Author's Note: Here is where the new rating comes in. LARGE NOTE: Aisha's last name has been changed from the previous edit. So, on with the show.
Chapter Ten
From the barn entrance, I could see only the front of a black vehicle, most likely a truck. Its grill was flashy chrome, and curving over both the grill and the headlights was a chrome bumper bar. In other words, this was not a truck for hard use; it was for showing off.
And I knew exactly who it belonged to.
Anger - no, loathing – woke deep within my body, happy to have a reason to rear up once more. I could hear the sounds of boots on gravel as I came closer to the house, and then the tell-tale thud as someone began up the stairs to my front door. Rounding the corner, I saw not one, but two trucks, both outfitted in much the same way. And standing next to said vehicles were three men.
To an untrained eye, they appeared quite formidable: tall, broad and well built, with short haircuts reminiscent of the military. Each had the same cocky smirk plastered over their faces, a ploy to create fear in their intended targets. But I knew them for what they were: cowards. Though all three looked to be in peak physical condition, I knew none of them could run more than a few hundred yards before their lungs forced them to halt. Their muscles were no more than a by-product of weight lifting and protein bulking, not sculpted from any real, useful exercise. And that smirk? I was certain none of these men had ever been in a true fight before, or at least not a fair one, so their cockiness was stemming more from a false sense of invincibility than any true confidence.
The whole lot of them turned to leer at me when they finally noticed my arrival. My eyes did not linger on them, however. I was looking for the fourth, the man who had gone up the stairs. I found him staring back at me from the porch, a dark smile on his lips.
Unlike the rest, I knew this man could back up most of what he said…most, but not all.
I had positioned myself just left of center to all of them, not quite in between the four, but close enough so that I could keep an eye on the whole group. I mortared a pleasant smile on my face as the lone man stepped heavily down my stairs, his grin growing wide as he approached. In response, I cocked out my hip and planted a fist on it, while my other hand kept the crop just to my side. He came to a halt a yard or two away; smart man, perhaps he remembered what happened the last time…
"Hello, Mrs. Harkess. It has been some time since we last spoke. How have you been?"
His voice was just as deep and rich as before, with the same undercurrent of violence just waiting to be released. I hate men like this, more so than the snakes I usually deal with in my business. So, with a fake, sweet smile, I answered him.
"I've been quite well, Donovan. You seem in good health, as well. So do your men. I see that Lyle's lip has fully healed…"
I did not need to look over at the three men to know Lyle was staring me down, unconsciously biting his lower lip, the same one I had split open in our last meeting. The man named Donovan smirk widened at my words, obviously enjoying our exchange. He placed one hand on his hip while the other went to his face, rubbing his non-existent stubble; he was giving me the opportunity to catch a glimpse of the 9mm kept in his shoulder holster. I filed it away, confirming what I had originally thought when he first came down the stairs.
If you are not accustomed to concealing a weapon, chances are you're going to mimic what you see; this never works.
He was unused to wearing the pistol in its current position, so I assumed he normally wore it on his hip. A just theory, I suppose, but the fact that he – and the rest of his men – were wearing handguns at all was worrisome. On their last visit, they had resorted to nothing more than physical intimidation; it appeared they had now decided to ramp up the game. It was rather flattering, actually.
Donovan interrupted my train of thought with a chuckle. "Oh, God. You are never going to let him live that down, are you? It's not like he meant anything he said before. Just a bit of joshing is all."
I quirked an eyebrow. "Joshing, hmm? I suppose. But now he knows better than to josh someone inches from their face."
Once again, I did not need to look at Lyle to know he was fuming. Good, let him make another mistake. I continued to smile at Donovan as his grin faltered. Dropping his hand to his waist, the man stared at me long and hard. Eventually, he broke the edgy silence with a quiet voice.
"You know why we are here, Mrs. Harkess. It has been the same for the past year. We were…nice…on our last visit, but the situation has changed."
I finally lost the smile. The situation has changed? Rather than show my concern, I tapped the whip on my thigh, helping out those who had not noticed it before. All three of Donovan's men narrowed their eyes, and all three put a hand to their waist; a bit too jumpy for my taste. I needed them to remain cool, but there was a nagging suspicion in the back of my head telling me this 'situation' was going to spiral out of control fast.
"Changed? And how so?"
