“Oh no, not by a long shot,” agreed Darien. “This is just the beginning. The world isn’t coming back anytime soon, but we will.”
“I want revenge on that woman,” Harriet snarled softly. “I want my things, my house…I want it all back…and I want it now.”
Darien looked over at her and noticed her hands balled into fists on her thighs. A wadded, makeup-stained tissue clutched in each fist, she fairly shook with rage. “You and me both,” he said quietly.
“She ruined everything…” Harriet continued, as if he weren’t there. “I’ve spent the past ten years building my position in that neighborhood…the sacrifices I’ve made…and this…this event gave me the perfect opportunity to teach those cretins…of all the nerve…and her husband isn’t even home…”
Darien arched an eyebrow. “He isn’t?” he asked calmly, though his tone implied why am I just now hearing about this? “Where is he?”
Harriet sniffed and waved one hand dismissively. “On some stupid fishing trip. New England, I think. He’s never going to come home, and she knows it. That’s why she’s so uppity.” Harriet dabbed at her face with the messy tissues. “I bet she doesn’t even like men.”
“Is that a fact?” Darien asked as he looked out the windshield.
“Oh, I could definitely see it. No self-respecting woman would go off into the woods like she does and spend so much time with other women—camping,” Harriet simpered, and flashed air quotes. “And her and those guns! Deplorable.” She opened a compact and cursed politely at her own image, then set about rectifying the situation as best she could with two damp tissues.
Darien ignored her while she fumed to herself. He needed to take stock and plan his next move. Jon Boy wasn’t injured too bad—he’d been grazed by that first shotgun blast—but it had been enough to send him into a temper tantrum of pain and fear. It was all he could do to drag the mountain of a man back to the car and make their escape. With all the noise the big man had made, Darien had thought he’d surely die, but the bleeding stopped by the time they’d found Harriet on the other side of the neighborhood and made their escape.
He’d seen Spanner go down behind the shed out back, so he was at least wounded, too—but Darien wasn’t positive his lieutenant was dead. The next chance he’d had to look, Spanner’s body was gone. That would be hard to overcome, if Spanner, his always faithful right-hand man, was gone for good. They had backup plans though, and after the sun went down, he’d try to make contact.
Cisco and Lopez hadn’t fared so well. Lopez lost his head to a godawful big rifle the old man next door to Lavelle had fired. Darien had heard the big gun go off and thought someone had fired a cannon. But hearing it and seeing a man’s head explode were two very different things. Darien would have nightmares about that for the rest of his life.
The other one, Cisco—the smart one—slipped away at some point during the fight. Darien ground his teeth in frustration. That one might be trouble if he gets his feet under him and starts over, outside Darien’s sphere of influence.
He snorted. That sphere of influence happened to be a ’92 Toyota Camry with about 200,000 miles on it, and two rusted quarter panels.
Where had the cops come from? One second he was about to tear down the front door of the Lavelle woman’s house, the next, three squads roll up with cops in full battle rattle: ballistic armor, helmets, fully automatic rifles, the works.
Darien pounded his injured fist into the steering wheel. It wasn’t fair. He’d been so close. They’d gathered enough food and water in the Westin house to last the whole crew for a month, and the morons in that neighborhood were primed and ready to accept Harriet as their new boss. He was only one step from taking over the whole thing as soon as he could explain to everyone that she took her orders from him.
And then that Lavelle woman and her crotchety neighbor had blown everything to kingdom come. If those Molotov cocktails had worked like they did at the neighbor’s house…that was Cisco—he’d known how to do it right.
Darien nodded to himself. Cisco warranted closer scrutiny, there was no doubt about that. The man was too arrogant by far, but he was smart—and that was a dangerous commodity in the new world they inhabited. A smart man got things done. A smart man could be king—but only if he acted with speed and power.
“I promise you we’ll get it all back, and more…” he muttered.
“Well,” Harriet said, as she finished her makeup repair work and closed the compact with the snap. “At least you still have me.” She snorted. “I’d simply hate to think where you’d be otherwise.”
Darien looked at her and smiled. Harriet was dangerous in her own way. The woman was beautiful, experienced, and ruthless. She wasn’t able to compete against any one of the men on his crew physically, but the things she whispered to him in the quiet closeness of the room they shared…Darien shivered. If she’d been born a man, she’d be an emperor.
He reached out and caressed her cheek with one bloodied hand. She took his hand in hers and gently kissed the bruised, cracked knuckles. The skin of her lips barely brushed his wounds. He sighed and rested his head against the driver’s seat. “This is a mess, but I’ll fix it.”
“We’ll fix it,” she replied confidently. “It’s not insurmountable—we’ll come back. We’ll take our revenge, and we’ll take control. Of the whole neighborhood.”
Darien shook his head. “Now that the cops are on to us, it won’t be easy. We
