Author's Note: Well, it seems that we are definitely coming down to the
wire. One chapter left after this one and an epilogue, which I hope to
finish by this weekend so I can beta and get this thing out of my hair.
I do truly appreciate the reviews, and I want to thank everyone who faithfully gives me their thoughts after each chapter. You don't know what that means to me.
Onwards -
CHAPTER NINETEEN: smokescreen
In the hollowed out steel drum of her trap, the shots that startled the group came off sounding more like a sonic boom.
Dylan visibly jerked in her seat, head swiveling to the darkened hallway. The panic that had so recently descended into despair, now rose again like bile on her tongue, and her gasp, painful and scared, made Seamus smile.
The bastard actually looked cheery.
"Don't mind that - just takin' care of some rats we found aboard." She could smell his sweat, see the beads on his tanned, darkened skin.
It literally made her sick.
Fingers pushed up at her chin, but she didn't see it. Her eyes closed for relief, hands carefully moved for the weapon-
Why the hell had she put it on her back? Where the fuck was she supposed to point this thing?
Eyes opening, she gave a gasping gulp, slumping against the seat, and shaking her head.
Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.
"I was wonderin' how long it would take ya to figure out it was me, Helen," Seamus began, strutting around her like he was some damned Irish peacock.
His words, his meaning, everything that she guessed he wanted her to hear, his big finale exposition moment, meant nothing.
Anthony, free of his gel, was engaged in sliding fingers through his bangs, slicking it back. It only fell forward again.
Her body jolted, suddenly overtaken in a memory of a similar moment, when a feminine hand had done the exact same thing, in a time where everything was uncertain, and there was no one in the world in that alley but her and him.
Seamus' droning lost its meaning when Anthony's deep blue gaze rose to meet hers. The lock of his eyes sent a sudden jolt in her body, a mixture of pleasure and pain, a heave of her heart, and a sob in her chest.
She had hated him. She had hated him, and one hour ago, she would have taken the gun she had hidden for that very purpose and shot him, watching the light go out of the blue eyes with the numb emptiness that had been left in her heart after he had taken everything else.
It was a startling revelation, an epiphany that she never wanted, the feeling of helplessness and anger that pervaded every sense when she knew the reason she had hated him so much.
So much anger. So much emotion twisted on its head in a thin line that had hardened into hate, and melted just as easily.
In the course of all of this, she had fallen in love.
With this sick psycho tweezing bastard.
And she would still kill him.
"-HELEN! Look at me!"
A large, muscular form broke into her gaze and thoughts, as her senses were suddenly overwhelmed with Seamus. The intense glower she received from her psycho beloved suddenly broken, Dylan's melodramatic spell had severed, but her sense of humor, the desire to piss Seamus off, only reignited.
"What? You're not done yet? Can you speed it up, I'm getting a little bored."
She saw it coming. She still wasn't ready for it. The force of the blow mashed her lips against her teeth, drawing blood and a spike of pain, head jerking to the side and chair nearly topping with her momentum.
Eyesight blurred with tears, but she never stopped looking, and in the corner of her vision, she could have sworn Anthony paused.
It was as illusion.
When she had regained her senses from Seamus' blow, he was smoking, cold and distant.
--
Battered fragments of thoughts had taken over any coherency that had previously encamped in Alex's mind. Pure instinct was what saved her, and the result was a palm curled around a large beam of wood just under the dock, twenty feet above the splashing waves.
The white froth of the ocean ripples crashed against the rocks, splattering her with the salty wetness, and roaring into her ears.
Her left arm was burning, dangling helplessly at her side.
A large muscle pounding against her chest and ribcage made it nearly impossible to hear anything.
Now, her teeth digging into her lower lip, mind straining to come to terms with the shock, Alex found herself in a precarious situation.
Focused discipline finally came forward, and she allowed herself to assess her situation, bit by bit, ordeal by ordeal.
Her arm, while bleeding and painful, wasn't shot badly. She had been caught by the bullet biting flesh from her left bicep, passing through. The arm hadn't been rendered useless. No bones were broken, nothing had hit her shoulder. But she couldn't use it to balance her body, it was no help to her now.
Her other hand was stuck in an awkward grip, one that she was already trembling to keep. Splinters tore into her skin, and the splash of the waves caused a vibration on the dock that would force her to lose her hold eventually.
Under normal circumstances, this would have been at most a minor inconvenience. All it really required was a twist of her waist, quick flip - she would have been back on her feet in no time.
But there was a sniper with a clear view of the dock, and chances were she would no sooner touch the ground than her head would be blown off in a rather unpretty spectacle.
The roars made it impossible to hear, and she could do nothing but hang.
She felt vibrations on the wood, different from the waves - footsteps that were slow, careful...
Shit.
Her fingers ached, and when large wave crashed against the rocks, she felt her grip give an inch.
Muscles burned, ached with a slow, methodic torture.
But her grip held, and Alex told herself that she would hang on for as long as it took for the Sniper to leave.
She had to.
--
The shots ricocheted off the walls in a chaotic, dangerous manner.
Natalie gave a shout, launching off the platform and found a railing, curling around it and vaulting to another.
The darkness of the place afforded a crappy shot, and she used it, taking a deep breath as she flipped forward, ignoring the sparks that came from the weapon.
This was really starting to piss her off.
When she landed directly in front of her shooter, he was amply surprised.
"You know, I really don't have time for this."
The shock worked against him. By the time he had actually registered that this would have been a good time to pull the trigger, Natalie's body was already squatting down, her feet swiveling under, arch catching his ankle and pulling forward.
