Against Me (Cedar Tree Book 3) (33 page)

Hauling my fist back I punch him in the side.

"Fuck! Ouch, what was that for?" he asks, rubbing his side as I worm out of his grip.

"For making me all emotional and slobbery. Quit saying nice stuff already."

"Fine. I gotta head out anyway. Caleb should be here shortly and I don't wanna overstay my welcome," he says throwing a teasing look my way. My response is to stick out my tongue at him. Very mature.

The moment he's gone, I find Malachi looking at me.

"What?"

"You are one weird bird," he says slowly shaking his head.

I snort and tell him, "And you wouldn't be the first one to say that."

We just have the food on the table when the first beep announces Caleb's return. Despite knowing it's him, Mal still finds his spot behind the door with his hand on his gun, but as soon as Caleb's car drives up, he tucks it away.

"It's him."

"Okay," I call back from the kitchen, but when after a few minutes I still don't hear anything I look to the front to see Mal intently staring out the little window. "What's up?"

"Dunno. He's just sitting in the car. I think he must be talking on the hands-free."

"Well come sit down. He'll come in when he's done," I suggest.

Shrugging his shoulders, Mal turns away from the little window and comes to sit down across from me, and starts to pile food on his plate.

When finally the front door opens I immediately call out, "Hi honey, dinner's on the table," and only then notice the frozen expression on Mal's face across from me. He is watching the doorway behind me and I finally hear the increasingly loud growl of the dog at my feet. My eyes flick to the reflection in the sliding doors behind Mal and I can clearly see the outline of a second shadow behind Caleb.
Fuck.

Aware there is no way to get my gun from the coffee table unnoticed, I feel the edge of the little wooden knife that came in the cutlery set with the diner food under my fingers on the table, and slip it in my sleeve. You never know. 

"Well, well, well..."

"I
need the longer ones; the ceiling screws," I tell the young clerk at the hardware store who has pulled out every type of drywall screw except the right size so far. Diving back behind the counter and pulling at the large number of small drawers again, he comes back with another three samples for me to pick from. Been here too long already and I'm getting antsy. I wasn't happy about leaving Katie and Mal home alone to start with, but finding the regular old geezer who owns the place out on an errand and having to deal with this young kid left in charge of the store is seriously testing my patience.

Luckily this last trio of screws has one that looks close enough. I hold it up.

"This one. Give me about a hundred of these. Just to be on the safe side."

Then the counting starts. Sweet Jesus. I don't think the kid's finished elementary school. Every time he reaches twenty, he gets flustered and has to start again. Finally I take the drawer from his hands and say, "Count with me, okay?"

Hearing the irritation in my voice, he simply nods his head. I figure since he only seems able to get to twenty, I count out five piles of twenty and just to make sure he gets it, I clarify that five times twenty makes one hundred. From the fervent nodding of his head and the fact he is shoving them all in a brown paper bag, I'm thinking he's with the program. Thank fuck. I don't think I could've taken much more of this.

Bag in one hand, bought and paid for and my keys in the other, I walk up to the Tahoe on the far end of the parking lot. I click the remote lock and open the door to toss the bag on the passenger seat when I feel the cold steel of a barrel behind my ear.
Damn.
I wasn't paying attention and somehow walked right into this one.

"Take your gun out between thumb and index finger," I hear behind me, "drop it to the ground and kick it under the truck."

When I hesitate, my mind going a mile a minute he leans in and hisses, "Do it
now
and don't try anything or you won't be the only one with a bullet hole,
esé
. Promise."

Looking around me at the relatively busy strip mall I'm at, I know I can't take any chances and do as he says.

When I slide in my seat, my eyes immediately go to the rear-view mirror and I get my first glimpse of Gorge Guzman.

"Eyes forward,
pendejo.
Let's go."

Feigning ignorance I shrug and say, "Go where?"

"Don't play me. Bring me to your
pedazo de mierda
brother," Guzman spits out with venom.

I remind myself that although this is not the scenario we had counted on, there may still be a way to turn it around. That is if Gus is still at the house. So I turn the keys in the ignition and start driving toward Cedar Tree.

A few times during the drive I try to pull Guzman into conversation, but each time he cuts me off, getting more and more agitated. I strongly suspect he may be heavily into the shit he peddles from the sweat on his face and the constant twitching of his eyes. Finally giving up I spend the rest of the time working through all different scenarios―most of those involve Gus's presence at the bar. So when I pull into my driveway and I see his Yukon drive towards me on his way out, my heart sinks. I feel the barrel of Guzman's gun sliding between the top of my seat and the headrest and his voice quietly states, "don't even think about it or she suffers."

"I have to acknowledge him," I say, at same time lifting my hand off the wheel in a risky and very uncharacteristic move. I hope Gus catches on, and as if it is the most natural thing in the world, I give him a military salute as his car passes mine on the narrow drive.

"The fuck was that?" Guzman is losing his cool in the back seat, jabbing the barrel in my skull and I'm having a hard time not reacting. "Did you just signal him?"

