Chapter 18

Brett pushed her into the bedroom and pointed the gun at her.

"Very stupid of you to drop this!" he said, smiling at her wickedly. "I found it on the road. Why hold a gun when you can't handle it? I told you not to drop the gun."

Eva cringed away from him and moved to sit on the bed. She buried her face in her hands and began to weep, great sobs that shook her body.

Brett eyed her irritably. He felt no pity for her. All he could think of was how to get his files from Darius and get the hell out of Miami. All the essentials he would need to disappear for good was inside the black duffel bag. The only thing was that he needed more cash. He remembered the wad of bills inside the duffel and grimaced. That won't last him for long. The money inside his bank account would not last him for two months. He had relied solely on owing the fortune of Eva; he had not thought about saving money against any unwarranted circumstances. He regretted now that he had not collected any money from Vince. The man had offered him money, but because his mind had been on Eva's fortune, he had not given any thought to it. Now, it was too late. He looked at Eva, who was still weeping on the bed, and an idea struck his mind. She was angry with him, and yet, he knew she was madly in love with him. The best thing to do was to be nice to her, to soften her up a bit. That way, she would surely yield.

He moved over to her and squatted down by her side. He placed the gun beside his feet and then put his hand on her back.

Startled, she removed her hand from her face and tried to move away from him. But he quickly reached out and held her down with his hands.

"Listen, babe!" he said. "I'm so sorry it has come to this. I'm getting out of Miami, and you are the only one that can help me."

She stared at him as if he was crazy.

"You must be crazier than Looney tunes! Help you? After you cohort with my husband to kill me? After you threatened to kill me?"

"I'm sorry about threatening you, but you see, it's because of who I am. I'm a killer, Eva, you've got to understand that. I kill people for money. That's how I make my living!"

Her face twisted into an expression of savage rage. Her hand in the shape of a claw swung at his face, but he was ready for her. He caught her wrist, then grabbed her arms while he stared down into her furious, glittering face.

"I'm getting the hell out of Miami, and I need money. You've got to transfer some money into my account. I'll get your phone for you."

She tried to break free, but he tightened his grip.

"You're must be mad," she gasped. "If you want to go, then you better go now. But I'm not giving you a dime. Get your broke ass away from here."

He let go of her. He had expected her to talk this way to him. The response to give her was already burning in his mind.

"You will give me the money, do you know why, babe? Because you still loved me. It's all over you, Eva. Why didn't you call the cops when you got to the phone booth? Know why? Because you still loved me. You couldn't bring yourself to call the cops; that's why you called your love-sick friend, Darius, to do it for you. I've made love to you for so many times now, and I know when a woman his into me. You got the hots for me, babe! And you wouldn't want anything to happen to me. Okay, if you don't love me, go to the kitchen and check inside the microwave. That's where I hid your phone. Go and take it there. Then call the police."

She slumped down in the bed and hid her face in her hands, and began to cry afresh. Brett grinned. He had expected trouble, and he was pretty sure he had handled it. He picked up the gun and crossed the room to the closet. He brought out the duffel bag and checked inside. Satisfied, he zipped it close and carried it over his shoulder. By the time he was done, she had stopped crying and wiped her eyes on her blouse like any little gutter child who had beaten and now feels sorry for herself.

"Brett…"

"I don't need your money anymore!" he said in a harsh false voice. "I'm going for good."

"Where are you going?" she asked, fear entering her like the slow thrust of a knife.

"I'm getting the hell out of here!" he yelled.

"Brett, please be kind to me," she said and wrung her hands. "I love you so much. I can't stop loving you, even after everything I've heard about you." A sob jerked in her throat. "I would have given you anything. Just tell me you love me, Brett, let me hear you say it! Please let me listen to it. I'll give you anything you want. I'll disappear with you. Just love me, my love. Please."

Brett shook his head, savoring the triumph of being in control of her emotions.

"I don't care about love, Eva. Keep your money to yourself. I'm getting out of here."

He pretended to head for the door. Thinking he was leaving her, Eva jumped up and caught his wrists.

"Please don't go! I love you, damn you! I love you! I've never been in love like this."

