Authors: B. A. Tortuga
Rose knew one arm was broken, and she was fairly sure her
cheekbone was cracked, although that could just be sore. They’d whipped her
feet and hosed her down with icy water so much her skin felt burned.
She’d killed two of them so far.
It seemed fair to her.
She wasn’t sure how much time had passed since the last
visit, but she thought it should be soon. She tried to watch the movement of
the sun around the edges of the crate and it felt like they came every few
days. She got just enough water and dry crackers to keep her alive. Like they
had read the torture manual on how to feed her by weight or something. She had
tried at the beginning to do calisthenics, but now moving hurt too damn much.
Rose conserved her energy instead.
It wasn’t going to be long before she lost this fight, and she
knew it. One more visit, maybe two, and this would be over.
At least she assumed so. Whatever sick fucking
entertainments they were keeping her alive for… They had to show up soon or she
wouldn’t be able to scream loud enough to be amusing.
She wasn’t sure if it was a comfort or just sick as fuck
that she wasn’t scared. At this point she was just tired. Ready to get it on.
She heard voices outside. No one ever answered when she
yelled, so they had to have her container someplace private. That meant the boys
were back.
Goody.
She tensed her right arm, made sure not to move her left and
shifted as far back into the corner as she could get. She’d have one chance to
draw them in and use the darkness to her advantage.
Come on. Come on, you fucks. Let’s do this.
The door opened, just like always, only enough to let
someone in without letting her out. The crack let in enough light to hurt her
eyes, but she shut them, wanting to keep her sight.
She could do this.
She could.
Rose spared a thought for Jane. Be safe, lady. Always.
Gathering her legs under her, she readied herself to spring.
The door opened wider, a heavy thud sounding, along with a
grunt. A man stumbled inside and went to his knees.
What the fuck? She stumbled along the wall, trying to stay
out of the shaft of light.
The guy flopped down like a poleaxed bear, and she waited
for him to move. He didn’t. The blood coming out of the hole in his head did.
One more man was out there, shouting and cursing. Time to
get him down too. She stumbled over, biting back a scream as she forced her
broken arm to move, her swollen fingers to search for a weapon. Come on.
Her fingers wrapped around the butt of a pistol and she
lifted it, heading for the sun. “Bastards!”
Eyes adjusting to the light, she watched a hawk-faced man go
down, his head all but exploding. Bam. She knew that shot like she knew the
back of her hand.
She stayed near the wall, pistol wavering as she fought to
focus.
Jane. Jane, I know you’re here
. She panted her arms shaking. God,
she was going to puke.
The sound of rubber soles pounding pavement reached her ears
just as Jane rounded the corner of the container, an avenging angel in jeans
and combat boots and the coldest smile known to man. “Come on, baby. We got two
and a half minutes.”
“Two and a half minutes.” She stepped forward and voided
bile, entire body convulsing for a long, precious second.
“Yeah.” Jane waited her out, then yanked her up, arm around
her for support. “Jesus.”
“Haven’t seen him yet.” She moved across the deck, her bare
feet sliding.
“No? You sure?”
“Pretty.” She kept hold of the pistol, the world graying
around the edges.
“Come on, baby, keep it together. Just until we get to the
vehicle. Two blocks.”
“I’m naked. Someone’s going to notice before we get two
blocks.”
“Nope. We’re like the naked wind.” Jane pulled something out
of her pack. “Sundress. It’s better than nothing, even if you look like a
leper.”
“Fuck you.” She stumbled into it, crashing into Jane with
one shoulder. “Fucking cuffs.”
“Come on, baby.” Jane’s voice was all business, brusque,
almost harsh. She got it. This fucking sucked.
“I’m walking.” She ran, head down, hair matted and lank down
her back. Rose put one foot in front of the other, willing her legs to pump.
She ignored the heat of the asphalt, the sound of rifle shots behind her.
She’d run until after she was dead.
Then maybe she could rest.
The ping of a bullet sounded a few feet to her right. Looked
like they’d used up their minutes.
She turned, aimed, trying to focus.
“Top left, baby.” Jane helped her, swinging her around a
tiny bit.
She squeezed off two rounds, biting off her scream.
“Bingo.” Jane got them moving again, then let her slump into
the passenger seat of a sleek black SUV.
“Go. Go. Go.” She wasn’t going to hold onto consciousness
much longer.
“I got this.” They peeled out of the parallel spot they were
in, Jane steering through the waterfront district like a pro, using one hand to
unfasten her cuffs. Oh. Oh thank God.
Rose sucked in a breath, hurting near unbearably. Go. Go.
Go.
“There’s a shot in the bag, Rosie. We’re golden. There were
just the three, and Marty is our control.”
