

Hiding her motions from Sean, she slowly unfurled the tattered length of material that secured the padlock to her wrist. She was no sheep. No fish. She was Clinton Cain
e’s
daughter. A natural born killer. A wolf.

No way in hell was she about to allow a weak, cowardly bully like Sean Chapman to defeat her.

“Get in.” Sean jabbed the pistol into her skull. Behind them came a thundering crash as part of the roof caved in, showering them with sparks and a blaze of embers.

Morgan took full advantage of the distraction, pushing off the car fender, forcing Sean to step back. His gun arm went up to protect his head. She swung the padlock, all her energy and power behind the movement.

Her aim was off—the padloc
k’s
unbalanced weight made it impossible to accurately predict its trajectory—and instead of cracking his skull as sh
e’d
intended, the padlock struck his shoulder and glanced off, the damaged fabric finally tearing and the padlock spinning away into the darkness.

The blow was enough to send Sean another half step back, which gave Morgan the room she needed. Allowing her momentum to carry her in an arc, she followed her first blow with an elbow to his ribs and then spun a back kick to his knee. He dropped to one knee and was bringing the pistol to bear on her when she tucked her head down and charged him, head butting his chest, forcing him off balance, and following up with a blow to his throat that he dodged, turning it into an uppercut to his jaw.

He grabbed her with both arms as he fell to the ground, pulling her down with him. Sean rolled his weight onto her, knee pressed against her chest with his full weight bearing down so she couldn’t breathe.

“I’m so fucking tired of you, bitch,” he muttered, his words spitting blood at her and sounding garbled.
Must have bit his tongue.
The thought flashed through her brain even as she fought to get a fist or knee or elbow free.

He raised his gun.

A blur of motion like a dark shadow speeding through the firelight appeared in her peripheral vision. At first she thought it was an oxygen-deprived hallucination, but then Micah tackled Sean, throwing him off of Morgan. They hit the ground, tumbling.

Once again Sean got the upper hand, landing on top of Micah. Micah had both his hands fastened around Sea
n’s
wrist, trying to force the gun free. Sean grabbed Mica
h’s
hair and slammed his skull against the asphalt.

Morgan leapt to her feet and threw herself against Sea
n’s
back. He had his chin tucked tight to his chest, giving her no room for a choke hold, but that still left her with plenty of other vulnerable targets.

She clapped both palms hard against his ears to disorient him, then pressed her fingers into his eyes, pushing hard enough that he howled in pain.

“Let him go or I’ll rip them both out,” she told him in a voice steeled with lethal fury.

He froze for a moment. Long enough for Micah to haul in a breath and wrench the gun free. As it clattered to the ground, Sean slumped into her arms, hands up in surrender.

“Let go, let go,” he screamed, sounding like one of her fathe
r’s
fish.

Micah scrambled to his feet, but Morgan didn’t release her grasp. Not until Micah touched her wrist and gently removed one hand. “I
t’s
okay, Morgan. H
e’s
not getting away. Not this time.”

She glanced up, met his gaze. He looked—proud? Of her? For what? Not finishing what sh
e’d
begun and killing the man?

Slowly, she released Sean. He slumped forward, hands covering his eyes, body rocking in pain. Micah extended his hand, and she took it, letting him help her up.