Warrior Mine: A Base Branch novel Page 9

  Carmen blocked hard with both forearms. The knife flew from his impotent grip. While his eyes followed the knife as it skittered over the slab, she plowed the back of her fist into his face. Bone snapped under the weight of the assault. His eyes shut and he fell to the ground, clutching his ten.

  He’d threatened to kill her, in front of his friends. And he couldn't get away with that. She should turn and guard her back, but she wouldn’t. If she left him unpunished, she’d leave herself and Sophia more vulnerable in the future. Choking him was neat and tidy. So, she raised her foot high and stomped. Once. Twice. Three times before a body rammed into hers.

  The damage had been done. His cheek deflated into a pile of blood and teeth. He wouldn’t die, but he’d never talk right again. A bold statement for a bold threat.

  Looking back at her ugly triumph twisted her body so that her shoulders took the brunt of the tackle. Great for her lungs. Not so great for her brain. The horizon and all the gorillas on it blurred a wash of white that smeared to black.

  The whine in her ears built to a full-fledged ring. A chorus of church bells played, refusing her the peace of unconsciousness. Rough hands dug into her armpits and the bite of rock and earth scraped her left knee. Carmen fought with her legs, willing them to kick or at the very least shuffle along and save her skin. The din of voices, muffled and loud, and the damn ringing muted her order. Her body hung in the in-between.

  Someone yelled. Her head jerked. Warm blood pooled in her mouth. She tried to catch it before it slipped over her lip and onto her tennis whites. Her lips moved and the trickle became a stream. It tickled her cheek, rolled down her neck.

  “Grab her legs and get her into the room before she comes to. Get him to the clinic and clean up the blood before it stains.” Her father’s words aired through a cave, echoing and bouncing a hundred times before registering.

  What a thoughtful man.

  Arms hooked her knees and spread her legs. Hot cotton-covered skin slipped between them. Carmen’s heart plummeted into her bowels. Energy surged. She screamed. Bucked. She demanded freedom. In her head. Outwardly all she could manage was a slit of blinding sun, wavy in the sea of moisture collected in her eyes.

  She swayed in their hold. As helpless as Sophia had been when they’d stolen her. As helpless as Vail Tucker had been when she launched a bullet into his stomach. In her altered state, her mind rushed to him as it did anytime she let her guard slip in the slightest. His face woke her literally, but figuratively too. And she hadn’t realized she’d been asleep. His features possessed her in a way she couldn’t grasp. Without a doubt his drawing, intelligent brown eyes would haunt her until the day she died.

  Though the man was hot enough to melt the panties off a nun, the dream had nothing to do with sex. Raw and painful longing, yes. In time the dreams would surely multiply and devolve into a sick fantasy where she rode the man she’d shot and maybe killed. Damn it. She didn’t even know if he’d survived.

  For now he just stood there, inches away. His plain white button down opened at the neck and cuffed at the sleeves as it had been that night. Bright red stained the middle, though he didn’t seem to notice. His eyes stayed locked on her, mapping her features. The perfect square of his jaw stayed set as well as his narrow mouth. His thin pink lips parted just a hint like he would say something. He never did, only swallowed the sentiment down his wide muscled neck. His Adam’s apple would bob. She’d catch herself staring and her gaze would jump to the thick brows that hooded his eyes. Then she’d map the frame of his close-cropped hair. The dark strands lay flat against his head, pointing down on his forehead, but fading and shining into vibrant silver at his temples.

  They would stare for hours, it seemed. And she would only wake when the desire, the overbearing need to touch his face, to stem the tide of his blood grew to impossible proportions. She’d wake crying, wishing she could see him. Explain things. Help him more than scribbling an insignificant note. Go back in time. Change things so that Carlos hadn’t found out she planned to leave.

  Carmen never expected his touch, in the dream or reality. But somehow he’d already touched her. He hadn’t said, “Okay, shoot me.” But the look he gave her expressed understanding she could never fully comprehend. Where hatred and anger should have been plain, there was calm.

  “Just drop her here,” the man near her head spat.

