Free Terror Stash by Tracy Cooper-Posey

of business here.”
    He glanced at her. This time the impact was solid. His eyes were black-on-black. The irises were the same black as the pupil, making them dark windows on whatever soul he possessed, and were framed by thick black lashes. She could almost feel the touch of his direct, unflinching gaze against her flesh.
    He settled his gaze back upon Rabbit. “Oh, Stew and I have unfinished business that goes back a long way further than yours. He’s definitely at the top of my list of priorities.”
    Montana felt the bite of rare temper, exacerbated by the currents surging through her body she was helpless to control. “Wait your turn.”
    “You need a fix so bad you’d stoop to dealing with this turd?” He gave a dry smile. “You don’t look the type.”
    “She ain’t, you fuckin’ gorilla.” Rabbit pulled a set of keys out of his pocket. “Neither of you are offering business I wanna accept, so screw both of you.”
    “Wait—” Montana began, alarmed.
    “Wrong choice, Connie.” Rawn’s low, deep voice overrode her completely.
    “Fuck you!” Rabbit screamed back and the entire bar came to a sudden, throbbing silence, focused on Rabbit and Rawn...and Montana.
    She could feel her overstressed heart thudding hard. Things were getting out of control here. Events were moving into territory that was unmapped, unmarked and dangerous. She was a diplomat, trained to advocate. Yet she couldn’t think of a single thing she might do. None of her training or experience gave her the tools to defuse two men who radiated murderous intent.
    Then Rawn spoke and her opportunity had passed. “You do want to rethink that, don’t you, Connie?” Damned if he didn’t seem amused.
    Rabbit was visibly shaking as he held up his car keys, waving them in front of Rawn. “You think I’m so fucking stupid, Rawn? You think I didn’t know you were in town? You’re the one that’s back where he started, but not me, you ignorant moron.” Spittle flew from the corners of his mouth and his face was red. “You think I’m just going to turn up here without preparations?” He pressed the button on what Montana had thought was a remote control for his car and the triumph in his face sent alarm slamming through her.
    She felt a sudden claustrophobia. It was too crowded in here. Too hot. Her right leg was jammed between the table and the bench. She tried to pull it free and got her foot up onto the bench when Rabbit spoke again. “You think you’re so fucking tough, big guy?” He was crowing his triumph now, his eyes almost blazing with joy.
    The entire population of the bar had surrounded them, backed up to give them room. There was twenty feet of space in the circle around them and into that no-man’s land stepped five men. They were swarthy, three of them with thick beards, the other two with heavy regrowth on their faces.
    They all had knives.
    All the spit in Montana’s mouth dried up.
    It looked like Rawn hadn’t even noticed their appearance. He continued to stare at Rabbit, his face expressionless. “Bad choice, Stewart,” he said softly.
    Rabbit laughed almost hysterically. “You put me in hospital for a fucking month and I left there in a wheelchair . Well, now you get yours. Only you ain’t going to the hospital, asshole. You’re going to the morgue, with my compliments.”
    “Very bad choice indeed,” Rawn concluded.
    Rabbit held his right hand up, the fingers poised to click. Then he clicked.
    It was only much later that Montana was able to reconstruct all of what happened next in the right order. Some of the gaps she had to fill from others’ accounts.
    As soon as Rabbit clicked his fingers and almost before he’d finished, Rawn turned to her, rammed a hand between her upper thighs and landed the other on her shoulder, big and heavy. “Push off with your foot,” he said, low but clear. His eyes really were obsidian black.
    Completely bewildered, she pushed off with the foot that was on the bench.