Chapter 15 – Can't Defend Yourself with It

Gibraltar, British Overseas Territory

The front windows of the shop shattered as more gunfire erupted. Screams resonated from the streets. Spencer smothered Alex and Louie under his much larger frame, pressing him into the powder covered tiled floor.

Another smattering of bullets slammed into the wooden counter.

Their cover wouldn't hold forever. They had to move.

"Hold your fire! You'll hit the girl!" A new, strong, accented voice angrily bellowed.

Instantly, the gunfire stopped.

Thank God, Spencer thought. They weren't here to kill Alex. Just him- something he'd already suspected.

Although… what the Earl wanted his wife alive for concerned him nearly as much.

"What are you waiting for!?" this new dark haired, scar faced man called out. "He's not armed! Kill him!"

Huh. That voice didn't belong to the same man he'd found following him in Marseille. He held a much more commanding presence.

Well, at least the Earl had listened to him and was sending more competent men.

Considering the cacophony of shots and screams a second ago, it was unnervingly silent now, besides the slow crunching of glass beneath feet. Spencer closed his eyes, and counted three heavy boots walking in their direction.

Spencer grabbed the knife he kept at his boot and positioned himself just behind the counter, near the only passage that allowed entry to behind the display counter.

Motioning silently for Alex to take Louie into the far corner, he braced for action.

Three against one wasn't the worst odds- although, their guns and his lack of made it more challenging.

A split second later, the first man stepped through, finger itchy on the trigger.

Spencer executed a maneuver to secure the pistol; knocking the forearm up while grabbing the barrel and shoving it down, it easily ripped from the man's hand as a shot pinged off the tiled floor.

With his other hand, Spencer grabbed him and held the blade of his knife to his sweaty neck.

Simultaneously, he raised his newly obtained pistol and pointed it at the two assailants facing him, holding their own guns just as steady at him… actually, make that one gun. The biggest of the duo was silently watching the events unfold from safely behind the counter, while lazily twirling his pistol. Spencer kept his eyes on him, sensing he was the more dangerous.

"Alex? You got Lou?" Spencer asked without looking away.

"Y-yes." She responded from low on the ground, glancing over to where she'd stashed him behind a stack of crates.

"Get to the kitchen," Spencer ordered in a tone that brooked no argument, still backing up slowly, not taking his eye off his enemy, while using the blubbering man as a shield.

Spencer took slow, calculated steps back, forcing his captive to follow or risk the blade digging into his jugular.

The three slowly backed their way to the kitchen entrance.

But something wasn't right

The two men weren't following them. And the man in charge was almost… smiling.

"Mr. Dutton," the smiling man spoke, calm and mocking. "If you're going to use a shield, I recommend one that can withstand a bullet." With that statement, he finally lifted his gun and slammed a bullet into his own man's heart.

Spencer saw his deadly intent half a second before the shot rang out. He dove, an inch too late. The bullet grazed his arm, hot and fast.

Holy shit. This crazy bastard had just shot his own man. Shot him right in the neck. His eyes were wild as he gargled on his own blood until the life completely faded from them.

Alex tried to stifle a scream, failed, but did manage to cover Louie's eyes.

She almost vomited at all the blood, but Louie seemed okay. Alex was most definitely not as accustomed, and was staring at the dying man with abject horror.

Louie didn't even flinch. She wanted to believe it was shock… but deep down, she knew better.

"Go! Grab the girl!" The leader barked orders at the surviving man as he reloaded his weapon and got ready to shoot Spencer.

"Try and I put a bullet through your skull," Spencer threatened the incoming men, pointing his new pistol.

But the smiling leader only laughed and, weapon reloaded, emptied his chamber in Spencer's direction, forcing Spencer to dive for cover as he shot.

Alex saw the shorter man coming for her, beads of sweat on his brow and upper lip. She took a deep breath, steadying herself as Spencer had taught her.

Refusing to go down, she reached up behind her, feeling around the stove for the steaming coffee pot he'd seen a minute ago. Gripping the handle tight, she tossed the contents in her attacker's face once he was close enough.

The black, boiling liquid scalded his skin. Screaming in agony, the man's gloved hands reached up to claw at his blistering face, but he couldn't touch the sensitive skin without causing more pain.

When his burnt face twisted with evil intent, gloved hands reaching for her, Alex swung the coffee pot with all her might at his head and, to her utter shock, he went down like a rock.

"Caspita," Whoa, Louie mumbled beside her.

She pointed to the kitchen, one hand pushing his back, "In cucina! Presto!" Get into the kitchen! Hurry!

Spencer and the head honcho were off to the side, locked in a gun battle, like something out of the wild west. Alex watched Spencer return fire, sending head honcho back ducking behind the counter.