  “On the bed,” the other countered.

  “The floor’s easier.”

  “Not for what I’m gonna do.” The man between her knees slipped deeper, pressing his weight between her legs.

  Lightning flashed in Carmen’s eyes as again she tried to open them. Her head pounded as though a group of Jarabe dancers stomped, whirled, and flung their colorful skirts about her skull.

  The hands beneath her arms released their grip and circulation stung its way back up her arm. She expected to meet the hardwood of her bedroom—not that she could do anything to stop the crash—yet the cool downy of her comforter pillowed her short fall.

  “I’m not a part of this. If you want to get your head cut off over some fancy pussy, that’s your business.” Steps sounded one man’s retreat.

  “Ah, I’m just gonna have a little fun,” the asshole between her legs called after him. The door clicked into its latch. “I didn’t want to share anyway.”

  His hands coasted up the backs of her thighs, levering her wide open. The ridge of his crotch met her bloomers. The pounding in her head receded to a dull hum, but still her arms and legs were useless. She’d been knocked for a loop too many times to count and sometimes full function took time to return. Time she didn’t have, based on the progress of his hands.

  He searched for the top of her panties, shifting and tugging her limp body. Thank God they were attached at the waist of her shirt and she wore actual panties beneath her tennis whites. Though, what would that accomplish, prolonging the inevitable? No one would save her. No one here cared enough to try. Carlos might be pissed, if he ever found out, which he would because she’d slice the son of a bitch into a thousand pieces and dance in his blood. If she could ever open her eyes enough to see the face of the man about to violate her.

  Carmen braced herself for the hell pressing upon her. She could survive this. She had to, for Sophia. Tears wet her cheek. Though Sophia’s absence ate her heart one nibble at a time, she was thankful her daughter wasn't here to see this, or by the devil, experience this. God, what if she had? No, Carlos’s men wouldn’t hurt her. She had to believe that. But there were eventualities you couldn’t plan for. Like the fingers pulling at the waistband on her skirt.

  Her eyes, lubricated by tears, popped open. Gordon’s baby face sneered as he wrestled with the difficult clothing. She tried to lift her hand, but it was like lifting a mountain. Impossible. His light hazel eyes narrowed on her face and he stilled.

  Using every ounce of will, thought, and motor skills she possessed at the moment, she spoke, barely above a whisper. “I see you, Gordon. Take your pleasure, if you dare. But know, I will take mine in return. Then you’ll wish every day for the rest of your life that I had killed you the night I snuck into your room, tied you to your bed, cut off your penis one millimeter at a time, and shoved it down your throat.”

  He spoke no English, but maybe he understood. His hands fell away from her skin. He straightened and she could no longer see his baby face—much too young for the life he led. The heat from his thighs left hers and they drooped over the edge of the bed. The door opened and clicked shut again. Carmen clamped her mouth shut again, the sob threatening to rupture her delicate grip on sanity.

  It came anyway. The force jackknifed her middle and she rolled onto her side. White fabric bunched around the widest part of her hips, revealing the top curve of her butt. She curled into a ball, fighting for control as her torso heaved. Her shaking fingers clamped over her mouth to mute the raging emotions. They poured out of her eyes.

  Just when she thought she’d die from the helplessness of missin
g Sophia, Vail stepped into the forefront of her mind. His stern, steady face eased the death grip sorrow held on her heart. And for that, she was both grateful and ashamed. Sophia should dominate her every thought. Not this man. Not those eyes. Not that chin. Not that mouth. But, unbidden, they did.

  13

  Sophia walked down the stairs a few hours after dawn as though she hadn’t seen two men murdered before her young eyes the night before. The clothes she had on the night before hung wrinkled and askew on her slight frame. She stopped on the bottom step, gave a hesitant smile and quick wrist-flick wave. That same hand rushed to smooth the fly-aways from her forehead.

  “So…” she rocked back on her heels, “what should I call you?”

  “My name is Vail Tucker. You can call me Vail.” He gestured at the cup of coffee between his hands. “Do you drink coffee?”

