Fearless: Complicated Creatures Part Three
Part 3
of the
Complicated Creatures
Series
A novel
ALEXI LAWLESS
Copyright © 2016 by Alexi Lawless
Kindle Edition
VIVRANT Press Publishing
The following story contains mature themes, strong language, and violent situations.
It is intended for adult readers.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission from the author and publishing house, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and for review purposes.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not be construed as real. Any resemblances to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead, are entirely coincidental.
The use of artist and song titles throughout this book are done so for storytelling purposes and should in no way be seen as advertisement. Trademark names are used in an editorial fashion, with no intention of infringement of the respective owner’s trademark.
Excerpt from Goddess Rising: The Prequel
TU NE CEDE MALIS, SED CONTRA AUDENTIOR ITO
—Virgil
“Yield not to misfortunes, but advance all the more boldly against them.”
December—Late Night
Bloomsbury, London
R O X A N N E
T
he trick to
tailing someone who can see you is to appear as unobtrusive and non-threatening as possible. It’s also helpful to be an attractive woman trailing a man. They’re either too confident to see you as a threat or too flattered to worry about what you really want.
But Michael Lightner should have been suspicious. After all, his father had just blown up a couple blocks in the City of London and in the space of so many hours had become one of the most wanted men in the United Kingdom. Roxanne de Soto fully expected Michael to be a bit twitchy, especially with Scotland Yard and MI-5 closing in. She figured she was only ahead of them by an hour or two at most. Pretty soon they’d put two and two together concerning Michael’s whereabouts, and they’d come for him—
if she didn’t get to him first.
Lightner’s son stood on the stoop of his girlfriend’s sleek brick townhouse in a posh part of London. The young man was a dead ringer for his father—from the same lean frame to the high, angular cheekbones. His eyes were pale as dry ice, she could see that even from a distance as he glanced up and down the darkened street while he smoked a cigarette, spare hand tucked in his arm pit to ward off the cold. But Michael hadn’t yet cultivated the seasoned, hardened look of his father. He looked like a scared kid, really—trying to feel brave as he sucked in one long, last drag before flicking away the cigarette butt before lighting another.
He’d been holed up at his girlfriend’s house since Lightner had done the unthinkable. Rox knew this because she’d been tracking him since she’d landed in London a few days ago. As Lucien Lightner’s only child, Michael seemed to be in regular communication with his father. That was, until daddy set off a car bomb in the City of London while he kidnapped and tortured Jack Roman and Mitchell Gartner. Rox had managed to save them both and even shot Lightner twice in the process, but that bastard had escaped from the little East End row house she’d held him while she’d gotten him patched up enough to deliver alive to Samantha.
As soon as that bastard got away from her though, Rox had a feeling that he’d contact his son. After all, he had very few allies left in this city. Even thugs and lowlifes didn’t take kindly to having their hometown bombed by a local. But Rox figured the easiest way to know if Lightner had reached out was to confront Michael herself. This kid wouldn’t stand up to interrogation. She could tell that just by looking at him in his skinny jeans with his sixty-quid haircut, chain-smoking like he wished it was something stronger.
Rox approached him slowly as snowflakes floated gently in the chilly night air. She was holding the leash of a cute little dog she’d stolen from a nearby garden after the owner let it out to do its business. Tonight she’d disguised herself as a twenty-something hipster with an auburn-haired wig, a slouchy knit cap and red Wayfarer eyeglasses that hid most of the bruising around her nose. Her ego hurt worse than her nose if she was being halfway honest. Roxanne still couldn’t believe Lightner had managed to get one in on her in his condition, but she’d covered the worst of it with heavy make-up and glasses she didn’t need. The net effect was that she passed for a cute, nerdy-chic girl with a damn cute dog.
Wolf in sheep’s clothing
…
She let the little dog meander around the darkened sidewalk like a puffy dandelion, distracted by the new sites and smells, not making too much of a fuss despite being hostage to a stranger. As she got within a few yards of Michael, she watched him put out his cigarette with the grind of his tennis shoe as he looked her over, his gaze cautious and speculative.
Rox feigned a bashful smile. “Mind if I bum one of those?” she called out softly, hesitantly, like she was letting him in on a secret.
