11. Maddox

ELEVEN

MADDOX

We find out pretty fast why she gave us GPS coordinates and not an address.

The "super secret club hideout" is away from the major roads, down a dirt track that would be nearly impossible for a regular car to travel down. I guess it's good we'd rented motorcycles so we'd blend in more, but it would be hard to get close without being noticed with the roar of the bikes working against us.

We hide them and walk the rest of the way.

I curse the mosquitos and small gnats as we walk, eyeing the swamp around us with trepidation. As long as we stay on the main road, we should be fine, but stepping into the soggy marsh would be unpleasant at the very least.

My t-shirt is already sticking to my back, and I long for fucking dry heat instead of this morass of humidity and misery.

"Good place to hide some bodies," Knives mutters.

"I'll tell Silvano," I say dryly. The talk is nice, I guess; it's better than the ride there with only the sounds of the motorcycle ride to accompany my racing thoughts.

I can't get away from last night no matter how hard I try; I keep thinking about how good it had felt to be thoroughly worked over… and to be taken care of afterward. Knives hadn't needed to provide any kind of aftercare—though it would've been a total dick move not to—but he'd stuck around long enough to make sure I was okay.

At least, as close to okay as I can get.

Knives suddenly stops and holds his arm out to prevent me from going farther. He points ahead, where the road widens enough for a small shack and a few lone motorcycles. There's a small pier on the other side, with one of those Louisiana swamp boats I've seen in movies.

"What are the chances it's empty?" he whispers to me.

"None," I murmur back. There are too many bikes out here for it to be empty, even at this time of day. Maybe they're a bunch of drunks sleeping it off, but there are enough of them here to cause a problem.

"Wish we had more backup." Knives unholsters his gun and shakes his head. "I'm starting to suspect Silvano just wants us dead."

I barely fight back a bitter laugh. Yeah. That would make a lot of sense right about now. "I'm sure he didn't think we'd end up in the middle of the swamp when he sent us down here," I say.

And I don't mention the part where this is my fault, either. If I'd been more on top of these shipments…

I still would've ended up down here. It would've been sooner rather than later, but I probably would've been able to choose my own backup.

I shake my head, wiping sweat off of my forehead before following suit and grabbing my own gun. I'll let Knives take point, even though my pride is wounded from the whole thing. I can't let that get in the way, though. I can always wallow with a drink later—after this has been handled.

After we're far from here, away from the humidity and the dank air and the way sweat clings to my body like plastic wrap.

We stick to the edges of the small clearing, for all the good it does. The large trees don't hide us, but at least we aren't leaving obvious footprints where somebody will immediately see them.

Knives circles around to the back of the shack. His shirt is clinging to his back just like mine is, the humidity making it impossible for sweat to evaporate.

He stops near an open window. I hear a fan running inside, along with some low conversation.

"I should propose," one of the men inside says. "After we sell all this and I get my cut. I'll buy a huge diamond."

"Dude, diamonds are a waste. Women just leech off of us. She should be begging for you to marry her, not getting a diamond."

I roll my eyes. These guys are hardly a catch.

Who calls themselves Demon Gators, anyway?

I don't know how they're sitting out here in the middle of nowhere with just a fucking fan. It might only be March, but it's far from pleasant out here.

Maybe I'm just a wuss.

I'm sure as hell not coming back here in the summer, though.

I point to the door, giving Knives a questioning look.

Knives mouth a word at me, but I have no fucking clue what he's trying to say.

"Nah, my girl isn't like that," the first voice answers. "She's special. Loves the road as much as any of us, and she knows bikes, too."

The second speaker isn't impressed when he responds, but after a while of this inane conversation, it's clear there are only two people in the shack—at least, only two who are awake and speaking.

Knives peers inside briefly, and I catch him grimacing.

I give him a pointed look and he mimes the letter P in the air.

It takes me a second to catch on. P.

Pyre .

Of course he has to be here. He's probably the one talking about his girl, too—Nevaeh. Great.

I nod when I understand, signaling a thumbs-up.

Knives silently walks back to the front of the shack, and I follow. He glances at me, nods when he sees my gun out, then kicks the door in.

It flies open immediately. I don't think it was even locked. The two men inside startle and stand up, but Knives and I have our guns aimed at them.

"The weapons shipment you stole," Knives says in a low growl. "Hand it over and I won't blow your brains out."

Pyre is easy to pick out; even if she hadn't shown us a photo, we'd have known him by seeing him. His eyes are wide with shock as he looks between us. "We don't know what you're talking about."

I snort, my gun trained on his companion. "We know you haven't offloaded it yet," I tell him.