I was playing him for time until I could figure out how to get out of this mess. And that was when I realized my visitors did not know about the stranger in my house. Should any one of them make it inside, they would be in for a rude surprise. For a split second, the thought heartened me, but I quickly concluded that my stranger would not hold back.
Turning my attention back to the man in front of me, I caught the look of smug superiority as it flashed over his face. I could not help but to arch an eyebrow at this response, and my mind worked furiously to decipher the myriad of body cues each man was giving off.
"That's not something you need concern yourself with. Just know that your case is being handled now by someone who understands a bit better how things work."
His smile grew cruel. "And he has given us a little more leeway, if you take my meaning."
Damn, damn, damn. Not what I wanted to hear. Again, my crop tapped my leg as I jerked around the boys a bit more. Tilting my head as though thinking over his words – and using it as a fair imitation of being nervous – I had the chance to dart my eyes to the house. Good, he isn't watching. The last thing I needed was for one of the men to notice I had a guest.
I set my eyes back on Donovan, a smile curling my lips as I spoke. "Oh, I understand better than you think. You're telling me your owner gave his bitches more leash, correct?"
And that was all it took for Lyle to break his silence.
"Fuck, Donovan, let's just deal with the fucking whore and get outta here. It's not like she's not gonna get what's coming to her anyway."
Donovan cut the man a sharp look, his eyes hard. That, in and of itself, told me Lyle had spoken more than he should have. "Keep your trap shut, Lyle, or I will shut it for you."
Lyle fumed for a moment longer, clearly debating between his desire to 'deal with' me, and the threat his boss had just made. Finally, he sneered at me and leaned back against one of the trucks with a huff. Donovan brought his attention back to me, his smile gone and a steely look in his blue eyes.
"One more time, Mrs. Harkess. You already know the terms, so I won't go over them again. We have the papers in the front seat. And you will have a few days to get everything arranged. So, your choice: sell or be forced out."
I was no more going to sell my farm than I was going to kiss Lyle, and Donovan knew it. His face plainly stated that he expected nothing more, and for a moment – only a moment – I saw in his eyes pity. Rubbing his forehead with a large hand, he sighed deeply.
"You are not going to do it, are you Aisha?"
Movement in my peripheral vision told me the other men had already begun to move up, though they had not drawn their guns. Keep being dumb, guys. Please, don't try to play this right…
"No, Donovan. And you know why." My voice was steady and clear; my heart was in my throat, my stomach in my toes.
No matter what anyone ever tells you, time does not slow down in a situation like this. There is no moment of perfect clarity, or a dream sequence, or any other absurd trick movies and books throw out as truth. There is only you and the opposition, and a precious few seconds to decide what you are going to do and what they are going to do and how the whole thing is going to play out. There is no beauty in it, either. No fancy moves or magic words to make your hits land harder. Just your body and instinct; there is no 'smart' in a fight like this. Everything happens too fast for your brain to comprehend.
In the span of a heartbeat, two men had rounded one of the trucks, closing the distance by half before Donovan could utter a response.
I waited, holding my body in check until they were an arm's length away; then it was time. As the first reached me – James something or other – I lashed out with the crop, catching him across the face and splitting open the soft skin of his cheek. His head whipped back, halting him for a moment and giving me more room. Lyle grinned with uncontained glee at the situation, his large hands grabbing for my t-shirt. I let him take hold of the fabric before I turned my whip on his face as well. He had jerked me bodily around, thinking he was in control; I followed the movement through to its peak, and then I felt the crop connect with flesh. Blood spattered over my shirt as his lip was torn open…again.
His hand remained locked onto my shirt, but he was off balance. I capitalized on the situation by making an opening for myself. With a shove of my hips, I twisted our momentum until he could no longer remain upright. Like all heavily built, slow bodies, Lyle fell without a chance to save himself. I rode him to the ground, landing on his chest. With the wind knocked from him, he would be out of the fight for a few seconds: that was all I would need.
I rolled off of him and immediately found my footing. Good thing, because the third man was on top of me; he had finally made it to the fight. Getting slow, Aisha. He barreled into me like a freight train, catching me around the waist and hoisting me off my feet. I had no idea what he hoped to accomplish by doing this, but I did know what I was going to do with it. I wrapped both of my legs around his waist, and as he looked up, I slammed my forehead into the bridge of his nose.