The gun went up in a flurry of sparks, shooting nothing but walls and ceilings.
Grip loosened by the fall, Natalie tore it from his hands easily, tossing it over the railing.
"You people really piss me off."
Pivoting on a heel, Natalie's ax kick landed squarely on his chest with the force of a small truck.
It was sufficient to put him to sleep.
Taking no time to recover, Natalie pressed her hand to her ear, trying to narrow the signal as she frantically called, "Dylan!? ALEX?!"
Behind her was Dylan. In front was Alex.
Natalie, who in all her life had never been driven to swear, found herself muttering a harried, "FUCK!" before she twisted in one direction, stared hard, and with a cry of frustration, went running in the other.
--
The pop of a burst of light, immediately followed by the slow burn of a cigarette, drew her eyes up to Seamus.
He smiled, dangling the newly lighted cigarette just an inch from her face, allowing the smoke to drift it's way into her nostrils.
"How about it? I'm gonna kill ya anyway. What's one last drag?"
Her mouth, bitter with the taste of copper, was not ready to handle the nicotine, and her stomach, already nauseous, gave a vicious jolt at the sight of it.
But something inside her craved it, and knowing he expected her to say no, she merely nodded.
An appreciative smile, reminiscent of a boy she had thought she had known long ago, curled upon the cruel lips, and even Anthony himself watched closely as her lips gently took the stick from his fingertips.
She ignored the jolt that came when his index fingers traced the outline of her mouth, instead closing her eyes, concentrating on the smoke, the nicotine, and the feeling that now flowed through her.
"Kinda like one last romp in the sack..." Eyes opening, Dylan focused on Seamus, on the glisten of arousal in his eyes, the feel of his palms spreading possessively over her shoulders. "What do you say, Helen? I'm up to it if you are."
Drained of her emotion, Dylan found a small part of her instinctively recoil in anger, a darker part still attracted, and the rest of her... oddly resigned.
A smile curled about dangerously pouted lips, arguably Dylan's best feature, or so she was told by maniacs who wanted to screw her. A lazy, bored gaze took in his face, the seriousness of his proposal, the hardness of his chest, and the prominent bulge in the center of his groin, straining from his jeans like a tent.
With a bitter, patronizing chuckle, she answered flatly, "I don't feel like faking."
Smile faltering, Seamus was like a cruel dog, deadly when teased.
"That's right," he breathed. "Forgot that it's not enough for ya. I gotta keep in mind, you like it rough."
Launching up, fingers grabbed locks of red hair, snapping her head back with a vicious pull, suddenly behind her, grinding his erection into her back, holding her roughly and yanking again.
She couldn't suppress the cry of pain.
"That's good for ya, Helen?" he yelled, ringing into her brain, and near to shattering her ear drums. "I can go harder if ya want. Since this is what you like, I'll be happy to oblige." He yanked again, harder. A small burn began to work itself from the base of her neck, and her mouth opened in a gasp, feeling the striking sharpness of another yank - never quite tearing, but always close.
"Hey!" Seamus kept her pinned, forcing her eyes open and on the Thin Man, who continued to watch, the cigarette drifting in and out of his mouth. "This how ya do it?"
She watched, trying to focus on anything but that pain, as Anthony finally flicked the cigarette from his fingertips, strode forward in a hostile, jerky gait.
He ignored her hair, but her eyes closed involuntarily as the tips of his fingers slowly swept across her cheek, over her lips, still stinging with blood, and down between her breasts.
She knew what he was doing.
It came no surprise when her eyes opened, and she found him holding the medallion in his palm.
--
At the tip of the plank hanging just over the beam from with Alex was precariously clinging, a pair of black boots edged just over it.
Splinters dug into her palm, causing an itching pain that made it no easier to hold on. Her hand was sweating, condensed moisture from the beam causing it to slip another inch.
Alex's entire body weight was relying on two fingers.
Biting back the pain, Alex kept herself as silent as she could, as the boots steps forward another inch.
She slipped again.
Alex grunted, struggling, and it gave her away.
Jerking her head up, she winced against the glare of the setting sun, managing to perfectly gleam into the barrel of a gun suddenly pointing directly at her head.
The shots came, Alex jerked, but miraculously, they hit the water, splashing around her.
Shouts and thumps added to the chaos, but Alex couldn't take the time to care, as the suddenly motion caused her fingers to slip, and then there was just one finger, and it wasn't enough.
She slipped, felt with the drop of her stomach the inevitable, and closed her eyes, praying she could have the energy to make it to the rocks, before the sniper had another chance to shoot.
The finger wrenched from the beam.
Warm digits, clamping tight over her wrist, suddenly held her.
Alex gasped, jerking up to find her friend, blonde hair illuminated by the setting sun, holding tightly to her hand.
"Oh," she managed, breathing in the salty sea air. "Hi."
"Hey," Natalie responded, smiling tightly, winded by her weight. "You're late."
"Oh, yeah..." Alex swallowed hard, shrugging at her shot arm. "Traffic was a bitch."
Natalie grinned, and immediately, she pulled up, grabbing the back of Alex's shirt when they managed to get her torso over the plank, back onto the questionably safe dock.
"What happened?" Alex asked, gasping in an attempt to catch her breath.
Pulling on the wounded arm and inspecting the torn flesh, Natalie looked harried and tense. "It was Marlin. I got him by surprise but I couldn't chase him after I saw you. I don't know where he went."
"Thanks."