He raised his hand to push her away, but she waved it aside and crushed her chest against his, clinging to him, pressing herself against him.

"You've got to love me, Brett," she whispered huskily. "You've got to. I'm with a child. Your child."

Brett, who was half-listening to her pleas, suddenly stiffened. Gently, he pulled away from her, a cold fear spreading across his body.

"What did you say?" he said quietly.

"I'm pregnant, Brett," she said and drew in a long, slow breath. "I'm carrying your baby. Our baby. That's what I've been worried about all this while. I did not know how to tell you. I've been thinking about this for days now. I knew you've been watching me all along, thinking maybe it was the thought of me knowing you wanted to kill me that got me worried, not knowing that me carrying your child is what has been eating me away. Giving me a restless mind for the past few weeks."

Brett looked down at her face, and he knew she was telling the truth. He was so shocked to silence; he could only stare at her.

"How did you know you're pregnant?" he asked in a low voice.

"I went to see a doctor!" she said. "I've got a medical report with me. I'm two weeks pregnant."

Then suddenly, without warning, the wailing notes of police siren shattered the silence of the night.

A wicked glint came into the eyes of Brett, and he pushed Eva away from him. He went to the duffel bag, unzipped it, and brought out cartridges of bullets. He shoved them into his hip pocket. Then he went to the window and peered through the chink in the blind. He could see three police cars with their blue lamps flashing. Uniformed men, cradling automatic rifles in their hands, grimed expression on their sweaty faces began to spill out of the cars. With screaming sirens, more police cars arrived. Brett moved away from the window, his face glistening with sweats. He came to Eva, who had sat down on the bed and was trembling violently.

"Well, here it is," he snarled. "This is the end of the road for you and me. You've turned me to a bone, and you've let your packs of dogs on me. I'm not going to no jail. I'll fix these cops! All of them! Just watch me."

She sprang up from the bed and cling to him.

"Please don't go!" She said, tears streaming down her face. "I don't want you to get hurt."

Brett scoffed.

"You should have thought of that before making that call."

"No," She said frantically. "You mustn't go, darling, please just give yourself up easily."

"Give me up?" he said, gripping her arms. "You must be cracked!"

"Brett darling," Eva cried, clinging to him. "Please don't go out there…stay with me…it's dangerous."

"I will fight them with everything I've got," he said in a cold, stern voice. "I ain't going no death cell," and he brushed past her.

He crossed to the bedroom door, peered out, and listen. The corridor was quiet and still. He moved out of the bedroom and darted to the living room. He went to the curtain and slightly pushed it aside. He watched as ten policemen moved towards the villa, the flashing of their shiny badges and their rifles turned him sick with panic. He knew they had come for him, but he was prepared for them. If only he had an automatic rifle, killing these men would have been easier.

At that moment, an idea dropped into his mind. Quickly, he left the window side, aimed his gun, and fired at the electric light bulb and the chandeliers.

The living room was plunged into darkness.

His eyes quickly adjusting to the terrible blackness, he crouched behind a sofa, pushed the rifle forward, and aimed it at the front door.

There came a hammering on the front door. Then a voice magnified by a loudspeaker bawled. "Come on out, Brett Forest! Come out and put your hands in the air."

Brett stiffened, where he lay crouched. How did they know his name, he wondered. He wasn't to know that he and Canyon Fox had been declared wanted by the Miami Beach police with a juicy reward on their heads three hours ago.

With a wild oath, he gripped the gun tightly and waited, his heart thumping, his thin lips screwed off his teeth in a vicious grin.

Suddenly, the front door burst open, and two police officers came charging in. He grinned wickedly. He knew they wouldn't be able to see him for a moment or so until their eyes become accustomed to the darkroom. He aimed the rifles at them. He fired two quick shots. Blood appeared on their faces, and they both fell forward, their hands clawing the air.

Excitedly, Brett sprang forward like a jungle cat and scooped up the two A.K 47 rifles that had dropped from their hands. He cradled the first one in his right hand and cradled the other in his left hand. Then he pointed the rifles at the front door, his finger taking in the triggers' slack and waiting.

From outside, an automatic rifle hammered out bullets into the room; scalded by the heat of the ball of leads, Brett dived to a corner of the room, slid behind a sofa, and rested his rifles on the sofa edge. Then he waited patiently.

