What Lies Within (46 page)

Rafe pulled in calm. “Look, I don’t have time to say this nice. You men are too old to fight these punks.” He’d deal with Tarik in a minute. But he had to get Fredrik and the others out of harm’s way. Now.

“Of course we are.”

Rafe stared at Fredrik. “You are?”

“Old we may be, stupid we aren’t. Fighting we shouldn’t do. But prayer, my boy. That we can do. That we
will
do. We will uphold you and your warriors with prayer.”

A cry split the air, stilling Rafe’s response in his throat. Every nerve sharpened, and he and Thales moved as one, hunkering down, going back to back, weapons trained on the distance as they scanned the perimeter.

More yelling. Hoots and jeers assaulted the night. The sound of footsteps pulled Rafe’s attention just behind the elders, and his blood ran cold when he saw Kyla step out into the night.

What
was
this? A
party?

“Go back inside!” His order came out angry, which he didn’t intend. For once Kyla didn’t meet anger with anger.

Of course, she didn’t obey him either.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Child, listen to him—”

She halted Fredrik’s wisdom with a hand in the air. “You and the elders go inside.” She fixed a hard stare at Tarik. “And you go with them. The last thing we need is for you to get hurt.”

Rafe arched a brow. Good. He didn’t have to be the heavy for once.

Tarik’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not afraid.”

Kyla placed her palm over the boy’s heart, and her voice, though still firm, softened. “I know that, Tarik. But we need you to stay safe. King K isn’t working against us any more. That will change if you’re hurt here.”

Emotions played across the boy’s features, then he looked down. “What about you?”

“I’m staying here.”

Her words lit a fire in Rafe’s chest. “You are
not!
”

“Rafe—”

He turned on her. “I can’t focus when you’re here, Kyla. Unless you want to get me or one of my men killed, get back inside.”

Before she could launch the argument he knew was perched on her lips, another voice spoke up.

“Do what the man says, Builder Lady.”

Rafe couldn’t believe his ears—or his eyes. King K and his gang were suddenly just there. Like they’d slipped in on the darkness and materialized right in the midst of them. Rafe tensed, and King met his narrowed gaze without flinching. “We’re not here for you.” He jerked his head toward the darkness. “We’re here for them. Nobody tries to take our turf.”

Rafe took in King’s stance, then relaxed. “Stand down, Thales.”

Ever a Marine, Thales lowered his weapon.

“Who’s coming?”

King came to stand beside Rafe. “The Nortes.”

“The Nortes? Why?” The predominantly black gang usually stayed on their side of Alberta Street, too busy running a successful drug business to mess
with a smaller gang like the 22s. As long as the Brotherhood stayed out of their business.

“Ballat. He got them all worked up about us moving in on their turf. Told ’em the youth center was really a front for the Man, so’s cops could infiltrate the neighborhood.”

“They bought all that?”

King shrugged. “Ballat knows how to make his case.” He tossed a glance over his shoulder to Kyla. “This ain’t no place for you, Builder Lady. You better get inside.”

Kyla opened her mouth, most likely to argue, but King’s hand flicked out a signal, and a hulking gang member came from behind to pluck her off her feet. Tossing her over his shoulder—obviously too stunned to express her outrage—the kid carried her back toward the church. “Perhaps we should go with them.” Fredrik was trying to restrain a grin. “To calm troubled waters.”

Wise, as always. Rafe squeezed his old friend’s shoulder. “Thanks. I won’t worry about her if you’re in there.”

When Fredrik and the elders were inside, Rafe turned back to King, who tensed the moment Rafe’s eyes were on him. Rafe had the distinct impression the gang leader expected Rafe to come after him. Rafe just smiled.

“She’s a fighter, your woman.”

Truer words were never spoken. Rafe rested his hands on his weapon. “Yes, that she is.”

“But she better off inside.”

No arguing with the truth of King’s assertion. “Yes, she is.”

King looked over his shoulder, and his lips twitched. “Good thing Dancer come at her from behind. She saw him comin’, I think she could take him.”

Rafe’s soft laughter echoed in the night.

Kyla roamed from one window to the next, peering out into the darkness, fuming. Her “jailer” stood guard, aided, apparently, by Fredrik and the elders.

A movement in the darkness caught her eye. Apprehension surged to life. “There’s someone out there! I think they’re coming.”

Sheamus stepped back, away from the circle of elders. “We should call the police.”

Fredrik waved his agreement. “Go, use the phone in the office, if they haven’t cut the lines.” Then he held his hand out to Kyla. “Come, bubele. The best thing we can do now is pray.”

She tore herself from the window, taking his hand on one side, Don’s on the other.