"Anytime." Moving the limb carefully, Natalie studied Alex's wince. "Can you move this?"
"Please," Alex retorted. She gave her silk blouse a parting sigh. "If Dylan can run around with two fractured ribs, I can more than certainly operate with a little gunshot wound." She pulled roughly at the sleeve, tearing it off her shoulder, and handing it to Natalie.
Her friend returned the grim smile. "Well, good," she answered quickly, tying off the silk in a makeshift bandage and pushing to her feet. "Because I think she's in trouble, and we better get in there."
"Moving," Alex nodded.
Shifting the bandage, Alex quickly broke into a run, following Natalie into the dark bowels of the ship.
--
The sting that she felt when his fingers closed around the medallion and tugged was nothing. A small welt appeared on her skin, but thanks to Seamus, and his ever so strong grip, it was almost just an inconvenience.
It wasn't the physical pain that was a problem.
Anthony, hawk-eyed demi-god, reverent in his appreciation for touch, slid the metal of the cheap metal trinket over his lips, eyes closing when he gave that sigh.
THAT sigh.
She couldn't react. Seamus released his hold on her, and she barely felt it. The presence of the Thin Man was odd, a new experience that she hadn't felt before - even when she was betrayed, even though her heart had been broken and mended countless times.
"He hates you, Helen," the devil whispered in her ear, lips brushed seductively against her ears, sending a chill through her, that she, muddled with torn emotions, wouldn't bother to place. "I should let him kill ya now." Anthony, with his medallion, circling, bare fisted and completely insane. "It's what he wants. What he asked for. But I've waited too long for this. I'm going to kill ya, Helen, and now may be as good a time as any."
"Funny, how we were thinking the same thing."
Oh, GOD. Dylan's body sagged with relief, crumpling against Seamus at the familiar voice from a friend.
The startled intrusion brought immediate results. Three sailors came out from the shadows, charging at the two Angels that were left standing.
Alex went airborne, tucking into a roll, unfurling at the last second to whip out two feet, swiveling like a top and catching two in the faces. Natalie's way was much subtler. As the third approached, she merely clipped a smile and, with a turn and a flash of footwork, pushed out a leg in a spinning heel kick that buried into his abdomen, knocking the wind out of him, and forcing him to the ground.
"As I was saying - we were thinking the same thing," Natalie reiterated, dusting herself off, one heel ominously close to the fallen man's esophagus.
"But kinda in reverse," Alex added. The Asian woman had a torn shirt, the blue-silk of one sleeve wrapped messily around her left bicep, a darker patch spreading. Dylan had missed something important. Hazel/Green eyes narrowed in concern, but Alex shook her head gently. Dylan understood why Alex seemed to think it was not the time. Ducktaped and held down, there was no way she was going to allow Seamus to see her near emotional break down.
Managing a small, mock glare, she began in the most patronizing tone she could muster, "Took you long enough."
"Traffic," both girls said immediately.
And here they were.
The tell-tale standoff. Evil versus good. Bad Guy versus Good Guy. Bitch versus Bastard.
"I'm really getting sick of this."
Natalie and Alex, beautiful and strong and dusty, never moved toward her. They long ago had ceased throwing her comforting looks. The relieved, angered expressions slowly dissipated into thin mouths and narrowed eyes. Anthony was not in her sight, an observation that forced her to realize he must have been behind her. Two conclusions, formed in a split second in the silence that usually preceded the bad guy's big expositional speech.
There was none.
Instead, something cold, metallic, burned into her left temple, setting a chill that, like an electric current, raced through her entire body, making her completely aware of the fact that Seamus had just pressed a loaded pistol against her head.
"Anthinny." His cold voice vibrated through her, against her back and to her heart, sending it into a panicked stutter. "Kill them."
He made no sound.
A blurry Natalie and Alex immediately crouched into defensive postures, but her eyes were frantically focused on a gleam of silver, a long blade that shone in the darkened room like a star in the night sky.
It entered her field of vision like a too stiff snake, aimed in the direction of her friends. After it came an arm, cloaked in a black fabric that became a torso, a face, a body.
"No," she managed, jerking froward until a hand caught her around her chest, pushing her back, the gun shoving her head further to the side.
"Calm down, Helen," came the voice of her former lover. "I want ya to enjoy the show."
With every step, Anthony moved closer to the Angels.
And suddenly, before she was ready, it happened.
Fists shot in the air and the blade flashed, and Alex and Natalie fought with precision, against a man who knew their weakness, and now exploited it. Alex was shoved back and tripped to the ground. Natalie narrowed missed a swipe with the sword and kicked with her foot, but he caught her, swinging her up like an exaggerated move from a skating championship and sending her on her way.
The fight came closer, as if he was pulling them to her feet in order to let them die at her feet.
And like always, Dylan remained helpless, Seamus overtaking her senses, laughing in her ear and filling her with such hate, she nearly braved the gunshot just to deliver her own.
Anthony came closer, driven back by Alex and Natalie, now near enough to trip if she could manage it. She never got the chance.
Her legs, arching around, and preparing for the thrust, never even got to the front of the chair when suddenly a black clad leg swept under her, kicking through the rungs of the chairs-
She jerked as quickly as she could, kicking up at the gun and falling in the natural momentum, the chair swiveling out of harms way before she landed in a sprawled heap some distance away.
Her head cracked against the ground, snapping back with a splinter of pain that made her dizzy, but even so, she didn't miss the result of the fight that was so expertly orchestrated.
