Trouble and Treasure (#1, Trouble and Treasure Series) (26 page)

Though the blow was hard, this stabbing
pain shooting across my brow, I didn't let go of him. I managed to
grab a hand over his elbow, yanking it back, the gun falling from
his grip and clattering across the ground.

Jesus Christ it was dark in here; the only
thing I could know for sure was that Maratova was on the floor with
me and he was murderously angry.

He brought up his leg, kicking it into my
knee, the tread of his boot dragging across my flesh. It hurt like
hell, but I rolled back, regrouping and throwing myself back at
him.

I managed to land a punch to his jaw.
Though it was hard and solid, it didn't knock him out, but it did
make a crack.

Maratova redoubled his efforts, kicked at
me again, and landed a blow right in my gut. It sent me slamming
backwards, and he jumped on top of me, hands around my throat.
Choking, spluttering, unable to suck in a breath, I brought my
hands up and tried to push him off. I was losing energy, losing
strength, and as I grabbed his hands, I began to black
out.

I didn't even have time to think it was
over; my brain was too starved of oxygen to bother.

There was a sudden loud crack, and Maratova
fell backwards.

The instant his hands fell away from my
throat I sucked in several choked breaths, staving off the
unconsciousness that had almost claimed me.

Dizzy and only barely aware of my
surroundings, I saw someone standing over Maratova, something heavy
and dark in their hands. They had obviously hit him over the head,
and in doing so had saved my life.

The person dropped to their knees right
beside me. In a sudden and erratic slice of light that filtered in
through one of the windows behind me, I saw Amanda.

“
Sebastian? Sebastian?”

I couldn't answer; I could hardly breathe. I
was only holding onto consciousness, staving off the blackness
looming at the edges of my vision. I was choking and coughing hard,
throat wheezing as I tried to suck in breath after breath.

Amanda leaned over me, grabbed both my
shoulders, and in another flash of light I saw the expression on
her face. Her brow was pulled up, her eyebrows peaked in the
middle, her lips open wide, her cheek slack. She was worried, she
was worried about me.

“
God, are you alright, are you okay?” she
asked, words jumbled together.

After
I managed to suck in enough breath, the darkness at the
edges of my vision subsided, and I managed to push myself
up.

Amanda put a hand on my shoulder to steady
me. “Are you okay?”

It was obvious I wasn't okay; I had almost
been choked to death by the world's greatest psychopath. But I
managed to nod my head in a complete lie.

“
Are you okay?” I asked her, my throat so
growly and croaky I sounded as though I was recovering from a
week-long cold.

She nodded vehemently. Obviously it was
also another lie, as I doubted she could be that okay considering
the day she’d had. But her enthusiasm counted for
something.

I sat on my own, still panting, but not
about to lose consciousness any time soon. I rubbed my throat, as
if to convince myself it was still there and wasn't the crumpled
mess it would have been if Amanda hadn’t clocked Maratova on the
head in time.

I let out a heavy sigh and managed to push
myself to my feet. Amanda was there every step of the way, hovering
next to me like a protective mother hen. Though her movement was
distracting and made me smile, I turned my head to that dark shadow
of Maratova on the floor.

I didn't like to kill people; it was
illegal for a very good reason. Murder was abhorrent. Killing could
only ever be the last option after you'd exhausted every other
means to solve a solution. That being said, in that instant I still
felt the desire to reach around to the gun still tucked into the
back of my pants and shoot Maratova.

He was a monster, fuck it, he was a
monster.

The feeling passed. It was obvious he
wasn't going to get up any time soon; Amanda had done a sterling
job in knocking him out.

I still pulled my gun out though.

Gun in one hand, I
dropped beside Maratova, pressing my
fingers into the side of his throat, trying to get a pulse. He had
one alright; the big brute wasn’t dead.

“
Let's go,” I called over to
Amanda.

“
Where?” she asked. “Is everything fine?
Are all the criminals gone? Is the army here?”

When she wanted to, Amanda could ask
several million questions at once. She could bombard you like a
machine gun. But in her position I would be asking questions
too.

“
No, they are still downstairs, and this is
still a bad situation,” I said truthfully.

She gave nod. “How do we—”

“
Get out of here. A miracle,” I shrugged,
“And if that doesn't work, we find a nice place to hide and we wait
it out.”

With the amount of firepower gunning it
out downstairs and outside, I didn't think I could safely shepherd
Amanda out of the house.

I nodded towards the open attic door.

It had been a stroke of luck finding
Amanda in time.

Jesus Christ, I would never forget the
rush of blood to my head as I saw the ladder
leading to the attic, and heard the thumps
and shouts from above.

“
Where should we go?” Amanda asked by my
side.

I had no idea; this was her house. Or,
technically her great-uncle’s estate, as I had no doubt that Imelda
Stanton would sell this place off as soon as all the junk was
cleared from it.

As I motioned Amanda to the attic door, I
heard footsteps on the floor below. Heavy footsteps, followed by
fairly gruff shouts, the kind of gruff shouts that told me the
shouters were not sodding army, because nobody that trained would
give away their position so easily.

I silently mouthed a litany of swear words
and shook my head in desperation as I grabbed Amanda’s
hand.

I pulled
her away from the trapdoor and down to the other
end of the attic.

I heard a shout from downstairs, fancied I
even picked up several words, a
mong them 'attic' and 'Maratova.’

Right at the other end of the long attic
sat an array of furniture lined up against the wall. We made our
way to it just in time as I heard Maratova's men begin to climb the
ladder.

