Maya Banks - Shades of Gray

The fucker had dived behind the desk while Brumley reached for his own piece. Shit!

She rolled until she got a clear view in the cutout of the desk and kneecapped the other fucker, making him howl in pain. As soon as he leaned down to grab his knee, she put a bullet through his head.

Another shot sounded, and for a moment she thought she’d been hit. But she felt no pain.

Oh no. Oh God no. No, no, no!

She scrambled up to see Cole slumped over, blood streaming down the right side of his body. Then blinding pain overwhelmed her as Brumley hit her in the face with the butt of his gun.

She went reeling, the gun flying from her hand. She landed several feet away, her face exploding with pain. Goddamn, it felt like he’d broken her damn jaw.

He loomed over her, holding the gun to her head, but she reacted quickly, lashing out with her good leg, knocking the gun from his grasp.

She struggled up, but he was on her, yanking her to her feet, landing another blow to her already injured jaw.

By sheer determination, she remained conscious and pushed aside the pain. She hung tenaciously to Brumley when he tried to throw her toward the couch. If he ever got his weight over her, she was done for. He outweighed her by two hundred pounds. She rammed her knee into his testicles, and suddenly she was free, his howl of pain echoing sharply in her ears.

Where was a damn gun?

Was Cole alive?

Brumley recovered quickly and they circled each other like wary predators. But her concentration was divided because she was heartsick over the idea that Cole had been shot. He could be dead.

She glanced Cole’s way again and Brumley struck in that moment of inattention, landing a kick to her injured leg. Agony lanced up her thigh. She let out a cry of pain and crumpled to the floor, unable to catch herself before impact.

“Goddamn it, P.J., I’m okay. Now get your ass up and kick his fucking ass,” Cole yelled.

Relief made her dizzy. But she was also suddenly imbued with strength and purpose. Cole was alive. All she had to do was take out this asshole and her objective would be achieved. Revenge would be hers. And the son of a bitch would never hurt another woman or child again.

She pushed herself up just as Brumley launched another attack. She rolled and did a round kick with her uninjured leg, connecting with his balls for a second time. If she had her way, he wouldn’t have any left when she finished with him.

Where was a goddamn weapon? A gun? Knife? Anything?

She rolled again, trying to muster the strength to get to her feet, when her hand glanced off the knife that had been used to cut off her clothing.

She grabbed for it and held on for dear life. This time when Brumley came after her, she lashed out with the knife and got him right in the gut.

He howled in pain and jumped back. This time he didn’t advance on her, having figured out the odds had turned in her favor.

He made a dive for one of the guns and P.J. leaped after him, rolling over his body and kicking the gun in Cole’s direction.

As soon as she made contact with the floor, it knocked the breath out of her and Brumley was on her in a split second.

They rolled, his hand crushing her wrist in an effort to make her drop the knife. Oh hell no. She wasn’t going down like this.

She waited until he dropped lower, trying to use his weight to his advantage, and she head-butted him right in the face. Pain lanced down her spine as he rolled away from her, but she couldn’t afford to let it stop her now. Her whole body felt like it had been through a meat grinder, but she was so close. So damn close to victory, she could taste it.

“Behind you, P.J.!” Cole yelled.

She dropped and rolled again, barely missing Brumley’s charge. Again they were both on their feet facing off like two bulls. Blood dripped from them both. She had no idea where she was bleeding from. There wasn’t a single part of her body that didn’t hurt. Her entire concentration was on making Brumley bleed more.

He feinted left and that’s when she had him. She went low and took him down when he was off balance. She rolled atop him and punched him right in the face. And then again. She punched until she was sure she’d broken her hand again.

Then she grasped his head in both hands and slammed it down onto the floor until he was nearly unconscious.

“P.J., P.J., baby, you got him.”

Cole’s soothing voice filtered into the haze wrought by her rage. She glanced up, for the first time connecting with Cole. He was alive. Bleeding, but alive. Then she glanced down at Brumley, whom she was still sitting astride. Naked.

She felt no shame this time. She was the victor. She’d taken this motherfucker out. Her. Just a helpless woman he’d once raped.