Seamus, gun now out of his hands, stood perfectly still. Painted on his face was a bleak, stunned expression of horror. A long, thin sword had lodged itself firmly in his chest.
The Creepy Thin Assasin wore the patented murderous expression, watching him with eyes of contempt, as if spitting on the man who had once said they were so alike.
Cotton-mouthed, Dylan's own heartbeat staggered in her chest. Footsteps pounded in her direction, and mechanical intuition told her it was Natalie who untied her, wiped at her lips.
"Dylan-"
Finally, she glanced over, and found the wide blue eyes a startled mimic of the wonder of her own.
He was suddenly there, rock hard grip pulling her to her feet, fingers tightly pressed around her biceps, staring at her with an expression that she had seen once before, on a rooftop, months ago.
A softening of features, transforming the cold killer to a beautiful man who had been capable of so much more.
Her lips twisted into a private smile, palm gentle as she stole a moment to caress his face, study the lines of apologetic 'I couldn't do it' regret that creased inside of them.
The soft skin underneath her fingertips was warm and alive, smooth as silk, with exception to the razor stubble that came from his previous unhinging. She studied the contrast, and the gleam of the medallion resting on his chest caught her attention. His eyes never left hers as she closed her fingers around it, but when she began to tug, he stopped her with a squeeze against her body.
Behind her, there was a gasp, but Dylan ignored Natalie's awe, when Anthony himself removed the metal trinket, and gently, gently, dropped it over her head.
When his head dropped to the crook of her shoulder, breathing her in, fingers locked around the hair at the nape of her neck, she held him there, eyes closing in unspoken relief.
Until a shout from Natalie opened her eyes, jerking Anthony away from her when suddenly she remembered, she was in no way alone, or out of this.
Seamus O'Grady, god among men, was still standing, screaming in rage and agony as inch by inch, he pulled on the handle of the sword.
Oh, God.
Horrid amazement overtook any initial relief, as Dylan experienced a man pulling a long saber out of his chest, staggering only once, and curling fingers over the handles of the blade.
When his gaze jerked and locked with hers, she almost took a full step back, one hand on Anthony, the other tangled with Natalie's.
Alex, frazzled and wearing a somber expression, met the three of them, eyes motioning wildly to the entrance, where ten more guards had just decided to make a tardy experience.
Two held guns, both pointing toward Dylan.
"Okay..." Natalie breathed, extracting herself from Dylan and moving forward to stand with Alex. "Plan... B?"
"I don't remember making a Plan B," Dylan said breathlessly.
Alex snorted. "It was tough enough getting through Plan A."
"We had a Plan A?"
"Living through this was Plan A."
Seamus, all muscles and vengeance, had tremendous focus.
His eyes were on Dylan - no one else.
"Kill the rest of 'em," he said blithely. "I'll take care of Romeo and Bitchy-ette."
Rough hands pushed her back, a thin, wiry form moved in front of her, but even that wouldn't protect her from the semi-automatic weapons pointed menacingly in their direction.
Trigger fingers were happy - but with a bang that made Dylan jump and Natalie and Alex jerk their heads, one guard slipped to the floor, brains splattering around him.
When the second guard dropped, Dylan knew where it was coming from.
"You won't kill them."
Marlin boomed over the cargo bay, hidden in the shadows, entrenched around the tips of the ceiling, somewhere along the skinny ledge bathed in darkness.
Tone weary, raspy, weak and desperate, he was, by a large margin, perhaps the most deadly entity in the room.
"It's my job," he continued, wheezing from his place. "My destiny, Seamus! I deserve this - Only I can control something so extraordinary."
"Fucking nut," Seamus growled, spitting up at the darkened area.
Slowly, Dylan fingers pushed over Natalie's palm, pressing beats.
"I deserve it, Seamus!"
Natalie gave her a slow, methodic nod. Her free hand stole to Alex's.
Dylan carefully let go of Anthony, currently engrossed in glaring up at the darkness. With a subtle move, her fingers closed over her gun.
"FUCK YOU!" Seamus bellowed, and fearlessly raised his gun in the direction of the sniper, snapping off his rounds in a burst of reckless anger.
"NOW!"
Bullets began to rain down, deadly messages from heaven - but no one seemed to care, as Natalie's eyes glinted with steel when she barreled into the crowd of guards.
Dylan's boot aimed a well placed kick in the small of Seamus' back, sending him sprawling forward. In a flash he was up, swiping at her with a growl and a blade-
Anthony, a master of his own sword, kicked it up and away from him, returning it to it's rightful owner.
Dylan grinned. "There can be only one."
"Cunt," Seamus growled.
She had no time to take offence to the comment, as Alex's current fighter suddenly dropped with a shot to his shoulder. Twisting under, the brunette used him for cover as the second and third burst into his flesh.
"I'm on him!" she yelled.
"ALEX!"
Moving away for one precious second from Anthony and Seamus, she tossed her weapon to Alex.
The Angel caught it automatically, staring at the thing as if it were poisonous. But the smile that flitted across her face was genuine.
When Seamus dove into Dylan, snapped a fist against her temple, she found the pain almost blinding-
But she saw Alex, struggling with her hurt arm and her gun, making her way up the walls of the ship.
She saw Natalie, face frozen in a yell as she jerked into a sideways split, landing a fist on another sailor's crotch.
And there was Anthony, pulling Seamus off of her and getting a kick across his face for the trouble.
She saw it all, bathed in darkness, and fluorescent lights, wafting in a smokescreen that came from cigarettes and bullets and dust.
