“Been admirin’ ‘er from the shadows.”
Jack didn’t move. He didn’t breathe. He knew better.
The man’s gaze trailed from Annabelle to Sam, who was standing a few feet away from Jack, and wore much the same careful, wary expression. He and Sam stared at one another for several long, intense moments, and then the man chuckled softly.
He took one last drag off of his cigarette and dropped it to the concrete, smashing it under his black boot. He looked at the ground as he did this, utterly unconcerned with any threat of being taken by surprise or overcome by the other two men in the alley.
Annabelle watched him crush out the cigarette and then move toward Jack. “They told me to come after ya,” he said, shaking his head as he spoke. “Actually thought I’d take the job.” He shrugged then, extremely amused. “So I told ‘em I would.” He grinned, his light blue eyes twinkling. “Keeps ‘em on their toes, eh?”
The conversation had gone personal, the man’s voice so low that Annabelle could barely hear him. He was speaking to Jack, alone.
Jack cocked his head to one side. “Keeps who on their toes, Adam?” he asked, his own voice just as soft. He and Sam had been wrong about the men surrounding them. They weren’t the Colonel’s men. They were Adam’s. They’d underestimated Night’s erratic yet careful randomness. And Adam Night was not a good man to underestimate in any way.
Adam laughed again. “Everyone.”
He moved to walk around Jack, even turning his back on him. That was gutsy. Adam Night was crazy as hell.
Annabelle grew distinctly nervous when Adam came to stand between her and Jack, and that nervousness gave her the strength to elbow her way up to a sitting position.
Night stopped in his tracks and pinned her with his gaze.
She froze. Like a deer in headlights. His expression gave nothing away. She swallowed audibly, her mouth and throat dry from fear and the drugs raging through her system.
And then he smiled a gentle smile at her. It caught her off guard. “Been a rough ride, hasn’t it, luv?” He cocked his head, studying her closely. She was shocked to find that instead of shivering beneath such an icy gaze, she felt herself growing warm.
The drug again?
“You’d think most men would’ve learned by now how to treat a lady,” he said softly in that strong Sheffield accent. “I’ve heard some Americans are particularly bad about it.” He paused and his look darkened. “Especially those from Texas.”
At that, he pulled a gun out from beneath his black leather jacket, spun around, aimed it at Sam, and fired it twice before either of them had a chance to realize what he was doing. Sam’s body jerked backward with the force of the shots, slamming into the wall behind him .
Annabelle tried to scream, but the sound caught in her dry throat. She shot forward on her hands and knees, meaning to stand and make her way to Sam. At the same time, Jack rushed forward as well.
But Adam Night’s voice stopped them both short. “Don’t!” He barked, pointing the gun at Jack now.
Annabelle froze. Her eyes shot from Sam to Jack and back again. Sam’s eyes were closed. Blood welled up across his chest and left arm.
She shivered, suddenly growing unnaturally cold.
“Leave ‘im.” Adam ordered, his tone once more calm, his voice once again soft. He looked over at Annabelle, even as his gun still pointed at Jack.
She was overwhelmed with warring emotions. Sam had threatened to rape her. He’d aimed his gun at her, threatened to kill her.
But he’d told Jack that he was only trying to scare her. And he was like a father to Jack. And Jack loved him.
But Jack had told her to shoot him.
And now, Adam just had.
She felt dizzy and she placed her hand to her forehead. She was burning up.
Above her, Adam continued to watch her intently, scrutinizing her actions and expressions as Jack sometimes did – as only an assassin would do. So careful to see every little detail; the mind always working.
She met that glacial gaze again and held it. As Jack’s often was, his expression was impenetrable.
And Sam was dying. Or, maybe he was already dead.
“Don’t worry, luv,” Adam told her gently. “I’ve done ‘im a favor.” Then he turned back to Jack, who hadn’t budged since Adam had told them to freeze. “An’ I’m gonna do you a favor, mate. Won’t tell you what it is, though.” He smiled. “You’ll know soon enough.”
Jack looked like a statue of a man standing there, still and emotionless. His eyes remained fixed on Adam Night, the secrets in their cobalt depths unfathomable.
In the distance came the faint sound of thunder.
Annabelle tensed. She glanced to the left. The outlines of Night’s men standing guard at the end of the alley moved as they, too, turned to look.
The thunder rolled closer. Annabelle recognized it immediately for what it was. It was the best sound in the world.
Adam’s eyes flicked to the alley’s end. His gaze narrowed. “Go’ company, Jack?”
Jack said nothing. But the corners of his mouth turned up into a telling smile.
Adam raised his head as understanding dawned on him. “I see.” He lowered his gun, knowing well a losing battle when he saw one. Or
“I’ll be in touch, mate,” he told Jack, replacing the gun in the shoulder holster he must have had beneath his leather jacket. And then, with one last glance at Annabelle, he smiled. “We always shared everythin’, didn’t we, Jack.” It wasn’t a question. “’S what brothers are for.”
Then he walked backward into the darkness, his eyes on Annabelle until he finally turned and melted entirely into the shadows around him.
His men must have been watching. They knew to leave when he did, and their retreating footfalls echoed in the alley before they were drowned out by the roar of thunder drawing ever closer.
Jack lunged for Sam where he lay against the wall. “Sam.” He lifted the older man’s head, holding his face between his hands. “Sam, hang in there.”
Sam didn’t answer. Annabelle kept her distance, not wanting to get in the way.
Jack tore open Sam’s shirt front, but there was too much blood. So, he pulled his own long-sleeved shirt over his head and gently ran it over Sam’s chest, wiping as much of the blood away as he could. The shirt was black, so the blood didn’t really show as he used it, and Annabelle was grateful for that.
Behind her, at the alley’s junction, the roar of motorcycles became deafening, echoing off of the walls of the buildings. The street’s lamp light speared through the darkness of the alley, illuminating the fallen figure and the man bent over him.
Annabelle’s eyes rested on the tattoo on Jack’s left shoulder. 81.
And the engines at the alley’s entrance began to idle down, one at a time. Footfalls sounded behind her. Annabelle turned to face the light, shielding her eyes from its intensity.
The footfalls stopped, silence stretching between the three in the alley and the newcomer. And then a voice shouted in the night, “Baron, get the trike in here fast!”
Annabelle removed her hand as the man stepped into the light and she was able to get a good look at him. He was a black man, standing at about the same height as Jack. He was bald and a small gold hoop with a dangling dagger graced one ear. His arms were covered in tattoos where they showed beneath his short sleeved t-shirt, and she was guessing, for some reason, that he was covered in them from the neck down.
His eyes were such a light amber that they appeared almost yellow and they contrasted greatly with the skin on his face.
