Page 78 of Cruel Games

“Hey! Stop right there!” The first man’s shout drew the attention of every man in the group, and now there were four guns trained on me and two men who watched with a wary air, even as their lips curled at the sight of my ass when I bent over and grabbed my knees. I pretended to gag for a moment, working up crocodile tears to really sell the whole look.

“You there!” he tried again, inching closer, his three other armed buddies also abandoning their targets. All I had to do was get them a little further apart?—

“Stupid fucking useless man, couldn’t even getit up. Not my fault he’s impotent.” I perked up as if only just now realizing I wasn’t alone. “Where . . . who . . . who the fuck are you?”

My words sounded slurred, my movements were jerky with just the right amount of imbalance. As long as they didn’t get close enough to realize I didn’t have alcohol on my breath, they’d never know the difference.

“You shouldn’t be here,” one of the backups said, lowering his gun to reach a hand out.

“Fuck you, Tony,” I spat, windmilling my hand wildly in an effort to warn his touch away. “I told you I’m done drinking with you.” I lurched forward, letting my foot catch on an imaginary crack in the concrete. As I expected, the man in the front dropped his gun completely to catch me, his brows drawn together in frustration. “Let me go, Tony. Plenty of other men here who want me. Maybe I’ll . . . maybe I’ll go home with one of them.”

“This lady’s batshit,” a third said, shaking his head as if he were done with me. “We’ll take care of her, boss. You should continue with your meeting.”

From behind him, his boss chuckled darkly.

“She looks pretty nice for a used-up hooker. Why don’t you put her in the back of the car to keep warm, and when we’re done here, I’ll show her how a real man rises to the occasion.”

Bingo.

As long as the idiots I came with didn’t fuck this up, I could isolate this fucker in the back of his car, get his belt off, and choke him out with it. Then, all they’d have to do is incapacitate the fuckwits that came with him, and we’d be good to go.

Problem solved, compromised situation recovered.

I should have known it wouldn’t be that easy.

I struggled a little bit with the guy leading me to the car, just enough to make him wonder if this was a really good idea, but still want to be rid of me at the first opportunity. When I wassecurely in the backseat, he shut the door and put his back against it, his gun all but forgotten.

So I decided to have some fun.

My finger pressed down the window button, and I spent the next two minutes pissing off the guard by raising and lowering it, distracting everyone when he finally turned around and shouted at me in another language. I didn’t know what he said, but I’d put money on Slavic origins with how he pronounced his consonants.

His partners sighed and looked to their bosses, who nodded for them to go help him corral me.

So I rolled the windows back up and locked the doors, giggling to myself.

Pretending to be a drunken hooker was actually quite fun if you knew where to toe the line.

“This bitch is really annoying,” he growled on the other side of the window, sticking his hand up against it to peer inside. I waited until his nose was against the glass and dragged it down an inch, startling him. His cohorts laughed, but he’d had enough of me. The tip of his gun slid in between the crack I’d left in the window, and I heard the distinct sound of the safety switching off and a bullet lodging into place.

Time to back off the line, Ivy.

“If you don’t knock it off, bitch, I’ll put a bullet through your brain for your trouble.”

I opened my mouth to agree, but someone beat me to it.

“You pull that trigger, buddy, and it’ll be the last thing you do with that finger.”

Jackal stood behind him, a bat slung over each shoulder, like some sort of deranged ballplayer. His mask glowed neon red, and though I couldn’t see the smile he wore behind it, I knew it must be every bit as frightening as the false one of plastic he hid behind.

Dingo and Coyote had taken out the other three guards, and were now holding both the target, and his associate, hostage.

On the other side of the glass, the guard pulled his barrel from the window and lowered it, his hands moving upward as Jackal watched. He couldn’t see that they didn’t have guns, but appearance was everything. And even without a gun in his hand, Jackal looked like someone you didn’t wanna fuck with.

I wondered if the man between us had enough brains not to try something stupid.

When it became evident he wasn’t about to let all the way go of his rifle, I had my answer.

Why were criminals so fucking stupid?

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