"Don't know what we're talking about? So what were you waiting to sell? Not cocaine, since you can offload that at any club in NewVa," Knives says. He gets closer to the two men, but not close enough that they can disarm him. "Get on the floor. Both of you. Hands on your heads. You don't want to test out how good my partner's aim is."

Partner .

I know he doesn't mean it romantically, but even having him call me his partner on a work level is more than I've been able to get…

Until the night before.

The blood runs hot in my veins as I think about him calling me his partner to the woman on the stage, and the implications of it make me wish it was real.

That we were real.

I'm reading too far into it, though, and I need to focus instead of getting so distracted by schoolboy thoughts that have no place between me and Knives.

I keep my gun trained squarely on the man who isn't Pyre.

The two men fidget, clearly wondering if they have time to reach for their own guns. In the end, they get onto the floor. We use the zip ties we'd brought to cuff their hands behind their backs, and when they're subdued, I breathe easier.

"What was your plan, anyway?" Knives asks as he starts checking the various crates in the room. "Steal from the fucking mafia and hope they don't notice?"

"Like you stole those weapons and hoped their original owners didn't notice?" not-Pyre scoffs. "Finders fucking keepers. You know Boar is going to eat you alive once he finds out about this?"

Boar—their leader, who's got a record a mile long.

Knives shakes his head, unimpressed.

I open a crate near me and sigh in relief when I see the weapons inside. "Knives, over here."

Knives walks over and lets out a low whistle. "Would you look at that. Our entire shipment, all neatly boxed up for us to take home." He claps my shoulder. "Good job."

The warmth that radiates through me is fucking ridiculous, but I nod to him. "Thanks. Now let's figure out how to get this shit back home." I grimace. "Do you know how to drive a boat?"

"It can't be that hard, if these idiots can do it," Knives answers.

I notice movement out of the corner of my eyes. The light in the shack changes, and Knives and I both turn around, guns aimed straight ahead.

It's too late, though.

Three more men have walked through the open door. Two of them have shotguns pointed in our direction.

Behind them stands a big guy with a massive, unkempt beard.

"Look what the cat dragged in," the man says. "I don't think I invited you."

"We aren't vampires," I snark before I can help myself. "We don't need an invitation."

Pyre snorts, but a glance from the big man has him sobering up. "They're here about the weapons, Boar," he says.

"I figured that out from the way they were helping themselves to our stores," Boar snaps at him. He motions to one of his underlings, who goes to cut Pyre and the other guy free.

Now it's five men, all with weapons aimed at us.

"Fucking Silvano," Knives mutters under his breath. He looks over to me, like he's trying to figure out if I can handle myself in this fight.

I square my shoulders and nod to him.

But Knives shakes his head and raises his hands up. "Fine. Don't shoot. Let's work something out."

Like they're really going to let us work something out.

Like Knives is reasonable enough to just talk something out.

This isn't going to end peacefully, and it's just one more goddamn failure to report to Silvano. Fuck .

If we even make it back alive to make that report at all.

I stare hard at Knives, wondering what the fuck he was thinking in giving us over so fast. We could've fought this out together, but I have no chance on my own.

"Yeah, we can work something out," one of the guys says with a snicker. "How do you want ‘em, Boar?" He grins widely enough to show us his yellowing teeth, all while keeping his shotgun leveled straight at us.

Boar strokes his beard. "No need to make a mess in here. Let's take this outside, boys."

Pyre gets close enough to grab Knives's gun off him and shoves him forward. Knives grunts, but he doesn't fight back.

What the fuck is he doing?

If the two of us worked together, we could get out of this alive. I don't really give a fuck that he promised Pyre would get out of this in one piece. I'm more concerned about my own ass, and these pricks are going to kill us and feed us to their alligators.

The other guy with the shotgun gets close and motions to me. "Gun on the floor, buddy, if you don't want me to splatter your brains on your friend."

As opposed to what? They can't really plan on letting us go after this. I open my mouth to argue, but Knives gives me a look. I glower back at him, but I put my gun down on the floor.

Pyre quickly kicks it away, and the sinking sensation in my stomach has me wishing I'd just fought anyway—Knives's help or not.

"You realize you're pissing off Silvano Cresci," Knives says as we're led outside at gunpoint. "He's not going to let you get away with this. Your entire operation is going to crumble."

Boar bursts out laughing. "Oh nooo, not Silvano Cresci!"

The other guys start laughing too, although it's clear they're mostly doing it to humor Boar.

Boar goes up to Knives and grabs his shirt collar. "Listen, you little shitstain, I don't give two fucks about some little bitch in the north. This is my turf." He shoves Knives hard, and he stumbles forward toward the swamp. "You shoulda cut your losses."

