Page 58 of Stella's Christmas Rescue
I spring onto my feet from my back and take a stance, prepared for her next attack. She steps up, so I swing for the middle of her. But she’s fast, and she dodges the punch, then swings into one of her own. She connects with my solar plexus and I cough from the impact. When I’m doubled over, I charge into her. I don’t think she was expecting me to tackle her from that position, because she’s off her feet in an instant.
She lands flat on her back and loses the wind in her lungs. The shooter is coughing and gasping, as she tries to get back onher feet. I step onto her neck. The shooter tries to push me off and fails. Then, she pulls a knife out from somewhere. A glint of light flashes off her knife. She stabs me in the calf.
The woman in black pulls it out fast to stab again, but I drop my knees onto her arms, straddling her face. “Drop the knife, now!”
The shooter can’t move her arms and when she realizes she’s stuck. She drops the knife. I grab it, then pull the balaclava off of her head. She’s pretty, but for the scar up the left side of her face. Black hair, brown eyes. “Where is Riker?”
“Who is Riker?” She asks blankly. The shooter has no discernible accent.
“Don’t play games with me. I’m not playing them with you. Tell me where Riker is. NOW!”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” she glares up into my eyes.
“Then who’s paying you?”
“A Swiss bank account.”
I poke the tip of the knife at her right cheek, but I don’t press it in. I just hope she can’t tell I’m bluffing. I shout, “Where is he? Stop lying!”
“I’m not lying!” She tries to wriggle away, and the tip jabs into the skin at her cheekbone. A small river of bright blood runs toward her ear.
My gut revolts at the sight of it, but she merely huffs, as though it’s nothing to her. “Torture me all you like. I still don’t know who’s paying me.”
“That was your mistake, wasn’t it?” I kneel over her, with the knife held high. I hope she falls for this, too. “I could give you a scar to match the other side, if you like. Just tell me where Riker is!”
She bucks upward, tossing me off of her. I roll head over, spin around, and punch her hard in the side of the knee. I hear thesnap, and she cries out. She goes down again. Her body hits the wall. She slides down it and into a messy heap.
I grab my shotgun and aim it at her head. “Where is he?”
“You know something? I took this job as a favor to a friend. That’s the last favor I ever do.” She sighs. She seems resolute, or like her luck has run out.
The shooter has no idea how lucky she is. “What friend did you do the favor for?”
“You don’t know him by name. But you do know him by what you and your dogs did to him.”
“So, you know the assholes who broke into Stella’s house. Which means you know their boss.” I press the muzzle against her forehead. “Where the fuck is Riker?”
She smiles. “He might be anywhere by now.”
“He’s here? In Floyd?”
She changes the topic, “You know, shooting her brother was just for fun.”
My blood runs cold. “What?”
She stares into my eyes and says, “Alex was just a distraction.”
“Distraction?” My mind races. “A distraction for who?”
“I would have shot anyone to get Stella trapped. The fact it was her brother,” she chuckles, “that’s just icing on the cake.”
“You’re a twisted bitch,” a Russian accented voice says behind me.
I don’t turn around. “Michael?”
“Yeah, man,” he says, as he limps into view on my right. His gun is aimed at the shooter.
“You got this?” I ask.
