The Black Coats(69)

She sat back, resting a hand on Thea’s shoulder. “I promise, I’ll be kind. You’ll barely feel anything. I’m not a monster. I don’t want you to be in pain.” She squeezed Thea’s shoulder. The blade was cool against Thea’s neck, and she could smell bleach on the president’s hands. Mirabelle began crying softly. This can’t be it; this can’t be . . .

The light bulb flickered. McKinley paused. It flickered again. The men shifted uncomfortably. “It’s just the power,” snapped McKinley. “They haven’t finished securing the lines for the office.” The light bulb dimmed once before lighting again. McKinley turned back to Thea. “I won’t enjoy this, truly I won’t. But the Black Coats are more important than one girl’s life.”

Suddenly, there was a loud pop of electricity and the windowless room was plunged into pitch black. The door rocked open, and there was a shuffling sound. Then Thea heard a shout and something landed with a thud near her feet. The lights flickered again. McKinley stood, her knife held defensively out in front of her. A man’s body lay by Thea’s feet.

The light bulb flickered again. Darkness. Then light. And then . . . a slash of red lipstick. “You might not enjoy this, but I will. You bitch.” The lights came on. Nixon flew forward, her fist meeting McKinley’s face, sending her flying back out of the room. The man closest to her grabbed a gun from behind his back.

“Get down!” Thea screamed at Mirabelle and Casey. A bullet ricocheted off the shelves and buried itself deep into a box of paper, shreds exploding from the point of entry. Nixon grabbed the shooter’s hand and forced it up to the ceiling, firing several more shots as she rammed her hand up against the flat of his nose. He gasped and staggered backward. Her movements almost too fast to see, Nixon slammed his head down against the metal shelving.

The second man was on her now. He grabbed her from behind, but Nixon arched her body up and away, launched vertically, and flipped her legs toward the ceiling. She landed squarely on his shoulders before she whirled in the air, her black coat flapping around them in a blur. There was a crack as she thumped the butt of a knife up against his temple, and then Nixon rode his unconscious body down to the floor.

Thea struggled against her bindings, screaming at the other girls to do the same. The largest man in the group, his arms covered with graphic tattoos, stepped forward, caught Nixon by the arm, and twisted. She screamed in pain and jammed her foot up against his face, her sharp heel leaving a spurting puncture wound. He yelled and lost his grip momentarily.

“Thea!” The second her arm was free, Nixon slid a knife across the floor to Thea. She grabbed it in between her bound hands and began sawing at the duct tape across her chest. Just a little more; just a little more. Nixon was struggling with the largest man now. The tape binding Thea snapped. She lunged away from the pipe, knowing that she had only seconds to make the right decision.

Only seconds . . . Leaving her own hands still bound, Thea fell forward and cut Louise free, because if her training had taught her anything, it was to trust the best woman for the job. Their little mouse exploded and leaped onto the back of Nixon’s attacker, bringing her fists together hard against either side of the man’s temple. He slumped to the ground. Another man surged forward and grabbed Louise’s hair, but Thea kicked her feet hard across his kneecaps. A loud snap echoed through the room. Thea smiled. That’s right, you prick, these legs are strong. He dropped to his knees, and Louise delivered a right hook to his face, followed by a hard kick to his throat. His eyes rolled up into his head and he was unconscious.

The huge man stumbled to his feet again. Nixon rushed at him, but he was as quick as she was and threw her sideways, her body hitting the shelves. With a grunt he hauled Mirabelle up against him, his meaty hand curled around her jaw, a thin knife against her throat. A trickle of blood began to stain her collar. Still bound to Mirabelle, Casey was writhing.

“Don’t move!” he bellowed. “I’ll kill them both!” Nixon froze, her eyes like burning coals. Louise crouched on the floor like a cat, her mouth clenched tight. Thea’s chest was bleeding as she sawed through the duct tape around her hands. “Who do you think you are?” the man screamed with Mirabelle’s body rigid in his arms. “Women, acting like this!”

At that moment, the duct tape broke. “Sorry we forgot to bake you a pie,” spat Thea as she shoved Nixon’s knife deep into his upper thigh. The man stumbled, reaching for Mirabelle’s neck, but it was too late. There was only a blur of black as Nixon whirled and something silver sliced through the air near Thea, moving too fast to be seen. She turned just in time to see the small metal butterfly bury itself in the man’s forehead, leaving only a vertical line of blood as its razor wings cut deep into his skull. As he fell forward, Thea lunged to catch Mirabelle and Casey before they hit the ground. Near the door, another man raised his arms in surrender and tried to kneel. Just before he hit his knees, Louise delivered a roundhouse kick to his head. He slumped against the shelves, unconscious. Nixon took a deep breath.

Thea raised her eyes to her president, her body shaking with adrenaline. “Thank you.”

Nixon wiped the blood off her mouth. “Thank you, ma’am.”

When they turned around, McKinley was long gone.





Twenty-Six


An hour later, most of Team Banner was seated in a circle on the floor of the office with Nixon standing in the middle. Casey held an ice pack against Louise’s head. Mirabelle was still a bit shaken, and Thea sat behind her, one hand pressed against her spine to steady her. McKinley’s henchmen were either piled or tied up in the back room. Only one was dead, the rest unconscious.