’Til the World Ends (19 page)

Chapter Seventeen

“You set?” Thorne asked. We had arrived a few moments before.

I nodded, swinging off his bike. “Good to go.”

He scoped out the view. “If we��re early, Stavros will be, too. He’ll need time to make sure he can dominate, even if he thinks I’m dying. But he’s not counting on you helping me.”

That was surprising. “He thinks you’re alone in this?”

“I don’t have the resources to contract outside help.” I heard the unspoken ‘yet.’

“And it took all your savings just to keep us alive and fed while we were running.”

Thorne nodded. “I’m banking on you, Mari.”

Just what I don’t need to hear.
I had no idea why he trusted me at his back, but as I pulled off the helmet, I resolved to haul my weight.

“Do you think he trusts Henry?”

Thorne considered. “Not wholly. But enough to come, I think. Stav won’t want to accept that he’s got nobody left in his corner.”

Yeah, that would be hard to hear. I drew my blade. “I’ll see you soon.”

I didn’t know this terrain well, so I needed time to scout. When Thorne turned his head, I slipped into the shadows, second nature now. Sometimes survival stemmed from going unseen. He spun in a slow circle, searching for me. I could tell he was surprised and maybe a little impressed. Which was exactly what I intended.

I lifted my feet and placed them with care. The ground could give me away—loose gravel, broken glass, those were the enemies of stealth. He was still looking for me, but from this distance, there was no way he’d find me. I took satisfaction in that. Many times, I’d crept away from trouble while it stormed around, screaming impotent threats. They could hurt you only if they found you.

It was a dark night; no shine through the smog canopy. Occasionally the miasma parted to shower a glimmer of moonlight, but gloom hung heavy, as if even the night knew somebody would die, and so the stars turned their faces away. In short, it was perfect for an execution.

The ambush site was wide-open, an expanse of pocked cement with high sloping sides. If I were posting guards, I would situate them up along the top. There was little cover, too, which left Thorne as a clear target. Lack of light would factor into distance shooting; so would the wind whipping down the culvert, spraying the stagnant water pooled at the bottom. However, when Stavros came, he would come heavy, which meant bringing his best equipment. His men on the high ground would be ready to ice Thorne without hesitation.

He was counting on
me
to secure the area. I wouldn’t let him down. The knife handle felt slick in my palms, sweaty with nerves. I’d never played a role in something so major before. I had assured Thorne I could handle this, but the truth was, I wasn’t a professional hitter. I was a thief, not a killer—or rather, I was a thief who
would
kill, when driven to it.

I had never hunted men before.

Yet I had the skills. So I crept through the water, checking each potential perch. At the third site, I found my first target. He had his back to me, rifle on his shoulder, and he was watching Thorne, who stood where I had left him, casual, as if he had nothing to fear. It was a show of strength, daring Stavros to do his worst. In the murky air, I couldn’t make out anything apart from his form, but the man before me was looking through a scope.

I watched where I stepped, each movement measured like a heartbeat. Slow motions were more likely to go unnoticed in peripheral vision; people sensed someone running up behind them. Knife in hand, I went for the kidney shot again, but I didn’t want him calling out, so as he fell, I slashed his throat, too. When you didn’t care about mess, that cut was the quickest way to silence somebody if you didn’t have the physical strength to choke him out. My dad had taught me a lot about how a small person could neutralize a bigger one, though his lessons hadn’t been lethal. The body made a muffled thump, not enough to carry on the concrete. The night swallowed his death.

A thief by nature and necessity, I rummaged through his pockets, removing everything of value. The portable items I tucked away. I left the rifle. Provided we survived this encounter, I’d come back for it, as it would fetch a good price at market. Until then, it would only slow me down, make my footfalls heavier. Since I was striving to be a ghost, I didn’t need extra weight.

I had a lot of ground to cover. If I missed even one man, Thorne wouldn’t walk away—and then neither would I. Sooner or later, Stavros would find the kids, and he practiced scorched-earth politics.
No.
I cut the fear spiral right there and refused to let it grow.

You have a job to do.

The second sentry was posted farther on. This time, I got close, but he heard me. He spun, bringing the rifle up, but I dove at him. I wasn’t strong enough to win a physical contest, but that wasn’t what I was going for anyway. To beat him, I only needed to do the unthinkable—I stabbed him in the balls. Forgetting his mission, his weapon, everything but pain, he cried out, and I whipped my knife up and opened his throat. Heart hammering, I listened.

Are the others close enough to have heard that?

For long moments, I kept still, crouched above the corpse. Nothing. I shifted enough to peer down into the basin, where Thorne still stood. No shots rang out. There was no second figure yet, so Stavros must have been getting his men in place; he wouldn’t reveal himself until he was sure he had cover fire from all angles. That meant I was racing the clock.

How am I supposed to know if it’s safe, whether I found everyone?
This job dwarfed me, sent anxious spikes into my brain. I didn’t want to be the reason Thorne died. This dread I shut down, too. Daily worries had plagued me for years; this was just a bigger version.