The guy behind me digs the shotgun into my back and urges me closer to a tree. I notice there's a chain with a hook dangling from it, and my mouth goes dry.

"Your turf," Knives repeats, shaking his head. He notices the chain too, though, and he grimaces.

He should've thought about the fucking consequences before signaling for me to stand down. I'd hoped he had a plan, but obviously, that had been wishful thinking.

Why had I just fallen into line? He's just a bodyguard in New Bristol. I'm the one who should've taken the lead.

But no.

"Your turf is one piddly little street in NewVa. If you were in charge anywhere, you wouldn't resort to picking fights with people ten states away," Knives continues.

"Shut up," I hiss at him. "Look, Cresci would be willing to overlook this if we were returned unharmed." He might overlook them, not our failure, but that's a problem for a different day. "But he has allies here. You're going to have the Corroux Family breathing down your neck. Just let us go, and we'll get out of NewVa without bothering you again."

Since Knives didn't want a fight, we just won't fucking fight.

"Or we send him your maggot infested, decomposing bodies," Boar counters with another laugh.

"That's not in anyone's best interest," I reply quickly. "That'll just lead to war, and the Courroux?—"

"Fuck the Corroux," one of the other men interrupts. "They're just some pansies who don't even get their hands dirty."

That's not what I've heard of them, but it doesn't feel intelligent to push.

Then again, I'm not planning on just being led to my death without fighting back, either.

The guy who'd been with Pyre approaches us, and I wince when I see the cuffs he's carrying. There's a chain between the two manacles. Combined with the chain, I'm feeling even less optimistic about how things are going.

Knives isn't doing anything, so it's up to me. I survey the guys, and I notice Pyre shifting uncomfortably.

Nevaeh thought highly of him—but she also called him an idiot.

"Pyre," I say, and Pyre visibly startles. "Think about what you're doing. Are you going to tell your girl you helped murder somebody?"

"What? How'd you know my name?" Pyre asks.

Boar smacks him over the head. "Don't fucking engage with him. Slim, cuff ‘em so we can get this over with."

"You want to marry her," Knives says, following my lead. "You think she'd take you if she knew what you were doing here?"

"How—" Pyre starts.

"Pyre!" the other man—Slim, I guess—says as he roughly grabs one of my wrists. "Your woman won't know shit unless you tell her. And you're not gonna tell her, are you?"

"She'll know," I say. "She's smart. She'll know something's up."

I try to shake Slim off, but his grip is surprisingly tight.

Knives struggles too, but Boar wraps his arm around Knives's throat. Knives's face goes red, and I snap, "Stop it!"

Not that they're going to listen to me.

Slim slaps one manacle on one of my hands, then turns to look at Boar. "We only got one set of manacles. You wanna do ‘em one at a time?"

Jesus Christ.

Boar shakes his head. "Nah, it'll take too long. We'll string ‘em up at the same time." He grabs Knives's wrist and holds it out to Slim, who fastens the other manacle to it.

Knives and I are chained to each other now.

Boar lets go of Knives, and Knives starts coughing and wheezing.

Pyre's face pales. "Boar? What're you gonna do with ‘em?"

Boar lets out a frustrated sound. "What's it look like, idiot? We're going to attach the manacles to the hook, and then we're hoisting them up the tree. Then we'll leave them dangling there until they die."

"Don't be a fucking idiot," I tell Boar, weighing my options. "Our boss knows exactly where we are."

Well, Lily does, and she'll tell Silvano if we don't check in soon.

Not that it helps us right now. We'll be fly-riddled corpses before anyone would find us out here.

"And I keep telling you, I don't give a shit what your boss knows." Boar shoves Knives forward, and the chain between us pulls me along too.

Slim grabs the chain and pulls it down so the hook is within reach. I see the pulley system, how they'll winch us up that tree and probably wrench our arms from their sockets.

It's almost funny. Never, in all the ways I've thought I could possibly die, did I ever think any form of crucifixion would come into play.

"Get ready," Knives whispers.

Oh, so now he wants to fight. Now that we're cuffed and handicapped by the chain, he wants us to try to get out of this. I'd snap at him, but this is going to be our last chance. If we don't pull this off, we're dead either way.

Knives crouches down. I see the way his muscles bunch up underneath his sweat-soaked shirt.

Slim makes a noise and makes to hoist Knives up. "You ain't getting out of this."

Knives slams his head up and into Slim's chin. Slim cries out; Knives snaps the chain over Slim's throat, forcing my arm up too. I get behind Slim, my arm pressed against Knives's, and help pull the chain taut.

