Abandon The Night (7 page)

Zoë pulled the bowstring past her ear and shoulder, gave a quick glance over at the two who were going at it, and settled her sights one more time on the man who’d killed her family.

Three…two…one.

A split second before she let the arrow fly, a loud howl of pain struck through the quiet, and it was too late for her to stop. The bolt released just as Zoë swore under her breath, the bolt flying true and straight toward its target. Raul shouted and fell as, pissed the hell off, Zoë turned to see the woman sprinting away from Ian, who was on the ground. Writhing.

Damn.

But that was all she had time to think, for the woman was running straight toward her hiding place.

Fuck. She knows I’m here.

Zoë slipped the bow back over her shoulder and eased into the shadows. What the hell was she going to do now?

As the woman scrambled through a half-open window of jagged glass, Zoë saw Ian staggering to his feet under the tree. And over by the vehicle, Raul was using the door’s handle to pull himself upright. She’d fucking
missed
.

Damn.

Now that she was inside the building, the woman had the sense to stop blundering about, and shifted into the shadows. With any luck, Ian hadn’t noticed where she’d run—but Zoë didn’t believe in luck.

“Over here,” she hissed. “For fuck’s sake.”

“Do you know a way out of here?” the woman replied, moving toward the shadow in which Zoë was hiding.

“I dunno. I thought you were in charge,” Zoë replied snarkily. “You fucked up my shot.”

“Sorry,” the escapee replied, just as snarkily. “Next time I won’t skip rehearsal.”

In spite of herself, Zoë cracked a smile. “Come on.” She started off toward the back of the building, away from Raul and Ian.

Shouts and angry voices followed them into the depths of the structure and Zoë wished for a light so that neither of them tripped or ran into anything. Especially her unwanted burden.

Then suddenly, a small pinpoint of illumination glowed and Zoë’s belly dropped again. But then she realized it was her companion, and for a moment, she was torn between annoyance and delight. She decided on annoyed delight, knowing that they were far into the corridor that led to the opposite side of the building from their pursuers, and that a small beam of light wouldn’t be noticeable.

But annoyance that the woman seemed to be reading her damned mind.

“Careful,” her companion said, and Zoë looked down in the nick of time and avoided tripping over a large object with hard edges that would have hurt—and been loud—if she’d landed on them. A big metal trash can.

“This way,” Zoë said when they came to an intersection, and veered to the right. The elevator doors she’d been searching for gleamed dully in the low light, and she yanked out an arrow, kneeling before her bossy companion could say a word.

She’d done it so many times before—slipping the tip of the arrow into the crack of old elevator doors—and levering them open. There was always the danger of loud creaks or other noise, but this time, they opened, rolling apart heavily but silently.

Huh. Mistress Luck. First time in a long time the bitch had shown her softer side.

“Come on,” Zoë said, peering into the dark shaft. The doors were barely wide enough for her to slip through—good thing the other woman was skinny too. She reached back and grabbed her companion’s hand and angled it so that the light shone into the dark—something she wouldn’t have bothered doing if she were alone.

“Hot damn.” The elevator was down, instead of up, on the basement level…which left the top of the big box only a few feet down. Releasing the light, Zoë reached for the metal cable nearest and tested it with her weight…not that she was going far, but she didn’t want the noise if it collapsed.

Just as she was ready to slip in, she heard a crash. The large trash can. She jumped into the shaft, grabbing onto the cable. “Get your ass in here,” she ordered in a fierce whisper.

The other woman didn’t need to be told twice. “Close the doors,” she said urgently, for the first time fear sounding in her voice. She’d grabbed a different cable and they dangled next to each other in the dark.

“You grab one, pull it toward the center. They won’t close all the way…” Zoë began, but her tag-along was a quick study and she’d already begun to tug on the heavy doors. The backs of their hands bumped as the doors closed nearly all the way, leaving a crack only as thick as a set of fingers.

She turned off the light without being told. “I don’t know how far up I’ll be able to climb.”