  The purse of her mouth told him hell no before she shook her head vehemently.

  “Why don’t you go get dressed and we’ll head into town, have breakfast someplace, and get some groceries? Judging by the food in the pantry and refrigerator—the term food being a loose generalization—you haven’t had a decent meal in over a month.”

  Her mouth dropped open and her eyes swelled. “You’re letting me out of here?”

  “Let’s get one thing very clear,” he said, abandoning the stale drink. “You are not my prisoner. I’m here to protect you, find your mom, get some answers, and send you two on about your lives, preferably outside of your uncle’s realm of influence.”

  “I didn’t really mean it like that... You told me as much last night. I just… I haven't even been outside, much less in town. I haven’t seen people other than the ones who kept me prisoner in so long. I’m just excited.”

  “You might not be after,” he warned. “We have a bit of a hike to my car.”

  “I don’t mind, as long as a mountain lion doesn’t eat us.”

  He smiled and it felt odd on his face, but then Sophia grinned too and he forgot all about his own awkwardness. Her smile lit up the state with its simplicity and sweetness. “The picture in your room got to you, huh?”

  “Yeah. I’ll go get dressed,” she beamed. An athletic hustle brought her halfway up the stairs before she stopped and turned. “Are you going to change? The scratch on your face isn’t too bad, but the blood on your clothes might get us arrested. I’d rather this place than metal bars. Especially now.” Her gaze swept the living area and open kitchen. “It looks like a whole different place with the curtains open and the trash gone. Both kinds.”

  “I have clothes at my car.”

  “Okay,” she all but yipped and left him to the terrible coffee.

  Vail’s dealings with women were limited to operatives who could get battle ready in the blink of an eye. When he’d said get dressed, he imagined Sophia might take fifteen minutes to change. That proved his astuteness lacking. Extremely lacking. She hopped down the stairs an hour later. Fresh spirals and full-bodied curls bounced around her shoulders. A new outfit, still very similar to the one she wore before, covered her slim frame.

  Outside, the chill covered the ground in iced dew, but the threatening snow hadn’t fallen. Not yet, at least. Sophia tilted her face to the sun and spread her arms wide. She inhaled and exhaled the clean air, and then shivered.

  “Have my jacket.” He hadn’t put it on, suspecting she’d need more layers between her and the cold. His nipples were hard enough to cut glass, but he could handle it.

  “It’s huge on me,” she laughed. Her handless arms flapped.

  “Be still.” He rolled each sleeve before finding the tips of her fingers. “That should do. You can get to your fingers, if you need them. But keep them tucked inside otherwise.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He smiled again. “Let’s go.”

  They started out at an easy pace, but the girl had a competitive streak edged in stubborn independence wider and fiercer than the Grand Canyon. He held out a hand to help her over the rocks. She skipped across them on tiptoes. He went first down the steep walkway beside the rock-face he’d missed on the trek up. She skirted him, running wide open down the lofty slope. By the time they reached the highway they cackled and sucked wind.

  “Not too bad, Sophie.”

  Palms planted on her knees, head lolled between her shoulders, she kicked her head to the side and lifted an eyebrow.

  “What?” he asked between laughs.

  “Nobody’s ever…called me that. It’s always Sophia. Same amount of letters, but so formal. My mom says, ‘It’s lovely and dignified.’”

  “It’s beautiful and a little stuffy.”

  “Thank you! Finally, someone understands.”

  “Come on, Sophia,” he said, dragging out her name. “The car’s this way.”

  They headed across the road and gravel parking lot. Both bay doors were shut tight to keep out the weather, which gusted pretty stoutly every now and again. Through the glass a truck sat in the right slot, its hood up. His car on the other side hid under a tight clean cover. He would’ve smiled, but one already shaped his mouth. Odd. He hadn’t smiled or laughed this much in a while.

  “And,” Sophie said, “if I’d known the way, I’d have won. Cutting across that last curve would’ve saved a hundred yards.”

  Youth.