Three officers tumbled in. Just like the other dead officers, the darkness of the room affected their sights, and it slackened their defenses.

"We know you're in here!" One of the officers bawled. "Raise your hands in the air, or we'll be forced to shoot you."

Brett, seeing the opportunity, fired sporadically at the three men. The hail of slugs took the head of the three officers off, and they fired back out of pure reflexes as they slumped onto the Oriental rug in a mess of blood and brains.

"Shit! He's got Harry, Willow, and Connor and two of our pals," A frightened voice yelled from the outside. "The house is dark! They couldn't see shit!"

Another frightened voice called out. "Use your torchlights, goddammit!"

"Look out, folks," Davies Runt also chipped in from the outside. "It's Brett Forest we're dealing with here, boys. He's armed and dangerous. You know how he is with a gun. Don't let him lick you."

Impressed by what he heard, despite the dangerous situation, Brett yelled out.

"Come and get me, suckers!" he yelled, a savage, frightened note in his voice. "Come and get me, and I promise you will all get it. I'll fix you all dead."

A moment later, four cops wearing face mask moved cautiously into sight. They were holding powerful torches, and they sent the white beam around the room.

His face glistening with sweats, Brett saw them come in, and he grinned wickedly. As his finger moved to squeezed the trigger, one of the men brought out a canister from his hip pocket and launched it to a corner of the room. There was a loud, hissing sound, and the room exploded into a flame of thick white vapor. The vapor spread wildly across the room. The blinding, suffocating smoke wafted into the uncovered nose of Brett. It went straight into his skull, and his sense reeled. His eyes became feverish, and it felt as if it had been wiped with red pepper. He tried to hold his breath, but it was too late. He had already inhaled a good dose of the gas. With a wild oath, he began to cough vigorously, thereby giving away his position.

Two of the officers heard the coughing sounds, and they jerked their rifles towards his direction and ripped in shot after shot at him.

His body jerked violently as some of the bullets hit him, and he screamed. Brett, mortally wounded, half-blinded, somehow lifted his rifle and pulled the trigger. Luckily, the bullets hit two of the officers in their guts. They both dropped their rifles, falling face down.

The other two officers, quickly crouching down on one knee, a formation like sighted their rifles at where he had fired. In the blinding smoke, Brett saw them. Weakly, he slides to the ground and lay flat. The officers squeezed the trigger hard and fast.

Slugs chewed up the wall above Brett and brought the wall plaster on his head and neck. Blood ran down his mouth and nose. Lethargically, he struggled up from where he had laid and stumbled down the corridor and into the bedroom.

Eva, who lay crouched in the corner of the room, her face puffy with tears, cringed inside at the sounds of the shooting. Still, without been able to help herself, she burrowed deeper into where she had hidden and prayed for the safety of Brett. Then she heard a low moaning sound and saw him staggered into the room.

At first, she didn't recognize him. His shirt and trousers were tattered with bullet holes. His handsome face white and bloody.

Eva screamed. She ran to him and caught him as he was about to fell. With the little strength he had, he pushed her away, and she fell to the bed.

"Get away from me," he said hoarsely. "And I hope you rot in hell, you and the bastard seed inside you."

He heard scuffle sounds behind him. His eyes half-closed, he tried to turn around and listened to the sound of rifles open up. Eva yelled out to warn him, but by then, Brett was already half dead. The velocity of the bullets which thudded into his body hurled him violently to the ground.

Sergeant Davies Runt and the other remaining police officers watched him thrashed around for a long moment as he writhed in agony. He arched his back, stiffened, and went limp.

"He's finished!" Runt said, a wicked glint in his eyes. "We've fixed Brett Forest, boys."

"Noooooo," Eva yelled, and she rushed to the lifeless body, put her hands around his neck, and pillowed his head against her breasts. "My darling, don't leave me like this. I love you, Brett! You've got to come back for our child."

One of the officers walked over to her.

"Leave him, ma'am," he said. "He's a dead man now."

"Help him," Eva cried wildly. "Please! He's the father of my unborn child."