“No, we’re going down.” Zoë slid about four meters and her feet touched the elevator roof. Moments later she had the top of it open—a trick she’d learned from watching a few spy movies, and one that had come in handy for escaping
gangas
more than once. The little trap door gave a deep groan when she pried it open, but it was so low that she had hope if their pursuers heard it, they’d think it was just normal building sounds.

“What the hell is that horrible smell?”

“What—oh.” Zoë realized that in the close area of the elevator shaft and their proximity, her hunting shirt was doing its job. Stinking. “It keeps the
gangas
away.”

“Crap. I would say.” Her voice sounded plugged up all of a sudden, and Zoë smiled. The woman continued, “Are you going to give me a name? In case, you know, I have to get your attention? Or at least thank you for helping me? You were going to help me, right? I saw you shoot that zombie.”

Yeah. Whatever. “Zoë.”

She dropped silently into the inside of the elevator and had the pleasure of landing on something soft and musty. And then part of it moved, and she stepped away, disgusted. Snakes were so fucking annoying.

The nameless woman hung by her fingers from the top of the elevator for a long moment before finally letting herself drop. “Don’t like heights,” she said breathlessly, pulling to her feet.

“Watch out for the snake,” Zoë said helpfully.

But instead of a frightened or at least surprised reaction, her still-nameless companion said nothing but “What’s the plan?”

“We hang out in here for a bit. They’ll have to give up sooner or later, and they’ll never find us in here.” Zoë grinned in the dark. Surely the woman wouldn’t want to stay in the small space with her stinky shirt and a snake for very long.

If she didn’t, she could go on her fucking merry way and maybe Zoë would have another shot at Raul Marck. Rage blasted through her again at the realization that she’d lost her damned chance. All because of this woman.

But once again the bitch surprised her and said nothing about being stuck in the small dark place. Zoë felt her move and figured she was leaning against the wall. In the small windowless cube, the darkness was fully complete. Even with the door at the top open, the area was black and blacker.

“So do you want me to just say ‘hey you’ when I want to talk to you?” Zoë said after a long moment of silence. Silence, that is, except for the faint slithering sound as Mr. Snake tried to find a safe place to sleep again.

The low light came on again and Zoë found herself looking down at a long green snake tail. Clear of any markings but a long black stripe, the scales were a nauseating puke color.

“Nope, not poisonous.” She looked up at Zoë with a gleam of humor—and a bit of malice—in her dark blue eyes. “Figured I’d better check if we were going to be in here awhile.” Then the light went out. “And you can call me Remy.”

And that was when it all clicked into place.

She was hiding out with none other than Ms. Remington Truth.

Remy could hardly stand to breathe. The smell emanating from this woman—or her shirt, as she claimed—was so incredibly rank, it was like being in a room with
gangas
. Or rotting potatoes. Or something even worse.

But she supposed it was better than being in the company of Raul Marck and his much too-good-looking son. Who happened to kiss really well.

If she’d known the man she’d kidnapped at gunpoint three days ago was Ian Marck, she’d have figured out another way to escape the people who’d found her in the quiet little home she’d made for herself in Redlow. She still didn’t know what had possessed her to tell them her real name, but what was done was done.

And since she didn’t know how to drive those truck-like vehicles known as humvees, she’d had no choice but to seize the opportunity when she’d seen Ian climbing into one. Employing her handgun had seemed like the best way to induce him to take her on as a passenger. Since no one but the Elite and a few bounty hunters had mechanized vehicles, she figured it was the most expedient way to escape, since no one would be able to chase them.

Of course, she hadn’t realized what a horrible, bumpy trip it was going to be, over heaved-up concrete roads or the rough, uneven ground. Next time, she was going to walk or ride one of the wild mustangs that roamed throughout the area.

She shifted against the wall, still breathing through her mouth, and winced as pain radiated through her leg.

Damn.

The blood seeped through her jeans and she felt some of it trickling down into her sock and shoe. Now that she’d stopped moving, now that the adrenaline rush had ebbed, she realized how damn much it hurt.
Holy crap.
Pounding heat and spiraling pain.

Going through that window, ragged with glass, hadn’t been the best way to get inside the building. But it had been the fastest, and it wasn’t as if Remy hadn’t been injured in the past. But this…this was agonizing.

