Hell Bent

he’d only now noticed what she was doing, his gaze slid to Annabelle and the gun in her hand. He didn’t move. He just watched her, his expression a mixture of curiosity and defeat.

“You gonna shoot me, darlin’?” he asked softly.

Annabelle didn’t answer.

“Shoot him, Bella.”

She blinked. She glanced at Jack. He was serious. “What?”

“Shoot him. Do what I tell you. Pull the trigger.”

Sam’s expression didn’t change. He still hadn’t moved. He just watched Annabelle, a strange twinkle in his eyes, despite the sadness in his face.

“It’s the only way out of this mess, Bella.”

Annabelle chewed on her lip. Her jaw was sore. Her whole body was sore, actually. Despite the drugs already in her system, she yearned for a pain killer. And that sort of pissed her off too.

Her gaze narrowed. She came to a decision.

Sam’s eyebrow raised.

She aimed carefully and pulled the trigger. Then she pulled it again. She pulled it several more times, all in quick succession, until the clip was empty and the chamber was clear.

And Samuel Price was still standing.

Annabelle lowered the gun, her gaze still steadily locked on Sam’s. Very slowly, Sam straightened and turned around. There, in the brick wall behind him, the bullets had etched a perfect circle around the shadow made by the outline of his head.

He whistled softly.

Jack swore under his breath. “You should have killed him, Bella.”

Sam turned back around to face Annabelle, a new expression now dominating his handsome features. What was it? Admiration? Gratitude? It couldn’t be… respect?

“You owe me, Sam Price. Big time.” Annabelle stood very slowly so as not to fall over from the dizziness that assaulted her. She pushed the hair out of her eyes once more with her empty hand and then added, softly, “Asshole.”

She wobbled on her feet and Jack was at her side immediately. He gently took the empty gun from her hand and shoved it into the waist band of his jeans at the small of his back.

Without the solid weight in her hands, Annabelle lost the last vestige of a grounding sensation she had. While she sort of had the same kind of high she got from Vicodin, there was none of the pain killing effect and she was a lot dizzier. Suddenly, the world tilted again and she lost her balance.

Jack caught her easily and turned to Sam. “What and how much of it did you give her?” he asked, all business.

“A small dosage of ketamine,” Sam answered as he slowly made his way toward them. “And I carefully measured it.”

Jack’s sapphire eyes shot daggers at the older man. Sam waited a few feet away – at a safe distance – while Jack tried to lift Annabelle into his arms.

“No, Jack. You’re too messed up. Just help me walk,” she told him softly, pulling slightly away from him and gesturing for him to put his left arm beneath her right. He complied, deciding not to argue with a woman who was drugged up, almost raped, and had just fired an entire clip of rounds into a brick wall.

“It was nice shootin’, darlin’, but you shouldn’t have wasted all those bullets,” Sam said then.

From where she nestled against Jack’s chest, Annabelle licked her lips and tried to clear her head. “Why’s that, Sam?”

“Because they weren’t for you, sweet heart,” Sam answered, his gaze sliding from the two of them to something just over their shoulders. “They were for them.”

At that, Jack instinctively spun around, releasing Annabelle, and looked toward the alley’s exit. Shadows crossed through the light and then hugged the walls. They were maybe ten yards away. Sam joined him, taking up position at his side, their quarrel with one another temporarily put aside.

“Who?” Jack asked softly. A simple question, meant for a simple and quick answer.

“The Colonel’s posse, maybe. Not Night. He works alone.” Sam answered, his gray eyes scanning the alley’s shadows, his hands flexing and un-flexing at his sides.

Jack had figured as much. It was now patently obvious to him that Sam was the “other” hit man that the Colonel had talked about. The Colonel would now believe that the two of them were competing, in an official capacity, for the same job. Night wasn’t even an issue in this game – he was a wild card, and therefore didn’t count.

The Colonel most likely assumed, at this point, that the assignment was to get any and all possible intelligence from Annabelle Drake and then kill her and anyone else involved with this mess.

Which was probably what brought them to their current situation.

“I think it’s obvious, by now, that the Colonel has access to your files,” Jack whispered. It was why the Colonel had managed to track them down in New York, and it was why they were here now. They’d either bugged Sam’s equipment or were tracking him somehow. One cat was leading the other cat to the mice.

Sam nodded. “I’d suspected as much. A problem that will get fixed shortly.”

And then a chunk of the wall exploded just above Jack’s left ear, sending brick shrapnel flying in every direction. Another chip struck Annabelle, this time on her cheek, beneath her right eye, and she hissed. She was really getting tired of being beat up in various manners.

Jack hit the ground, taking Annabelle with him and covered her own body with his as he thought, furiously, about what to do next.

Help is coming, he thought. I just need more time…

But both men were sore and tired, and Jack and Annabelle were injured. The only gun they had between them was empty because Sam had seen to it that all of Jack’s ammunition had gone mysteriously missing before he’d headed out after Annabelle.

Sam was clever that way. And short sighted.

Shadows continued to scuffle along the end of the alley way and Jack closed his eyes, waiting for more shots to fire. Just a little more time…

But no more shots were fired.

“They know you’re unarmed, Jack,” came a voice from behind them, in the deeper shadows of the alleyway.

Jack turned his head toward the sound. He couldn’t believe that after twenty years, he would still recognize it so well.

A match was struck in the darkness and the end of a cigarette hissed to life. Jack watched the light draw closer, becoming brighter in time with the slow sound of boots on concrete.

“So, I’ve ordered them not to kill ya.” Annabelle managed to get her own head turned as well, and just as she caught sight of the man who came into the light, Jack pulled himself off of her and stood to face him.

“What are mates for, eh?” The man smiled, flashing straight white teeth.

Annabelle stared at him from where she lay on the concrete ground. She’d seen him before, she was sure of it. She thought for certain she would clearly remember a face like that – handsome in all the right ways, but still… wrong, somehow. Framed by all that blue-black hair. With eyes like ice. Blue ice.

Where had she seen him before?

The man’s gaze slipped casually from Jack’s to where Annabelle lay. She still hadn’t moved, the drug having drained nearly all of her ability to stand even one last time. So, instead, she pushed herself onto her side and let her head gently drop. Her eyelids were so heavy.

Sam had given her too much. Or maybe it was the ale, too.

Whatever it was, she blinked slowly up at the man with black hair and blue topaz eyes and wondered who he was. And knew she’d seen him somewhere before.

He smiled at her. It was a secret, knowing smile.

“Aye, luv. Good evenin’.” His smile spread and he looked back at Jack. “Nice bit o’ fluff you’ve got there, Jack.” He took a drag off of his cigarette and then lowered his arm by his side, returning his gaze to Annabelle.