"Are you a moron? Check behind you. Does it look like he's turning around? Chill out man, if I'd have let him drive by without a wave he would've been suspicious."

I stop in front of the barn and keep half an eye on the door, willing it to stay closed. I hope to be able to avoid going into the house, but I need for Gus to clue in for that. He's taking a fucking long time.

"What are you on?"

"On? The hell are you talking about? I'm not
on
anything. Shut up, you mother-fucker! You don't know nothin’."

"Come on, man. You're twitching all over the place. What is it meth? Your boss know this? Ernesto aware you're testing the goods?"

A sharp hit with the butt of the gun against the side of my skull has black dots dancing in front of my eyes. Fucking hell. That hurts, but I have to keep him distracted and out here.

"
Basta. Dentro...
inside, now!"

I think about it; about trying to take him down and damn the risk for me, but knowing the people most important to me are inside and possibly completely unaware holds me back. I can't protect them if I'm dead and even if I manage to take out Guzman, there will always be the threat of Duarte who expects a delivery. No. This can only end one way.

I push the door open and the first thing I hear is the dog's low growl. Katie has her back to me, apparently unaware we have company, but Malachi freezes in place. I just look at him and tell him with my eyes to stay calm. No sudden moves. This fucker is so wired and unpredictable we have to wait for the right moment.

I can tell the moment Katie recognizes the situation, her back goes ramrod straight and she suddenly barely moves an inch. My eyes try to catch hers in the reflection on the sliding doors.

"Well, well, well..." Guzman drawls, eager to play the big man. "Just in time for dinner you say?"

I start moving forward, but he suddenly grabs my shoulder.

"Where the fuck is that dog, I can hear him. That dog comes anywhere near me, he's dead, and your woman too. You! Bitch, put that thing outside. Now."

Katie doesn't move, she just sits there not reacting. In fact, not acknowledging at all. Good girl.

"She can't walk. You that dumb you don't know that?"

Another knock over my head, this one brings me down to my knees and the growling gets louder when the hammer on the gun cocks loudly against my head.

"Get that fucking dog outside now!"

Malachi raises his hands in a defensive gesture, palms out and slowly gets up from the table, walking backwards until he hits the glass door. With one hand groping behind him he finds the handle and slowly slides the door open.

"Blue, come."

The damn dog won't go. Won't leave Katie's side but I can't have her move and turn into a target.

"Go on Blue. See Mal." I can hear her voice coax the dog softly.

Reluctantly and with the bristles on his neck standing straight up, Blue comes out from under the table almost crab walking to the back door slowly, his eyes never leaving Guzman and he never once stops the insistent growling. The moment he slips outside, Mal closes the door and Guzman directs him away from the glass.

"Come this way, slowly."

There is blood running down my face and stinging my eyes and I'm fighting to keep my them open and my wits about me. Bastard must've torn the skin. Dropping down to all fours, I create distance between the barrel and my skull. Swearing, Guzman hauls back his big boot and plants it firmly in my ribs bringing me down all the way.

Jesus
.

Takes everything out of me to stay sitting and pretend I can't get up, but it's killing me. When that son of a bitch kicks Caleb, I can hear the crack of ribs as he drops down.

In the next moment everything starts happening at once; Malachi is advancing on Guzman who swings his gun on him and fires, stopping him mid-stride and dropping him to the ground. He then turns to me. I'm halfway out of my seat, but Guzman is faster and wraps an arm around my waist.

"Where are you going little
puta?
No big boys to protect you now. All this blood makes me hungry for some pussy."

With his gun under my chin, his hot rancid breath on my cheek and one hand now groping my breast, he starts grinding a hard-on into my ass. Fucking gross. I try to ignore his animalistic grunts and carefully let my secret weapon slide from my sleeve into the palm of my hand. Almost gagging, I make sure I time his grinding rhythm right, knowing I'll likely have one chance, and the next time he rubs his package on me, I twist and pull away a little, plunging the little knife in his groin.

Howling he releases me and makes a grab for his balls, blood starting to run down his legs.

"Jesus, Katie. What'd you do? Castrate him?" Gus walks in gun drawn, with Neil closely behind him. Ignoring him I drop on all fours and crawl to where Caleb is laying blood coating his beautiful face. I'm about to lift his head in my lap when Neil says, "Better leave him the way he is in case of a concussion or spinal damage, honey."

Right.

"Mal?" I ask Neil who is checking him out, while Gus is handling the debilitated Guzman. 

"Chest shot, but high close to the shoulder. Alive but struggling."

"Anybody seen Blue?"

As it turns out, Blue and I were the only ones without a scrape. For once.

Neil had been able to drag the dog away from the front door, where he was apparently trying to claw his way in, getting nipped in the process. I never heard a thing, too preoccupied with what was happening inside to worry about any sounds from out there. Safely locked in Gus' truck to make sure he couldn't get in the way, the guys finally were able to make their way in.