I searched for a good hiding place, but
before I could find one, Amanda began tugging my hand, pointing in
the dark to a heavy chest of drawers off to my side. I couldn’t see
anything, but I let her pull me along until we made it to the chest
of drawers. It was in the corner, one of the only windows in the
attic above it, one of the long walls of the house on its other
side. When I reached it I realized there was a considerable gap
behind it.

I let Amanda go in first, and she dropped
to her knees, breaking my grip as she squeezed into the gap. With a
final look at the rest of the attic, briefly spying several dark
shadows as they popped their heads up from the floor below, I
crouched and followed Amanda.

Though I tried to keep my hearing trained on
the steps of Maratova's men, I couldn't filter out Amanda's
breathing. It was heavy, stark, and with my arm pressed up against
hers, I could feel her body shake every time she inhaled and
exhaled. It wasn't even that loud, and she had a hand clasped over
her mouth, but for some reason I couldn't help but give it my full
attention.

Jesus Christ, what had I put this woman
through?

As we huddled in the corner, our sides
pressed together, sharing the pressured silence, waiting for
whatever would happen next, I kept a firm grip on my gun. My guess
was there were no more than three of Maratova's men in the attic
with us, and I couldn’t hear any more on the level below. That
being said, the sound of the storm outside had intensified, the
roar of the wind punctuated
with the sound of driving rain.

There was a flash and a resounding clap of
thunder. The flash was powerful and lit up the attic. Something
caught my attention. There was something written on the back of the
chest of drawers. A large 12 was painted on the back in black ink.
It was curious, the exact curve and shape of the number drawn with
a careful artistic hand, and not the usual scribble you would
expect if the 12 had been left over from a showroom or
clearinghouse.

I didn't have time to wonder what it truly
meant, because I heard the not-so-welcome sound of several
footsteps nearing us. There was also the sound of low, hushed
voices. I could swear they were talking about Maratova. Obviously
they’d found him, and if they had found him, I didn't doubt they
could find us too. These weren’t idiots we were dealing with; these
were highly-trained freekin' criminals. They would realize a man
like Maratova wouldn't trip over in an attic in the dark and knock
himself on the head.

Though I still couldn't make out their
exact words, I could appreciate the sudden tone and shift in their
voices.

Oh fuckity fuck fuck fuck. Had Maratova
woken up? There were grunts, followed by what I could recognize as
swear words, and some low growling. Nobody growled like Maratova,
not even a cornered lion.

Though Amanda was trying her hardest to
hide her breathing, both her hands clutched over her mouth, I could
still hear it. God dammit, it seemed to echo through the room, mine
joining with hers, as if we were screaming to Maratova and his men
where to find us.

T
here was another flash of light and an enormous clap of
thunder, the storm now in full swing.

I redoubled my grip on the gun, convincing
myself I could at least take out Maratova and maybe one other guy
before I was shot myself.

I squeezed my eyes closed, and in a snap
opened them again, ready for what I knew would come
next.

Amanda Stanton

It was horrible. I was huddled here
waiting as footsteps neared us.

I began to shake, violent body-tingling
convulsions that ripped from my head to my feet.

That would be when Sebastian reached out
and softly touched my arm.

The soft, gentle move had a miraculous
effect on me. It kindled my courage and reminded me this wasn’t
done yet.

I could sense Sebastian tensing beside me,
likely getting ready to jump from our hidey hole and shoot at
Maratova and his men. Though Sebastian was capable at these things,
I didn’t doubt it would end with him being shot.

I had to do something.

There was another clap of thunder and
another enormous flash of light. The light lit up the room, but all
I could see was the back of the chest of drawers and the curious
perfect 12 that was painted on the back. After the illumination of
the lightning subsided, I saw yet another slice of light cross
through the room, belonging to a helicopter braving the
storm.

That was my opportunity. I snapped up,
planting both hands on the chest of drawers and shoving hard. It
teetered and slammed into the floorboards with a reverberating
thump.

Instantly they started shooting at us.
Several bullets zipping past me, but I paid no attention as I
picked up one of the large, sturdy legs that had come loose from
the chest and I leaped forward.

Sebastian began to shoot, and at the same
time tried to pull me back.

As the bullets rang right past me,
clipping the flesh at the side of my arm, I made it to the window
behind the chest of drawers. Before Sebastian could jump towards me
and tackle me to the ground, I swung the wooden leg at the
window.

The old glass smashed, scattering towards me
as the wind caught it.

I ducked, crum
pling into a ball as several bullets slammed into
what remained of the window.

That would be when one of the roaming
lights from outside belonging to that awfully timely helicopter
zeroed in on the room. It shone right through the smashed window,
illuminating the attic and lighting up the four men standing at the
other end. The four men who happened to be armed and naughty,
naughty criminals.

My stupid plan had worked.

Before Maratova and his men could do
anything, a blast of machine-gun sliced into the attic.

I huddled against the wall, hands over my
head.

“
Stay where you are, hands up,” a loud
voice echoed over the powerful megaphone from the helicopter
outside.

From the other side of the attic another
light sliced through the far window, yet another helicopter flying
into place. The same threat was repeated, with another spattering
of machine-gun fire to hammer the point home.

They were surrounded.

It was over.

Not too long after that I witnessed the
compelling and welcome sight of several soldiers rappelling into my
attic from a helicopter, several more climbing up the ladder from
downstairs. They surrounded and disarmed Maratova and his men.
Although they went to disarm Sebastian too, one of them recognized
him and waved the other soldiers off.