The Dragon (G.O.N.Y. - Double Dragon) (7 page)

She’d gone to the clinic to remove a fetus; she’d left with a prescription for prenatal vitamins.

“Look, why don’t we just ask
Samira
since technically, she’s going to be eating most of it?” Jezebel’s head whipped up at her most recent name, and she saw Brandon look from her face to her hands and sigh. He put the container of peanut butter back and grabbed two of the largest ones. “Jif or store brand?”

“Or Skippy?” With a smirk, Delilah held up a large container of her favorite peanut butter.

“Skippy.”

“Told you,” Delilah murmured, tossing the peanut butter into their shopping cart. “And did you just call my sister fat?” She hissed it so loudly Jezebel was certain the other late-night grocery shoppers several aisles over heard her.

“I never said anything about fat,” Brandon retorted with a scowl. For a mostly even-tempered male, Brandon lost it in seconds when dealing with Delilah. “We should get your hearing checked. Obviously, you’re going prematurely deaf.”

Shaking her head, Jezebel returned her attention to the pickles. She’d always heard people complaining about strange, borderline disgusting, pregnancy cravings, and she’d never understood it until now. Pickles were delicious. Dill pickles dipped in peanut butter or even ketchup and mustard, made her happy. There had been days, bad days, when she’d sat in her armchair, a throw across her body, staring into dying embers at her fireplace and thinking back on just how much she’d given up. She’d lost so much for a man who didn’t  love her, had never loved her. Despite the sadness, and slight depression, having a pickle dipped in peanut butter would instantly make her feel better.

It probably had more to do with the baby’s wants than hers, Jezebel thought with a little smile. She’d never really contemplated having children before learning she was pregnant, but whenever Jezebel thought about the child in her belly, she felt love, pure, unconditional love, and it made her fiercely protective. Delilah liked to tease that she still had an entire four months to go, and already, she acted like the child was here.

“Everything okay?” 

Jezebel blinked and looked up to find Brandon peering down at her, concern clear in the bold blue of his gaze. While Jezebel didn’t fully trust Raquel or Brandon due to their initial duping, she could admit that Brandon wasn’t so bad once you got to know him. He operated by a strict code of right and wrong, and in his eyes, the government was always right.

Giving him a slight smile, she nodded.

Looking over his shoulder at their stacked cart, he smirked, “Do you need anything else?”

Once, sometimes twice a week, Jezebel and Delilah were allowed out of the mostly self-contained cabin in the Catskills. It was usually for a few hours of late night grocery shopping, or a few hours driving along the trails, but Jezebel enjoyed it. Being cooped up had its benefits and downsides, and although she liked to think she was making up for years of untaken vacation and sick days, she could only read and watch television so much before it all became boring and she craved social interaction.

Handing him the jar of pickles, she nodded. “I think I’m good.”

“Sure?”

She handed him another jar, just in case.

“Right.” With a smirk, he placed the jar in the cart just in time to see Delilah place a box of pads into it. Jezebel willed him not to comment, but she should have known better.

“Well, that explains a lot,” he murmured, loud enough for Delilah to hear.

Her sister, sporting a curly brown wig under her dark gray beret beanie, smiled with ease and nodded, “I’m sorry, I forgot to get you a pack
Eric
, but you can always find them in Aisle 8.” She walked closer to him and patted his jacket in an understanding way. “I’d recommend the maxis for your heavy flow.”

***

“Jesus Christ!” Delilah exclaimed as the car took a sharp left, turning down an unfamiliar street. “Doesn’t the FBI require their agents know how to drive?”

“Quiet,” Brandon hissed.

“Brandon? Is everything okay?” Jezebel asked, righting herself and brushing the pickle juice from her jacket. She’d grabbed a jar from the grocery bags for an early, or late depending on how one looked at it, snack.

“Get down, Jezebel.” When she only stared at the back of his head in confusion, he added, “Now!”

She instantly scooted down in the backseat, placing her legs onto the empty seat and huddling protectively into a ball. 

“You too, Delilah.”

For once, her sister didn’t protest. She just slid down the front seat until she was practically sitting on the floor.

She heard him fumble with something and then he was speaking, “We’re being followed…dark sedan, I can’t tell the exact color but is possibly black, tinted windows…we’re fifteen minutes away…I’m following Alpha-Lock 2…understood.”

He tossed the phone into the cup holder compartment.

“Brandon?” Jezebel was terrified. Was this it? Had Ramsey’s enemies found her? “What’s going on?”

“We’re being followed.”

“Are you sure?” Delilah asked softly.

“Positive.”

Jezebel heard what sounded like a gun being cocked. “How sure?”