Shouts and loud, popping sounds drifted inside. Gunfire! Kyla started to pull away from Fredrik, but the old man’s grip was solid.

“No, child.”

“Please—”

He tugged on her hand, forcing her to look at him. “You must not. Rafe needs you in here, safe, to do what he must. Don’t worry, child. God will protect.”

Kyla grabbed onto that promise. As she held it fast in her terrified heart, Fredrik and the others bowed their heads—and lifted their voices in prayer.

The pride fired warning shots, sending the first wave of Nortes scurrying, just as Rafe had hoped. The gunfire sent them back once more before Rafe heard a Norte yell that it was blanks. No one was hurt. Rafe and Thales readied for combat as the next surge came. But just as Rafe focused on an advancing Norte—kid couldn’t be more than seventeen—bodies raced past him. The 22s. They launched into the advancing line of Nortes.

Rafe slid his rifle to hang at his back, then nodded at Thales. “Ready?”

“Whenever you say, Asadi.”

He keyed the mike. “Move in!” Adrenaline pumping, they moved into combat.

Cries of pain and rage echoed in the night air as bodies fell. Rafe fought with a twofold focus—to stay alive and kill only if it couldn’t be avoided. He took one Norte down, then spun, only to find a gun pointed in his face.

The Norte’s finger tightened on the trigger—just as he and the gun went
flying. Rafe met Sabada’s eyes over the subdued foe, and they shifted, back to back, not saying a word. Just standing ready.

A bellow from the left pulled his focus, and Rafe saw Thales go down under the force of four thugs who’d ganged up on him. He tensed, ready to go to Thales’s aid, but before he could move, Monroe was there, kicking and punching, using the butt of his rifle to punishing advantage. Within minutes—maybe even seconds—all four of Thales’s assailants lay motionless. Monroe reached down, took Thales’s hand, and pulled the big guy to his feet.

“Asadi! On your six!”

Rafe spun, bringing his cane up, to block the knife slicing toward him. He parried the thrust, stepped back, then, when his attacker leaned in, dropped low and drove up with as much force as he could, punching the point of the cane dead-center into the gang member’s chest. His attacker stopped, eyes wide, and then dropped to the ground like a discarded rag doll.

He started to turn back to Sabada, and just caught the glint of moonlight on a metal baseball bat. With a yell, he brought his arm up, but only managed to deflect the strike from hitting him square in the face. Instead, it connected at the side of his head.

Stars exploded in the night and sounds faded into silence as Rafe dropped to the cold, hard street.

“Rafe’s down!”

Kyla’s cry brought the others rushing to the window. She pointed to Rafe’s inert form, finger trembling.
Jesus, please! What will I do if he’s dead?

Pounding footsteps brought her jerking around, and she saw Tarik racing for the doors out of the church. “Tarik!” She stepped forward. “No!”

But she was too late. He’d vanished into the night.

Kyla spun back toward the window, where Fredrik stood watching. His white face turned to her. “The boy …”

Kyla ran back to the window, peering out.

Fearing the worst.

“Rafe! Wake up!”

The frantic command pulled him from the darkness, and Rafe rolled away from it, groaning.

Something grabbed at him, jerking him to a sitting position.

“Get up! Now!”

The scream made his pounding head feel like it was exploding. Anger flooded him, and with a roar he surged to his knees, eyes finally open, trying to focus on his tormentor.

Tarik.

The boy knelt beside him, a mixture of fear and relief on his features.

The sounds of battle reached Rafe then, and realization struck him low and hard. They were in the middle of the fight.

Training kicked in and Rafe flowed to a crouch, one hand grabbing his cane from where it lay on the ground beside him, the other arm moving to shelter Tarik. “I thought you were supposed to stay safe inside!”

“I thought
you
were supposed to stay alive!”

As though some evil force worked against both goals, two Nortes surged toward them, pipes raised. Rafe tensed for impact, but sudden gunshots barked out, and the two Nortes crumpled to the ground.

Behind them, handgun still pointing, was King K.

King jerked his chin toward the church. Tarik didn’t argue. He stood and ran back toward safety. When he’d slipped through the doors of the building, King met Rafe’s gaze. Then, with a slow grin, King turned and plunged back into the fray.

“Asadi, you okay?”

He took Sabada’s proffered hand and stood. “I’m fine.” He stared after King, heart aching. He hadn’t wanted this. More bloodshed. More death.

“Asadi?”

Squaring his shoulders, he stared forward. Sabada fell into step beside him.

“Time to get back into it, sir?”

“No.”

Sabada’s surprise wasn’t lost on Rafe. He met his friend’s steady gaze. “It’s time to end it.”