Early Sins (Dangerous Games Book 0) (27 page)

Sagging against the ground she let the emptied gun slip from her fingers, the last pull on the trigger had produced nothing so it was useless. Smith reached over to squeeze her arm. “You did well, C. So well. They didn’t even remotely see you as a threat.”

“No, I was just a pawn to make you angry.”

“Exactly.”

“Well,
that
pissed me off.”

“You killed them, does that help?” Smith breathed carefully, groaning.

“Fucking right I killed them. Dickbags.” Camille winced, rubbing her hand where her joint was still screaming as she stretched her legs in front of her. “Where the fuck are we?”

“I have no idea. I woke up in another room, tied to a chair like you were. I’m just lucky they did a lazy job of redoing the rope. You were, um, dressed when I was brought in.” Smith pushed himself up onto an elbow. “Did they… do anything?”

“Other than the dickbag who fingered me for show? No. Not that I can tell.” With a grimace she sat up completely, facing the doorway that the most recent idiot had entered from. “Are any of these fuckers Gabriel Richard?”

“No.”

“I want to kill him too.”

“That’s not the job,” Smith answered, holding the gun up, keeping it ready.

“Then we need to call Jean and see if Thomas Moreau would be upset if both of them died.” She used the chair to force herself to her feet, ignoring the momentary dizziness as she stood up. “Because I want to kill him.”

“C, you need to think. We have to get out of here first.” Smith used the chair to stand up as well, but he seemed even less steady on his feet.

“Give me the gun.”

“What?”

“You look like you’re about to fall over, I’ve killed four of them. Let me have the fucking gun.”

“You’re bleeding,” Smith responded, but she laughed.

“So are you, give me the gun in your hand. You really want one, grab another off one of these assholes, and if any of them are still breathing – shoot them.” There was a moment where he paused, but then he shoved the gun into her hand and she weighed it in her hand. Four. Four bullets. Walking to the door she listened against it – nothing.

“Ready to shoot our way out of here?” Smith asked as he kicked one of the bodies over and dug in his jacket for a gun. When he lifted one up he checked it, pulled the slide back to load a bullet to-go and then nodded to her. “I’m good.”

“Did you find a phone on any of those assholes?”

“No such luck.”

She laughed low, trying to steady herself on her feet as she turned the doorknob slowly. “Then yeah, we’re going to kill every fucker on our way out. Sabine is dead. We did the job, everything else is just frosting on the cake.”

They opened the door and found themselves in a hallway, moving towards what they hoped was the entrance, but then C froze as she heard a voice. “Dites Moreau je vais le tuer!”

Smith stepped close to her, whispering, “He said to tell Moreau he’s going to kill him.”

“Think that’s Gabriel?” she whispered back. 

“Only one way to find out.”

She waited outside the door for a moment as he continued ranting in French, and then Smith nodded to her. Turning the doorknob slowly, she shoved it inward and then rolled to the floor to give Smith a clean shot. Bullets fired, but she sat up fast and then they were both firing into the two men standing in the room.

There were short, stifled screams before they collapsed to the floor, and Smith took a few shuffling steps forward as the haze of gun smoke dissipated. “Well, Gabriel Richard is dead. Hopefully Thomas Moreau will be okay with that.” He lifted the gun and fired one more time into the lifeless torso of the man that had stolen Sabine Moreau away.

With a groan Camille shoved herself to her feet and walked over to a set of suitcases against the wall, flipping open the top of one she saw women’s clothes. Bras, underwear, dresses, and underneath that the edge of boxes. Shifting to her knees with a wince, she pulled out a jewelry box and opened it to find a diamond necklace arrayed beautifully against navy colored silk. “I think when we return these jewels, he won’t give a fuck how many people we killed.”

There was a crash as Smith slumped to his side, slamming into the desk and knocking a glass to the floor. A red stain marred the white shirt he wore, and his face looked pale. “I think you’re right, but I think we need to go.”

“FUCK! Smith!” Rushing towards him she kept the gun beside her as she dropped to her knees next to him to put pressure on the wound in his side.

“Get the phone, C. Call Etienne. I’ll be fine, it’s just a flesh wound, I swear, but I need medical.” He winced and hissed through his teeth as she pressed harder.

“Okay, just hold here, dammit!” Crawling over she found the mobile Gabriel had been using and wiped it off as much as she could on her dress before she dialed Etienne’s number, waiting as the strange ring echoed in her ear. “Do not pass out on me, Smith, I swear I will -”

“
Poulet Doré, que voulez-vous?”
A tired voice came across the line, and she rolled her eyes.

“I need Etienne, Smith is down. I don’t fucking speak French!” She shouted at the phone and for a moment there was silence, and she forced a smile for Smith as pale green eyes lifted to her. Pained, weak – he needed her. He needed help. “Hello?!”

“Yes, we have your order. Where would you like it delivered?” The voice coming across in English comforted her, but she had no idea where she was.

“Shit. I don’t know!”

“We need an address, miss.” There was activity on the other end of the line, and she cringed.

“Fine, give me a minute.” Pressing the mobile to her chest she looked down at Smith. “I need to go find out where we are, swear to me you will keep pressure on that.”

“Take me with you, you can’t pronounce anything anyway.”

“You shouldn’t move!”

“And how do you think you’re going to get me into a car?” Smith groaned and grabbed onto her shoulder and she hauled him to his feet, cursing obscenities as she did.

“Fucker, thinks he can do this while he’s bleeding…”

“Miss?”

“Fucking, hold on! I’m finding out the god-damned fucking add-”

Smith snatched the phone from her as she helped them out the door, speaking in rapid French as they slowly moved towards what they hoped was the exit. Finally they found a front door and she unlatched it and threw it open. Three steps down to the concrete and she realized that Smith had to outweigh her by a hundred pounds. She needed to set him down – a bus stop. There.

