Racing the Moon (18 page)

MJ straightened up, started with that weird, almost-vibrating thing again. "We almost there?"

"Uh-huh. You okay?" They had maybe a ten-minute drive.

"Yeah. Nervy. I'm cool. I am."

"It's cool. I'd trust Woody with my life." Hell, he was, wasn't he? Man, it would be good to get this done. Sonny had been nervy himself, looking over his shoulder, worrying about being a liability. He'd be glad to have some cash, some means. His car.

MJ nodded, sliding one of the pistols into an ankle holster. He had to admit MJ was fucking careful.

He bumped over a cattle guard, knowing it was more of an early warning system than for actual cows. There was his baby, his Starfire, pulled into a little space under the pine trees by the cabin.

"Here we are, Precious. Hot damn."

"Cool. Let's get this done. Quick and easy." MJ went all-business just like somebody flipped a switch. Goddamn.

Sonny stared for a minute, but then got his ass in gear. Woody might shoot MJ first, and then ask questions, so Sonny sort of muscled up in front of him, knocking on the door, grinning as the little sliver of light came from the opening door.

"Hey, honey, I'm home," Sonny began, just about the time all hell broke loose. The loud pop pop pop of a gun going off right fucking next to his ear sorta stunned his ass and he swore time moved in slow motion as he staggered back, reaching for the gun in his waistband.

Woody grabbed his arm, twisting it up behind his back and holding him still. "No, sir. I don't think so."

What the fuck?

He turned his head, blinking at the lack of MJ standing there. It took a second of looking down, staring at the blood starting to pool around blond hair, before he could even start to think.

Sonny went a little crazy then, fighting like a madman, trying to get to MJ. He dimly heard someone screaming, the sounds echoing out through the woods, acknowledged that it was him, but damned if he could do anything about it, especially when something cracked with sickening force against his head, making the world go dark as his legs gave out.

The last thing he saw was MJ's still, pale face.

Chapter Seventeen

It was raining.

Raining.

Okay. He was all about the rain.

Man, his head was throbbing like he'd been bashed, the rest of him not feeling much better. Fuck him raw. Okay. Okay, focus. Where the hell was he, and what was he...?

Oh.

Right.

Woody.

Motherfucker.

He got himself moving, crawling carefully, holding his head as still as he could.

"Eight
years,
man," Woody was saying, even though it was indistinct, like he was swimming in molasses. "Eight fucking years I did everything you asked, worked my ass off for you. Did you ever take me to Jamaica? Fuck, no. Why him?" Woody's voice rose, shaking a little. "Why him and not me?"

Oh, no. No.

He did
not
go through all this bullshit because of a fucking lovers' quarrel.

MJ reached down, almost hooting as his fingers met cold steel still in the holster. Fucking A.

He lifted up, just enough to see through the window, see if he had a clean shot.

Sonny was across the room from him, slumped back against a cot with his hands behind him, no doubt tied. The man had blood all down the side of his face, and a huge goose egg on his forehead, but his eyes were open, watching Woody pace.

And wave his arms as he shouted.

Sonny said something MJ couldn't hear, and Woody stopped, staring. "Well, of course I did. I figured if they killed him we'd go back to normal. But noooo. They thought he'd be worth more alive. Fuckers."

"I'll show you worth more." He muttered under his breath, lined up, cursing as the man walked back over toward Sonny. Move, bastard.

"I trusted you, man." Oh, now, that he heard; Sonny sounding plaintive, confused as hell. "You were the one person I always trusted."

"Yeah, and you shoulda thought of that before selling out on me for some asshole with a boat." Woody didn't move away, damn it. In fact he moved toward Sonny, waving that fucking big handgun, standing straddle-legged right in front of Sonny's fucking face.

No.

No fucking way.

Sonny was
his
.

He tapped the window hard, making enough noise that Woody spun around, gun training on him. Come on, fucker. I'm already having a bad fucking day.

Sonny toppled over, rolling off the cot and squirming under it. Good man. Woody, on the other hand, started shooting at him.

He ducked down, first shot taking Woody through the shoulder, second shot going wide. "Drop the gun, motherfucker. Drop it now."

The gun clattered to the floorboards; he heard it more than saw it, heard Woody curse viciously. When he chanced putting his head up, he got to see Sonny roll out from under the cot and take Woody's legs right out from under him, sending the man crashing to the floor, too. Away from the gun, he hoped.