  “You’d have ended up at the top of that rock face,” John called from the door.

  Vail had heard the door whisper open and the kid step out from the shop. Heck, he’d seen him bound from around the truck, skirt the precious car, and bolt for the door. Sophie, as attentive as she was, had been navigating the dips and pots in the shale. Her head snapped to attention. She stopped mid-step and her prim mouth fell open. He didn’t know why. The kid wasn’t a threat. But he had called her out.

  “It was a good thought though,” Vail offered.

  “Oh, yeah.” Her gaze flew to him, as though she’d just remembered he stood beside her. She smiled and slipped her hands from the jacket pockets. Hurriedly, she smoothed her wind-whipped mane and looked back at John.

  “Yeah, he’s right,” the kid agreed, “you couldn’t have known about the drop.” John’s eyes shifted over and up. “Your car is perfect. I checked the oil, coolant, water, air in your tires. You take real good care of it, sir.”

  “Thanks. Is your gramps around? I want to settle up,” Vail said.

  “He’s at a doctor’s appointment. Nothing major. Just a check-up. But he said if you came around, to tell you…”

  They neared and John offered them inside, holding the door for Sophia and himself, just shy of awkward. As soon as they were through the door, Sophie shed the coat and held it in her small hands. Then she chaffed her arms.

  Girls.

  John looked from him to Sophie and back again.

  “Tell me what?” he reminded.

  “Tell you?” John squinted. “Right, to tell you to keep your money. He ordered me to burn it in front of you, if you gave it over anyway.”

  “Could you burn it?”

  The kid shrugged. “Sure. He told me to. It’s just paper anyway, right?”

  Vail decided to put the promised money and a little more into a scholarship for the boy. He may well work in this shop all his life, but it’d do him good to learn accounting and business. “Right.”

  “Is this your daughter, sir?” He slipped the question in before Vail could lead in to the next topic.

  “Yes. Can you get her some water, while I go change?” To Sophie’s credit she didn’t start at his answer or call him a bald-faced liar. They looked enough alike with their dark hair—dark, graying hair—and eyes, their ages were such that people would assume they were father and daughter. If they denied it, they’d have to explain their relationship. People were automatically wary of older men and young girls when they weren’t related. In Vail’s opinion, they should be always wary and watchful of older men with young girls, related or not. Men were bastards. Girls were impressionable.

  �
��Yes, sir. The bathroom’s through the shop door to the left,” John directed.

  Vail headed for the door, but once through it his stomach flipped at the thought of leaving Sophie alone with the kid. Sure, he’d been respectful at every turn, but he was a boy. Boys were horny. John drove—in all likelihood illegally—so they were only three or four years apart at the most.

  He removed the cover and popped the trunk, all the while watching the two fumble about for a cup of water. Sophia was a beautiful girl. She took after her mother. Vail switched his ruck for the duffle and walked toward the bathroom. Almost even with the door he poked his head inside the office. “I told you she was my daughter, the most precious things in the world to me, right, John?”

  Wise beyond his years, John stepped around the bar dividing the two-chair waiting area and the desk, files, and computer, putting the wood and Formica between himself and Vail’s “daughter.” “Yes, sir.”

  Sophie rolled her eyes. Vail smiled.

  * * *

  “So,” Sophie dragged the word out to three syllables.

  “So?”

  “Anything you want to tell me?” She shifted in the seat next to him and groaned. “I ate too much.”

  “You did pack it away. Made me look bad.”

  “The waitress didn’t care about you losing an eating contest. All she cared about was you batting your lashes at her.”

  “I do not bat my lashes,” he scoffed.

  “Maybe not, but you pour it on thick.”

  “She was nice. I was nice. What?”

  “Vomit.”

  “Yeah,” he said mimicking her teenage girl whine of the word. “Well, the way you and John fumbled over each other made me want to hurl.”

  “We’re getting way off track here,” she huffed.

  “Agreed. No, there’s not anything specifically that I want to tell you. So, maybe you could be more specific.”

  “Were you telling the truth when you answered John’s question? Are you my father?”