She shuffled them over to it and eased him down as best she could, but her injured shoulder was screaming. “Stay here, I’ll figure out where we are.”

“C!” He called to her as she turned to run, and she stopped. “Keep the gun in your hand, there could be more of them.”

“I know, put pressure on the wound, dammit.” Ignoring her own pain she jogged down the street until she found the next intersection, memorizing the random words before she ran back. “We’re near Rue de la Barrière Blanche and Rue Joseph de Maistre! Whatever the fuck that means!”

Smith repeated her words, much more elegantly into the phone, and then spoke more French as he pulled his jacket around him to hide the blood, but there was no hiding the mess of his face. “Relax, C. The job is complete, we just need to -”

“I don’t fucking care, Thomas or Jean’s men can clean up that mess.” Scooting closer she applied pressure again to the wound. It seemed to have skimmed the surface, but she couldn’t be sure. “Is someone coming or not?”

“Yes. For both of us.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding, C.” Smith reached up and brushed her hair from her forehead, but she flinched back as her head throbbed.

“I said I’m fine.” With a growl she pushed away from Smith to look down the streets, full of taxis that she didn’t want to flag down in their condition. “Where the fuck are they, Smith?”

“It’s going to take a bit, will you just come and sit down?”

Sighing she sat down beside him, and he leaned against her, his head on her good shoulder. “You did beautifully.”

“You got
shot
.”

“I got scratched by a bullet. I’d know if it was still in me, trust me.”

“I thought Europe was supposed to have less guns or something.” Camille was keeping up the conversation as she skimmed the traffic, looking for anything unusual. Any sign of Etienne’s men.

“Less, yes, but it just helps people identify the bad guys better.”

“We have guns,” she muttered.

“We’re some of the bad guys, C.” Smith laughed, but it broke into coughs that made her reach under his arms to haul him further upright.

“I thought you said you were fine.”

“I am. I’m just in pain, and no one touched me like they did with you.” Turning his head slowly he looked at her, and his gaze made her growl. “How are you, C?”

“I told you I’m fucking fi-”

“Yeah, I heard you, but you’re only talking to me right now. Just me. Be honest. No lies, remember?” Smith’s voice was serious, and she knew he wouldn’t drop it.

“None of them fucked me, Smith. I’ve gone through a hell of a lot worse. I pretended to be a whore to keep the attention off you, they treated me like one, it was a success.”

“It’s the first time that something like that has happened since you were capable of actually fighting back.” His words struck a chord inside her, but she had been in control. She had baited the bastard next to her to touch her instead of hurting Smith – even though they had hurt Smith anyway. Even though he’d still ended up with a bloody face and a bullet wound.

At least they were both alive.

“I knew what I was doing, Smith. I had a pretty good idea what would happen when I played the hooker card, but it drew their interest to me, and if we were getting out of there I needed you conscious. Some asshole touching me isn’t going to ruin my fucking day. We survived, that’s the deal, right?”

“You really did do beautifully, C, and I wish I’d been able to get loose sooner.”

“It’s fine. Call Jean. Tell him about the jewelry.” She leaned him back on the bench and stood, too antsy and full of adrenaline to sit still. Instead of staying close she walked towards the busier intersection, scrubbing at the blood on her temple to try and hide it as she approached a more populated area. When she saw no one that looked helpful, she turned back, and that was when she saw the white SUV following her as she walked back towards Smith.

“
Poulet Doré. Avez vous appelé?” A man asked from the passenger window, and she pointed towards the bus stop.

“Whatever, I don’t know what you’re saying. Are you from Etienne? If so, help
him
.” They drove past her and pulled a u-turn to stop in front of Smith, and she caught up just as they exited the vehicle. Smith was speaking in rapid French that she couldn’t track, but soon two men were helping him into the vehicle and one young man was urging her into the backseat.

“We help. Yes. In now.”

“Fine, whatever.” Climbing into the backseat with Smith she buckled them in and held his head in her lap as the others climbed into the SUV and sped off. Even while weak Smith was barking commands in French and soon the passenger was on the phone talking up a storm.

“The bodies? The jewelry?”

“Taken care of,” Smith groaned, and she nodded, brushing her fingers over his forehead in a wordless apology for him being shot and for snapping at him.

“I’m fine,” she reiterated but he just rolled his eyes, and as pale as he was he still managed to glare up at her.

“We are going to talk.”

“There’s nothing more to say. It’s done.”

“C…” he spoke softly, raising one hand to brush her cheek, tracing her lips with his thumb. “About the other thing -”

She flinched, remembering the way she’d said the
L-word
when the idea of them dying flashed in front of her eyes. “Don’t. People say crazy shit when they think they’re about to die, and I needed them to focus on me because they were less likely to hit me. I just said what came to mind.”

“It’s okay -”

Camille gently covered his mouth, looking down at the angry swelling around his right eye, the split lip, the tension in his face that spoke of the pain he was doing his best to hide. “Smith, I will gladly fuck you as soon as you’re patched up. I will ride you on that gorgeous fucking terrace in full view of the other guests and half of Paris and the Eiffel Tower – but I am not having this conversation. Got it?”

He nodded, and then he turned her hand and kissed her knuckles, placing a lingering kiss on her thumb that was swollen from when she’d escaped the rope. “I got it, C. Just remember, I’m supposed to be the bossy one.”

“Right now you’re the
shot
one, so I get to be in charge.”

“You can’t even tell them what to do, C.”

“Then translate for me.”

“Translate your bossy commands?” There was an edge of humor in his voice as he smiled through the obvious pain.