Gaby spun to the side—and the bullet grazed the middle of her right forearm. Heat exploded and a strange numbness tried to settle in.
It didn’t matter. She wouldn’t let it matter.
The burning pain only served to incite her inherent response.
Knife still clasped in her hand, she threw it with venomous accuracy and it sank hilt-deep into the shooter’s shoulder. Pain forced him to drop the gun from his slack hand and it scuttled over the paved lot, out of his reach.
“Tylek,” he hissed through his teeth to his cohort, “kill that crazy bitch for me. Make her pay. Make her fucking suffer.”
Tylek looked a little wary of that order, but he dutifully mustered his courage.
Duty, Gaby thought. It ruled so many. It made some do the most foolhardy things—like challenging her.
“That’s right, Tylek. Come make me pay.” Using the fingertips of both hands, she beckoned Tylek closer. He was the biggest of the three, but he posed no legitimate challenge.
Not for her.
Balancing on the balls of her feet, Gaby took a loose limbed stance. When Tylek leaped at her, she went to her back with him, rolling and using her feet to launch him away. He landed on his back, giving her an opportunity to move over him in a dominant position.
With a knee planted squarely in his groin, she took aim and punched him in the throat. He gagged hard, wheezed for air he couldn’t get.
Somewhere in the distance, police sirens split across the gray, depressing day with shrill intrusion. No way in hell did Gaby intend to be anywhere nearby when the cops showed up and started asking questions. Luther would have a fit, but she could deal with him.
Being arrested she couldn’t abide. Not ever.
She rose from Tylek and kicked him in the temple to ensure he wouldn’t get back up. Dispassionate, Gaby watched him go blank; his eyes rolled back in his head and he lolled to the side.
Knowing the shooter, despite his incapacitating wound, would scramble for his weapon, Gaby made a point of beating him to it. She kicked the gun out of his reach, but ever aware of the children, she didn’t move it so far that any of the kids might get hold of it.
“You’re making a big mistake, bitch. I swear to you, I’m going—”
Without real effort, Gaby stomped his chest, cutting off his threats and knocking him back on his ass. “I’m getting tired of you calling me a bitch.” Another kick to the chin leveled him flat.
Relaxed, comfortable, Gaby knelt over him. “So big shot, what’s your name?”
“Fuck off.”
Gaby stared down at him, and with the knife hilt in her hand, she worked her fingers tight around it and bore down steadily until she felt the tip of the blade meeting bone.
He howled in agony, trying to fend her off without success.
Dispassionate, she studied him, saw his state of shock brought on by loss of blood and amplifying pain. Softly, she said, “I won’t ask again.”
Breathing in compact, gasping breaths, he nodded with grudging reluctance. “Bogg.”
“You shitting me? What kind of stupid name is that?” Knowing the extent of his injuries, Gaby didn’t really expect an answer. She studied the ink on his neck. “And your gang?”
“Crazy Crypts.”
“You guys aren’t real big on creative names, are you? I think you should be called Whiney Wimps.”
He coughed out a moaning complaint, and managed to say,
“A bitch who kicked your sorry ass, huh?” After opening his jacket, Gaby retrieved an assortment of drugs and paraphernalia. Some of it she recognized; some she’d never seen before. “I’m not real up on this shit. What is it?”
Through a haze of pain, Bogg blinked at her. “It’s the popular stuff, woman. Crack, weed, meth.”
Gaby held up a pill between finger and thumb. “What about these?” A mixture of pills and tablets in pretty colors and shapes filled several plastic sandwich bags.
Not that long ago she’d been deliberately drugged by a psychopath, and Luther had been put at risk. Looking at the pills now, at any drugs really, set Gaby’s teeth on edge.
“Just ecstasy, speed, Viagra. I don’t know. I carry a lot of shit.” And almost bragging, he added, “Anything you need.”
“Like you actually think I’d ever need anything from you?” She snorted, but studied the pills again. “What’s Viagra do?”
He choked on an anguished laugh. “You don’t know Viagra? Shit, lady, where you been living?”
“In hiding, mostly.” Not that it was any of his business. “So what is it?”
He closed his eyes in an effort to control the physical torment of his injury. “You loopy cunt, the cops are coming. We’re all gonna be in trouble if we don’t get the fuck out of here.”
“Wrong.” Gaby checked the rest of his pockets and relieved him of a large roll of bills, a switchblade, and a lighter. “You’re a drug dealer, Bogg. I don’t like it that you exist, but I especially dislike it that you drew animals into your fucked-up dealings, and that you were here by the kids. What were you doing with that boy anyway?”
“Recruiting. Now get off me.”
When he started to rise, Gaby leaned on the knife again. Blood gurgled out around his wound, soaking his shirt and causing him to saw his perfect teeth together around a guttural, animal groan of pain. The fist on his good arm thumped the ground.
To her, his agony mattered not a whit. The animals had mattered. The kids mattered. That little girl’s aunt and uncle mattered.
This jerk did not.
“You’re not going anywhere, Bogg, so forget it. You get to greet the cops, but without me.”
“What the fuck do you care about any of this?”
“I don’t like you, Bogg. In fact, I loathe you.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“Sure I do.” Gaby rested her wrists on her knees, at her leisure. “You’re a miserable bully, a drug dealer, a murderer, and on top of that, you abuse animals. But it’s your lucky day.” She caught his chin and turned his head so he had to look at her. “Much as I’d like to, I won’t kill you.”
No, if she cut his throat like she wanted, Luther really would have a fit. And somehow, she just knew he’d find out. Luther might not possess her extraordinary abilities, but he had something almost as effective: a cop’s intuition and a golden aura of purity.
Bogg eyed her. “Glad to hear you don’t have killing on your mind.” He jerked his chin free of her hold and his look turned calculating. “Here’s the thing, baby girl—”
“I like that even less than
“But I have a little over ten grand on me. How about we—”
Gaby interrupted the bribe. “Even though I’m going to let you live, I can’t take a chance that you’ll get away from the cops, that you’ll taint another animal or threaten another kid or”—she looked at him—“burn anyone else.”
He was quick to scoff at her accusation. “You can’t hang that rap on me.”
“Course not.” Gaby looked over his wounds, his lanky, strong body, and made a decision. “On second thought . . . I guess it’s not really your lucky day after all.”
She slid the knife free of his body, impervious to his raw, shuddering moan.
The dismal sky cast no shadows. Rustling wind agitated the abhorrent scents of fear, and stirred dead leaves that clung tenaciously to brittle, barren trees. An expectant hush poised in the rank air.
Being sure that she positioned herself in a way that shielded his body from the view of the young onlookers, Gaby pushed Bogg to his side and, without remorse, slashed the blade across the back of his right knee.
The knife sliced through skin, sinew, and tendons like warm butter, leaving behind a gaping, exposed wound. Bogg’s hysterical screams cleaved the silence, sending blackbirds into frantic flight and causing the crowd to back up a step.
Gaby eyed her handiwork and nodded to herself. Bogg wouldn’t be going anywhere.