The smoke closed around her completely, and Dylan, dazed and blinded, closed her eyes.
End chapter
I do truly appreciate the reviews, and I want to thank everyone who faithfully gives me their thoughts after each chapter. You don't know what that means to me.
Onwards -
CHAPTER NINETEEN: smokescreen
In the hollowed out steel drum of her trap, the shots that startled the group came off sounding more like a sonic boom.
Dylan visibly jerked in her seat, head swiveling to the darkened hallway. The panic that had so recently descended into despair, now rose again like bile on her tongue, and her gasp, painful and scared, made Seamus smile.
The bastard actually looked cheery.
"Don't mind that - just takin' care of some rats we found aboard." She could smell his sweat, see the beads on his tanned, darkened skin.
It literally made her sick.
Fingers pushed up at her chin, but she didn't see it. Her eyes closed for relief, hands carefully moved for the weapon-
Why the hell had she put it on her back? Where the fuck was she supposed to point this thing?
Eyes opening, she gave a gasping gulp, slumping against the seat, and shaking her head.
Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.
"I was wonderin' how long it would take ya to figure out it was me, Helen," Seamus began, strutting around her like he was some damned Irish peacock.
His words, his meaning, everything that she guessed he wanted her to hear, his big finale exposition moment, meant nothing.
Anthony, free of his gel, was engaged in sliding fingers through his bangs, slicking it back. It only fell forward again.
Her body jolted, suddenly overtaken in a memory of a similar moment, when a feminine hand had done the exact same thing, in a time where everything was uncertain, and there was no one in the world in that alley but her and him.
Seamus' droning lost its meaning when Anthony's deep blue gaze rose to meet hers. The lock of his eyes sent a sudden jolt in her body, a mixture of pleasure and pain, a heave of her heart, and a sob in her chest.
She had hated him. She had hated him, and one hour ago, she would have taken the gun she had hidden for that very purpose and shot him, watching the light go out of the blue eyes with the numb emptiness that had been left in her heart after he had taken everything else.
It was a startling revelation, an epiphany that she never wanted, the feeling of helplessness and anger that pervaded every sense when she knew the reason she had hated him so much.
So much anger. So much emotion twisted on its head in a thin line that had hardened into hate, and melted just as easily.
In the course of all of this, she had fallen in love.
With this sick psycho tweezing bastard.
And she would still kill him.
"-HELEN! Look at me!"
A large, muscular form broke into her gaze and thoughts, as her senses were suddenly overwhelmed with Seamus. The intense glower she received from her psycho beloved suddenly broken, Dylan's melodramatic spell had severed, but her sense of humor, the desire to piss Seamus off, only reignited.
"What? You're not done yet? Can you speed it up, I'm getting a little bored."
She saw it coming. She still wasn't ready for it. The force of the blow mashed her lips against her teeth, drawing blood and a spike of pain, head jerking to the side and chair nearly topping with her momentum.
Eyesight blurred with tears, but she never stopped looking, and in the corner of her vision, she could have sworn Anthony paused.
It was as illusion.
When she had regained her senses from Seamus' blow, he was smoking, cold and distant.
--
Battered fragments of thoughts had taken over any coherency that had previously encamped in Alex's mind. Pure instinct was what saved her, and the result was a palm curled around a large beam of wood just under the dock, twenty feet above the splashing waves.
The white froth of the ocean ripples crashed against the rocks, splattering her with the salty wetness, and roaring into her ears.
Her left arm was burning, dangling helplessly at her side.
A large muscle pounding against her chest and ribcage made it nearly impossible to hear anything.
Now, her teeth digging into her lower lip, mind straining to come to terms with the shock, Alex found herself in a precarious situation.
Focused discipline finally came forward, and she allowed herself to assess her situation, bit by bit, ordeal by ordeal.
Her arm, while bleeding and painful, wasn't shot badly. She had been caught by the bullet biting flesh from her left bicep, passing through. The arm hadn't been rendered useless. No bones were broken, nothing had hit her shoulder. But she couldn't use it to balance her body, it was no help to her now.
Her other hand was stuck in an awkward grip, one that she was already trembling to keep. Splinters tore into her skin, and the splash of the waves caused a vibration on the dock that would force her to lose her hold eventually.
Under normal circumstances, this would have been at most a minor inconvenience. All it really required was a twist of her waist, quick flip - she would have been back on her feet in no time.
But there was a sniper with a clear view of the dock, and chances were she would no sooner touch the ground than her head would be blown off in a rather unpretty spectacle.
The roars made it impossible to hear, and she could do nothing but hang.
She felt vibrations on the wood, different from the waves - footsteps that were slow, careful...
Shit.
Her fingers ached, and when large wave crashed against the rocks, she felt her grip give an inch.
Muscles burned, ached with a slow, methodic torture.
But her grip held, and Alex told herself that she would hang on for as long as it took for the Sniper to leave.
She had to.
--
The shots ricocheted off the walls in a chaotic, dangerous manner.
Natalie gave a shout, launching off the platform and found a railing, curling around it and vaulting to another.
The darkness of the place afforded a crappy shot, and she used it, taking a deep breath as she flipped forward, ignoring the sparks that came from the weapon.
This was really starting to piss her off.
When she landed directly in front of her shooter, he was amply surprised.
"You know, I really don't have time for this."
The shock worked against him. By the time he had actually registered that this would have been a good time to pull the trigger, Natalie's body was already squatting down, her feet swiveling under, arch catching his ankle and pulling forward.
