Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter Colletion_ Books 6-10 - Laurell K. Hamilton [741]
So I turned in my seat, feeling the stitches in my back tighten, adding a little push to the pain I was already feeling, and stared at Olaf. He was staring out the window as if there was something fascinating in the rows of small houses on that side of the car.
“Olaf,” I said.
He never moved, just watched the passing scenery.
“Olaf!” It was almost a yell in the small confines of the car. His shoulders twitched, but that was all. It was like I was some kind of insect buzzing around him. You might wave a hand at it, but you wouldn’t talk to it.
It pissed me off. “Now I understand why you don’t like women. You should have just said you were homosexual, and my feelings wouldn’t have been so hurt.”
Edward said, softly, “Jesus, Anita.”
Olaf turned very slowly, almost in slow motion as if each muscle in his neck were pulling him around in small jerks. “What—did—you—say?” Each word was rage-filled, hot with hatred.
“You did a great job on Bernardo’s hair. You made him look very pretty.” I didn’t believe that particular sexual stereotype, but I was betting that Olaf did. I was also betting that he was homophobic. A lot of ultramasculine men are.
He undid his seatbelt with a noticeable click and eased forward. I pulled the Firestar out of the holster that was sitting in my lap. The pants that Edward had brought to the hospital were a little too tight for my innerpants holster. I watched Olaf’s hand vanish underneath the black leather jacket. Maybe he hadn’t understood the movement when I’d unholstered the gun. Maybe he expected me to raise the gun and sight along the back of the car. I pointed the gun between the small space between the seats. It wasn’t a perfect angle, but I had my gun pointed first, and that counted in a gunfight.
He’d pulled his gun out from under the jacket, but it wasn’t pointed yet. If I’d meant to kill him, I’d have won.
Edward slammed on the brakes. Olaf slammed into the back of the seat, gun at a bad angle, driving his wrist backwards. It wasn’t being thrown into the seatbelt, and nearly the dashboard that hurt. It was the being flung backwards into the seat. My breath went out in a sharp gasp. Olaf’s face ended up very close to the space between the seats, and he saw the gun barrel pointed, now, at his chest. I was hurting so bad that my skin twitched with the need to writhe, but I kept my hand tight around the gun, using my free hand to brace myself and make sure I didn’t move. I had the drop on him, and I was keeping it.
The Hummer skidded to a stop against the curb. Edward had his seatbelt off and was whirling around in his seat. I caught the flash of a gun in his hand and had a heartbeat to decide whether to try and take the gun off Olaf and try for Edward, or keep the gun where it was. I kept the gun on Olaf. I didn’t think Edward would shoot me, and Olaf might.
Edward shoved the barrel of his gun against the back of Olaf’s bald head. The tension level in the car skyrocketed. Edward went to his knees, gun never moving from Olaf’s head. I could see Olaf’s eyes rolled up. We looked at each other, and I saw that he was afraid. He believed that Edward would do it. So did I, though I didn’t know why, and with Edward there was always a why, even if it was only money.
I had a sense of Bernardo sitting very stiff on his side of the seat, trying to pull back from the mess that was about to spill all over the car.
“Do you want me to kill him?” Edward asked. His voice was quiet and empty, as if he’d asked, did I want him to pass the salt. I could do an empty uninterested voice, but not like Edward. I could never be that dispassionate, not yet anyway.
I said, “No,” automatically, then added, “not like this.”
Something passed through Olaf’s eyes. It wasn’t fear. It was more like surprise. Surprise that I hadn’t said, yeah, shoot him, or surprise about