Finish the job. Then you can go home.

Chapter Eighteen

The third man was an easier kill.

He was so absorbed in his rifle that he didn’t notice me until I was on him. This time, I cut the throat straightaway. On most men, I wouldn’t try, but he was short—around my height—making the maneuver feasible. He fell in a gurgling heap; didn’t take long for him to die. An icy chill suffused me, dread over what I was doing and how I’d look the kids in the eyes thereafter.

It’s necessary,
I told myself, but each silent step felt heavier.

I continued down this side of the viaduct, but I didn’t find another guard. If Stavros was consistent, there would be three on the other side. I had to hurry. Soon, the bossman would feel confident, and he’d come out of hiding. Thorne was vulnerable while I worked. Sure, he was armed, but there were rifles trained on him. He wouldn’t be safe until all these thugs went down.

I picked a careful path, clinging to the shadows. Without cover, this was the hardest part of my task. Each step, each second, my body drew taut, waiting for a bullet to blow through my chest. This far down, though, maybe I only had to worry about one shooter, the guy directly across. Erring on the side of caution, I crept even farther, so I could circle behind him. Otherwise when I crossed the open space, they would see me for sure. Slow movement could take you only so far; it wasn’t as though I was invisible. All the while, I was conscious of the ticking clock.

As much as I dared, I picked up the pace. The bloody blade in my hand haunted me. Though I knew they weren’t good men or they wouldn’t be working for Stavros, part of me balked. Thorne had worked for him, too, and he wasn’t a horrendous human being. But when push came to shove, I had to fight for my own life—and for the kids.

That resolve carried me up to the fourth goon. I couldn’t imagine what so much manpower had cost Stavros. This guy had put down his rifle; he seemed relaxed, right up until my knife sank into his back. I twisted the weapon, and then pulled it out swiftly. This one didn’t cry out or require his throat to be cut. I was getting
better
at this, and it wasn’t comforting.

Two to go.

I checked the center of the culvert, saw that Thorne had abandoned his bike. Yeah, that would lend credence to the impression that he was wounded. He’d only leave it if he was too weak. I made out the shape of him huddled against some rubble, as if he needed to hide. That, too, would draw Stavros out. Nothing attracted a predator like a wounded enemy. The bossman enjoyed gloating, a kick or two in the face for a man on the ground. His lackeys had learned the trick from him, no doubt, when they’d cornered Thorne days before.

That wouldn’t happen tonight.

Number five awaited. Dropping back to a sneaking squat, I edged in his direction. I came up on him sooner than I expected; he was out of position, watching for trouble, not just staring at the basin. For a moment he just stared, wondering if I was really a person or just a trick of the smog and the half-light. He shouted when he made up his mind, and I came in low, slicing for the tendons behind his knees. Unfortunately, he blocked with efficient slashes of his palms. That meant training. I had to take him out fast, as he was bigger than me, stronger, and he’d been in more stand-up fights.

I bit the arm holding me and then stomped down. The combined girl-tactic put him off balance, enough for me to throw my weight at his torso. Close up, I was so screwed. My opponent took the fight to the ground. He slammed a shoulder into me as we rolled. I ended up underneath him, the worst possible position for someone my size. A meaty hand circled my wrist; a little more pressure, and he’d break it. Then I wouldn’t be able to fight; I wasn’t ambidextrous.

In a clumsy lurch, I slammed my head into his chin. He bit his tongue, hard. The blood sprinkled down on me. In pain, he loosed his grip just enough, and I cut my way free, jabbing the knife into his forearm. Wild with determination, I kept slashing. Not deep cuts but they stung like a bitch. He tried to stop me with a blow to the temple, but I saw it coming and countered, so I took only part of the hit. Still, it sent my vision sparkly, and I got lucky with a downward jab. I hit an artery in his thigh, so when I pulled the knife out, blood jetted in great gouts. He swung at me with one hand, covering the wound in the other, but he weakened too fast to be a threat.

I scrambled away, wondering if anyone had heard his warning shout. There were other noises, people fighting and crying in distant houses. While it might put Stavros on alert, I decided there was no way for him to be sure what he’d heard without coming up here. And if he did...well, I’d find a way to kill him, too. Somehow.

“Everything all right?” a male voice called.

Dammit.
That had to be number six.

“Fine.” I pitched my voice low, hoping it would pass.

I needed the last guard at ease, as I lacked the stamina for another fight like this. Huddled on my knees, I waited for footfalls heading my way, but I heard nothing. The goon probably had firm instructions from Stavros, and he didn’t care to disobey, unless circumstances made that unavoidable. Then I waited a little longer, just to be sure, while studying the basin.

As I stalked toward number six, a huge man strode toward Thorne.
Stavros.

The end begins.