He cocked his head, eyes running over her puffy jacket, black leggings and motorcycle boots before dropping to the dog.
“I’m supposed to have quit,” she confided with a sheepish look. “But honestly, I’m just jonesing so bad for a cigarette, you have no idea.”
He shrugged, muttering, “Sure. Why not?” He reached into his coat pocket for his cigarettes.
Rox stepped forward, accepting the proffered smoke, smiling gratefully.
“You’re American,” he stated matter-of-factly, his voice not quite the deep, slicing baritone of his father’s.
“Yep, I am,” she said with a nod, blowing the smoke out as the dog peed on a nearby lamp post. “I’m here studying design,” she lied before gesturing to the cigarette. “Thanks for this. You’re a lifesaver. My boyfriend’s been on my ass to quit. It’s just hard, you know? When you like something so much,” she added with a smile.
Michael nodded, albeit distractedly. “My bird’s on me about it too.” He glanced up and down the street again, anxious.
The wolf’s right in front of you
, she thought as she took another drag before stepping back to tie the dog’s leash to the lamp post. Rox checked the tag on the collar. Name and address on a metal disc. Perfect. The little fluffball would be found soon enough and taken home. She stood slowly, cigarette in one hand while she shoved the other deep inside her jacket pocket, wrapping around the polymer grip of a sub-compact Glock 26.
Michael’s phone made a sound, and he looked down, clicking on the screen to read a message.
“I’ve got to dash,” he said without looking up. He flicked the lit cigarette onto the sidewalk before pulling out his car keys.
Rox nodded understandingly. “Thanks for the ciggy,” she said with a little wave.
Just then, she heard the distant sound of sirens on approach, the hairs raising on the back of her neck. Michael paused for a moment, looking like a hunted man as he stepped off the curve and jogged to a dark Range Rover. He’d just unlocked the door and started to climb in when Rox opened the passenger door and slid into the seat beside him.
“What the hell—?” he began.
“Hear those sirens, Michael?” Rox leaned over to press the ignition to his car. “They’ve figured out where you are, man. They’re coming for you right now.”
“Who the hell are you?” he spat out, eyes narrowing as she calmly pulled her gun out, keeping it low so they looked like a normal couple in a car, talking.
“I’m not MI-5 or the cops—that’s all you should care about.” She heard the sirens blaring louder. She figured they were less than forty seconds out at this point. “Time to go, Michael. Chop chop.”
Tensed, he glanced in his rearview mirror, trying to decide which was the lesser of the two evils. Go with the chick holding a gun or wait to get arrested and thrown in a hole. “What the fuck do you want?” he asked, looking at her again.
“Your father,” she answered. “You have less than thirty seconds to make a move, Michael.” She could hear the frantic, high-speed pitch of the
wah-wah-wah
sirens closing in. It reminded her of the devastation Lightner had left in his wake—the scent of soot, ash, and scorched flesh. It also made her head throb harder.
His gaze darted from the gun to her face to the rearview mirror, then back again. “Sod it,” he said under his breath, cutting the wheel so he could move out of the parking space. He drove fast, but not too fast in the slushy streets, his eyes flicking from her to the rearview and side view mirrors in rapid succession as he tried to calculate a way out. They were two blocks away when the police cars descended on the house they’d just left, probably scaring the shit out of the poor little dog she’d left tied to the lamp post.
“Well, that was close,” Rox drawled.
“Where am I headed?” he asked, voice clipped and tight.
“Where were you headed when you decided to leave?”
“Nowhere,” he lied. It struck her then that despite his looks, Michael didn’t hold a candle to his father. Lightner was smooth as silk and accomplished in deception. Cocky and insolent. This kid had the lying skills of an average joe and nowhere near the confidence.
Rox leaned against the door as she kept the Glock trained on him, just out of view. “So here’s the deal: I don’t want you. It’s your dad I’m after. If you tell me what you know, you walk away unharmed. If you jerk me around and waste my time, I’ll blow out your knee caps,
comprendes?”
Michael’s hands tightened around the wheel. “What do you want with my father?”
“He owes me a bit of money,” she lied. “I mean to get it before he splits town for good. Girl’s gotta eat, you know?”