Love Beyond Words (City Lights: San Francisco Book 1) (38 page)

“Marshall!
Marshall!
” Liberty turned his chin to her and bit back a scream. A gash of torn flesh streaked from his temple, along his scalp, just above his ear. His cheek and shirt were painted red but the blood flow had slowed.

Marshall raised his head. “Little shit shot me. He actually did it.”

“I thought you were dead!” Liberty screeched. “Dammit, don’t ever do that to me again or I’ll kill you!”

“I’m okay, honey, really.” He looked up at Julian. “You must be him. Hey, I’m big fan.” He chuckled and then winced.

“Where did he go?” Julian demanded.

“Just missed him. Back inside the club.”

The wail of sirens was loud now, and the night colored with red and orange flashing lights. Liberty held Marshall’s hand, calmer now that it seemed his hideous wound looked worse than it was.
But holy fuck, one half-inch to the right…
She shuddered to think about it.

“It’s okay,” she told herself and then him. “You’re going to be okay, you big dummy. The cops are going to handle this now.”

“Our author didn’t get the memo,” Marshall said tiredly.

Liberty twisted around. Julian was gone.

#

Marshall is dead. My sweet, smart, hilarious Marshall…

Natalie’s beleaguered mind tried, all at once, to imagine a world without Marshall Grant in it. Like trying to swallow a gigantic pill, to force it to go down and then move on. Impossible.

Men were shouting, chain link rattled, but it all came from far away. Then David was in the cage with her.

“They don’t know it was me!” he shouted over his shoulder, knocking aside boxes to get at her. “If I leave now, it’s nothing more than a drive-by or street fight. But you.” He stood over Natalie, seething. “It can’t be easy, can it? Nothing is easy with you. I was just going to end you, but no. Now there’s a connection. Now you have to
disappear
too. Get up, Natalie.
Get up!
”

“You killed him?” she cried. “Why?
Why?
”

“I said, get up!”

David lunged at her. Natalie screamed and raised the spray bottle of bleach, pulling the nozzle again and again. The bleach caught David full in the face, in his open mouth and in his eyes, fogging his glasses. The storage until smelled like an indoor pool. Natalie began to cough as the vapor found her too, but she shoved David aside and got to her feet.

Half-blind, she ran with her arms outstretched, feeling for the door of the storage unit. She found Garrett instead. The big man loomed over her, grinning obscenely, his dull eyes filled with an ugly promise…

“
You goddamn bitch!”
David screamed from behind.

Natalie yelped as he took a fistful of her hair and yanked her back. The muzzle of his gun on her temple was still warm.
Marshall…
The strength in her legs slipped away and she would have too had it not been for David’s painful grip on her hair.

“The cops are here!” Cliff hissed. “They’re outside my goddamn club. Get her out of here. Now!”

“What do you think I’m trying to do?” David whined. His eyes were so bloodshot from the bleach there were no whites left. Tears coursed down his cheeks, and his nose leaked. “But I…I need your car. Gimme your keys.”

“My what?”

“I can’t do it here! She has to vanish. I’ll take her to Land’s End.”

Natalie quailed.
This isn’t happening. This is some sort of nightmare I just have to wake up…

David stomped his foot. “I came here in a goddamn cab!”

Cliff jumped. “Dammit all, give him your keys, Garrett.”

“My Escalade? No way!”

“This is bad,” Jesse said mournfully from the floor. Blood stained his chin and the front of his shirt. His face was ghastly ashen color. “All of it. So bad.”

“You shut up,” Cliff bellowed. To Garrett, “You can buy another goddamn Cadillac! A whole fleet! But we gotta get him out of here now!”

Garrett spat a curse and handed David the keys. He sneered at Natalie. “Too bad, baby. We coulda had some fun.”

Then David was dragging her out, into the night, into that hated white SUV. He forced her into the front seat and kept the gun on her as he made his way to the driver side, limping hard on his right leg.