“This car’s been tailing us for the last ten minutes despite the dead end routes I’m taking.”

Jezebel’s heart hammered. “Oh.”

“Just relax,” he said in a calm voice. “No one’s going to hurt you.” The car turned sharply again. “Not on my watch.”

She didn’t know how much time passed but Jezebel soon heard the sound of a garage opening. The car eased forward, and then she heard the whirring sound as it closed. Before she could ask what to do next, her door opened and she was being pulled from the car. She released a shriek, but halted upon realizing that Ryder held her. He was one of the US Marshalls assigned to her case, the gentle, scarred giant.

“Ryder?”

“Follow me,” he whispered.

“My sister...”

“Brandon has her.”

She nodded and did as told, following Ryder into the dark house. He turned on a flashlight and she was glad for the light as they moved up the stairs to the second floor. Finally, when they came to the little office she used to read books or check the laptop to see if the interim CEO had run her company into the ground yet, he halted. Opening the door, he ushered her inside and handed her the flashlight.

“Can you use a gun?” he whispered.

She shook her head. “Shine the flashlight on my hand.”

Jezebel did. He was holding a small, black gun. As she watched, he pulled the sleeve back, and it made a clicking sound.

“This is a cocked and loaded gun, Jezebel,” Ryder said softly, calmly. He placed it on the chair behind the table. “If anyone comes through that door without announcing himself, point it in that direction and pull the trigger.”

When she only stared at the gun, fingers caught her chin and he repeated himself. “No questions. Just pull the trigger.”

As she nodded, Ryder murmured, “Now get under the desk and turn the flashlight off.”

Once she’d done as he’d told her, Jezebel heard the sound of another gun cocking, and then Ryder moved back to the door. It opened with barely a sound, and closed just the same.

Maybe Brandon was wrong, she thought nervously. Maybe they weren’t being followed. The Catskills were confusing. How many people had stopped to ask for directions before? More than a few. Maybe someone was lost and had been trying to ask for directions.

Gunfire erupted below her and Jezebel screeched before covering her mouth with her hands. The loud bangs continued, some rapid fire as if someone had a machine gun, and she quickly reached for the gun Ryder had left. Clutching it against her breast, she struggled to even her breaths, nodded and waited. The loud noises had stopped, and as she listened, ear attuned to every sound, she could hear footsteps approaching. The footsteps stopped suddenly, and someone jiggled the doorknob.

She heard a curse and then someone fiddled with the knob again. Carefully moving out from under the desk, Jezebel lay on her side, just beside the desk, and aimed the gun.

No questions.

"A
 
mother's love
 
for her child is like
 
nothing
 
else...It knows no law, no pity.”

―Agatha Christie

Bang!

Jezebel shrieked and almost dropped the gun as her ears rang from the loud sound. For the span of seconds, there was silence, and then she heard shuffling, and what sounded like someone walking on debris. Someone had kicked open the door, and broken it in the process. A man spoke, his tone harsh and commanding, but she couldn’t understand what he said, beyond his curses. Though he spoke in a foreign language, his curses were all in English.

Gripping the gun steadily, she closed her eyes—it was dark anyway and she couldn’t see him—and allowed her ears to guide her. He spoke again, this time an angry mutter of words, and she aimed, and pulled the trigger.

She heard him grunt in pain moments before gunfire erupted around her. When one whizzed by her ear, Jezebel crawled back under the desk, hoping she’d wounded him sufficiently to kill or knock him out. She’d never endorse violence, but it was clear that the people in this house were here to hurt or kill her.

Another voice, this one deeper and more commanding than the previous, yelled something in the same foreign language, and the gunfire halted. The light went on, blinding her briefly and she froze. Without the added protection of the darkness, she’d soon be discovered. Hugging the gun close, Jezebel placed a hand to her belly and gave it a soft stroke.

She wasn’t dying today. No. Her child wasn’t dying like this. Jezebel hadn’t chosen this life. She’d fallen in love with an illusion, and now, she had to do what was necessary to protect herself and the baby depending on her.

The man with the deep voice spoke again. He sounded closer.

A knock on the desk made her jump, but she managed to keep her shrieks in.

“Jezebel?”

It shouldn’t surprise her that he knew her name considering they’d attacked her safe house, but it did. Even as terror washed over her, she managed to keep her aim steady.

“Come out. I just want to talk.”

If she could have scoffed without making noise, she would have. If he’d just wanted to talk, he wouldn’t have just treated her house like it was a war-zone. She’d never been stupid. She wouldn’t start now.

