Knightshade

Bea Wells used Paladin’s moment of shock to slam into him, her shoulder to his sternum, and pin him against one the ugly garden statues. His grunt of pain did little to stem her utter fury. It was bad enough that he’d taken Vermain’s job, but getting between her and the bastard? He’d ruined weeks of planning and God only knew when she’d get another opportunity to get revenge.

Paladin’s weapon was somewhere in the grass, probably alongside her helmet. She gritted her teeth at the imagined damage as she pulled her weapon free. She flicked the switchblade open and pressed its edge to his throat. The blade was only a couple of inches long, but it would do the job if she chose to cut his stupid throat.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t stick you like a pig,” she snarled.

His helmet had goggles built into it, the tint glossy even in the darkness. She couldn’t make out his eyes, but his attempt at a smile? That she saw and it pissed her off. What the hell was funny about this situation?

The slight catch in his breathing when she pressed the knife in harder was gratifying, but then he spoke.

“Murder is wrong?”

His voice was gruff but still held a note of sarcasm. Did he think that her threat was empty? He’d no idea what she’d lost — what Vermain had taken from her. His reason rubbed salt in a very fresh wound.

“Did you tell Vermain that?” she asked tartly.

“Vermain?” he echoed.

Bea sighed. “Did you inquire into his dealings at all? Or did the thought of all his money give you such a hard-on, your brain stopped working?”

“His dealings?” Paladin sounded annoyed, but in a reflective way. As if he’d suspected something was wrong but hadn’t looked too closely at it. “Vindicta. Fuck it, I should have asked more questions.”

“Yeah, you should have.” Bea found that her anger had drained away. Not that it had been directed at this man in truth, no matter how in the way he’d gotten. She glanced from the black eyes of his helmet to where her knife pressed. “Try anything and I will stab you.”

With that, she pulled back. She knew getting the better of Paladin — half a foot taller and several pounds heavier — had been down to surprise and sheer dumb luck, and that if he chose to, he could reverse their positions. Yet he stayed with his back to the statue, rivalling it for stillness. He’d not even tried to raise the alarm… yet.

He had a quarter of a million pounds in his bank account. She knew that because she’d been the one to wire the money to him. Money that Vermain had paid to get rid of her, not that the idiot knew it. She pursed her lips, aware that the job Paladin had been hired for was still outstanding.

“So now what?” she asked him. “Vermain wants his problem dealt with. You know who that is. I plan on remaining his problem, so what are you going to do about it?”

Paladin’s head turned towards the mansion slightly, then he looked back at her. “What did I miss?” he asked. “What should I have seen?”

Bea hadn’t been as lax — immediately after Vermain had ordered the hit, had hired Paladin, she’d gone onto the internet and looked him up. The reports were very varied, some claiming him a hero while others deemed him a menace to society. She’d read an opinion piece that bemoaned an inability to understand the man. She’d rolled her eyes. His motivation was cold, hard cash. It was that simple. That easy to buy him.

Yet, she’d done her research and he seemed to have a moral code, a centre deep down. Deep, deep down. She grimaced. While it annoyed her that he’d no real idea of what he had walked into, she supposed that she ought to take the chance to explain.

“Not here.” She was aware that whatever luck had kept their fight from setting off any alarms wasn’t going to last forever. She backed up another step and retrieved her helmet and his weapon from the ground. He lifted his hands in mute surrender when she aimed the gun at him. “Move,” she ordered.

He moved like a big cat, his gait an almost silent prowl. He knew when to stop for the cameras, so he wasn’t entirely stupid. He could prove useful if he had brains to go with the brawn. And if she could persuade him of being on the wrong side.

The driveway gate sat ajar. Bea was impressed that he’d the foresight not to lock himself inside. He went through, then stopped, hands still raised.

“Left,” she murmured, and he turned that way with a soft grunt of acknowledgement.

She half expected him to try engaging her in conversation. To make a connection or at least flirt. She’d not forgotten the heavy-handed way he’d hit on her after meeting with Vermain. Maybe he was weighing the situation and choosing a moment to… whatever. Or maybe he found having his own gun pointed at his back to be a turn-off.

Paladin came to a sudden stop. “You came on that?” he asked, tone incredulous as he eyed her motorbike, parked in the shadow of a tree. “You’re braver than I thought.”

“You have no idea who I am.” She prodded his lumber region with the business end of the gun. “Are you going to behave?”

“What are my options?”

“You can come with me and find out what’s actually going on.” She stared up, letting him see the iron in her spine. “Or I can shoot you.”