"Back the fuck off," Knives shouts, "Unless you want Slim here to?—"

"Shoot ‘em!" Boar roars.

A gun goes off, and Slim screams. Blood gushes from his mouth, and his body goes slack.

Fuck.

Knives curses and raises his hand to get the chain off Slim. He shoves the body forward.

I brace myself for another shot, but Knives grabs my hand and runs, yanking me around the tree.

I hiss in pain but don't let it slow me down. We get on the other side of the tree, and I hear Pyre yelling, "What the fuck? What the fuck? Slim!"

"Leave ‘im!" Boar yells. "Get those two bastards!"

"The boat," Knives hisses to me. "It's our only chance."

I nod to him, and we manage an awkward lope toward the boat. Another shot rings out, and I hear it whizzing past my ear. Fuck.

"These things start on a dime, right?" Knives asks as we jump into the boat. He unhooks the rope that was tying the boat to the little dock.

I notice a shotgun stashed under one of the seats and grab it—only for Knives to growl in annoyance. I can't aim the gun without Knives's arm also getting yanked around.

"How do you expect me to know that?" I snap at him, trying to situate us so he can start the boat. I line up the shotgun, not giving a damn that Knives has to work with one hand, and shoot.

It's thankfully loaded. Boar and his men scatter to avoid getting hit, but Boar aims back at us.

Pyre is the only one holding back. He's standing near Slim, slack-jawed. The gun is limp at his side.

I hope Boar doesn't kill him for this, but it's not my problem.

"Duck!" I yell, and I duck down. Knives does too, just before Boar shoots his gun. He's rushing toward us, and it makes his aim dodgy.

I aim again, but as I'm about to pull the trigger, the motor starts up and the boat lurches forward.

"Watch it!" I yell. "I can't aim like this!"

"Well, fucking excuse meI" Knives shouts back.

Another gunshot, and I cry out when the bullet lodges itself in my shoulder.

The shotgun slips from my hand, and I have to fight to keep my hold on it.

"I'm going to fucking kill you!" Boar shouts. "You're fucking dead! The gators will feast on your corpses!"

The roar of the motor drowns out the rest of his shouting as we ride out of gun range.

"Fuck," Knives mutters, sitting down next to me. "Fuck."

"You think?" I snap. "What the fuck was that back there? You nearly got us both killed! Why the fuck did I wait on your goddamn signal?" I burst out, my helplessness and rage making my voice high as I watch the blood flow from the bullet wound in my shoulder.

"What was your fucking plan then?" Knives snaps back. "We were in a tiny fucking shack, and the moment we fought, they'd have filled our bodies with bullets."

"Not if we filled their bodies with bullets first! Or have you forgotten we started out this whole goddamn situation with guns? Before you decided we should just meekly go to die?" I shout. "What the fuck is wrong with you? Do you have a death wish?"

"There were five of them! Two of us!" Knives growls and grabs the boat's steering. "We could have gotten two of them at most, if we both shot perfectly, and in the meantime they unload their shotguns on us!"

"That still would've been better than this. In case you didn't notice, they still did unload their shotguns at us." I glance at the wound, grimacing when I see the bullet hole. It could've been worse, I guess, but I'm not going to tell Knives that and let him off the hook.

"We were able to run, which…" Knives trails off, glancing around me. "Fuck. They got you?"

"Yes, they fucking got me!" I realize I'm raising my voice again, and I struggle to bring it down a few notches. "Is there a first aid kit somewhere on this thing?"

Knives starts to move, but that jerks my good arm up. I swallow a whimper, and Knives makes a frustrated sound.

"Fine. Hold on." Knives looks around, but there isn't anything in easy reach. Finally, he reaches down for his shirt, and I watch as he rips the bottom of it.

"Your shirt is flimsy," I say.

"You're fucking lucky it is," Knives answers. He maneuvers as best he can to my other side and ties the strip of fabric around my shoulder. "We need to get these fucking cuffs off."

"We need to get out of this fucking swamp," I retort.

We both look around us. It's nothing but green, from the trees and plants to the water. The boat's motor leaves a giant wake behind it, disturbing any creatures in the water.

And, I notice dimly, the sun is starting to get lower in the sky.

"Were you in the boy scouts?" Knives asks. "Because I can't navigate the wilderness for shit."

"Nope," I answer. Even if I had been, the landscape back home is nothing like here.

Knives moves back to sitting next to me. He can't move his hand more than a few inches away without jerking my wrist too.

So I'm in the middle of nowhere, with a bullet wound, the sun about to set…

…and stuck to Knives.

Fucking great.