He spoke low and in his foreign language again. Moments later, someone kicked the chair facing her away. Before she could even process that, an Asian man was kneeling there, reaching for her. She didn’t think. She just reacted.

A look of shock came over his features moments before the small hole in the middle of his forehead began to leak blood. A faint burning smell wafted up to her nose. As he keeled over, his sightless eyes opened, Jezebel swallowed and willed her stomach to behave. She could throw up later.

The man spoke again. He sounded angry this time.

“You’re making me angry, Jezebel.” He banged on the desk, and although she whimpered slightly, she kept her eyes ahead, looking for any others. “I’ve been patient with you and you shoot two of my men! Fine, I’ll give you one more chance before I have my men open fire on this desk. You’ll die, your baby will die. Is that what you want?”

How did he know about her baby? Was that why they were here? Her baby? Ramsey’s baby?

“What do you want?” she demanded.  

“I want to talk.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I could have killed you by now, but you’re still alive.” He paused and Jezebel thought of his words. He knew she was under the desk. He could open fire and one of the bullets would likely catch her. “Come out and talk to me.”

“Who are you?”

“A friend.”

She didn’t believe him. “You attacked me, attacked my friends.”

“I wanted to speak with you. Your ‘friends’ wouldn’t let me.”

“Did you kill them?”

She wouldn’t be able to cope with the knowledge that people had died to protect her. Delilah! She had to be alive. Her sister was strong. She hadn’t survived cancer to be killed by thugs.

“I’m losing my patience…”

Jezebel shook her head. She didn’t have a choice. If she remained under the table, he’d shoot her. If she got out, he’d probably shoot her still, but it might buy her some time.

Scooting out, she got onto her knees, stuck the gun into her jeans, made sure to cover it with her jacket, and slowly, rose to her feet.

Three men stood before her. They were all Asian and if she had to guess, she’d say Korean unless Ramsey had enemies from all over the continent!

“What do you want?” she hissed.

The man in the middle, the one with the white scar cutting into his upper lip, smiled, his eyes falling to her hands as if searching out a weapon, before lifting up to her face. “Pretty
geomdung-i
. I can see why he chose you.”

“What are you talking about?” She was going to play dumb and lie. As of now, that was her strategy. Her only true exit was the door behind them. There was a window to her left, but she was on the second floor. Leaving that way meant at the very least, serious injuries. She couldn’t chance that. She wouldn’t jeopardize her child’s life that way.

The man only smiled, a cold smile that never reached his calculating eyes. He muttered something in Korean and the two men at his side moved forward, closer to her.

She took a step back.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Jezebel.”

“Who are you?”

He dipped his head. “Kim. You can call me Kim.”

“What do you want?” she demanded again.

“You know what I want.” Kim smiled and looked pointedly at her belly. “That’s why you’re in protective custody, isn’t it? Because you’re a target with his baby—”

“Whose baby?” She purposely masked her expression with confusion.

Kim frowned before he lifted a brow and smirked. “Ramsey’s baby.”

“Ramsey Stone?” She forced a laugh and shook her head. “This isn’t Ramsey’s baby.”

His smirk faded and he blinked, before his eyes narrowed and he smiled. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not.” She frowned at him. “Do you really think Ramsey would leave me here if I was pregnant with his child?”

He seemed to contemplate it for a few seconds, before he drawled, “Then whose baby is it?”

“Brandon.”

Kim blinked. “Brandon?”

“My husband!” She glared at him. “Is he alive? Did you and your thugs hurt him?”

The man stared at her for long moments, before he shrugged. “Doesn’t matter whose baby is in your belly. Stone just needs to think it’s his.” Kim looked to the two men. “Grab her!”

Jezebel was reaching for her gun when the sound of gunfire made her drop. Thinking she’d been hit, she began to feel for the blood, for the bullet hole, but quickly realized the gunfire was coming from the hallway and Kim and his men had turned to engage whoever was outside. Crawling around the desk, and over the body of the man she’d killed, she curled into a protective ball to protect her belly and prayed.

When the gunfire stopped, Jezebel moved enough to pull the gun from her waistband. She heard footsteps approaching.

“Jezebel?”

She almost cried. Once, she’d treasured his voice, loved the man to whom it belonged. In the past months, she’d grown to hate everything about him, but right now, his voice sounded heavenly.

“Jezebel, it’s Ramsey…” He paused as if expecting her to reply. When she didn’t, he continued, “I’m coming around the desk now.”

Jezebel watched nervously, holding tight to the gun and wondering if her mind was playing tricks on her. Was someone else speaking? Was someone using his voice to trick her? Was she imagining things?

