Page 61 of A Fine Line

The men outside are becoming increasingly agitated as they attempt to get access to the vehicle. There’s a brief yelling match about explosives, but it seems they have instructions to bring me in alive, so that’s vetoed quickly. Thank goodness for small favors.

“How’s your aim?”

I shrug my shoulders as I reply, “At a non-moving target, mostly accurate. At a live, moving target? I have no fucking idea.”

He gives me a cool, assessing look and then says, “The first thing you need to remember at this moment is that they will kill everyone you’ve ever loved without batting an eye. They will rape and murder you and sell children off into sex slavery. These fucking people don’t give a shit about anyone. So, when you take aim, you think about that.”

My heartbeat jackhammers in my chest with every word that comes out of his mouth, and my lip curls up in a snarl. Declan may have been out of the criminal world for an extended period of time, but to look at him now, you wouldn’t know it. I see Darius seeping out of his pores, that same excited glint in his eye at the thought of taking out these shitbags.

I look out the windows, taking count of the number of men out there waiting for us to make a move. Then I turn back to Declan and nod. “I can do that.”

I pick up both guns, give them another check, and then add, “I’m gonna need more ammunition. For what I lack in accuracy, I can make up for in numbers. Or, at the very least, an annoying distraction.”

He smiles broadly. “That’s the spirit.”

He hands me what I asked for and then pulls out a vest and throws it at me. I laugh and ask, “Is that like the clown car of go-bags? How much more shit you got in there?”

His smile turns magnetic, and he seems incredibly pleased with himself. “I’ve got everything in here you could possibly need if you ever had to fight off a group of bad guys to avoid being taken alive as a prisoner. So basically, you have to make the decision if you want to be taken alive or not. Worst-case scenario, you blow up the whole fucking thing, yourself included. Best-case scenario, you stick a tracker on your person and hope the people coming to get you can find you.”

The mention of a tracker gets my attention. “You have tracking devices in the bag?”

“Of course. The fact that everyone isn’t microchipped at birth is beyond me. So many unfortunate events could be avoided if we microchipped ourselves in the first place.”

I squint at him, unsure of what to say because in a lot of the situations that have happened in the past, he is absolutely correct. Tracking devices have gotten a lot of people out of a lot of bad shit. “Can I have one?”

His head comes up, and his eyes widen as he asks, “You want one of my tracking devices?”

He seems excited that I’d be interested in one of his little toys, and I nod enthusiastically. “Absolutely, yes. From where I’m sitting, the odds of me getting out of this without being taken alive are pretty slim. Since I don’t actually feel like dying today, it’s probably better to plan it in advance. Which means you need to stay alive because you gotta track me.”

He pulls a small black kit out of his clown car bag and then moves to the other side of the car beside me. “The armpit is probably easiest since we’re in a rush.”

I don’t bother asking any other questions as I adjust my clothing, pulling my arm out of my sleeve and lifting it over my head.

He pulls the skin tight, and says, “Just a little pinch,” then jabs me, and I squeak in surprise because it fucking hurt. I ignore my urge to slap the shit out of him, and after a few seconds, the pain dissipates.

He puts the needle back into the little kit it came in and moves to the other side of the car, where he places it into the compartment that’s hidden in the seat.

I adjust my clothing, putting myself back to rights, before securing the vest to my torso and picking the guns up. I look over at Declan, who is now sitting there cool as a cucumber, eating a fucking granola bar. “How the fuck can you eat right now?”

“Not eating isn’t going to change anything. I may as well not be distracted by hunger pains when the action starts.”

“You are certifiably fucking insane,” I mutter.

He laughs and tips his head to me. “Why thank you, Carolina. But keep in mind that given the company you’ve been keeping, I’m small potatoes when it comes to being crazy. I can assure you; my brother takes the cake on fucking crazy. And for all I know, Tony’s taking the lead.”

“May be a toss-up.” I think it over for a moment and then continue, “I can’t decide. I’m starting to wonder if Matt is the actual crazy mastermind because you know what they say about the quiet ones.”

“Matt should be crazy from the bullshit he deals with from the other two. I can’t figure out why he puts up with their shit.”

Renewed shouting outside the car draws my attention, and I see one of the men is now lying on the ground, and Declan cheers, “And here we go.”

I glance over to him, and then back at the men standing around as another one falls to the ground, but I can’t see where the gunfire is coming from. Declan kneels in the middle of a car, pressing the button on the roof, and the glass sunroof starts to slide open as he says, “Get down here, brace your back against mine.”

I say nothing as I do as I’m told, double-checking the safety on my gun is not engaged as he says, “Get your feet under you and follow me up after three. You got it?”

“Yes,” I say as I get my feet under me, bracing myself against his back. I keep my eyes on the edges of the sunroof, so I don’t get hung up and try to lean forward a bit to give him a little more room.

“Three,” he whispers.

---