"Move!" Spencer acted like a sergeant, but Alex listened, dragging Louie through the swinging door with her.

Keeping his borrowed gun trained on the pastry counter, Spencer followed them into the back room. The assassin stood up from behind his cover just as the door swung shut, breaking their eye contact. But his voice still slithered through the door;

"You've got nowhere to go, Dutton…"

Spencer jammed the broom under the kitchen door handle, bracing it as tight as it would go. It wasn't perfect, but it might buy them a minute.

Spencer braced his palms against the door, head hanging, taking several deep breaths as his blood pounded, adrenaline coursing through him.

The venomous man continued taunting from beyond the door, "Do you think I'm foolish enough not to cover both exits, Yank?"

Spencer whipped around just in time to see the door leading to the back alley smash open, banging against the wall.

"Get down!" Spencer barked. They all dropped, Spencer pushing them behind sacks of potatoes.

Knowing he'd just fired several rounds, he popped open the chamber of his gun and cursed at seeing the lone bullet inside.

Well, even belly flat to the ground, Spencer was still a hell of a shot, his years of war experiences in the trenches and jungles aiding him.

He wouldn't miss.

Spencer waited, counting his shots and listening for the break to reload. When it happened, he reared up just enough to plant a slug into the center of the new assassin's forehead.

The man dropped, blood blooming from his forehead like a red flower.

Spencer crouch ran over to the fallen man, taking his gun while staring into his sightless eyes.

Two down.

No idea how many to go…

Behind him, Alex stood clutching Louie, hair askew, eyes still wide from the shock of it all. "What now?"

"Find an exit."

"You mean like that one," Alex and Louie both pointed to the door the dead guy had just come though.

"Doubtful," he mumbled, going over to check. He picked up a mop as he crossed the room, and used it to nudge the door open.

Bullets tore the tip of the handle to splinters.

Both Alex and Louie's jaw dropped.

"Yeah," he muttered, as the heavy door swung back shut. "That's what I thought."

He looked around, analyzing the contents of the room. "We need to barricade this door, too."

Together, the three shoved a stack of crates against it.

Alex spun toward him, her face pale. "Now what?"

"We find another exit," he said, calm as stone.

She scanned the room. Just one high window above the door the bullets had just ripped through. Not helpful.

Then Louie's voice piped up. "Signore Spencer! Look, the floor- a hatch!" He pointed to a small square set flush in the floor beneath the hanging meats. "'s gotta lead somewhere, eh?"

"Brilliant job, Louie," Alex praised, finally feeling a touch of hope.

Without fanfare, Spencer yanked the hatch open. It creaked and groaned, revealing the larder; a narrow, stone-lined cavity lined with wooden shelves. Burlap sacks of flour, hanging sausages, crates of fruit preserves. Cold air drifted from a nearby icebox, the chill of it brushing his skin like a warning.

Spencer had to hunch to even peer inside—but it was deep enough to fit two people if they curled up tightly. Crates and supplies could be shoved aside to make room, and a small wooden hatch sealed it from the outside, camouflaged by a flour bin or burlap sacks.

"Get inside."

Alex peered in and shook her head. "There's not room for-"

"There is for you and Louie," Spencer said. "Now get in."

Her features turned horrified. "I'm not leaving you up here!"

Both front and back doors rattled ominously.

"Alexandra? You must see the futility in this." The same smooth, deep voice from earlier rang out, still sounding falsely pleasant. "Have you decided your fate? Will your husband and the child die before you this day?"

Alex instantly tried to go to the door. Spencer encircled her slim waist in his arms, shaking his head at her. There was no way he was letting her give herself up.

That changed her glare to a silent, pleading look, whispering, "I can't let you both die."

"He's lying," he bit out. "You give yourself to him, Louie and I are dead anyway."

"You can't know that!" she tried, desperate for a way to save him and Lou.

Spencer was already shaking his head, "Don't." He kept a firm hold on her wrist, refusing to let her give herself up, desperation forcing words out he would normally force down. "Don't do that to me. Don't make me watch them take you and do nothing. You can't ask me to do that. I won't."

Eyes glistening from unshed tears, Alex whipped her head up, the hopeless expression once there now fierce, "Then we need a better plan!"

"We do- it's you gettin' in that larder," he jabbed a finger at the hole in the ground the latch had revealed.

She held her hand out, palm up, "Give me a pistol. I'll fight beside you."

"No, you won't," he immediately denied her, put both hands to her shoulders, tightened his grip, and forcibly walked her down the larder steps, accompanied by his strictest tone, "Stay inside. Protect that boy. And let me to do what I've been trained to do."

She stuck out her chin, "I can't defend us without a pistol."

"You can't defend yourself with it," he retorted, firm but low. "Now get down."

