Rogue Alliance

THIRTY-ONE



Consciousness slipped through her fingers like water through a sieve. Part of Shyla wanted to grasp onto coherent thought, but overwhelming pain took over all senses.

The sound of Victor’s psychotic, angry laugh filtered through to her and Shyla’s eyes fluttered open. She saw a Native American Pendleton blanket hanging over a couch. She blinked and her head fluctuated. Everything hurt. There wasn’t a spot on her body that wasn’t aching and sore.

Flashes of her encounter popped into the forefront of her mind. Victor had hung up the phone and walked up to her with a deceptively pleasant smile. Without a word he had slapped her across the face as hard as he could. Her head must have hit the bar because she blacked out for a moment and when she came to he was looming over her.

“I always wanted to f*ck a cop,” Victor said. He spoke so calmly, it unnerved her how disproportionate his tone was compared to his behavior.

Instinct kicked in and she threw out her right leg with every ounce of power she had, landing the force hard behind his knee caps. As he went down she had jutted her left palm up and in to his nose. She heard the shatter of bone with the impact.

Victor wasn’t going down without a fight. With blood gushing from his nose, he didn’t waste even a second. He rolled away and hopped up to his feet, a wild look in his eye. Shyla thought about rushing towards the door but knew she would never make it. She pulled herself to her knees and rushed him instead, taking him at the waist. He toppled over and grabbed her by the hair.

“Agh.!”

The sensation of her hair being pulled started at the root and rushed down to her toes. It was a feeling that she had felt many times at the hands of her father. He used to love to grab her by the hair and give it a tug.

When her cheek slammed against the hardwood floor the world was no longer sequential or in order. It all blurred to together. But she still fought.

Now, as consciousness was slowing fading in, she recalled those violent last moments and felt every blow all over again as her body screamed out in agony.

How much time had passed? A few minutes, an hour?

She did a mental inventory and noted that there was a new sensation. Without opening her eyes, she made note of the fact that there was rope strapped against her wrists and ankles. When she opened her eyes she glanced down and confirmed she was tied to a chair. They were still in the parlor. It was completely dark outside and they were alone. A good amount of time had passed while she’d been out.

She thought of her cell phone in her purse. Glancing around, she had no idea where it was or how she would get to it in her current predicament. She was in a shit ton of trouble.

“Well, hello, Gorgeous,” Victor stood over her and gave a charming smile, “it seems we have something to talk about, you and I. It looks like your game is up Miss.”

“It’s not a f*cking game, Victor,” Shyla spat out through her bloodied mouth.

Victor squatted down and tipped up her chin.

“Isn’t it, though?” he said, “isn’t that what you’re all about, Shyla? Going in under cover, getting a rare glimpse from the inside? It makes you feel powerful doesn’t it?

“I would imagine that after something as intense as stabbing your own father to death, everything else would pale in comparison. So you live for moments such as these don’t you? To feel alive, to feel worthy? Well here we are. Is it what you imagined?”

Everything inside her hummed with anger and disgust. She screamed and strained against her restraints. Victor raised an eyebrow and she spit in his face.

Fury flickered over his features. He wiped at his face with a sneer.

“Don’t be angry with me, little girl. I’m not the one who invited this mess. Whatever happens here tonight, you brought on yourself. One crucial thing you may not have learned about me yet is that I show no mercy for traitors. You are going to die. Tonight. By my hands. And no one will miss your lying, murderous soul.”

Shyla bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. She wanted to lash out with harsh words of her own, but realized it was not only useless, it was a waste of her time and energy. If she wanted to survive, she needed to think her way out of this.

“Nothing to say, Shyla? No smart come-backs or attempts to beg for your life? How disappointing. Well, maybe I need to amp up the stakes up bit here to show you how serious I am. Maybe you aren’t taking me seriously.”

He sauntered around the other side of the bar and grabbed her scarf off the back of the bar stool. It was light weight, perfect for the cool fall evening. He fingered it gently, then pulled it taught, showing its deceiving durability.

Fear, stark and cold, ran through her body. It was a chill like no other. Swallowing hard, she kept her chin up and looked him in the eye defiantly. Circling around her just as he had earlier, he lovingly wrapped the soft scarf around her neck. Across the room, behind the bar, was a mirror. Sitting down, she couldn’t see her own reflection but she could see his. She watched him stalk her as if watching someone else or watching a movie.

Standing directly behind her, he trailed a finger down the side of her face and down her neck. When he found the delicate curve just behind her ear he leaned down and kissed it. She inhaled sharply but let it out slowly. The next breath was stolen as Victor suddenly and viciously tightened the scarf. The pain was shocking as the scarf bit into her flesh and pressed at her airway. The instinct to pull in oxygen was more intense than anything she’d ever experienced. Fear turned to a visceral need to survive and she struggled and strained against her restraints. She heard a sick chortling sound and realized it had come from her own lips. Stars and colors began to twinkle before her eyes. Her head expanded and throbbed.

The scarf loosened and she took in a violent, raspy breath of sweet air. She wished she had her gun, and she knew she needed to get to a phone and call Hal, or Shawn, somebody. The alternative was to die at the hands of this psychopath.

“Sucks, doesn’t it,” Victor said, “the feeling of complete vulnerability? Being at the mercy of someone else, with no control over the situation? Much like the feeling of betrayal, how it seeps into your soul illustrating how you should never for a moment, for a second, trust anyone, ever.”