Chapter Nineteen

Stavros stood a head taller than Thorne, more bulk in chest and shoulders. His size wouldn’t help him tonight. From my close encounter, I knew he had one good eye, a bristling beard and a head of fierce red hair, liberally shot through with silver. He looked as if he’d rather kill you than look at you, and in his case, appearances weren’t deceiving.

I shivered, recalling how scared I had been when his men dragged me out of the market to force his offer on me. It had all been downhill from the moment I’d accepted that I had the choice to work for him or let the kids starve. And he’d gotten off on my lack of recourse.

As I’d left, Stavros had touched my cheek with a huge hand and said, “Do this job right, and I’ll make you a happy girl.” His tone had made it clear what he’d meant, as if sex with him would be an honor.

He had a booming voice; tonight, it carried to me fine. “You don’t look good, Thorne. Betrayal doesn’t taste as sweet as you thought?”

That resonance meant he intended to give orders to his men this way, too. Good to know they didn’t have some secret signals set up. In all honesty, that was too sophisticated for Stavros; he believed in stabbing, shooting, burning and bludgeoning, not necessarily in that order.

Thorne pushed to his feet, giving the impression of mortal wounds. He was still wearing his bloodstained clothes, too. “I don’t mind.”

“Heard you took a bullet.” Amusement flavored the bossman’s tone. He hadn’t realized just how screwed he was yet. In his world, there were six men with rifles trained on Thorne, ready to kill on his orders.

“I’ll live.”

“No, you won’t.”

Thorne straightened. He looked stronger then. “I think you got that backward.”

“Uh-uh. There’s no way you walk out of here. Even if you beat me down, my boys put a bullet in you on my word.”

“Is that the message you’re sending now, Stav? Doesn’t matter how strong you are, as long as you’ve got numbers?”

The bigger man stirred, cracked his knuckles. “I’ve been looking forward to this.”

“Bring it on.”

Thorne rushed him. Though I’d seen fights before, this one was...riveting. Lean grace versus brute strength. Stavros threw a punch, but Thorne wasn’t there. Even on his weak knee, he whirled around behind him, unleashed a flurry of blows against his back. I didn’t know that much about combat, but that kind of onslaught did internal damage. If Stavros didn’t recover, he’d be coughing blood soon. The big man spun, fists up in bruiser stance. He shook the pain off as if it was nothing and slammed Thorne hard, right in the chest. I winced in sympathy. Broken ribs, for sure. That would make it tough to—

Thorne moved faster than I’d imagined possible. He lashed out with a kick, but he’d forgotten his knee was weak and he stumbled in the recovery, showing Stavros where to strike. The bossman returned with a vicious sweep. Thorne went down, and Stavros fell on top of him. I knew exactly how that felt, too. There were bruises forming from the hits I’d taken.

He rolled out, preventing a lock, and Stavros growled, bass frustration echoing in the night air. He’d expected to taunt a dying man, not fight a furious one. Thorne slammed an elbow into the bossman’s throat and stole his breath. While Stavros was reeling, Thorne pressed the advantage, landing blow after blow. He had rage; the need to avenge a girl named Veronica drove him on.

“Shoot him!” Stavros shouted through bloody teeth. He took another fist to the face, breaking his lips. He spat blood. “Now, take him out now!”

Oh, shit.
I got so caught up in the fight that I forgot about number six.

The bossman was expecting six gunmen to unload, though they’d better be damn good shots if they could keep from hitting the big man at this distance...in the dark. I didn’t bother with stealth. Speed mattered too much, so I went running while the last thug sighted. I sank my blade into his arm to skew his aim. The shot went wide, and then I stabbed him again, without aim or precision, determined he wouldn’t hurt Thorne. I didn’t register when I struck the death blow, only that he dropped, and the rifle beside him. The knife slipped from my bloody fingers, and I ran down to make sure Thorne was safe. He knelt beside Stavros, who was struggling on the ground.

“Did he hit you?” I panted out.

“A few lucky shots, nothing serious.” But his pained movements belied the words.

Those ribs, along with his leg, would plague him for weeks, if not months. Being a badass, he’d probably refuse to rest, refuse to give himself a chance to heal properly. After tonight, that wasn’t my business anymore. Our fates were about to be unchained.

“Not him, the shooter.”

Thorne shook his head. “You came through, Mari. Thanks.”

The bossman stared up at me with bruised, disbelieving eyes. “Expect me to believe this girl took out all my men? Bullshit. Henry must be around somewhere, that lying rat bastard.
She’s
just a thief...and not even a good one, or I’d have blown her block to hell and back by now. She’s another whore, a worthless splittail, just like—”

Thorne shot him in the head before he could say, “Veronica.” I still didn’t know who she was, exactly, what had happened to her, or why she mattered so much. The bullet made no exit wound, so after the initial report, silencing Stavros’s tirade, there was only quiet, punctuated by the distant sound of life in Snake Ward. The people arguing and weeping and laughing and cooking their food over open fires didn’t know yet how much life had changed.

But from this point on, things would never be the same.