There was screaming. Tig woke a cry of pain and angry voices carrying from elsewhere in the buildng. Men were shouting, and a single woman's angry scream rang out. Anne. He lurched upwards, holding his side and swearing. The sounds came closer, and he heard Anne giving a blistering and somewhat graphic account of what Connor might do if returned to find her beaten or raped by his goons. It would have been deeply funny if Tig wasn't so certain he was about to hear her get killed. She cried out once again, then was silent.
A moment later, the door banged open. Anne was thrust into the room with a rough shove which sent her sprawling across the linoleum floor. There were three Nords in the hall. Two were arguing with each other. The third spat on the floor next to Anne and pulled the door shut with a crash. Anne stayed down.
As quickly as he could, Tig moved to her side. His ankle was strong enough now that he barely limped. He knelt carefully, gritting his teeth, and reached down to push her hair back from her face. There was a reddened hand-print across her face and blood on her lip. She roused at his touch, and rolled onto her back with a groan of pain and looked up at him.
And then, unexpectedly, she smiled. Lying there with her hair in disarray and the coy look on her face, it struck him how very attractive Anne was. There was something feral about the blood on her face and the gleam in her sea-green eyes. With the t-shirt riding up, it was almost pornographic. Tig swallowed.
She laughed once, then winced and clasped her side. "Ow, shit. One of them kicked me."
"And you're happy about that?"
"No. I'm happy they're idiots."
Anne's eyes flicked to the door, but she let Tig help her sit up. Careful of his wound, she leaned into him, one arm going around his neck like a lover's. Her warm breasts brushed his arm, which she didn't seem to notice, though he definitely did. And then he felt her breath on his ear. It sent shivers down his spine. She smelled like soap and cigarette smoke. She whispered, "They were so busy roughing me up and arguing about how much Connor would let them hurt me that they didn't notice when palmed a cell phone."
Relief. He felt weak with it. He rested his forehead on Anne's shoulder for a moment. He wondered if she'd started the fight on purpose. Then he wondered why she wasn't phoning 911 right this second. Her arm came up, fingers first tangling in his hair at the base of his neck, then tugging it for his attention. He lifted his head and met her intent gaze. He was close enough to see flecks of gold and blue in the green of her eyes.
"I could call the police. But I know Connor's men are afraid of what your gang can do if they're found. I'll let you make that call, instead of the police, if you make me two promises."
Tig felt adrenaline pound in his veins. "Tell me what you want."
"I want them dead. Dead." Her fingernails dug lightly into his neck for emphasis. It was distractingly erotic, but Tig nodded.
"I respect that. What else?"
"If you get out of here, get me out too." She breathed. "Through the door or with a bullet, I don't care which."
Tig placed his hand on her reddened cheek and looked into her eyes. He saw a total absence of hope in their green depths. There was only cold anger reflected at him. He'd seen it in the mirror often enough to recognize it. He also saw the pain fueling that anger. He never made the decision to kiss her, but her lips were close and her skin was warm under his hand.
At first she was still and unresisting. Then she melted into him. Her breath hitched when he ran his tongue over the cut at the corner of her lip, but her body pressed against him. She was passion under a layer of ice. A woman who was all frosty control, then rage. He understood. It was how Tig functioned, too. Calculation, then commitment.
She broke the kiss, and briefly touched her forehead to his. Without a word, she pulled away, and moved to the far wall to watch the door. Tig returned to his corner and made a short, intense phone-call. Once finished, he checked that the phone was silenced. He tucked it under the mattress and nodded to Anne. She had wrapped her arms around her bent knees. The posture, combined with the way her hair hid most of her face, made her look very young and vulnerable. There was, however, nothing young about her eyes. He looked away, and lay back to stare at the ceiling and think.
Anne had gambled to get that phone. She'd taken a beating for it, and even if the Nordics had pulled their punches for her, she still had to deal with their leader when he returned. And if they found out she had the phone, they'd probably kill her. He thought about what she'd said about getting out with a bullet. Maybe she'd only taken this gamble because she didn't mind losing. Or maybe it was because he represented an ally she hadn't had before. Or maybe it was all a manipulation. There was no way to be sure.