Execution Style (Code 11-KPD SWAT 4)

Or would have, had I not ran smack dab into a wall of muscle.

“Oomph,” I said, reeling backwards with the force.

The man’s hands came up, and he smiled.

I immediately shuddered.

The man, Faris Blue, had one hell of a black eye, and he was staring at me as if I was his last meal.

“Well, well,” he sneered. “What do we have here?”

He ran his finger up the outside of my arm, circling it around a piece of my hair that’d fallen from my braid.

“Mercy, darlin’,” a not so amused voice said from behind me. “You okay?”

I visibly wilted when I heard that rugged, weathered voice.

“Yeah, Silas. I believe this man was getting off the elevator. I was going down to breakfast. Care to join me?” I asked loudly, turning my wide, fear-filled eyes in Silas’ direction.

He took in my crying eyes, as well as my about to collapse if he didn’t get the man away from me knees, and grimaced. “Sure, darlin’. I think we’ll let Mr. Blue take the elevator by himself, though.”

Faris stepped into the elevator reluctantly, eyes on Silas the entire time the doors closed.

When he was finally cut off from our view, I turned to Silas and said, “Thanks.”

Silas patted the top of my head, then pressed the elevator button. “I didn’t do anything, darlin’. Go eat your breakfast.”

I didn’t bother to correct him that I had any plans on eating breakfast. In fact, I planned on going to gorge myself on Dr. Pepper and play the quarter slots until I either ran out of money or won big.

The doors opened, and I stepped onto the elevator, waving at Silas as the doors closed. His eyes studied me the entire time, and I let out a relieved breath, going weak in the knees, when he didn’t stop me from leaving.

However, I managed to stay upright when the doors opened again, emitting a laughing couple.

They were so lovey-dovey with each other that I wanted to puke.

Fuck my life.***“Will you put me some Dr. Pepper in a beer mug? I want it in one of those big ones,” I said, gesturing towards a beer mug that was about the size of my thigh.

The waitress smiled. “Sure, honey.”

I fed my first quarter into the slot machine I’d commandeered, and pulled the lever.

Seven-seven-star.

I repeated it. Over and over.

This wasn’t near as much fun as the advertisements made it look.

“Please tell me,” a deep voice said from behind me. “That you’re not seriously drinking beer.”

I glanced over my shoulder at Silas, and grimaced.

“What are you doing here?” I asked tiredly.

“Nothing,” he said, taking the seat beside me, feeding a quarter in, and immediately hitting three cherries.

Quarters started to pour out of the machine, filling up the tray. Alarms started to sound and people tittered excitedly.

I gave Silas a disgusted look when he scooped the entire booty up, and deposited it in my rapidly deteriorating bucket.

“How’d you do that?” I asked, gesturing to his machine.

He shrugged. “The power of observation. The old lady that was sitting here before me had been here since this morning when I went to bed around one. She left with her single cup she’d come with, which meant she didn’t win anything or she’d have had more. It was bound to happen. These things wouldn’t be so popular if one didn’t pay out every once in a while to keep the crowd interested.”

I blinked, stunned by his words. Power of observation indeed.

“So what are you doing here?” I asked, feeding in another quarter. “How’d you find me?”

7-7-cherry.

Fuck.

I glared at Silas as he, once again, hit a winning combination and more quarters poured out before he answered.

“Followed you,” he answered mildly.

I lowered my eyebrows at him. “How? You were still up on the floor when I got to the ground level. And that’s got to be the slowest elevator on the planet. How’d you find me?”

He gave me a droll look. “You’re in the casino in the same hotel we’re staying at. If you didn’t want to be found, you wouldn’t be here.”

I scrunched my nose up at him, and pulled the lever again.

Cherry-cherry-two cherries.

Shit.

“I’m in the back of the casino; I’m being inconspicuous,” I spat.

He snorted. “Whatever you say, dear. I know better than to argue with a pregnant person.”

“How’d you know I was pregnant?” I asked accusingly.

He raised his eyebrows. “Having to go pee every thirty minutes. Almost throwing up at the smell of an airport. Sleeping nearly the entire plane ride. Eating a brownie fudge sunday with French fries as a side? If that doesn’t spell pregnant with a capital P, I don’t know what does.”

“Humph,” I sighed. “Whatever.”

We played in silence for well over an hour before I started to wonder why he was still there.

“Why are you here, again?” I asked curiously.

“Because you’re sitting at my slot machine,” he said, raising the beer the waitress had just brought over for him to his lips before taking a drink.

“Well, looks like you got the better one, anyway,” I muttered, pulling down the lever.

7-7-7.

Alarms started blaring, confetti dropped from the fucking ceiling, and people started to crowd around me.

Instead of being excited, I got overwhelmed by the sheer amount of people that I started to freak out.

Silas’ reassuring hand at my shoulder, though, stopped my overreaction in its tracks, and I was able to smile as, instead of dropping me quarters, a printed receipt started to print out of the machine.

“What the hell is that?” I asked in confusion.

“You won more than the machine had to give. So they gave you a printed receipt that you’ll have to take up to the corner,” Silas said, gesturing towards the wall where a glassed in receptionist stood taking tickets just like mine.

“Hmm,” I said, sitting back down as the people started to disperse.

“You were saying about not winning?” Silas growled.

I bared my teeth at him. “Shut it.”

We went another ten minutes or so when I was finally found by Foster and Trance.

I tried to duck down behind Silas, but they spotted me easily and started walking hurriedly towards me.