Victor’s reflection was terrifying. His voice was seething with anger and his face was beet red. The emotions triggered seemed to be remnants of something from the past, something deeper than any violation she’d ever committed. She was just the target.

Again he grabbed both ends of her scarf. This time he pulled slowly, increasing the pressure over small increments. She took in one quick breath through her nose before her airway was fully cut-off and prayed it would be enough.

“Victor.”

Shyla heard a deep voice call out and then a flash of color whizz across the reflection in the mirror. Suddenly the scarf loosened and Victor was knocked to the ground. Dizzy and disoriented, she blinked and shook her head. Maybe she had passed out and was dreaming. Perhaps she was hallucinating.

The scuffle behind her chair was all grunts and heavy breathing. She turned her head and spotted Brennan on top of Victor holding him to the ground with his forearm pressed to his throat. Victor was flailing about but looked frail compared to Brennan’s sudden display of strength.

“Get off me, Brennan,” Victor said through clenched teeth.

“No. Not until you calm down. You could have killed her.”

“That was the general idea,” Victor said, writhing uselessly underneath Brennan’s weight, “now get the hell off of me.”

“I’ll let up, but you’re not going near her. Do you understand?”

“Fine,” Victor panted, his brows drawn tight, weighing his decision.

Shyla watched in amazement as Brennan stood up and lifted Victor to his feet. Victor lunged forward but Brennan caught him by the front of the shirt and shoved him hard into the bar.

“God damn it!” Victor shouted.

“I’m not going to let you kill her, Victor. She’s a cop. She’s got cop friends in L.A. and here in town. You think for a second that if you kill her you’re going to get away with it? You have deep pockets and a lot of friends on the inside, but none of that will help you if you kill a cop. They’ll throw you in prison and throw away the key. I’m doing you a favor here. Killing her won’t solve anything. Killing her will be the beginning of the end.”

Victor’s chest heaved as he stared at Shyla. She saw in his eyes that Brennan’s words were sinking in through the haze of his rage. Common sense was slowly making itself known. His body relaxed slightly. Brennan loosened his hold but didn’t let go.

Victor’s gaze wandered to Brennan then back to Shyla.

“You’re right,” he said, “shit. You’re goddamn right. What was I thinking?”

He looked down at the scarf he still held in his grip. Repulsion reflected on his face as he tossed the garment to the floor.

“Get her out of my sight. Get her out of my town. I never want to lay eyes on her again.”

He turned on his heel and stomped out of the room.

Shyla’s thoughts and emotions were still trying to catch up with the last few minutes. Her mind felt separate from her body. Shock. She’d seen it many times before in her profession. It was a small grace.

She watched Brennan move with deft swiftness. He wasn’t wasting a moment. Within seconds, her wrists and ankles were untied and he was carrying her out the front door. He threw her into the passenger side of Victor’s Acura and sped out of the drive before Victor could change his mind.

A mile down the road, the shock began to wear off and Shyla’s whole body started to shake. There were no tears, no outbursts, just an uncontrollable and violent tremor which took over her body. Brennan pulled the car to the side of the road. Without saying a word he reached across and pulled her into his lap.

It only felt natural to wrap her arms around his neck. She burrowed her face into chest and held on tight.

“I’m so cold.”

His arms tightened around her.

“I know,” he said, “ssh, ssh, I know. It will pass.”

She felt safe. Finally.

When the tremors subsided and the warmth from the heater finally thawed out the ice within her, she continued to hold tight to Brennan. As her fear subsided, she tilted her head to look up into his eyes. His mouth was there waiting, soft and supple. Cautiously, she brushed her mouth over his. His body tensed but he didn’t pull away. He kissed her back, his hand pressing firmly against the small of her back. It was slow and sensual. She realized she’d been waiting for her entire life for that kiss.

Shaken, she pulled away. His eyes were clouded with desire and something else she couldn’t quite identify. It was all too much. Everything; the entire night, hell, her whole life.

She felt a little embarrassed and slipped off his lap and into the passenger seat. “Thank you, Brennan.”

“Don’t thank me, it’s my fault he hurt you. I’m the one who ratted you out.”

Shyla finally met his eyes.

“No,” she said, “it’s my fault. All of it. He would have found out sooner or later. I’ve been careless with this whole case. But that’s over now and I have to do what’s right.

I’m going to have to report this. He’s going to go to jail for assaulting a police officer.”

Brennan nodded.

“It doesn’t matter does it?” She asked feeling inept and defeated. She carefully ran a finger over her sore throat and winced, “he might actually serve some time, but not much. He really is untouchable, isn’t he?”

Brennan’s silence said it all.

“And you, what about you? How can you stay tied to this guy? He’s crazy. You saw that tonight with your own eyes. He’s a criminal, he’s a monster.”

“So am I.”

“No, you’re not,” Shyla said, shaking her head,” I don’t believe that for a second. I know you’ve done things that you’re not proud of, but I don’t think you would have done any of that had you felt like you had any other choice. You’ve made choices based on the need to survive. You’ve been alone and de-humanized. Victor makes his choices based on evil and greed. Don’t you see the difference?”

“The why doesn’t really matter; the actions speak for themselves. There are no excuses. Like it or not, Victor and I are the same.”

“No, Brennan, I don’t buy it. You are who you choose to be. This friendship, this misguided alliance that you think you have with Victor, its one-side. One day you’re gonna figure that out for yourself.”

His jaw clenched but he kept silent.

Shyla sighed, no longer willing or able to take the conversation any further. It was too exhausting.

“Take me home, Brennan,” she said, “I’m tired.”