“Golden. My Jane.” She dug out the syringe, injected
herself, the warmth flooding her almost immediately. That was good shit.
“Hey, like I was gonna let you rot.” Jane’s dark eyes were
hidden by aviator shades, but Rose could see the smile curve Jane’s lips.
“I would’ve understood.” Mostly.
“Bullshit. You’d haunt me for life. Can you get your
seatbelt on? I want miles behind us.”
“I can. Yeah.” She hoped. She’d try. It would be good
enough.
“I know you can, baby. Then you can sleep until we stop for
triage on your injuries.”
She chuckled. “So sexy when you’re working.”
“Shit, I’m sexy, full stop.”
The words made her smile. Her Jane. She leaned her head back
against the headrest.
Free.
She was free.
She closed her eyes against the tears that wanted out and
let her girl drive.
Jane didn’t dare code in to Marty. He would know she wasn’t
dead, that Rose had been sprung. She wanted support on this gig, but she was on
her own.
The urge to stop to do a med check on Rose rode her hard.
They needed distance, but that arm looked bad, and Rose had burns that needed
tending.
Jesus. She wanted to hurt someone, make them scream, writhe.
Hurt.
Instead, she checked the map on the GPS unit, then changed
to the right-hand lane, the bayou rising up on either side of them.
She was heading for her place, at least, then she was going
to get them out of the country. Someplace warm, someplace lazy.
Rose looked at her, cheeks bright pink. “How’s it going?”
Those feverish eyes worried her. Damn it. “We’re fixin’ to
get off the highway.”
Her redneck was showing.
“Good. I stink.”
“You so do.” She grinned over at Rosie before shaking her
head. “Like Mobile pond water.”
“Bitch.” Rose chuckled softly. “I got one with a piece of
broken pallet. Assholes.”
“I saw the report. Marty was so proud.”
“I wanted out.”
“You got it, huh? I need to get you to triage, baby.” She
hated the way Rosie’s head was bobbing like a baby’s.
“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.” She was slurring her words.
Jane nodded even though she wanted to shake her head. “Of
course you will, but you know me and my lists.”
“I think this one was yours, love. You get the point.”
Jane chuckled, surprised that Rosie was thinking of her
games. “No, I mean my checklists. One. Rescue my girl. Two. Get medical taken
care of. Three. Go to Tuscany.
“I like Tuscany. I want to go too.”
“That’s on the list. Check.” She hit the blinker and pulled
into the exit lane.
“Oh good.” Rose closed her eyes, head tilting.
“Just breathe, baby. Sing to me or something.” She knew that
Rosie was a closet torch singer.
“You hate when I sing.”
“But that way I know you’re awake.”
“No sleeping?”
“Not yet. You napped for a long time. I need you to keep me
from drifting off.”
“Oh.” Rose swallowed and watched her. “This isn’t a dream,
right? I’m not going to wake up in that box?”
“Nope. I’m just sorry I took so long.” She turned off on a
county road lined with cypress and Spanish moss, one she knew by heart. Thirty-two
miles to her bayou bolt hole.
God, she loved this part of the country, the history of it.
She hated the humidity, but hey, it was a tradeoff.
“Talk to me, Rose.”
“I’m tired, love.”
Every time Rose called her love, hope bloomed in her chest.
“I know you are. Once I make sure you’re properly treated,
you can rest for days.” She hoped.
“Just promise me a bath, lady. With soap.”
“The good stuff, baby. The rose scented.”
“Rose scented.” Her Rosie chuckled. “Rock on.”
“I know, right.” Jane pushed the big black car to its
limits.
The roads back here were old, potted, and she didn’t want to
jostle Rose more than she had to, but she needed to get her inside, somewhere
still and safe. They flew down the old highway, turning off on an even smaller
road where the trees were like a tunnel.
“Big trees. Such big trees.”
“Yeah. They’re older out this way.”
“Older.” Rose’s voice was all breath, no strength.
“Yep. Hundreds of years.”
This time her girl didn’t answer, just sighed.
There. She could see the top of the old barn at the end of
the lane. Yes. Almost home.
Rose was sleeping, or passed out, or something. She could
still hear Rose breathing, so her girl would make it. She didn’t have a choice.
Jane’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, a growl
building inside her chest. This was utter bullshit, letting Rose take the fall
for a job she’d actually done, that she’d collected the paycheck on. Fuckers.
They were going to let Rose take the fall for her handler
too, no question. Jane had to get Rose on her feet and out of the country, and
then figure out how to rectify that so they weren’t hunted to extinction.
Marty and Ben would help, she hoped. They were in this shit
together.
