Page 52 of Shadow Man
His roar of laughter sounds like his gun went off too early. “It’s not usual for tourists to travel in stolen cartel vehicles with bullet holes, Miss Williams—or is it Jackson?” I go very still. “I have documentation in my possession stating both. Either way, everything about you, including this beautiful body,” he murmurs salaciously, making my skin rash up, “will be buried in a shallow grave by sunset.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a blur of blue as a third vehicle pulls into the forecourt.
“Who are you?” I demand, losing the damsel act.
“Not so sweet and helpless now, are we?” There’s another round of that mocking laughter. “You can call me the middle man. Ah, and thanks for the tip.” He snatches the outstretched pesos from me.
Bastard.
Next, I feel a heavy hand clenching around my shoulder. “Wait—”
“Put your hands on the counter where I can see them, little girl.” He gives me a rough shove and I slam my palms down to save myself. “Those pretty fingers have caused more than enough damage in the last twelve hours, don't you think?” He leans over me, pressing more than just his gun into my body. “Move one single muscle and I’ll be delivering you to Fernandez in pieces.” He picks up a strand of blonde hair resting across my shoulder and rubs it between his fingertips as if it’s a priceless delicacy. “Such a pity he wants you unspoiled...”
Reflected in the security mirror above me I see a woman who’s acted out this scene a million times before. I also see a beast of a man who takes more than a passing pleasure in his work.
Where are you, Vi?
“Are you still protesting your innocence?” He grinds his erection into me with a groan, wanting from me what so many have taken.
“I’m a long way from those days, asshole,” I say through gritted teeth, catching a flash of black in the security mirror. There’s movement in my periphery.
It can’t be.
“Is that so?” He backs off to trace a line up my spine with his gun as I shudder in revulsion.
That’s when I sense him.
Like I’ve sensed him a million times before.
This time it’s different. There’s no anger or detachment. His presence is sunshine and welcome.It’s South Beach in the fall, when the new school term starts. It’s gratitude that I’m still alive.
I brace myself, bending low over the counter, and when the shot rings out and the sticky warmth coats the back of my neck, a strange emotion tilts my lips.
The beast’s dead body drops to the ground; the metallic scent of blood streaks the air.
“You promised to stay away from me, Joseph,” I chide softly, turning around to greet the man whose name is beginning to outline something in my chest.
“Do you love trouble, Anna?” he growls. “Or does it just have a fucking hard-on for you, too?”
He’s standing a couple of yards away, and crowding up the small store with his massive frame. Same black jeans and stained white T-shirt.He’s still Captain America gone rogue.This is how I’ll always picture him now. It’s an unfiltered Polaroid of a beautifully damaged man who endures an endless field of landmines to protect me.
“How did you sneak into the store without the bell sounding?”
“Shadows don’t give explanations.” His fires his gray-blues at my face as if he’s firing another round from his gun.
I want them to crystalize again.
I want them to crystalize for me.
“No, they don't,” I argue. “They curse and fight; shield and defend. They take on the darkness to let even the dullest light shine.” I watch his jaw tense up again. “Thank you.” It feels so good to finally articulate the words I’ve had tattooed on my tongue for so long. “I guess we should stop meeting like this, though.”
“I guess we should.” I can tell he’s laughing at me now, and I like it. I like it a lot.
“How did you find me?”
“I put a trace on my—yourcar.”
Oh. “So, my freedom came with a caveat?”