If Tomorrow Never Comes (30 page)

The
back of Scorpio’s fingers lightly brushed Jordan's flushed cheek, his touch,
like a bullet piercing painfully.
   
Recoiling, Jordan sharply cut her eyes toward him, and had they been a
cobra's tongue it would have struck him dead. Her attention immediately swished
back to Jake she was so frightened he’d lose the control he was struggling
with, a control he’d never mastered.
 
She
saw the bright flames shooting color across his face, and then watched him
become soulless, conscienceless, and fearless as intense simmering anger contorted
otherwise handsome features.

When
it came to Jordan, Jake's skin was transparent.
  
His eyes, wood catching on fire as his glare
directed at Scorpio erased an arrogant smile.
 
With knuckles bleached of color, teeth bared, Jake snarled, “Tonight
you'll find out life isn't a neat little package you can hold in your palm and
crush.
 
In every game, the winner takes
all.
 
Tonight, that’s me.
  
Jordan is one woman you'll never have.
 
Your complete lack of scruples and compassion
for human lives ends here.
 
You’ve seen
your last sunrise, Scorpio.
 
Right here,
right now, your ass is mine.”

With
a garish grin, Scorpio retaliated, “My, aren't you the epitome of
confidence.
 
It took you long enough to
piece things together.
 
Kind of slow,
wouldn't you say, for someone as celebrated as yourself?”

Jordan
was certain Jake would leap across the table and choke the life from Scorpio,
in his eyes, a neon sign flashing MURDER.
  
Then in an instant,
 
eyes’,
sparkling with renewed clarity, as if suddenly gaining vision, danced back to
hers touching her heart.

“It
takes' someone very special to teach a dead end street is just a place to turn
around.
 
That rock bottom is good solid
ground.
 
That when you're down to
nothing, you have nothing left to lose.
 
Now, the only way is up.
 
By
standing outside the fire, you merely survive life not challenge it.
 
Tonight it's time to dance within its flame.”

Though
Jake's outward appearance had changed drastically from when Billy first met
him, inside, he remained the man who had earned not only his, but also the city
of Chicago's adoration and respect.
 
A
man who stood up for all the Jane and John Doe's in the world too weak to fight
their own battles, a man who, dared to defy the odds, and wield his sword for
truth and justice.
 
Billy detected Jake's
intentions, as sure as there was air to breathe, his hero would not back
down.
 
Brazenly he stood with no weapon
for protection, other than pure guts, as if believing justice would shield him
from evil.
 
Billy knew better.
  
Jake didn't stand a chance in hell of
getting out of this one alive.

Unwittingly
worrying at her bottom lip, Marla sat smitten by Jake's loving words to Jordan
that sent a tiny shiver through her exposing a hidden raw spot of unhealed
pain.
 
Witnessing enemy's draw invisible
weapons, a cold feeling of apprehension touched her spine, a jagged icicle of
fear.
 
If she were to gamble tonight, the
stakes were against Jake.
 
The mere
thought of him lying dead at her feet made her want to cover her face, run, and
hide, scream at the top of her lungs.
 
Nevertheless, she never faltered.

When
Jake's eye's pinned Scorpio's, out of the corner he saw Billy and began cursing
himself for being so foolish. Trusting him was stupid, believing in him,
growing to care for a person whose veins flowed with the same icy blood as his
worst enemy.
 
Seeing them together for
the first time, if not for age, they could be twins.
 
Why didn't he notice the similarities
before?
 
Why was he so blind?
 
What were the odds?
 
Right this second, he wondered if Billy's
blood was tainted with enough of Scorpios' poison to make him as deadly. For a
split second Jake’s mind wandered to the night of the raid when, if not for
Billy's backup, this nightmare would have ended.
 
Could he trust Billy one more time?
 
Did he have a choice?

 
Scorpios' features, those of a psychopath,
showed bright with the lack of human care, human frailties, or
vulnerabilities.
 
Like the blackest
sludge, ice blue eyes, filled with cold determination spoke of smoldering,
powerful anger.
 
Still, his voice held no
trace of the hatred eating like piranha's at his insides.
 

“I
believe you have met my son,” then with a laugh full of tyranny, Scorpio
persisted twisting the knife.
 
“In fact,
you groomed him to be almost as good as “Chicago's Mighty Hero.”

With an audible
click, Jake's glance struck Billy then, returned to Scorpio, his reply severing
Billy's jugular vein. “He's one of the best.”
 

Scorpio
turned his attention to Billy, “Quite a compliment, wouldn't you say, my son?”

With
blood gushing from an invisible laceration, Billy could not speak, so full was
he of humiliation and remorse.
 

Scorpio
spoke with a good amount of rage, “Though, I must admit I admire your arrogance
and guts, the odds aren’t in your favor, Morgan.
 
You have my finest bodyguard on one side, my
son on the other, several men spread around the club itching for a signal to
put a bullet through your head and me in front of you.
 
I’d like nothing better than tomorrow's
headlines to read that one of your own was responsible for your
extermination.
 
His attention spun to
Billy, “If Morgan even as much as flinches, son, kill him.”

Jake
could visibly see Jordan shaking.
 
An
admirable effort at remaining calm and collected seeping from her filled her
eye’s with bleak infinite hopelessness.
 