She glared at him, but reluctantly grabbed Louie before ducking down, parting with, "if you get yourself killed, I will haunt your gravesite with endless monologues from sunup to sundown. You will never know a moment's peace," she promised, voice trembling.

"It's gonna be okay," Spencer promised after a kissing her hard and quick. Before she could reply, he was enclosing her in the dark, damp cellar. Louie immediately sought her out, clutching her hand.

"It's really dark," he whined.

"Shh," she hushed, "our eyes will adjust soon. Patience." She was too worried about her husband to do a better comforting job.

After Spencer shut the hatch, he straightened, heard his temporary barriers groaning under pressure, and got into action, scanning the kitchen for impromptu weapons- anything that could kill, maim, or slow them down.

A chef's knife went into his belt. A cleaver in one hand. Two rolling pins next—he set them just in front of each entry point, angled to trip the first men through the doors.

Not much, but enough to buy him a few seconds.

Then he ducked behind the heavy six-burner stove—cast iron, solid—and dropped into a crouch. He pulled out the Colt 1911 he'd taken off the dead gunman at the back door and quickly checked it.

Mag out. Light. Slide tugged—one in the chamber.
Three bullets.

He nearly laughed.
Three motherfucking bullets against a goddamn battalion.
Well, better than one.

At the front, the broom handle jammed through the door cracked sharply. Splinters flew, but it still held—for now.

A voice called from the other side, smug and loud.

"I'd just forget about the girl, I was you. She's the Earl's property now- and he won't ever let her go."

Spencer ground his teeth, eyes flicking to the hatch. He didn't rise to the bait.

"Not worth the hassle, if you ask me."

He didn't.

His burning lungs made him realize he'd been holding his breath. He let it out, slow, steady, controlled.

And waited.

The back door exploded open.

A man dressed all in black stepped in- straight on the rolling pin. He hit the floor hard with a shout.

Spencer didn't bother wasting a round on him.

Behind him, another came in fast, gun up, firing wildly Rounds tore through the kitchen, slamming into walls and cabinets, ricocheting off the stove with sparks and steel shrieks.

As if Spencer would be standing in the open like an idiot. What a waste of ammo.

Crouched behind the stove, Spencer waited, counting shots.

Soon, the idiot ran dry.

Spencer hopped up, popped off a shot through the heart, and dropped right back down before the man even knew what hit him.

Then he heard the broom snap clean and the front door bang open.

He tucked his broad frame further behind the stove.

Footsteps.

"Come on, Yank," the leader called. His voice echoed off tile and steel. "Give up. It's over."

Spencer leaned forward, peered around. The leader moved with theatrical calm, hands free, strolling in behind the others like he thought himself immortal. His boots crushed broken glass and flour underfoot.

"Find Alexandra," He said, cold and casual.

Spencer stopped breathing as he watched a gunman made his way across the room. When he reached for the latch to open it, Spencer snapped, breaking cover, he stood, and fired through the neck of the man about to lift the hatch.

He was dead before he hit the ground.

But he'd blown his cover. And was once again down to one bullet.

A pistol leveled on him from close range, blocking his view of the room. No time.

Spencer reared back and swung the cleaver with his left hand.
Crunch.
A scream tore loose as it sank deep into bone.

The man's pistol clattered to the floor.

Spencer dove, rolled toward the prep table as bullets tore through the air- some stinging his skin but none sinking in- he hooked a foot around the table leg and yanked, tipping it over just as more shots rang out and slammed into the thick wood behind him.

There was no time to catch his breath.

The howling bastard with the bleeding, broken hand was already pulling another pistol with his off-hand.

Too slow.

Spencer was already aiming the Colt. One round left.

He pointed straight for the brainstem and pulled the trigger.

Instant silence.

Spencer exhaled, fast and tight, and yanked the revolver out of the man's lifeless fingers, while toeing the other one toward him, muttering, "Thanks for the spare."

Then he noticed the gunfire had stopped.
Reloading, or rethinking?

"What's the plan here, soldier?" Harrison called. He sounded amused. "How do you think you're getting out of this alive?"

Spencer didn't answer.

Instead, he crouched low behind the prep table and checked his two new revolvers with practiced efficiency. He thumbed open both cylinders in one smooth motion, tapping them against his chest to eject the spent rounds.

Quick count—left had four, right had three.
Progress.

He slammed them shut against his thighs, spun them once, and holstered the heavier one.

The lighter stayed in his hand, loose and ready. Still good for bluffing.

This wasn't over yet.

Gun in one hand, knife in the other, he closed his eyes and steadied his breathing.

"Come on out, Countess," the leader called louder now, switching tactics to taunt Alex. "If you come with me now, everyone lives. No more blood has to be spilled."

Spencer nearly laughed at his outrageous remarks, but he was too furious.

"Don't listen to him, Alex!" he shouted, angling his voice to carry through the room. "He's lying!"