The first thing she saw was shoes and pants, black shoes, dark pants. He spoke again and she caught snatches of it. Something about moving someone. She needed to see his face. Before she dropped the gun, she needed to make sure she wasn’t…losing it.

The dead man was pulled away.

A man slid to his knees, and then Ramsey was staring at her, staring into the barrel of her gun.

She eyed him closely, taking in the familiar and unfamiliar features. He’d grown a moustache and thin beard, and it made him seem different, older, but his bone structure, obsidian eyes, full yet thin lips, were all the same.

“Jez…” He scooted closer, and when his hand closed over the gun, she shuddered. His fingers stroked hers softly. “Give me the gun.”

She shook her head.

He moved closer, lowering his voice. “You’re safe now, Jezebel. I promise.” She shook her head again.  She didn’t believe him. How could she? He’d lied about so many things. This gun wasn’t leaving her side until she could guarantee her safety, her baby’s safety and that of her sister.

Pulling herself together, she said firmly, “You’re not taking my gun, Ramsey.”  

He stared at her long and hard before he released her hands and nodded. “Okay.” He looked back to the gun. “Can I hold it while you come out?”

Jezebel thought about it. “You’ll give it back to me?”

Ramsey instantly nodded. “I swear I will.”

She wasn’t sure how much his swears and promises were worth considering he was a liar, but she lowered the gun to the floor, carefully stretching her body out to crawl from under the desk. As soon as she lowered the gun, Ramsey picked it up and scooted back to give her space. When she was out, she heard a click and Ramsey handed her the gun.

Taking it, she stuck it into her waistband, not bothering to cover it with her jacket this time.

“Are you hurt?” He sounded concerned, even looked it. She wondered how much he knew about her condition.

With a quick shake of her head, she said firmly, “I need to find my sister.”

***

To say Ramsey Stone was pissed off was a gross understatement.

The past two weeks had been a whirlwind of activity that had culminated in this very moment. His conversation with Lee had set him on the hunt for Kim, but it was soon confirmed that the man had left the country. He’d had two choices: he could have followed him, which meant leaving the country, which he couldn’t quite do, or he could wait for his return, which according to Lee, who was quite forthcoming with information once he realized he had a high chance of surviving Ramsey’s meat factory, was in a few weeks. So instead of following him to South Korea, Ramsey called in and had him trailed, his every move watched and recorded. As he’d expected, Kim had grown careless in South Korea. That was how Ramsey learned that there was a leak in the FBI who wasn’t
his
leak.

It didn’t surprise him as men were willing to kill their own mothers for the amount of money he paid his informants, but the fact that Kim cared enough to pay someone for information on Jezebel’s whereabouts angered him. The only reason Kim would have any interest in Jezebel was because of him. With the knowledge that Kim was interested in Jezebel, Ramsey had sent his men to “watch” her. Three days ago, Lee let him know Kim was back in New York. When the man had told him where, Ramsey had made several phone calls in the span of minutes. First, he called the men who’d moved in a few houses down from Jezebel and told them to be on guard. Next, he called his pilot, and told him he needed the jet ready as soon as possible. Last, he called Vince and told him to assemble a team. Unless he was seeking out new territory for his leader, there was no other reason for Kim to be checked into the
Hampton Inn
in upstate New York but Jezebel.

He’d distanced himself from her to avoid this.

The people who were closest to him had targets on their backs. Lily, he hadn’t protected, but her death had taught him a lesson and he’d wised up quickly. Hannah, Bastian, Sarah, even Vince, constantly had shadows and took various security measures before they went anywhere. They were closest to him, bound either by blood or marriage.

Jezebel was not.

She’d been his attempt at “normal” and Lily’s death had taught him “normal” was something he’d never have. So, he’d distanced himself. Jezebel had fallen in love with a spa owner. If she’d known his true identity, she wouldn’t have even entertained the idea. It had been naïve on his part to think he could keep his “other” side from her, but he’d wanted that life so badly, the life of a regular businessman with a wife he loved, and children.

“Where are you taking me?”

Seated across from him, her arms wrapped protectively around her sister, Jezebel watched him warily. They’d been in his jet for almost an hour, and during that time, she hadn’t said a word to him. Delilah, who they’d found huddled over the bleeding body of Brandon Erickson, hadn’t been so quiet. From the moment she’d entered the plane with her sister, to the moment exhaustion kicked in, about half an hour ago, she’d cursed him and everything to do with him while Jezebel held her and glared.

He hadn’t expected much considering he’d done everything in his power to push Jezebel away, but the woman staring at him only looked like the Jezebel he knew. In her eyes was such coldness and distrust, he doubted he’d ever seen any warmth there where he was concerned.