“So’d you knee him in the balls?” Zoë’s voice sounded faintly accusing. It rasped low and husky, as if it weren’t often used. “While you were fucking lip-locked? That’s damn nuked up.”

“No I didn’t knee him in the balls,” Remy told her from between tight teeth. Which was a mistake, because that meant that she drew in a breath through her nose. For a moment—a brief one—the stench overshadowed the flaming pain in her leg. “Although I would have if I’d had to.” She closed her eyes and continued. “I jabbed him in the gut, then kicked him in the shin.”

And then, surprised that she’d managed to get him to release her, she’d run toward the building where she’d seen the arrow come flying, hoping she wasn’t making a mistake.

She still wasn’t quite sure.

“Ah. Girly fighting.”

Bite me,
she wanted to say, but then she remembered the sure, strong arc of the arrow and how it had lodged into the
ganga
’s skull. This babe didn’t mess around.

Except, possibly, with scissors, because no one could consider the hacked-up job of her hair any sort of style. She was pretty enough—a man would probably think she was beautiful, with super smooth skin the color of light mahogany, high, elegant cheekbones, and an exotic shape to her eyes and mouth. But her hair was a disaster, and the boxy shirt she was wearing…ugh. It was not only caked with dirt, but seemed as if it were stiff enough to crack if she bent at the waist.

“So what were the Marcks doing with the
gangas
? Looked to me like they were trying to send them on a new mission. Looking for someone with dark hair? Who might be related to Remington Truth, maybe?”

Remy’s mouth dried and her stomach did a little flip. Could this woman know?
How?
Instinctively, she reached for the crystal and found its comforting round shape beneath her fingertips, hanging there safely at her belly. Warm, even through the shirt.

You’ll know when to use it. When the time is right. Until then…guard it with your life.

Her grandfather’s last words to her. On a deathbed of confessions, grief, and guilt.

“Is that a yes?”

“It’s a bounty they’re looking for,” Remy replied, trying to ignore the pain shooting up her leg. That was the truth, thank God. “You know that’s what they do.”

“Yeah, when they’re not fucking feeding villages and families to
gangas
. Your little stunt back there, by the way, blew my best chance to take out your boyfriend’s father.” Her words came out tight and full of loathing, but Remy heard the pain deep in her voice and resisted the urge to touch Zoë’s hand.

Probably not a good idea with this prickly one. “Sounds like you have a history with him.”

“So what bounty are they after?”

Okay, then. Apparently I’m the only one allowed to share.
But that was okay. Best to divert her from her earlier questions. “A member of the Elite has run away and they’re looking for her. There are a few
gangas
that have the capacity to understand differences in appearance.”

“Coulda fooled me. I’ve never seen one with any more brain power than it takes to stagger around. What’s the Elite?”

“You know…the ones who…well, the ones who wear the crystals.” Remy caught herself before she said too much. And it was taking more and more effort to keep her voice steady in light of the pain gyrating around her leg.

“That’s what they call themselves? The Elite? And one of them ran away. Can’t imagine why the fuck she’d do that.”

How much did this woman
know
? Remy frowned, once again glad for the darkness. “Yeah. Her name is Huvane. Uh, Laurie or Mallory, or…something like that. She was…with them from the beginning.” She closed her eyes, counting to ten, breathing to alleviate the pain. It wasn’t freaking working.

“Are you all right?” Zoë asked.

Remy curled her lips inward, then relaxed them. No sense in playing the martyr. “I cut my leg pretty badly when I dove through the window. It’s bleeding and it hurts like a bitch in heat.”

“That’s not good. I knew a guy once who died from a cut.”

“Thanks.” Too damn bad the crystal Grandpa had given her wasn’t the healing kind. It would come in handy about fricking
now
.

“Put that light on and let me take a look. I know a guy who’s a doctor.”

“A doctor? There aren’t anymore doctors,” Remy said, but she pulled out the light. “Any who survived the Evolution would probably be dead, or old and dotty by now.”

“Not this one,” Zoë told her. And then she sucked in her breath. “Holy nuking crap.”