No one was laying a hand on his wife. Or the boy.

He thanked God Louie had found the cellar door.

As long as they stayed there, they still had a chance.

Below the floor, buried in shadows and cold air, the larder shook with the percussion of gunfire. Every shot above made Alex flinch. She clutched Louie, who trembled beside a crate of flour, his knuckles white on the rough wooden slat.

"You have my word, the boy will live." That taunting voice kept calling for her.

She snorted, not trusting his word for a second.

The assassin let the silence hang heavy, before continuing his taunts, "Come with me, now…" his voice was deceptively almost cordial, "and I'll kill your American quickly," his voice was low, and dripping with venom. "Don't, and I kill him slowly… after making him watch my men and I take turns between your luscious legs. Who knows… you might even like it, Countess."

Alex quietly groaned, covering her ears.

"Shut the hell up!" She heard her husband yell, blunt as always.

When more shots were fired, Alex bit down on her knuckles to stifle her screams –or cries, she wasn't sure yet. Had she just heard the bullet that ended her husband's life?

Louie said nothing. He just stared at the ceiling with wide, terrified eyes. But he didn't cry.

Spencer was alone and vulnerable up there. He could be dying, bleeding out right now as she acted a coward, hiding away.

She could no longer remain passive. She had to do something to help her husband.

Alex scanned the cramped space. Her stomach turned at the sight of a meat hook nearby… she didn't think she'd be able to stab anyone with it, but she felt better holding it than going out with nothing.

She crept to the hatch, easing the latch back. Inch by inch, she lifted the door just high enough to see.

She exhaled heavily with profound relief.

Spencer was still alive.

Crouched behind a heavy prep table, body coiled with tension, he was every inch the warrior she knew him to be- armed to the teeth, shots exploding over his head. Splinters flew, but still, he looked calm and confident.

Alex's heart pounded as she scanned the room, counting the men. Her heart squeezed when she saw just how outnumbered they were.

It was then she noticed a man, silent as a shadow, circling the room to get on the other side of Spencer's prep table barrier.

Soon, the man would stand directly between them. She traced his progress and once he had a clear shot at Spencer's back, she threw the hatch fully open and lunged for the man's ankle, snagging the meat hook around it, and tugged.

He yelped, crashing to the floor.

Spencer whirled at the sound, raised his gun and pulled the trigger. The man looked down at the maroon stain rapidly spreading across his chest… and then he saw nothing at all.

"Get back down!" Spencer roared, eyes blazing.

She wanted to argue that she'd never left the stairs, but he was already turning his back on her, focused on his shoot out.

Seeing him so efficient bolstered her confidence. Alex reached around the floor for the door to enclose her and Louie below.

But the panic returned when she saw another gunman aiming into the larder, his barrel staring right at her.

"Get out," he ordered.

Alex froze, her breath tight in her throat. The rifle was pointed straight at her… but they were supposed to take her alive- she clung to that hope like a lifeline.

Even knowing it was pointless, her hand groped for the hatch door, desperate to shut Louie inside.

But the gunman was too close, and on her in an instant, his big hand enclosing her fragile wrist and yanking her out of the hovel.

"HEY!"

A sudden white burst of powder clouded the gunman's face, instantly blinding him.

Louie. The little genius had jumped up and hurled a fistful of flour directly in his eyes.

Her kidnapper howled, dropping his rifle to frantically wipe at the powder in his eyes.

The ruckus he was making ended up being his downfall. Spencer heard, turned, and shot him twice in the chest, until he hit the floor dead.

His rifle skittered across the floor.

Alex belly crawled after it, snatched it up. The unfamiliar cold metal felt less reassuring then she'd hoped. Still, Spencer would need it.

She was about to slide the weapon over to him when movement caught in her peripheral.

Another man, charging right at her.

Shrieking, she scrambled to her knees, aimed and pulled the trigger.

Click.

They both froze, both stunned he was still alive.

"Chamber it!" Spencer yelled.

Oh, right. She instantly recalled their tug boat lesson.

Alex fumbled with the bolt, heart hammering, hands slick with sweat. She yanked it back; metal scraped, a round clinked into place.

She raised the rifle again-

CRACK.
Her rifle fired just as Alex yanked the bolt.

But she missed. The bullet blew right by the man's head.
And then he was on her.

He grabbed her around the waist and hoisted her over his shoulder like a burlap sack. The impact knocked the breath from her lungs. She dropped the rifle- it clattered across the floor, somewhere near Spencer. She hoped.

The man ran, sprinting through the kitchen with her.

Spencer took aim- then lowered the barrel. He couldn't risk hitting her.

Alex kicked and writhed, trying to break free. But he was too big; too strong for her to overpower.

So, she needed to be smarter.