His head tilted slightly as if he was considering what she’d offered. His helmet hid too much of his expression for her to get a read on what he was thinking, but his lips were pressed into a flat line that telegraphed annoyance. She didn’t think it was aimed at her, though. He’d gone along with her so far, which he hadn’t had to do.

He sighed, then; a noisy exhale through his nose. “I don’t usually misstep this badly. I knew something was up when I met Vermain, but…”

“But the money was good.”

“As was the change in scenery.” He rubbed his mouth before lifting that hand back up. “I chose not to look too closely and now that choice had bitten me on the ass. So assuming that I survive the ride to wherever, I want to know what’s going on.”

“It’s not wise to question my riding skills, Paladin.” Bea paused. Could she trust him? The other option was to shoot him which, despite her holding his gun, wasn’t something she actually wanted to do. “Get on after me and hold on. Try not to break my ribs.”

She put her helmet on. It’d had a hard landing so she’d need to replace it, but it was better than nothing. She straddled her motorbike and held it steady as Paladin climbed on behind her. He put his hands on her hips, his grip tight, and she could feel the tension in his frame.

Amusement at a super soldier being nervous about riding a motorbike bubbled up, but she swallowed it. The way he was sat, so rigid, was going to be a problem.

“Relax,” she murmured. “You’ll want to lean with the bike, not against it. If I have to trust you, then you’re going to have to trust me on this.”

“The woman who had a knife to my throat?”

“And a gun to your back.” Bea patted his right hand. “You’re not dead yet, are you?”

He grunted. She smiled to herself and started the motorbike. A low, throaty purr filled the night. Putting it into gear, she gave the throttle a gentle twist, then kept the speed down to allow Paladin a chance to get used to the feel of it.

She heard him inhale noisily and, for a moment, he got even stiffer. She sped up a little and titled the bike around a slight bend. His hands gripped painfully tight. She took a left. The bike stayed upright. Paladin took what was clearly a steadying breath and his hands slid onto her stomach. His chest pressed to her back and, after another quarter mile or so, he finally relaxed.

He leaned with her, no longer fighting the motion of the bike, which made riding easier. Smoother. Bea accelerated, passing the speed limit, and thought she heard him laugh. She shook her head. Then concentrated on the road ahead and getting them… home.

Was this wise? She suspected not, but she couldn’t take down Vermain’s empire while Paladin was on his side. Maybe she could persuade him to switch. He’d no dog in the fight — as long as he got paid, he’d be happy. Her lip curled in distaste. Even supervillains had their reasons for being bad. To be neither, to just want the money and maybe a little glory? She didn’t understand how a person could live like that. What on earth his baseline for morality could possibly be.

Not that she needed to understand him for this to work. If it could work.

She turned her motorbike down a side road and rolled up to a set of tall, iron gates. She fished her pass out of a pocket and scanned it in. The gates swung open on well-oiled hinges. She rode into the car park and stopped in her usual space, then killed the engine. Paladin did not move.

“You can get off now,” she told him.

“Not so sure about that,” he muttered.

“Sea legs?”

“Shut up.”

She laughed, amusement at his predicament loosening some of her own tension. Paladin grunted and slapped her thigh, though there was no weight behind it. His hands moved to her shoulders and he held on as he eased off the bike.

Bea cast a sideways look at him, smirking. But she kept still until she was sure that he’d his feet under him. Only then did she get off the bike.

“Come on,” she ordered, heading towards the flats. Just two storeys high, there were three blocks set in a U shape around the car park. A large sign claimed they were apartments. Bea wasn’t under any such illusion — they were flats, albeit fancy ones.

Hers was on the ground floor, with a gold 3 that hung skewiff above a peephole. Bea put her key in the lock and turned it. She motioned for Paladin to go in. He paused on the threshold, then sighed again and went inside.

Bea flicked on the hall light, flooding the space with a bright glow. She let her eyes adjust and then took off her helmet, placing it on the side table alongside her gloves. Paladin closed the door to and leaned against it, arms folded.

“Are you going to explain now?” he asked tartly.

“Not while you have that stupid thing on your head.”

“Er, well, I’m not taking it off.”

She waved the gun in his general direction. “It’s easier to lie when I can’t see your eyes. It comes off or you get out.”

“With a few extra holes?”

“I would rather not have to shoot you, Paladin, but I will if forced.”

“Fine,” he groused, and took the helmet off.

Bea immediately wished she’d not pushed the issue. Holy shit, he was handsome. Older than she’d imagined, his hair grey and thinning, but his gaze was steely. And the eyes she’d wanted to see were a stunning shade of grey. Coupled with cheekbones sharp enough to cut, she could see why a lot of women fell at his feet.

Not her, though; it would be a cold day in hell before she succumbed to the charms of a gun-for-hire like Paladin.