“Put on your seatbelt and keep your hands in your lap,” he ordered. “If you try anything, I’ll kill you.”

“Like you did Marshall?” A moan escaped her and she clapped her hands to her mouth as the horror of it hit her in the chest like a lead weight. Then the words poured out of her in a hysterical stream. “Did you kill Julian too? Why don’t you just kill me now? Kill us all. And kill yourself, you rotten bastard—”

“You shut up!” He started the car and drove it out of the parking lot slowly so as not to draw attention, and avoided streets that would take him to the front of the club where sirens blared. “I
would
kill you. Right now. Then dump you where no one would find you. But the way my luck runs, I’d get pulled over with your stupid body bleeding and dead in the front seat, and then where would I be?” He tried to maneuver a turn with only his right hand while his left held the gun close to his body, trained on her. “No, no, I did
not
come all this way to lose my chance with Julian now. You’ll get what’s coming to you soon enough,” he said, “And when it happens, no one’s going to know about it but me and the Pacific.”

Natalie turned away, watching the city she loved go by in the dark. David turned frequently; white street signs loomed and then passed. Hyde, Turk, Arguello. It was a quiet Sunday. Light traffic ahead and no blare of sirens behind. She leaned her head against the window as the truth sunk in: no one was coming to get her.

The first police cars were pulling up to the front of Orbit as Julian strode into the club, head down, fists clenched at his sides. The bouncer wasn’t at his post at the door; probably with the rest of the crowd, gawking at Marshall. Julian went in.

House music blared and a few oblivious club-goers still undulated on the dance floor. Julian went past the pool tables. Without breaking his stride, he snatched a cue from the hands of the nearest guy and kept going, ignoring the obscene shouts that chased him. On the other side of the dance floor was a door was marked Private. Julian went straight for it, clutching the pool cue in one hand, shoving aside dancers with the other.

He didn’t see any security cameras but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. He pressed the cue against his leg and rapped on the door, keeping his head turned away from the little peephole.

From inside, “Yeah? That you, Kyle?”

Julian pitched his voice low. “We gotta situation out here, boss.”

“No shit. Get in here.”

The lock turned and the door started to open. Julian slammed his shoulder against it, sending a portly man staggering back. They locked eyes for a split-second and Julian saw the guilty fear dance in and out of the man’s eyes. A red haze of rage descended over Julian until he felt saturated.

“Where is she?” he growled and then slammed the cue into the man’s knee without waiting for an answer.

The man cried out and went down, clutching his leg and writhing.

Julian raised the cue, like golfer teeing off, and whacked the man’s shoulder. “Where is she?”

“Ah! Christ, Garrett, help! This lunatic is going to kill me!”

“I got this, Cliff.”

Julian looked up to see the man who harassed Natalie at the café all those months ago inexplicably striding down the hallway toward him. Julian pointed the cue at him. “You,” he seethed.

He met Garrett in the middle of the hallway. The big man swung a meaty fist. Julian ducked easily and answered by swinging the cue at Garrett’s head like a baseball bat. It connected square; Julian felt the blow up reverberate up to his elbow. Garrett’s head whiplashed to the side and he stumbled back. A slow, ugly smile on his lips.

“Well, if it isn’t the Milkman,” he said, and spat a wad of bloodied saliva onto the floor. “Let’s go.”

His huge fist came like a wrecking ball. Julian dodged and swung the cue but Garrett caught it and spun like a shot-putter. Julian struck the wall hard, ricocheted off, and the two men grappled as the cue rolled on the floor at their feet.

In close quarters, it was harder for Julian to dodge Garrett’s fists. Pain exploded across his cheek and eye, but he answered with a solid right that flattened Garrett’s nose. The big man grunted, gripped Julian by the front of his black hoodie and sent him flying down the hallway, toward a blond man who sat slumped against a storage room. Julian hit hard—the air knocked from chest and his head rapped the linoleum.