The gun went up in a flurry of sparks, shooting nothing but walls and ceilings.
Grip loosened by the fall, Natalie tore it from his hands easily, tossing it over the railing.
"You people really piss me off."
Pivoting on a heel, Natalie's ax kick landed squarely on his chest with the force of a small truck.
It was sufficient to put him to sleep.
Taking no time to recover, Natalie pressed her hand to her ear, trying to narrow the signal as she frantically called, "Dylan!? ALEX?!"
Behind her was Dylan. In front was Alex.
Natalie, who in all her life had never been driven to swear, found herself muttering a harried, "FUCK!" before she twisted in one direction, stared hard, and with a cry of frustration, went running in the other.
--
The pop of a burst of light, immediately followed by the slow burn of a cigarette, drew her eyes up to Seamus.
He smiled, dangling the newly lighted cigarette just an inch from her face, allowing the smoke to drift it's way into her nostrils.
"How about it? I'm gonna kill ya anyway. What's one last drag?"
Her mouth, bitter with the taste of copper, was not ready to handle the nicotine, and her stomach, already nauseous, gave a vicious jolt at the sight of it.
But something inside her craved it, and knowing he expected her to say no, she merely nodded.
An appreciative smile, reminiscent of a boy she had thought she had known long ago, curled upon the cruel lips, and even Anthony himself watched closely as her lips gently took the stick from his fingertips.
She ignored the jolt that came when his index fingers traced the outline of her mouth, instead closing her eyes, concentrating on the smoke, the nicotine, and the feeling that now flowed through her.
"Kinda like one last romp in the sack..." Eyes opening, Dylan focused on Seamus, on the glisten of arousal in his eyes, the feel of his palms spreading possessively over her shoulders. "What do you say, Helen? I'm up to it if you are."
Drained of her emotion, Dylan found a small part of her instinctively recoil in anger, a darker part still attracted, and the rest of her... oddly resigned.
A smile curled about dangerously pouted lips, arguably Dylan's best feature, or so she was told by maniacs who wanted to screw her. A lazy, bored gaze took in his face, the seriousness of his proposal, the hardness of his chest, and the prominent bulge in the center of his groin, straining from his jeans like a tent.
With a bitter, patronizing chuckle, she answered flatly, "I don't feel like faking."
Smile faltering, Seamus was like a cruel dog, deadly when teased.
"That's right," he breathed. "Forgot that it's not enough for ya. I gotta keep in mind, you like it rough."
Launching up, fingers grabbed locks of red hair, snapping her head back with a vicious pull, suddenly behind her, grinding his erection into her back, holding her roughly and yanking again.
She couldn't suppress the cry of pain.
"That's good for ya, Helen?" he yelled, ringing into her brain, and near to shattering her ear drums. "I can go harder if ya want. Since this is what you like, I'll be happy to oblige." He yanked again, harder. A small burn began to work itself from the base of her neck, and her mouth opened in a gasp, feeling the striking sharpness of another yank - never quite tearing, but always close.
"Hey!" Seamus kept her pinned, forcing her eyes open and on the Thin Man, who continued to watch, the cigarette drifting in and out of his mouth. "This how ya do it?"
She watched, trying to focus on anything but that pain, as Anthony finally flicked the cigarette from his fingertips, strode forward in a hostile, jerky gait.
He ignored her hair, but her eyes closed involuntarily as the tips of his fingers slowly swept across her cheek, over her lips, still stinging with blood, and down between her breasts.
She knew what he was doing.
It came no surprise when her eyes opened, and she found him holding the medallion in his palm.
--
At the tip of the plank hanging just over the beam from with Alex was precariously clinging, a pair of black boots edged just over it.
Splinters dug into her palm, causing an itching pain that made it no easier to hold on. Her hand was sweating, condensed moisture from the beam causing it to slip another inch.
Alex's entire body weight was relying on two fingers.
Biting back the pain, Alex kept herself as silent as she could, as the boots steps forward another inch.
She slipped again.
Alex grunted, struggling, and it gave her away.
Jerking her head up, she winced against the glare of the setting sun, managing to perfectly gleam into the barrel of a gun suddenly pointing directly at her head.
The shots came, Alex jerked, but miraculously, they hit the water, splashing around her.
Shouts and thumps added to the chaos, but Alex couldn't take the time to care, as the suddenly motion caused her fingers to slip, and then there was just one finger, and it wasn't enough.
She slipped, felt with the drop of her stomach the inevitable, and closed her eyes, praying she could have the energy to make it to the rocks, before the sniper had another chance to shoot.
The finger wrenched from the beam.
Warm digits, clamping tight over her wrist, suddenly held her.
Alex gasped, jerking up to find her friend, blonde hair illuminated by the setting sun, holding tightly to her hand.
"Oh," she managed, breathing in the salty sea air. "Hi."
"Hey," Natalie responded, smiling tightly, winded by her weight. "You're late."
"Oh, yeah..." Alex swallowed hard, shrugging at her shot arm. "Traffic was a bitch."
Natalie grinned, and immediately, she pulled up, grabbing the back of Alex's shirt when they managed to get her torso over the plank, back onto the questionably safe dock.
"What happened?" Alex asked, gasping in an attempt to catch her breath.
Pulling on the wounded arm and inspecting the torn flesh, Natalie looked harried and tense. "It was Marlin. I got him by surprise but I couldn't chase him after I saw you. I don't know where he went."
"Thanks."
"Anytime." Moving the limb carefully, Natalie studied Alex's wince. "Can you move this?"
