Stone’s fury burned hot as he watched the two men stroll away, laughing and shoving each other. They were heading directly toward the market. Wrenching himself into action, Stone followed. Ahead, he could see the entrance to the Savemore, where Wren had gone for supplies. The two men wove through the crowds, scanning, shoving people aside, casually ignoring the glances and curses. Stone had to stop them before they spotted Wren. But he had to do it without attracting attention.
A vendor stood at a cart, chopping vegetables with a large knife. Stone dug another wad of pesos from his pocket, pointed at the knife and held out the money. The vendor looked baffled, but shrugged and handed over the knife. Stone shoved his pistol back into his waistband and returned his attention to the market. The thugs were inside the pharmacy. Stone broke into a run, pressing his palm to his side and stifling the groans of pain. He headed through the door, down an aisle, behind one of the men. They’d split up, providing him with an excellent opportunity to take them out one at a time.
The first thug was alone in the aisle near the corner, surrounded by deodorant and shampoo and soap and toothbrushes. Stone gathered his nerves, tightened his grip on the knife, and lunged. The thug heard or sensed something at the last second, whirling, and the blade missed his throat—Stone’s original target. The tip glanced off his cheekbone, and Stone sent his fist into the thug’s face, buying a split-second. With a quick slash, he dragged the blade across the man’s exposed throat, unleashing a sluice of blood. It was messy, but effective. Stone danced away from the hot spray, moving past the falling body, around the corner before it hit the tile. He had to search three more aisles before he found the second thug, who had taken a bottle of soda, opened it and was chugging it, earning the irate scolding of an apron-clad worker. As he approached from behind, Stone heard the thug laughing, telling the terrified but determined young man to get lost. When the thug hefted his gun, the worker scurried away. Guzzling the soda, the thug didn’t hear Stone come up behind him, nor did he notice the blade as it flashed upward, under his diaphragm and into his lung, collapsing it. Stone lurched toward the exit once more. Shouts and screams erupted as the bodies were discovered, and Stone used the sudden chaos as an excuse to slip away, hopefully unnoticed. As he stumbled back toward his previous hiding place, he saw Wren spinning in circles. She had a child’s pink Hello Kitty backpack on her back, and a terrified expression on her face.
Stone whistled, and she whirled around, relief flooding her features as she saw him approaching. Horror replaced relief when she saw the knife in his fist, the blood coating his hand and forearm. He cleaned the knife on his shirt, and then slid it between his belt and shorts.
“You—you weren’t here,” Wren said. “Where—what happened?”
“We had company.” He turned Wren around and unzipped the backpack, scooped up the shirt and one of four liter-bottles of water.
The shirt was several sizes too big, but it would cover him. He uncapped the water and took several gulps, then dumped it over his crimson-coated forearm, scrubbing away the worst of the blood.
Wren took the bottle when he handed it to her. She drank, closing her eyes in obvious bliss. Recapping it, she eyed him. “So we had company? And you…you killed them?”
“Couldn’t let them find us, or get word back to Cervantes.”
“Are you…did they hurt you?”
Stone shook his head. “No, babe. They never even saw me.” He stuffed the nearly empty water bottle back into the backpack, rummaged again and pulled two energy bars out, unwrapping one and handing the other to Wren. “Good job, Wren. You got some good stuff. Eat this. We gotta hole up, get off the street.”
He led her back to the intersection, where he stopped and scanned, spotting a hotel across the road. He pointed, and Wren nodded, understanding. It turned out to be a fancy place, nicer than Stone would have chosen as a hideaway. He didn’t have enough Philippines Pesos, so he had to pay for a room with some of his American dollars. The clerk behind the counter eyed them carefully, suspicion filling his features as he took in their ragged appearances.
Stone peeled a hundred dollar bill and slid it across the counter to the clean, groomed, neat-looking Filipino man. “My girlfriend and I had a bit too much fun, know what I mean?” He let the number on the bill show, but didn’t give it to the clerk yet. “We lost our luggage, but we’re too exhausted to go buy new stuff.”
The clerk reached for the money. “I will get new, no problems, no problems.”
Stone jerked it back. “See, the other issue is, we’re kind of eloping. So we need it to be kept quiet.”
The clerk narrowed his eyes. “Eloping? What dis?”
Stone leaned close, whispering conspiratorially, dragging Wren against his side. “Getting married, but her parents don’t know. It’s a secret.”
Smiling wide, the clerk nodded. “Ah, yes, yes. Run away, get married.”
Stone let him take the money. “So, if any of her brothers comes looking, you haven’t seen us, huh?”
“You need doctor, yeah?” The clerk’s eyes focused on Stone’s blood-soaked shirt.
“No. I just…fell. I’m fine.”
“Sure, okay, man.” The clerk clearly knew exactly how Stone had gotten hurt, but he said nothing.
“I’m feeling kinda sick, you know?” Stone said. “So, if you happened to know where to get some antibiotics, there’d be another one of those in it for you.” He tapped the $100 bill with his forefinger, which was crusted with blood he hadn’t managed to clean off.
“I might. Not cheap, but I get it.” He glanced at Wren, his expression openly curious, if not lustful.
She blushed under his scrutiny and giggled, pressing closer to Stone and nuzzling his neck. Stone had to force himself to stay calm, to play the part. It was difficult, though, with Wren’s mouth against his throat, her shy laugh in his ear, her arms around his neck. It was a game, an act, though it felt like anything but.
It was purely to convince the clerk, then, that he pressed a kiss to her cheek, and then her lips. It wasn’t that he wanted to kiss her, obviously. He just had to play the part. That’s all. Yet he couldn’t catch his breath as he tasted her mouth, felt her warmth, her tongue touching his upper lip. She was responding, giving in, playing the part back.
Only, the kiss went on longer than it needed to, and when they broke apart, Wren’s flushed face and widened eyes didn’t look faked. Nor did her surprise, or her raw desire.
“I tink you need room for dat, huh?” The clerk handed them the envelope with two key-cards, the room number written in marker across the front. “Number two-two-tree.”
Stone took the envelope with the keycard and tugged Wren to elevator. She clung to him, but now it wasn’t merely for support. There was another element to way she held on to him. It was closer, somehow. More intimate. Her palms were flat on his chest and her eyes were locked on his face. Her full breasts were pressed against him, showing him tantalizing glimpses of her tan skin.
The elevator opened, and a young Caucasian couple stumbled out, laughing uproariously, holding on to each other, reeking of alcohol. The man had dreadlocks held back by a white bandana, and he wore khaki capri pants, flip flops, and a tie-dyed Grateful Dead shirt. The girl was dressed similarly.
“Dude, you’re like, bleeding, man,” the dreadlocked drunk said. “You okay, dude?”
Stone growled. “Dude, I’m, like, fine. Mind your own, like, fucking business.”