Ashen Rayne (Shadowlands Book 1) (25 page)

“You’re bleeding, woman. You’re dying. Why are you doing this?” Dragov asked.

Smoak spat out blood and climbed back to her feet.

Dragov moved close, his piston-like fists landing blows that felt like aluminum bats. Smoak swayed and fell again, her ribs screaming and blood pouring from the bullet hole in her side. She stared at the pavement below her and shook her head. She couldn’t do it.

“Is that all you’ve got, MacKenna?” She heard the drill sergeant ask. “Are you just a lab rat?”

“No,” she said.

“That’s all you are, just a failed experiment, right, MacKenna?”

“No,” she said again.

“No…no…,” Dragov mimicked. “Who are you talking to?”

She then heard Blaze as if she were standing right next to her. “Kick his ass.”

Smoak nodded and pulled herself off the pavement one more time. She could see Dragov standing in the streetlights just a few feet away, but in the flashes of lightning, he was the drill sergeant, then the man who had taken her against her will, then Dragov again.

Smoak roared in anger and leapt as if she was shot from a cannon. Her hardened palm connected with Dragov’s nose, and it exploded in a spray of blood and bone. He stepped back and swung his beefy fist. Smoak ducked the blow, grabbed his arm and spun into it, leading with her elbow. She felt his arm snap under her attack, and she let go, watching Dragov back away.

He glared at her and turned to keep his broken arm behind him, but there was no sign he felt any pain.

“I had worse in the military, little girl,” he said. “You will have to do better.”

“Challenge accepted,” Smoak replied.

She fainted with a left hook that Dragov easily dodged, which put him right in line with her side kick. She heard the breath whoosh out of him and kept up the pace, spinning and kicking again and again like a Rockette filming a holiday special. When she stopped, Dragov was staggered and blood was running freely from his eyes and nose.

“Is that all you have? Not good enough. The men who are after me will do far worse,” Dragov said.

He swung again, first his good arm then the broken one. Smoak ducked the first blow and caught the second with both hands. She twisted the shattered limb, causing Dragov to scream and pushed him away. When he charged again, she launched into a spin kick that dislocated his head from his spine. He dropped like a discarded puppet and lay motionless on the pavement, gasping his last.

“You lose,” she said, sinking down beside him.

She sat there in the rain and watched the storm. It would be some time before the police arrived. When they did, she would be done crying.

“They found her,” Ashley said.

Smoak didn’t register what Ashley had said at first. She was lying on a gurney in the back of an ambulance, an IV in her arm and a mask over her nose. She blinked and raised her head to look as Ashley.

“They found her,” Ashley repeated.

Something wasn’t right. Ashley was smiling.

“Blaze?” Smoak asked.

Ashley nodded, still grinning.

“She’s alive, Smoakie. A little banged up, but apparently, your girl was an amateur diver in school. The Coast Guard are bringing her in as we speak, and she’s going to be fine.”

“Let me up,” Smoak said.

“No way, Ms. MacKenna,” the paramedic said. “You have three broken ribs and a punctured lung. The only place you’re going is the hospital.”

Smoak pulled off her oxygen mask and glared at the paramedic, who was a cute surfer-boy looking young man, if you liked that type.

“You don’t scare me, Ms. MacKenna. I’m the guy with the IV,” he said.

He turned a valve and smiled. “Goodnight.”

Smoak opened her mouth to complain and the darkness took her. The last thing she heard was Ashley’s voice.

“You better be gone when she wakes up.”

Blaze sat in the chair beside Smoak and watched her. She looked awful. Her face was swollen from the vicious beating she’d taken, her beautiful golden hair was matted to her skull and tubes ran from her to various bags and drains, making her look like something out of a bad Sci-Fi movie.

But she also looked beautiful. Even halfway to heaven, Smoak had an inner light that radiated from her and made the scars on her face almost invisible. The most beautiful thing of all was that she didn’t seem to know it was there.

Blaze scratched at the cast on her wrist and scooted forward to brush an errant hair from Smoak’s face.

Smoak opened her eyes and smiled. “Hey you,” she croaked.

“Hi baby,” Blaze replied.

“I thought you were dead,” Smoak said, tears forming in her eyes.

Blaze smiled and ran gentle fingers over Smoak’s face. “Me too. Glad I’m not.”

Smoak looked at Blaze’s wrist and frowned. “What happened?”

“I broke it in the fall,” Blaze said. “I controlled most of the dive, but not enough to walk away without something to remember it by.”

Smoak looked back at Blaze, and her face was serious. “Don’t ever do that again.”

“I promise,” Blaze laughed. “No more high dives off the causeway.”

They were still laughing when Ashley entered, her left arm still in a sling, though she’d traded up from her napkins to a real one.

“I spend an awful lot of my life visiting your dumb ass in the hospital,” she said, placing a card on the table. “All the girls signed it.”

“Stop getting us into trouble, and I’ll stay out of hospitals,” Smoak replied.

“This wasn’t my idea,” Ashley said with mock seriousness. “I’d be happy to be lying on a beach somewhere earning twenty percent on all that money we saved.”

“And be so bored you were cracking security systems for the hell of it,” Smoak said.

“Boredom isn’t so bad,” Ashley replied. “Beats getting shot.”

“What’s life without a little excitement?” Blaze asked.

Ashley shook her head. “Smoak is having a negative impact on you.”

“Maybe,” Blaze said, squeezing Smoak’s hand. “But I kinda like it.”

She leaned sideways and kissed Smoak with gentle lips, happy to have the crazy, dangerous woman in her life.

Maybe it wasn’t the happiest of endings.

But it was a hell of a beginning.

Thank you to the Gamers, who gave me my start at writing. I love you always.

Thank you to everyone who puts up with my writing insanity. I know I get pretty goofy when I’m in the zone. Tequila!

Thank you to my publisher Sarah, who never tells me I’m neurotic.

Thank you to my editor Elizabeth, who hasn’t killed me yet.

Thank you to Cat, who is always looking over my shoulder.

And a very special thank you to everyone who gives my books a chance. You bring my tales to life. Thank you <3

Each year more than twenty million people, mostly women and children, are sold into sexual servitude and forced labor, in spite of substantive laws.

Most are never released.