This had dragged on too long already. Nothing good could come from staying any longer. All Bleak had to do was pick up the duffel bag, or give some sign of acceptance. Any damn sign would do.
But this damn standing there, giving everybody the evil eye, that wouldn’t do at all. That was indicative of some unforeseen problem, and Esme didn’t want there to be any unforeseen problems. Straight deal, that’s what her father had arranged with Bleak.
A movement at the end of the warehouse drew her gaze down the length of the aisle, and with the shift in attention came a horrifying sinking of her hopes.
Her feet moved of their own volition, everything inside her telling her to run, while at the same time telling her it was too late. Bleak’s beast had a bundle of rags by the scruff of the neck, an old green striped shirt and a pair of worn brown corduroys, and inside the rags, hanging slack from the beast’s hands, was her father.
Dead. He looked dead, and even with everything inside her telling her to run to him, she was frozen, held in place by a sudden wash of emotion and Johnny’s hands catching her and dragging her up against him, keeping her from moving any closer.
Her father’s arm had been broken. The way it was hanging, the angle, was bizarre, and for a moment, all she could think about was the pain he must have felt.
It was the beast, the damn beast who had hurt him. Bleak wasn’t big enough to have done the deed. The beast had beaten her father and broken his arm. Her breath started coming faster, and she began to struggle.
“Let go of me,” she said under her breath, the words meant for Johnny. “Let go of me.”
“No, babe.” His voice was not slow and calm. It was harsh and hard, and full of the same serious intent she felt in his body. He wanted out of there, too, and he was taking her with him.
“He’s not dead,” Bleak said, and nodded at Dovey, who immediately trotted down the aisle to the beast and took hold of her father’s head, tilting it back so she could see that his eyes were open- and filled with agony. “Not yet.”
“What have you done to him?” she demanded.
“Go see for yourself,” Bleak said, but when she and Johnny started forward, he held up his hand. “Just the girl. No one else.”
“No,” Johnny said immediately.
“Let me go. I have to see if he’s okay. I have to help him.” She lifted his hands away, peeling them off from around her waist, feeling his reluctance to let her go, and when she was free, she started forward, her gaze riveted to her father.
He was breathing, with each breath costing him in pain, and every step she took closer to him took her another step away from the safety of Johnny’s arms, from the safety of Dax and the Locos.
A hospital, that’s all she could think. She had to get her dad to a hospital. When she was within twenty feet, Bleak’s beast dropped him and headed back toward the rear of the warehouse, letting her father crumple into a pile on the concrete. A terrible cry of pain came out of her father, an expulsion of air edged in acute distress, and she ran the last few feet, before dropping to her knees by his side.
“We’re done here,” she heard Bleak say behind her.
Her father’s skin was pale and clammy, his every breath coming ragged and hard. She didn’t know where to touch him, hardly dared to touch him.
“Dad, Dad…” She lightly smoothed his hair back off his brow. “It’s Esme, Dad. I’m here, and I’m going to take care of you, get you to a hospital.”
“Your friends can take him,” Bleak said, appearing at her side. “You’re coming with me.”
She looked up, her gaze drawn by a sickening awareness, to find him standing between her and the rest of the men in the warehouse, blocking her view, blocking her from their view. A wave of dread sluiced down through her body. He was crazy. She wasn’t going anywhere with him, and she had enough guys on her side to enforce that plan. She could overpower him herself, if it came to that.
He was close enough to touch, mere inches from her, the duffel bag in his right hand. With his left, he handed her something small, a piece of hard plastic, a quick exchange accompanied by a dire warning.
“Come with me, or my man Eliot will snap her neck.”
The words were so cruel, so unexpected, it took a second for them to sink in, and she still didn’t understand, until she looked at the small thing he’d given her.
Beth Alden, R.N.-that’s what it said, the blue letters printed on a white base. Her mother’s name tag, her identification badge.
Behind him, she heard the commotion of Johnny moving forward and being blocked by Bleak’s other men.
Eliot, she thought. Bleak’s beast was named Eliot, and he had her mother.
“Bleak!” She heard Dax call the guy’s name, but she was watching the bookie, watching him limp his way to a set of stairs crawling up the side of the warehouse and leading to a door one floor above the door where Eliot had disappeared again.
She looked over her shoulder at Johnny and Dax, the small name tag grasped in her hand.
“It’s okay,” she said. “I’ve got everything under control. I’ll be back in a moment.” Then she turned to her dad and let the name tag drop to the floor as she rose to her feet.
Suddenly, she wasn’t afraid.
Johnny was terrified, his blood running cold, watching her follow Franklin Bleak up the stairs. The only thing keeping him in place was Dax.
“Leave her be, Ranger.” The guy’s voice was right behind him, a softly spoken command of unmistakable authority, but it wasn’t the command keeping him from starting World War III in this damn warehouse and going after her. It was knowing Dax wouldn’t take an unnecessary risk with her life. It was knowing Dax understood her skill levels better than he did, knew her internal resources. And it was knowing how she’d drawn down on Mitch Hardon in the Gas-N-Go, with absolute precision, and absolute certainty.
It was knowing she had a Para-Ordnance.45 caliber pistol tucked into a shoulder holster and that she most definitely knew how to use it.
Not even Patsy could save this goatfuck.
Dax let his breath out, slow and easy, watching his bad girl climb those damn stairs, which more than likely led to Bleak’s office. Of all the possibilities of what could happen in that room, he was sure of only one-the guy was unlikely to come out ahead of Easy.
But something was up.
She’d strayed from the plan, big time.
“Do you mind?” he said to Dovey, gesturing at the pile of crumpled humanity on the floor.
Dovey gave him the go-ahead with a short nod, and Dax walked over and knelt down by his uncle.
Damn Burt-he’d really gotten into it this time.
Dax lightly pressed his fingers to the side of the guy’s neck, feeling his pulse.
Fluttery, he decided, which was just so damn bad.
He picked up a small piece of plastic lying next to his uncle and turned and looked back at Baby Duce.
“He needs a hospital. Can you send him with your boys?”
The shot caller for the Locos gave a nod, and the two Arañas and Johnny moved forward to pick up a very limp Burt Alden, leaving just him and Duce to face off Bleak’s remaining five guys. Duce, Dax figured, could at least be counted on not to accidentally shoot him, and Dax had certainly been up against worse odds than five to one, hence those stories that had made his name in Afghanistan. As far as Johnny, Dax hadn’t always had a partner who so instinctively understood a good plan when it was thrown out on the stage without any explanation.
Getting the Ranger out of the warehouse, where he could scout the building and find Esme, was precisely what they needed. Getting Burt out of the warehouse was simply the best Dax could do for his uncle under the current circumstances. There was no calling an ambulance down into this mess. He wasn’t too concerned about losing the two gang members. If anything started to happen, he would just as soon not have two unknown shooters at his back. And if anything started to happen, there was going to be shooting.