He kept the gun trained on Woody. "You got him, Sunshine?"

He'd be damned if he was going to move toward the door and lose his line of sight otherwise.

"Well, I'm a little tied up," Sonny said, sounding for all the world like he was laughing. "But he's out for now, yeah."

" 'Kay." He did his best not to move his head, just hurried to the door and got the son of a bitch's gun.

Sonny was lying there, looking at him. Staring, really. "You come back from the dead right nice, Precious."

"Huh?" He got Woody's gun, settled the back of his pistol against the base of the man's skull. "You okay?"

"No. My head feels like it's been run over by a combine. How's your noggin?" Sonny wiggled to a sitting position before promptly turning to one side and retching.

Fuck. Okay. Shit.

MJ refused to follow suit. No fucking way. He was cool. He was going to pistol-whip this redneck bastard who had the brass balls to think interfering with him and Sonny was a good idea and then they were leaving.

"Okay. Okay, sorry." Sonny sat back up, looking like warmed-over shit. "I need...I need my hands, man. I've got to get my shit together; we've got to get out of here."

Woody moaned then, starting to stir.

MJ looked over at Sonny, nodded, and slammed the butt of his pistol on the back of the man's head. He wasn't sure about how Sonny felt about his ex-lover's brains spattering everywhere, but the man was already puking anyway.

"Turn around, Sunshine. Let's get you free." Fuck, there was blood everywhere. Goddamn.

Sonny moved carefully, avoiding the nasty spots on the floor, presenting his hands.

MJ untied the torn sheet, stepping back as soon as Sonny was free. Some people responded badly to being tied up.

Sonny just rubbed his wrists before turning back and reaching for MJ's cheek, the thumb sliding up to stop short of MJ's temple. "Fuck, that looks ugly, Precious. We need... Fuck. I don't know what we need."

Those dark eyes flicked from Sonny, to Woody's still form, and back again, looking lost.

"We need to go. Get your shit and get in your car." Then he'd finish shit in here.

"Okay. Okay, yeah. I need to. I'll check the car good, make sure he didn't fuck with it." Slowly, carefully, Sonny got to his feet, moving to gather things up, muttering about something that sounded like 'fucker' and 'money'. Sonny left though, without a backward glance, carrying a couple of bags and a large metal case.

He looked around. Sweet little cabin. Nice dry walls. It would burn beautifully. Too bad he had the forest to think about. He shook Woody's shoulder, banging the man's head against the floor a little. "He's mine, you hear me, you back-stabbing little fucker? I don't share."

"I...huh? Wha'?" Woody looked up at him. The guy had blue eyes. Hell, MJ could even see why Sonny had slept with him. Really. Kinda. Okay, not so much.

"Sonny? Where's Sonny?" Woody asked, eyes rolling wildly.

"Going with me. Where he belongs." A single bullet and he'd never have to worry about this idiot again.

"You fucker. Fucking hate you..." Woody started struggling, started fighting him, just about the time he heard the roar of a smooth, heavy engine outside.

He cocked the pistol, smiled down, and pressed it against Woody's forehead. "Ask me if I care."

"No. MJ. Precious...Don't." It was Sonny, clinging to the doorjamb, blinking at him. "I got the money. My car is clean. He's not smart enough to find us without me calling him every fucking day and
telling
him every fucking thing..." Sonny trailed off. "Please."

He looked into Woody's eyes, staring until there was real fear there. "You're alive because of him. I ever,
ever
see you again, and you'll beg me to kill you."

"Come on, MJ. Come on. We need to get going." Sonny came around, put a hand on his shoulder. "We truss him up tight, leave him here."

"Okay. Tie him up. It's time to hit the road." He nodded. He fucking hated this state.

Sonny made quick work of tying Woody up, making it nice and tight, wrists and ankles. It made MJ feel a little better, knowing Sonny wasn't gonna go easy on the guy. Okay, it was immature, but there it was. Sonny finally nodded, stood up. "Come on. Come on, MJ. Time to go."

Sonny didn't spare a word for his ex-partner. Not one.

"Right here." He followed on Sonny's heel, taking a minute to unload his gun into the radiator and tires of the car they'd come in. No reason to make anything easy.