She bent low, hissing so he’d be sure to hear. “How’s it feel, asshole? To know I’m not so helpless now and I kicked your fucking ass.”

She picked up the knife she’d dropped and casually popped the buttons on his expensive, bloodied, silk shirt. Panic entered his eyes when he figured out her intention.

The door to the room flew open and she scrambled for the gun lying close to Cole. It was slippery and she damn near dropped it, and then heard Cole’s voice, soothing. Calming her from the panic that had taken hold.

“It’s all right now, P.J. It’s just Steele and the rest. They’re here now. It’s all right.”

But it wasn’t all right. She didn’t even spare her teammates a glance. She returned her attention to the bastard she had pinned to the floor. She didn’t care what her teammates were seeing. That she was naked and bloody. She’d sacrificed all pride in her pursuit of justice. And now it was hers for the taking.

She finished cutting off his shirt and Brumley started babbling and pleading for his life.

Pathetic, ball-less worm.

“Don’t kill me,” he begged.

She laughed, and the sound was cold in the room. Not at all like P.J. This was a different P.J. This was the cold-blooded killer she’d become.

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t cut you up like you did me and then let you die a long, painful death,” she spat.

“P.J.”

It was Steele. That one word cut through the haze and brought her back to reality.

She turned, expecting censure. Expecting him to tell her to stand down. What she saw were her teammates with rage in their eyes.

Steele was at the forefront, his eyes brimming with understanding.

“It’s your call,” he said quietly. “Resnick wants him alive, but fuck Resnick. Whatever you decide, we’re behind you one hundred percent.”

It was then that Brumley broke down, weeping like a distraught child. Maybe he saw the promise of death in P.J.’s eyes. And after hearing her team leader all but sanction his death, he started babbling faster than P.J. could keep up.

“I’ll give you whatever you want. Money. I have money. Information.”

He latched onto that greedily. “I have names and contacts. I have records of every deal I’ve ever made. You could take out a lot of very important people who deal in child trafficking. I’m just the middle man. I’m nothing.”

P.J.’s lips curled into a snarl. “Yeah, you’d probably love to be turned over to Resnick. You’d cut some cushy deal, sing like a bird and then be free in no time. I don’t trust you, Brumley. You’d say anything to save your own ass.”

Dolphin and Renshaw ran to where Cole was still sitting, tied to the chair. They quickly untied him and started applying a pressure dressing to the wound.

Steele and Baker stood by the door, guns still drawn, their gazes never leaving P.J.

“I can prove it,” Brumley gabbled. “In my safe. There in the wall. I’ll give you the combination. You can see. I have records of everything. Recorded conversations. Details of deals. When and where. It’s all there, I swear it!”

“Baker, check it out,” P.J. ordered.

Baker removed the painting and then waited as Brumley stuttered out the combination. A moment later, Baker started pulling out stacks of currency and with it a ledger and several memory chips.

Baker flipped through the ledger and let out a low whistle.

“Apparently our asshole here does business with some very important people. Resnick would come in his pants to get his hands on this.”

“See!” Brumley panted. “I told you!”

P.J. looked at him in disgust and then pressed the blade into his throat until a line of blood appeared.

“Wait! You said you wouldn’t kill me!” Brumley said in panic.

She slashed deep, cutting his windpipe, air escaping in a long hiss.

“Sue me.”

P.J. let the knife fall from her hand, clattering to the floor. Numbness had crept in along with the realization that she’d done it. Her revenge was complete.

Her rapists were dead. Her mission was done.

A shiver took over, and she realized that she was still astride Brumley, naked and cold, shaking like a leaf.

And then her team was there, surrounding her.

Mortification gripped her and she clutched her arms to her in an attempt to cover her body.

Steele wrapped a blanket around her shivering form and pulled her up and away from the blood and the sight of Brumley’s dead body.

“Are you hurt?” Steele demanded, his hands on her shoulders, holding the blanket in place.

It seemed a senseless question when she was bleeding all over and her face must look like a train wreck.

“Cole,” she croaked out. “How is Cole?”