Garrett picked up the pool cue and snapped it half over his knee. “I’m going to fuck you up, Milkman.” He brandished the two pieces, both splintered at the ends, and sauntered toward him.

“Get him out of here, Garrett!” Cliff cried. He limped down the hallway toward them. “The cops are
here
. Get him out, get him out!”

Garrett ignored him and swung at Julian with both splintered halves of the cue. Julian ducked and drove his shoulder into Garrett’s midsection. It was like trying to shove a mountain. The blows rained down on his back and head, and Julian was forced to let go. He staggered back and saw stars as the butt of the cue struck him across his temple. He reeled and went down again.

“Okay, okay, he’s beat, now get him out,” Cliff said. Someone was pounding on the club door. “Ah, Christ, I gotta deal with cops and I’m all fucked up. And Jesse. What are we going to do with him? No, no, it’s over. I can’t. Garrett, we gotta go. We gotta go,
now.
”

Garrett watched Julian struggle to his feet, a slow, stupid smile spreading over his face. “Not yet, Cliff. Won’t take but a second. You got this coming, Milkman. You got it coming a long time.”

The pounding on the club door was louder now. “Police! Open up!”

“Garrett!” Cliff cried from the back exit. Julian was dimly aware the man had Natalie’s bag on his arm. Cliff waited half a second, spat a curse and ran out.

Garrett seemed not to have heard either him or the police. He banged the two broken cue pieces together. “You ready, Milkman?”

Julian took a rigid stance, searching frantically for a weapon. His eye caught the bright red of a fire extinguisher on the yellowed wall and then Garrett attacked. Julian dodged right, toward the extinguisher, and took both blows of the broken cue to the meat of his shoulder. He grunted and tore at the red canister. Garrett swung the cue across his midsection, stealing his air and bending him in half. The follow through was an upward blow that struck him under the chin. Julian staggered backward and fell onto the linoleum.

“You’re done, bitch.” Garrett charged.

Julian watched, his arms coming up to block though he knew he stood no chance. This guy was going to kill him and he’d never find Natalie, never tell her he was sorry or that he loved her more than his own life. He’d gladly give it for her now, he thought, except that David had her somewhere and Julian’s death simply meant her own.

The blond man—Jesse—who had appeared all but dead himself, grunted and there was a flurry of motion as he entangled his legs with Garrett’s. The big man went down. Hard. The splintered ends of the cue went under him.

Julian scrambled backward on his hands and heels, like a crab, and got to his feet. He watched with horrible fascination as Garrett sat up, the thinner half of the pool cue jutting from his gut. He stared at it for a moment, curious, then yanked it free and tossed it aside.

“
Dios mio
, man, go down.” Julian yanked the fire extinguisher off the wall and swung it at Garrett’s head. It made hollow
clanging
sound as it struck, and Garrett dropped bonelessly to the ground.

Julian stood over him, breathing heavily, bleeding profusely from his chin and temple. He tossed the extinguisher aside, disgusted.

“Land’s End,” Jesse wheezed. “David’s taken her to Land’s End.”

Julian stared at the man for or a second, realizing he’d already given up hope. “Land’s End,” he murmured. Down the hall, the club door was shaking on its hinges. He needed the police but he couldn’t afford to be slowed by them either. “Tell them,” he said.

Jesse nodded. “I will.”

Julian tore down the hallway to the back door of the club, half-expecting a squad of police to be waiting to stop him, to arrest him or detain him, but the parking lot was empty. He pulled up the hood of his black sweatshirt to conceal his bloodied face and forced himself to walk, hands jammed into his pockets, head down. He’d parked the rental car on the other side of the street in a red zone but no one had noticed. An ambulance pulled away from Orbit —with Marshall and Liberty in it, Julian thought—and more squad cars rolled in. Police officers questioned bystanders. No one paid Julian any mind.

He slipped into the rental and punched ‘Land’s End’ into the GPS. He spat a curse as it offered several options—three or four lookout places to park or hike.