"He must have come in the Starfire," Sonny said, sliding into the driver's seat. "There's no sign of his Jeep. You got everything you need out of the other car?"

"I will in five." He bent over in the car to grab his stuff, closing his eyes a second as the world spun wildly.

"Babe, come on. Come on." He could hear Sonny, kinda like he was underwater, could feel Sonny's hands on him after a few seconds, turning him toward the car, helping him settle. "It's okay. It's okay now. I'll get us out of here."

"Yeah. It's cool. I'm cool. Can you drive?" Please let Sonny be able to drive or they'd be walking to the fucking coast.

"I can. I'll get us...we'll get to a place I know. Clean up. A place even... Well. No one else knows."

Sonny must have more bolt-holes than the President. Or the Pope.

" 'Kay." He didn't nod, because that would be worse than fucking-eyeless-boys bad; he just got his ass in the car. "Your car?"

"Uh-huh. Mine." The engine had been idling, now it roared, the world spinning sickly as Sonny spun out, heading back down that twisty little road they'd come up.

MJ closed his eyes, leaned his head back. Man.

Man.

They so needed a vacation.

***

Sonny pulled into the little parking area under the tiny house on stilts, killing the engine and sitting. Staring a minute.

MJ had fallen asleep somewhere in north Georgia. Bone tired but determined, Sonny just kept on driving until he reached Alabama. Until he got them home. Not even Woody knew about this place. It was where Sonny's daddy used to keep his mistress. Maybe now they could sleep.

He reached over and stroked MJ's arm gently. "Precious. Wake up. Come on."

MJ's eyes popped open, the eye on the side where the bullet grazed just bloodshot as hell. "Oh. Shit. I was asleep. Sorry, man."

"S'okay, man. I. I just drove." His other hand sorta refused to let go of the steering wheel. "We're here."

"Okay." MJ watched him, stared at him, then reached out and touched his lips. "We're okay."

"Yep. We are. It's all good." Yessir. He was just fine.

MJ nodded, leaned back against the car seat, still and quiet, just breathing.

"There's a bed up there." Somehow or another Sonny felt like it would be some kind of victory if they could just make it up the stairs.

"Okay. Yeah. Is there water?"

"Should be. I keep everything paid up here. You know?" They could clean up. Get clean clothes. MJ would have to roll the cuffs up. "Even a little stackable washer and dryer."

"Okay." MJ opened the car door, stood. The man looked like an extra from a fucking horror movie in the light. It was deeply screwed up. "What do you need from the car?"

"Just. Just the metal case. That's the money." He didn't want to leave that in the car. Sonny took his seat belt off, swayed to his feet outside the car. His knees held. Barely. "You?"

"Just the pistols and ammo." There was a hard line in MJ's jaw, that economy of motion that showed tension, worry. He could so, so relate. Moving stiffly, like an old man, he got the .45, got MJ's bag. He stopped at the back post of the carport to get the key out from a loose piece of shingle.

MJ watched, stood behind him, and waited until he got the door open. The place was dusty and still, but it worked. It worked.

As soon as they both got in he bolted the door and dropped everything but the gun, going from the tiny front room to check the kitchenette, the bathroom, and the single bedroom. Empty. Thank God.

Sonny sighed, leaning against the wall in the bedroom.

"You need to sleep." MJ looked at him, eyes narrowed. "You want a Valium? It'll help."

"No. No." A laugh burst out, sorta hysterical sounding. "No more drugs, okay? I need to get clean. So do you. If I remember right, the hot water heater is good."

"Okay." MJ held his hands up, backed off. "You go first and I'll keep watch. That way you can sleep while I fix my head."

Sonny gave MJ a good once over, trying to figure out what he should do. Was he gonna get his ass kicked if he...if he went and touched? God knew that was what he wanted. Something solid. Just to know MJ was still there, because he sure seemed mostly gone.

Sighing, he moved, peeling his shirt off, wincing as dried blood pulled at hair. "Sure. Okay. I'll go first."

"Okay." MJ stood at the window, eyes never leaving him. "If you need me, holler."

Staggering a little, Sonny grabbed the doorframe to the bathroom. "Aaaa?"

He saw it in those eyes before MJ's lips twitched -- the need, the laughter, just bringing that green to life in a second. Then MJ was moving, storming across the floor like a squad of fucking Marines, pushing right against him.