Page 72 of Stolen Goods
Run!
But she didn’t. She stood in the grass and pulled something from her waistband.
Oh, God, what are you doing?
What is that?
He couldn’t quite see. Why wasn’t she running? The Russian was letting her go. He didn’t care. She lifted her hands high above her head, and Thad broke, shifting his focus just enough to meet her resolute eyes. That wicked gleam he remembered was back and brighter than ever. Metal glinted in the sun. He had one moment to question—Are those scissors?—before she slammed her arms down.
The gun fired wildly.
Thad charged.
Mother of God.Running into the Russian was like charging headfirst into a brick wall. The man was pure muscle. And huge. It took everything in Thad to force him off his feet. Addison jumped out of the way with a yelp as the two men fell to the ground and the gun skidded across the front walk and into the grass. While the Russian was dazed, Thad used the butt of his empty Glock as a club and whacked it straight into the man’s forehead. He grunted, confused. Thad hit him again.
“Run, Addison!”
She stared at him, eyes wide, holding the bloody scissors in her hand like an offering of some kind as she shook her head.
“Where’s Jo?” he asked, trying a different tactic to break through her shock. “Is she safe? Did she get away?”
“I think so,” Addison whispered, voice scratchy and raw. Relief flooded through him. “Our plan was to separate them.”
“Go find Jo, okay?” Thad said, forcing his voice to remain calm for her even as his panic spiked. The Russian stirred beneath him. “Go find Jo, now!”
The Russian blinked the stupor from his eyes. Thad brought his hands to the man’s throat, trying to suffocate him before he regained strength. But it was too late. Two beefy hands shoved into Thad’s chest, tossing him like a rag doll across the lawn. Luckily, he was spry. He rolled to his knees and scampered across the dirt, heading for the discarded gun. They reached it at the same time. The Russian was strong, but Thad was nimble. When the man pulled, Thad twisted under and around, rolling his legs over the Russian’s arms. He bent the man’s wrists until he thought they might snap, but the man didn’t let go. The Russian slammed his head into the base of Thad’s spine. He saw stars.
“Go, Addison!” he yelled, holding on for dear life as metal slipped slowly through his fingers. The man’s head came down again. Thad groaned and fell forward, using his weight as leverage to hold on just a little while longer. “Run!”
Feet slapped on stone.
A door creaked open and slammed shut.
She was gone. She was safe.
The Russian pounded his spine a third time and Thad’s fingers went numb, letting go. The gunclinked to the ground. A fist found his gut. Then his cheek. Thad stumbled back. A foot hit his chest and he went down, landing hard against the grass. Another kick struck his abdomen, sending him rolling. Thad blinked, trying to see. In blurred shapes, the Russian bent toward the ground and rose. He heard the man spit.
Suddenly, Thad was back in that Brooklyn apartment building, one foot in front of the other, walking to his death. But this time, Jo was safe and Addison was free. He’d faced his mother. He’d met his sister. Maybe this was how it was always supposed to end for him. Maybe these past three weeks had been a gift, a way to tie up loose ends, and now he was right back where he started, at the wrong end of a gun.
He was tired of being alone.
He was tired of running.
Everyone would be safer without him.
Thad closed his eyes and imagined a different life as he waited for the bullet to strike. The life he maybe could have had if his mother hadn’t left, if his father had truly retired. He’d be an artist. Jo would bake. They’d still be best friends, because nothing could change that—partners in life, instead of in crime. On the weekends, he’d watch his sister cheer. He’d be in the front row of her high school graduation, like she was in the front row when he got his degree in fine arts. And one day, Jo would invite him to come meet her other best friends who were also pastry chefs. Addison would be there, looking at him with those clear, Caribbean eyes. He’d drown in her, the same way he had now, but it wouldn’t feel like that. Instead of all the walls closing in, a new world would blossom, because they’d have a chance, a future. It would feel as if he’d fallen in love.
The shot fired.
His ears rang.
He waited for the pain. One second stretched into two.
Am I dead?
He didn’tfeeldead. Every inch of his body ached. The shiner on his cheek was starting to puff. His toes tingled from the injury to his spine. Thad wiggled them, just to make sure he could. Then he did the same with his fingers. They moved.Can you wiggle your toes in hell?Because surely that’s where he belonged. Where he’d go.
“Thad!”