Many things happen when one's nose is broken: one, the eyes begin to water uncontrollably; two, the brain sends pain signals to the rest of the body, demanding it to take care of the situation; three, blood gets everywhere. Oddly enough, it is the sight of blood that halts most people. The man I was clinging to snapped his head back from the impact, staggering from the uneven weight he was carrying. I helped this along by throwing my body forward, and then allowing gravity to work its magic.
We landed with a resounding thud, and I knew he had to be in pain, not only from our combined weights, but because he had just fallen onto hard gravel. Not wanting to lose momentum, I rolled forward, once again finding my footing and popping up into a kneeling position. Both James and Donovan had surprised looks, however, when they saw what was in my hand.
As the last man and I had fallen to the earth, I had liberated his pistol. Now, the stout .40 was leveled steadily at Donovan's head. The weight told me it was fully loaded, and I had checked the slide as I rolled to my knee; there was already a round in the chamber.
Lyle, cursing, struggled to stand again, as did the third man – Kent? – but they were both more worried about their own bodies than doing what they should have: drawing their guns on me from the ground. James stood dumbfounded a few feet away, and I could see him moving to his holstered weapon from the corner of my eye. Without taking my gaze from Donovan, I growled to James.
"Don't even think about drawing that gun. Your boss' brain will be out the back of his head before you even clear that thing. Do you understand me?"
To his credit, James dropped his hand away from the holster. Donovan, however, had managed to at least draw his gun during the fight, but it rested at his side; apparently he had not brought it into play quick enough. He smiled tightly at me, the gun tapping his leg much in the same way the crop had slapped my thigh. There was a silence in the air so tense it could have crushed a mountain to powder.
Donovan suddenly, and slowly, exhaled. "Just as spectacular as always, Mrs. Harkess. Now, what do you propose we do about this situation?"
I did not like his tone, but I really disliked what he had said. The man was trying to play me - again – even though I had a gun pointed at his face. He was afraid, sure, but not enough so that I could force him into anything. The gun was still level in my hand, and as I stared past it at the bastard who had tried to harm me time after time, I could not help but to think that maybe, just maybe, if I pulled the trigger, my problems would be over. The voices that had so long haunted me rose up again, urging me to take another life.
I chained them back down with reluctance.
And so I stood, slowly, and jerking my chin to the trucks, I smiled. "Well, Donovan, I suggest you leave your weapon here. As a gesture of good faith, you see. And then you should take your men and have them seen to. They don't look very well…"
I heard Lyle spit behind me, clearing the blood from his mouth. Donovan cracked a half grin, shaking his head and holding up his hand to warn off the other men. Meeting my gaze, he sighed deeply before tossing the gun to my feet.
I did not bend down to take it.
Carefully, I stepped to the side, encouraging the man to move to the trucks, which he did. Both of his hands were up now, and he had the same half-grin on his lips. He gestured to the other men, motioning them to the vehicles as well. Lyle threw me what he hoped to be a threatening glare, but it looked rather silly with a swelling lip. James helped Kent up as the latter held his hand to his nose, attempting to stem the flow of blood. When all three were well within my sight, I decided to add one more thing.
"And the rest of you should lose your weapons. All of you."
As you can imagine, none of them wanted to comply, but a single look from Donovan cut off any protest. Each man slowly withdrew his handgun from his shoulder holster, then pitched it to me. The sound of a hand slapping the hood of one of the trucks caught my ears before I heard Lyle pipe up.
"Fucking bitch. Wait until I've my hands on you. Oh, the fun we'll have, you an' me…"
Lyle's rant was immediately silenced by a blow to his already injured lip. Donovan scowled at him before turning his eyes to me. "He is right about one thing, Mrs. Harkess. We will have fun. All of us."
And with that pearl of wisdom, he got into one of the trucks, the rest of his men following suit. Both vehicles backed up, and then flung gravel back to me as they peeled out down the driveway. I waited until they disappeared around a bend in the road before I bent to gather up the discarded guns. I hooked a finger through their trigger guards after I put them on safety, and then I hauled my tired body up the porch stairs. My hands were shaking, the adrenaline leaving me quickly. I made it almost to the last step before I had to lean over the railing and give up everything I had for breakfast. Oh, God, don't let it be starting again…