"Please," Alex retorted. She gave her silk blouse a parting sigh. "If Dylan can run around with two fractured ribs, I can more than certainly operate with a little gunshot wound." She pulled roughly at the sleeve, tearing it off her shoulder, and handing it to Natalie.
Her friend returned the grim smile. "Well, good," she answered quickly, tying off the silk in a makeshift bandage and pushing to her feet. "Because I think she's in trouble, and we better get in there."
"Moving," Alex nodded.
Shifting the bandage, Alex quickly broke into a run, following Natalie into the dark bowels of the ship.
--
The sting that she felt when his fingers closed around the medallion and tugged was nothing. A small welt appeared on her skin, but thanks to Seamus, and his ever so strong grip, it was almost just an inconvenience.
It wasn't the physical pain that was a problem.
Anthony, hawk-eyed demi-god, reverent in his appreciation for touch, slid the metal of the cheap metal trinket over his lips, eyes closing when he gave that sigh.
THAT sigh.
She couldn't react. Seamus released his hold on her, and she barely felt it. The presence of the Thin Man was odd, a new experience that she hadn't felt before - even when she was betrayed, even though her heart had been broken and mended countless times.
"He hates you, Helen," the devil whispered in her ear, lips brushed seductively against her ears, sending a chill through her, that she, muddled with torn emotions, wouldn't bother to place. "I should let him kill ya now." Anthony, with his medallion, circling, bare fisted and completely insane. "It's what he wants. What he asked for. But I've waited too long for this. I'm going to kill ya, Helen, and now may be as good a time as any."
"Funny, how we were thinking the same thing."
Oh, GOD. Dylan's body sagged with relief, crumpling against Seamus at the familiar voice from a friend.
The startled intrusion brought immediate results. Three sailors came out from the shadows, charging at the two Angels that were left standing.
Alex went airborne, tucking into a roll, unfurling at the last second to whip out two feet, swiveling like a top and catching two in the faces. Natalie's way was much subtler. As the third approached, she merely clipped a smile and, with a turn and a flash of footwork, pushed out a leg in a spinning heel kick that buried into his abdomen, knocking the wind out of him, and forcing him to the ground.
"As I was saying - we were thinking the same thing," Natalie reiterated, dusting herself off, one heel ominously close to the fallen man's esophagus.
"But kinda in reverse," Alex added. The Asian woman had a torn shirt, the blue-silk of one sleeve wrapped messily around her left bicep, a darker patch spreading. Dylan had missed something important. Hazel/Green eyes narrowed in concern, but Alex shook her head gently. Dylan understood why Alex seemed to think it was not the time. Ducktaped and held down, there was no way she was going to allow Seamus to see her near emotional break down.
Managing a small, mock glare, she began in the most patronizing tone she could muster, "Took you long enough."
"Traffic," both girls said immediately.
And here they were.
The tell-tale standoff. Evil versus good. Bad Guy versus Good Guy. Bitch versus Bastard.
"I'm really getting sick of this."
Natalie and Alex, beautiful and strong and dusty, never moved toward her. They long ago had ceased throwing her comforting looks. The relieved, angered expressions slowly dissipated into thin mouths and narrowed eyes. Anthony was not in her sight, an observation that forced her to realize he must have been behind her. Two conclusions, formed in a split second in the silence that usually preceded the bad guy's big expositional speech.
There was none.
Instead, something cold, metallic, burned into her left temple, setting a chill that, like an electric current, raced through her entire body, making her completely aware of the fact that Seamus had just pressed a loaded pistol against her head.
"Anthinny." His cold voice vibrated through her, against her back and to her heart, sending it into a panicked stutter. "Kill them."
He made no sound.
A blurry Natalie and Alex immediately crouched into defensive postures, but her eyes were frantically focused on a gleam of silver, a long blade that shone in the darkened room like a star in the night sky.
It entered her field of vision like a too stiff snake, aimed in the direction of her friends. After it came an arm, cloaked in a black fabric that became a torso, a face, a body.
"No," she managed, jerking froward until a hand caught her around her chest, pushing her back, the gun shoving her head further to the side.
"Calm down, Helen," came the voice of her former lover. "I want ya to enjoy the show."
With every step, Anthony moved closer to the Angels.
And suddenly, before she was ready, it happened.
Fists shot in the air and the blade flashed, and Alex and Natalie fought with precision, against a man who knew their weakness, and now exploited it. Alex was shoved back and tripped to the ground. Natalie narrowed missed a swipe with the sword and kicked with her foot, but he caught her, swinging her up like an exaggerated move from a skating championship and sending her on her way.
The fight came closer, as if he was pulling them to her feet in order to let them die at her feet.
And like always, Dylan remained helpless, Seamus overtaking her senses, laughing in her ear and filling her with such hate, she nearly braved the gunshot just to deliver her own.
Anthony came closer, driven back by Alex and Natalie, now near enough to trip if she could manage it. She never got the chance.
Her legs, arching around, and preparing for the thrust, never even got to the front of the chair when suddenly a black clad leg swept under her, kicking through the rungs of the chairs-
She jerked as quickly as she could, kicking up at the gun and falling in the natural momentum, the chair swiveling out of harms way before she landed in a sprawled heap some distance away.
Her head cracked against the ground, snapping back with a splinter of pain that made her dizzy, but even so, she didn't miss the result of the fight that was so expertly orchestrated.
Seamus, gun now out of his hands, stood perfectly still. Painted on his face was a bleak, stunned expression of horror. A long, thin sword had lodged itself firmly in his chest.