"He's dead!" Runt said contemptuously. "We fixed him. He can’t be the father of any child now."

There was the sound of running feet, and Darius came into the room. The other officers stared at him curiously, and Sergeant Runt came over to him.

"Who are you?" Runt said, bewildered.

"I'm Darius," he replied. "Darius Kane. I was the one who called you guys to come here."

Runt's puzzled face brightened, and he smiled broadly. He had heard of Darius Kane before, and he knew he was one of the respected millionaires in Miami city.

"Sorry, sir! I didn't know it was you," he said.

Darius nodded and looked over Runt's broad shoulders, at Eva who was still clutching Brett.

"What's wrong with her?" he asked.

Runt grimaced and drew in a long, slow breath.

"She has not gotten over the fact that we fixed her lover. He's as strong as a bull. I can't even imagine counting how many bullets he took in."

Darius thought about this for a moment.

"Let me talk to Mrs. Montreal," he said, and he brushed past Runt and the other officers and came to her.

"Eva! I'm here!" he said. "I'm here now."

But she paid no attention. Sobbing wildly, she looked down at Brett's bloody face, into his sightless blue eyes.

"Eva, Come on," he said gently. "Everything will be alright now."

She turned on him, hate blazing in her eyes.

"They killed him." she cried. "I'm carrying his baby, and they killed him. He would have been a changed man if they had to give him a chance. Who will be the father of my baby, now?"

"Eva, there's nothing that can be done for him now," Darius said. "Leave him. It's over." If he was surprised to hear Eva was pregnant, he did not show it.

"I love him so much!" she sobbed. "I was ready to sacrifice my life for him. If I had known he would be shot, I wouldn't have called you."

"I know, Eva!" Darius said quietly, "I know."

She regarded him for a moment and smiled faintly at him.

"I need someone to be the father of my unborn child." She said, "You're the only one capable of that, Darius. You're the only man that can fit into that role. I want you to marry me. Please marry me and save me from giving birth to a child without a father."

Darius looked like a man who had seen a snake on his bed.

"Be the father of what child?" he asked, bewildered. "The child of a killer? You must be cracked."

"Please, Darius!" she said desperately. "Please save me from this disgrace. Please!"

Darius smiled a cold, humorless smile.

"Didn't I tell you will still crawl back to me?" he said. "Now, you've crawled back. But it's too late now. Nothing can ever be between us anymore. For me, this is goodbye."

"What do you mean?" her voice went shrill.

Darius glanced over his shoulder. The officers were now whispering excitedly among themselves. He dragged his eyes back to Eva's.

"What do I mean? I mean, we can't ever get back together again. I'm getting married next month."

"Getting married?" she asked stupidly.

"Yeah!" he said. "Do you remember, Lauren Gates? The woman who hosted the birthday party, where Vince had knocked me out. Do you remember her?"

Vaguely, she remembered the name, and vaguely, she nodded her head.

"Good!" Darius continued. "We're both getting married next month. Remember you telling me that day in the penthouse that I don't stand a chance to win your heart, and you can't love anyone except Brett. After you've left, I called Lauren and told her everything that happened. She consoled me and gave me some words of advice. She did not even admonish me for my foolishness of falling in love with you. She was only after my happiness and well-being. It was that day I realized what a blind fool I've been. But I'm going to make it up with Lauren now. She's the only woman who is truly in love with me for who I am. I've been so blind all this while. I was so much infatuated with you. I overlooked her true love for me. But now I know. I don't want you again in my life, Eva. You're dead to me. Dead!"

"You mean you don't want me anymore?" she asked weakly.

"Who the hell will want trash?" he pointed the finger at her. "I'm going to give you some advice. From now on, baby, keeps your legs tightly crossed. You fell in love with a woman-beater and also fell in love with a contract killer. Next time, look before you leap so that you won't fall in love with a serial killer," and he was gone.

Eva stood motionless, her hand against her slow thumping heart. She watched him nodded to the officers and walked out of the door, out of her life forever. She turned her eyes to the policemen and saw them whispering in low tones, a conniving, leering look on their faces as they regarded her. She yelled at them.

"Get out!" she yelled. "Get out, you dumb rats. Get the hell out of my room!"

The End.