She slid neatly into the drive of the old farmhouse, then
drove around back, keying the opener for the decrepit carriage building. Well,
it looked decrepit. In fact, it was a state-of-the-art garage and command
center.
She activated her security systems remotely, then unfastened
Rose’s seatbelt. “Come on, baby. Bath time.”
Bath. Drugs. A milkshake. Real rest.
Rose blinked at her, eyes cloudy. Then those hands settled
on her shoulders, Rose holding up part of her own weight, even with the bad
arm.
“Good girl. Good girl. Come on.”
“I’m tired, Jane.”
“I know, baby. We’re at a safe place. Bath. Bed. Soup.”
“Perfect. I’d walk around the block for a bath.”
“My fastidious girl.” Jane hauled Rose into the house, up
the stairs and right back to the bathroom. She’d redone it two years ago, and
it would be the best place to treat those wounds.
“Yours.” Rose saw the bathroom and actually teared up.
“I got you. Look at the seat in the big tub, huh?” She eased
Rose out of the sundress, now sticky with sweat and blood.
“Uh-huh. I. Uh-huh.” Rose sucked in deep breaths, one after
another.
“Shh. I got you, baby.”
“I hope so. I’m a little fucked.”
“I know, but we can fix you.” Jane believed that with
everything in her.
“Oh good.”
She put Rose in the bottom of the tub, got the warm water
raining down on her. The steam began to rise, and she grabbed the soap. The
dirt disappeared, leaving burns and cuts, deep bruises and scrapes.
Rage burned in the pit of her belly, and she wanted to go
back and kill those assholes all over again.
The arm was the worst of it, she thought. There were some
deep kidney bruises, a missing fingernail, but the arm was broken, right under
the elbow. She’d get Rose clean and set that arm. She washed it gently,
checking for a clean break or bone shards.
Rose groaned softly, lips curling back.
“Shh. It’s okay, baby. It’s not going to poison you.”
“Feels like it. Hurts like a bitch.”
“I bet it does. It’s pretty broke. No fragments that I can
tell, though.”
“You can splint it up.”
“I so can.” Jane grinned, just ready to be back to normal.
Rose looked at her, and then Jane got a half smile. “Thanks,
huh? For not just shooting me in the head. I know that was the job.”
“Yeah. Lipke thought I would do that. Bastards.” No, she had
saved her girl, and she would keep them safe until Rose recovered.
“Yeah. They killed Shelly, huh?”
“And your house sitter.” Jane was never one to mince words. “They’re
blaming Shelly on you.”
Rose rolled her eyes. “Surprise, surprise.”
“I know, right?” She drained the red water and pulled more
hot water out of tap.
“They’re going to come for you next.”
Jane knew that. She also knew that Rose had enough cash to
retire, just like she did. They would go somewhere, and if anyone got too
close, they’d move on. Together.
She didn’t bother to answer Rose, just kept washing and
rinsing, making sure she didn’t hurt any more than she had to. It took four
washings before all that was left was milk-pale skin and vicious bruises and
scarlet slashes of wounds.
Nothing needed stitches, she didn’t think. A couple of
butterflies, a few places where she used Super Glue to bind little things. She
got Rose dried off, warm and settled, and patched her lover up.
Then she drugged Rose to the gills with a cocktail of
anti-anxiety, pain meds and muscle relaxants before going to work on that arm.
Rose watched her, pupils a little misshapen from the drugs.
“I have to splint this, Rosie.”
“I know. I wish you didn’t.”
“Close your eyes, baby, and breathe in through your nose.”
Rose nodded and closed her bloodshot eyes. Jane had to
swallow hard; that trust was perfect. Unbelievable. She took a deep breath of
her own and wrenched Rose’s arm back into place, the sound like cutting through
gristle.
Rose lost what color that was left in her cheeks and went
boneless, unconscious, just too worn to hold on. That was a blessing, because
she didn’t fight or tense when Jane wrestled her into a splint. Jesus, what a
week.
She got Rose covered and settled, then changed her own
clothes. She was soaked. Jane rolled her head on her neck, knowing she couldn’t
take a sleeping pill like she wanted. She’d just have to wait ‘til her girl
woke up.
Rose slept like the dead, still and silent, breath soft and
slow. Jane curled up close, half of her attention focused out, where she could
hear someone coming.
The security system was up and live, but it didn’t matter.
They were being hunted now.
Fucking assholes, burning her and Rose, killing Shelly, and
all for fucking assholes that sold little girls to be whores.
Well, and maybe a little issue of Rosie offing someone’s son,
but that was business. The fact that they didn’t have Rosie’s back? That was
politics.
Jane fucking hated politics.
She sighed, battling to stay awake. Rose had way more reason
to sleep than she did.