Page 3 of High Stakes

“Stabbed,” she says weakly on a sharp inhale. “Chest and abdomen.” Another sharp inhale. “Knife is still there.” Her head falls forward and I nearly weep at how she looks, so frail and weak.

My phoenix. Please, Little Bird, please don’t do this to me.

I ignore Alexia as he talks and cuts her bindings. I shrug out of my jacket, followed by my tank top. With the fabric balled in one hand, the other wraps around the handle of the knife. “One. Two.” I pull the blade out quickly and press my shirt to the gushing wound. “Three,” I breathe out, and bite back the bile that rises in my throat.

“You fucking asshole.” Her voice waivers and she turns her head to vomit.

Pride and anger war within me as I stand and watch her. She’s so fucking strong. “Can you hold pressure? I’m going to pick you up. Stay with me, Little Bird,” I whisper, and gather her into my arms, careful to avoid her stab wounds. Her enticing scent envelopes me as she drops her head to my shoulder.

I inhale deeply, the smell of copper marring the floral scent of her shampoo. My arms tighten around her frame as we head for the car. My stomach still feels like it’s doing somersaults in my abdomen and my heart is squeezing painfully in my chest, but I let the relief wash over me as I cradle her against my chest.

She better thank the gods above and below that she is still breathing, because I would have killed her if she’d died. My eyes meet hers and I feel like I’ve physically been struck by lightning. I inhale sharply and make a vow right here and now, that I will never let her out of my sight again.

She’s here. She’s alive. And she’s mine.

1

EMELIA

“Iguess I’m really having a hard time putting it into words. I know I feel guilty because it’s really my fault, you know?” I sigh deeply, and recline on the chaise lounge, crossing one ankle over the other. “If I hadn’t gone out on my own, no one would have gone feral.” My fingers dance lightly over the blade of the knife I was twirling in my lap.

A muffled grunt is the only response I get.

“I just don’t understand why they did it. I mean, each one of them did something so stupid.” I swing my legs over the side of the lounge and lean forward with my elbows on my knees. “You should have seen them all. It was like they were ready to rip the world apart at the seams.” A small smile turns up the corners of my mouth as I pick absently at my fingernail with the tip of the knife.

Another grunt, some shuffling, and a dull thud draw me out of my daydream. “Oh for fuck’s sake,” I hiss, and push to my feet. The shuffling and grunting grows louder as I approach the man cowering in the corner of the room. I stop a few inches from him, twirling my blade between my fingers again.

He grunts loudly and jerks against the ropes binding his arms and legs. His face is covered in sweat, and blood is caked along the edge of the duct tape keeping his screams muted. Dark, greasy hair falls into his eyes as he shakes his head from side to side with wide eyes.

“You’re a shit listener. Did you know that?” I turn on my heel to pace the length of the room, my boot heels clicking rhythmically on the gray tiled floor. “You’re an even shittier mobster.” I make a full circle and stop at his feet. “So… Peter, why don’t you tell me what you know and I’ll make this as painless as possible.”

Peter flinches as I crouch in front of him and rip the tape from his face, ripping some hair from his beard. “I don’t know,” he sobs out and inhales deeply. “Please. I don’t.”

I roll my eyes and pull on a pair of black latex gloves. What an absolute waste of space. “You don’t know who hired you and your friends?” I ask slowly, and flex my hand around my knife. “They’re dead now, you know? You’re the last one.”

He flinches again and tries to press his entire body into the wall behind him. “Please, please, please,” he whispers.

He’s a blubbering mess and it’s making me sick to my stomach. I stand and begin to braid my long, dark hair. Peter flinches back at the sudden move. Jumpy fucker, isn’t he?

“Wait, wait, wait, wait,” he begs loudly, and jerks against his bindings again. “I don’t have a name, but I can describe him. He was wearing dark sunglasses. He had a mustache and he smelled like old cigars.”

My eyes roll again, and I can’t help myself. My anger bubbles to the surface and I lash out, kicking him in the chest. “That’s half the people in this fucking city, you asswipe.” I inhale deeply and try to get control over the fury burning through my veins.

Peter coughs and slumps to the side, breathing shallowly. “What do you want from me?” He cries out, spittle and blood flying through the air.

“I want,” I say slowly and kneel down in front of him again. My knife flashes as I bring it up to his face and touch the cold metal to his cheek. “A name.” I flick my wrist and cut a deep gash into Peter’s left cheek.

He screams and jerks his head feebly, trying and failing to escape my wrath. His screams turn into incoherent words.

“What was that now?” I ask, and slice an identical mark into his other cheek. I bring the blade down to his throat, hovering it over his Adam's apple.

“Oh, God no,” he whimpers,and shifts his bound legs from side to side.

My nostrils flare as I inhale deeply, still trying to get a hold of myself, and I take in the acrid smell of urine. I look down and notice the dark spot seeping down his pant legs. “Did you just fucking piss yourself?” I ask incredulously, and shift so my boots don’t end up in the growing puddle of desperation.

Peter sobs quietly and nods. “All I know is that they were hired, same as everyone else. There were multiple units working. They were only part of the initial team.”

“I want a name, Peter, I won’t ask again.” My voice is cold and hard. My eyes narrow as I watch his face closely, waiting for him to slip up. To give something away. But he never does. He either doesn’t know anything, or he’s afraid of whoever I’m trying to find.

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