Page 32 of Twisted Revelations

16

Laura

Dax and D emerged like I’d summoned them, their gazes locked behind me. With the large sofa blocking most of my view, I was unable to see what they gawked at. I rose onto my knees, and my gaze followed the direction they’d aimed their weapons.

“Let her go,” D’s voice whispered across the room like a deadly lullaby. He and Dax took easy steps, closing in on the fidgety man that had a gun aimed at Beverly. With her back to the wall, he was forced to stand beside her with one hand gripping her arm as the other held his gun firmly against her head. Her gun sat on the floor, out of her reach.

“Stay back! Stay back or I’ll shoot her!” He shouted, his thick Spanish accent slowing his words. His attention was aimed at D and Dax, his gun wobbling with each yell.

My eyes bulged in their sockets before the man’s face froze. He glared in our direction, shock freezing him in place before dramatic spurts of blood burst free like his neck was being ripped from the inside out.

His concern with D and Dax’s approach had distracted him from the more imminent danger. He should have been worried about the person he was aiming at. I’d never known Beverly to not be carrying a blade. My eyes widened when the switchblade danced to a flashy opening in her hand. It was one of a set of three, custom-made, her father had given her.

I feared she’d get herself shot, although I knew how quick she was. When the blade went in, it remained there, stuck in his neck as blood gushed around the artery she’d opened. The man’s gun was forgotten, thudding against the floor as his hands automatically went to his neck to keep blood inside his body.

Beverly kicked his gun from his reach and ran to put some distance between them. I met her halfway, my body colliding into hers.

I hadn’t a clue as to what was next, didn’t care. Beverly and I were together and alive to see another day.

“We have to go, ladies,” Dax announced.

“I didn’t spot any more, but it doesn’t mean there aren’t any,” D stated as he turned and aimed in the direction of a groan behind him and let off two rounds. The man’s body danced from the dark opening before his knees gave and he stumbled to the floor, his head cracked open as one of his eyes hung from the socket.

“They managed to sneak men past the cameras, so we don’t know if they have any more waiting. We also need to find out how the hell they found us,” D continued, his tone filled with irritation.

D took pride in what he did, and it didn’t sit well with him that these men had infiltrated us and he hadn’t seen it coming until it was happening. Bev and I moved with swift purpose, grabbing our shit and preparing ourselves to leave this active crime scene.

The man Bev had stabbed had slumped to the floor, choking and gurgling blood, clawing at his neck. D and Dax weren’t worried about him, so I wasn’t either. His wide eyes had grown snow white as he glared at us for help. There wasn’t shit we could do for him. Death was standing above him, smiling, waiting to snatch his soul.

Bev ensured she retrieved her knife from the man’s neck before we all met at the front door. Dax had his phone to his ear while glancing back at the horrific scene that would likely draw every law enforcement agency in the country.

“The penthouse suite. Nine. I’ll call the manager to put this floor on lockdown,” Dax continued to speak into his phone, his face pinched in irritation. I didn’t understand what was happening and I didn’t get a chance to question it as we hopped across the two bloody bodies on our way out the front door.

D was leading, and we followed, with Dax as our eyes in the back. We’d left the penthouse with nine dead bodies and neither D nor Dax looked the least bit worried.

When we arrived on the first and not the third floor of the parking structure, the lights of a dark gray Jaguar XJ flashed. The car started with a crawling roar, and I glanced at Dax.

“My assistant,” was all he disclosed. This was smart. The people hunting us would be expecting the BMW or my Camry that was still on the third floor. We tossed our bags and a medium-sized suitcase of D’s equipment into the trunk.

Bev and I climbed in when the men opened the back doors for us. Dax drove leisurely as we eased from the garage in one of the smoothest rides I’d been in. His eyes found mine as he glanced at me in the mirror.

“Was that your family’s hotel back there?” I questioned. D glanced back with a smile. He was sitting in the front seat with a tablet or some device in his face.

“You’d make an excellent detective. How could you possibly conclude that that was my family’s hotel?” Dax inquired, his astonished tone edging out.

“The call you made. Some unlucky person is going to clean up the massacre we left in that penthouse. The way you call up your assistant and order up cars and ten-thousand-dollar a night penthouse suites. Also, you don’t get a suite with soundproofing unless it’s your own personal touch,” I pointed out.

Dax was interesting enough I had Googled him as soon as I convinced D to tell me his last name. The man was Texas royalty. Why he ran around putting his life in jeopardy was a mystery. His people had enough money to run the government. When I’d looked up information on the hotel and the nightly rate of the suite we’d been in, I’d nearly choked on my tongue.

His smiling eyes lingered on me in the mirror until we broke contact. I relaxed into the seat before sliding closer and resting my head on Bev’s shoulder. Her shaking hand had been clinging to mine since we’d slid into the back of the car.

Unlike me, Beverly wasn’t willing to kill anyone unless she was forced to. She was going to beat herself up over the man she’d stabbed until her mind accepted the fact that she hadn’t had any other choice.

My head lifted from her shoulder when Dax pulled the car into a rest stop that resembled the set of a horror film. Three semi-trucks were lined up on the dusty, dirt-covered parking lot that offered potholes the size of small ditches. Woodlands surrounded the place, and a solitary country road was the lone pathway cut through them.

How far out of the city limits had we traveled? The gas pumps didn’t have card readers. A toothless old man sat on the outside of the station’s entrance on a wooden bench spitting his tobacco juice into an old Crisco can in the middle of the night. This was likely what he did for fun on a Saturday night.

The old man’s curious gaze hadn’t left us since we’d driven up to the pump. We weren’t there for gas because a quick peek showed the gas gage pointed at full. Dax turned, peering across the seat at me. His words were aimed at D, but his gaze was on me.

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