The grief transmitting from her features, tightening Jake’s nerves,
frightened him of what she might do next.
 
When her hand gripped the stem of her goblet, fear sent icy spears
through his chest, gorging his guts, corkscrewing around his heart and
constricting it into a tight sphere of pain.
 
If he made the slightest move all hell would break loose.
 
There was no way Jordan could escape the
gunfire, no way.
 

Steadying
his voice that had all it could do to break through trepidations iron curtain,
Jake made a last ditch attempt to chip through the invisible fortress Jordan
built around herself.
 
“Jordan, you have
to believe our love is magic.
 
That
nothing, or no one can stand in our way.
 
When we get through this, we’ll go find that place in time I promised
you.
 
Let's go there together right
now.
 
Look at me.
 
See only me.
 
Haven't I kept all my promises?”

Jordan
felt like liquid, nothing more than a puddle of tears.
 
Jake was maniacal to believe there was a
chance in hell they'd ever survive tonight.
 
He was a foolish romantic.
 
Beating her fists against his chest, pleading and begging, would be
useless.
 
She could tell him, she hated
him, didn't want him, and didn’t love him, words that could never form on lips
still burning from the memory of his.

“You
don't know anything about me, Jake, if you did.” Her self-control cracked, the
pain pulsating inside winding her so badly she could no longer protest.
 
When Jordan raised the glass to her lips,
though Jake knew it wasn’t as simple as snatching her out of harm's way, he couldn't
give up.
 
Then again, how could he bring
himself to confess he already knew the contents of the package?
 
If they survived tonight, she'd hate his
deception.
 
She‘d leave him and if she
did, Scorpio might as well shoot him through the heart.
 
As debilitating terror lurked, a cold feeling
of fate settled in his gut.

Through
the snarled net of his thoughts, Jake managed to summon words that for an
instant seemed to freshen the stale, putrid, air hovering like a dense fog
overhead.
 
With eyes appearing as if they
knew the darkness of her soul, he said, “I don't know much, but I do know I
love you, and that's all I need to know.
 
All there is to know.
 
When a
person truly loves someone their love will see them through hurtful things said
and done, not because they forget, but because they love enough to
forgive.
  
Don't snatch the very breath
from me; rip my heart from my chest.
 
Jordan, without you, I’ll have no soul.”

The
second hand on every timepiece in the room stopped as if waiting for father
time to make a decision.
 
Despite muscles
flexing, nerves screaming with pain, sweat-soaking collars the only sound heard
was the swish of the sickle of death.

When
the second hand moved, Jordan stood her plea echoing off the walls bringing
everyone to their feet.
   
“Forgive me,
Jake.”
 
Crystal pressed against ruby
lips.
 
Raising the gun held limply in her
hand she aimed at Scorpios' head.
  

“No,”
Jake roared, leaping into midair.

Jerking
to her feet, Marla made a frantic attempt at knocking the glass from Jordan's
hand.

Snatching
the gun from beneath the table Scorpio fired.

Butch
lurched in front of Marla.

Margaret
stood, spun, and raised her gun.

Billy
pulled a revolver from his pocket and fired.

One
person sitting with Margaret stood and scanned the room with his weapon.
 

Without
batting an eyelash, or the slightest thought of remorse, a stranger stood,
aimed, and fired.

Shrieking
innocent bystanders dove for cover.
 
Tables and chairs toppled.
 
Glass
shattered.
 
Silverware clanged.
 
Flames from candles ignited whatever was in
the way.
 
Rose petals tore from their
stems.
 
Dresses, coats, and jackets
ripped at the seams.
 

Doors
of the club smashed against walls from the force of DEA agents' barging
in.
  
Sounding as though they were
cannons, in rapid succession gunshots rang out splattering blood, tearing skin,
ripping muscle, shattering bone.
 
Shrill
screams of pain joined the pungent smell of gunpowder.
 
Eyes sprung wide became clouded and
vacant.
 
Covered with blood four people
lay on the floor, one on the table.

The
slightest squeeze of a finger changed the course of the river of life.

CHAPTER 28

           
Glaring lights exposed the graphic
hues of the repulsive scene.
 
The countenance
of the people dispersed throughout the structure affirming the hysteria
transpiring only moments ago.
 
Testament
to the certainty no one is quite as blind as the victims of crime are.
      

           
Of the gathering, those standing
resembled petrified pieces of wood, their features lacking expression, some
visibly shaking.
 
Women were weeping
hysterically, sniffling into men's hankies blindfolding their faces.
 
Others were in the process of pulling
themselves from under the tables that provided protection.
 
Among the debris, medical teams made their
rounds trying desperately to placate disgruntled clientele.

           
Portions of bodies gashed and
abraded were beginning to swell and discolor as the inflicted stanched the flow
of blood with anything they could grab.
 
Expensive garments were ruined, hairdos in disarray and jewelry
scattered like worthless gravel among the small fires smoldering.
 
You could hear glass crunching beneath shoes.
  

           
As sirens screamed, and red lights
flashed paramedics’ ran toward their duty.
 
In the interim, cameras' and video recorders captured police officers
reciting rights and securing handcuffs.
 
In the midst, aggressive reporters scribbled on scraps of paper the
varying renditions of shocked witnesses.