The Creepy Thin Assasin wore the patented murderous expression, watching him with eyes of contempt, as if spitting on the man who had once said they were so alike.
Cotton-mouthed, Dylan's own heartbeat staggered in her chest. Footsteps pounded in her direction, and mechanical intuition told her it was Natalie who untied her, wiped at her lips.
"Dylan-"
Finally, she glanced over, and found the wide blue eyes a startled mimic of the wonder of her own.
He was suddenly there, rock hard grip pulling her to her feet, fingers tightly pressed around her biceps, staring at her with an expression that she had seen once before, on a rooftop, months ago.
A softening of features, transforming the cold killer to a beautiful man who had been capable of so much more.
Her lips twisted into a private smile, palm gentle as she stole a moment to caress his face, study the lines of apologetic 'I couldn't do it' regret that creased inside of them.
The soft skin underneath her fingertips was warm and alive, smooth as silk, with exception to the razor stubble that came from his previous unhinging. She studied the contrast, and the gleam of the medallion resting on his chest caught her attention. His eyes never left hers as she closed her fingers around it, but when she began to tug, he stopped her with a squeeze against her body.
Behind her, there was a gasp, but Dylan ignored Natalie's awe, when Anthony himself removed the metal trinket, and gently, gently, dropped it over her head.
When his head dropped to the crook of her shoulder, breathing her in, fingers locked around the hair at the nape of her neck, she held him there, eyes closing in unspoken relief.
Until a shout from Natalie opened her eyes, jerking Anthony away from her when suddenly she remembered, she was in no way alone, or out of this.
Seamus O'Grady, god among men, was still standing, screaming in rage and agony as inch by inch, he pulled on the handle of the sword.
Oh, God.
Horrid amazement overtook any initial relief, as Dylan experienced a man pulling a long saber out of his chest, staggering only once, and curling fingers over the handles of the blade.
When his gaze jerked and locked with hers, she almost took a full step back, one hand on Anthony, the other tangled with Natalie's.
Alex, frazzled and wearing a somber expression, met the three of them, eyes motioning wildly to the entrance, where ten more guards had just decided to make a tardy experience.
Two held guns, both pointing toward Dylan.
"Okay..." Natalie breathed, extracting herself from Dylan and moving forward to stand with Alex. "Plan... B?"
"I don't remember making a Plan B," Dylan said breathlessly.
Alex snorted. "It was tough enough getting through Plan A."
"We had a Plan A?"
"Living through this was Plan A."
Seamus, all muscles and vengeance, had tremendous focus.
His eyes were on Dylan - no one else.
"Kill the rest of 'em," he said blithely. "I'll take care of Romeo and Bitchy-ette."
Rough hands pushed her back, a thin, wiry form moved in front of her, but even that wouldn't protect her from the semi-automatic weapons pointed menacingly in their direction.
Trigger fingers were happy - but with a bang that made Dylan jump and Natalie and Alex jerk their heads, one guard slipped to the floor, brains splattering around him.
When the second guard dropped, Dylan knew where it was coming from.
"You won't kill them."
Marlin boomed over the cargo bay, hidden in the shadows, entrenched around the tips of the ceiling, somewhere along the skinny ledge bathed in darkness.
Tone weary, raspy, weak and desperate, he was, by a large margin, perhaps the most deadly entity in the room.
"It's my job," he continued, wheezing from his place. "My destiny, Seamus! I deserve this - Only I can control something so extraordinary."
"Fucking nut," Seamus growled, spitting up at the darkened area.
Slowly, Dylan fingers pushed over Natalie's palm, pressing beats.
"I deserve it, Seamus!"
Natalie gave her a slow, methodic nod. Her free hand stole to Alex's.
Dylan carefully let go of Anthony, currently engrossed in glaring up at the darkness. With a subtle move, her fingers closed over her gun.
"FUCK YOU!" Seamus bellowed, and fearlessly raised his gun in the direction of the sniper, snapping off his rounds in a burst of reckless anger.
"NOW!"
Bullets began to rain down, deadly messages from heaven - but no one seemed to care, as Natalie's eyes glinted with steel when she barreled into the crowd of guards.
Dylan's boot aimed a well placed kick in the small of Seamus' back, sending him sprawling forward. In a flash he was up, swiping at her with a growl and a blade-
Anthony, a master of his own sword, kicked it up and away from him, returning it to it's rightful owner.
Dylan grinned. "There can be only one."
"Cunt," Seamus growled.
She had no time to take offence to the comment, as Alex's current fighter suddenly dropped with a shot to his shoulder. Twisting under, the brunette used him for cover as the second and third burst into his flesh.
"I'm on him!" she yelled.
"ALEX!"
Moving away for one precious second from Anthony and Seamus, she tossed her weapon to Alex.
The Angel caught it automatically, staring at the thing as if it were poisonous. But the smile that flitted across her face was genuine.
When Seamus dove into Dylan, snapped a fist against her temple, she found the pain almost blinding-
But she saw Alex, struggling with her hurt arm and her gun, making her way up the walls of the ship.
She saw Natalie, face frozen in a yell as she jerked into a sideways split, landing a fist on another sailor's crotch.
And there was Anthony, pulling Seamus off of her and getting a kick across his face for the trouble.
She saw it all, bathed in darkness, and fluorescent lights, wafting in a smokescreen that came from cigarettes and bullets and dust.
The smoke closed around her completely, and Dylan, dazed and blinded, closed her eyes.
End chapter