"Well, hello there, Santa De Leones," she grinned like a grim reaper—dressed in all black.
A bone chilling sight.
Especially since Tony couldn't find Angel inside the suite.
His heart sank.
His eyes twitched.
Fingers were itching to take the gun from his waistband behind him.
"Long time no see," he said, flat and dangerous, eyes scanning the surroundings.
'She's alone.'
Tony concluded.
The plum curtain was still half drawn like last night.
'No chance of sniper.'
But he didn't stop analyzing everything.
The woman's smile only got wider at his answer, aware of what Tony was thinking.
She loved prey that used half of their brain.
She was theatrically like her father—both loved seeing people squirm.
Then Tony murmured her name like a curse.
"Beth."
She was about to reply when suddenly—
The suite door clicked open quietly.
Scent of coffee filled the air.
Angel strolled in wearing Tony's big black shirt over his own faded blue jeans and white rubber shoes.
Headphones—the one they bought in one of their travels—resting over his neck.
Music was still quietly playing.
They could hear it from their position.
Angel was humming softly to the music, holding two coffees in styrofoam each in his hands.
One was opened without a lid—steaming—then he blew on it.
The thin smoke disappeared like a ghost.
His eyes immediately widened at the sight that appeared before him.
He recognized Beth instantly, then his gaze drifted to Tony.
Angel hesitated—stopping on his tracks.
Beth's head snapped toward the door, her grin faltering just a fraction.
"The pretty boy—" she started to say.
That was all Tony needed, who instantly went calm and cold.
He realized Beth wasn't the reason Angel was gone.
'Thank God for fucking coffee.'
Relief.
Then—
Lunge.
Or at least he tried.
But he was still too far.
Tony didn't hesitate, he moved fast and low, even when Beth's gun was still aimed at him.
He hadn't drawn his gun—not yet—but his intent was clear.
To eliminate the threat to Angel.
Beth's eyes, sharp as hawk's, flicked back to Tony, recognizing the lethal intent.
She started to stand up from the sofa, stopping mid motion, suddenly confused where Tony was.
She got distracted from playing too much.
Her mistake.
But no matter.
Fwip.
She pointed her gun to the now moving target that turned into a blur of motion from how fast he was moving forward.
The time felt so quick.
Click.
Boom.
A shot echoed, tearing through the luxurious silence, a slug tearing a hole in the pristine museum-like walls.
'Her aim was shit,' Tony observed, still moving, avoiding every point of her gun.
He felt another whisper of a bullet, the force vibrating against his eardrum.
'She's just shooting wherever,' he gritted his teeth, stood up straight and with all his might—
Kablam.
He kicked the long and heavy mahogany coffee table to Beth who stayed in a mid stand position since earlier, limiting her space.
The table connected to her knees with a sickening crack.
'That's gonna hurt like a little bitch,' even Tony grimaced at that.
'Hope that broke her fucking knee caps.'
"Agh, fuck you!" she groaned, crouching a bit, but couldn't because there was no space.
Angel still stood frozen by the door, coffee forgotten, eyes still wide, now fixed on Beth.
"Babe, run!" Tony roared, heart on his throat.
Beth pivoted awkwardly, trapped in between the coffee table and the big sofa.
Her gun snapped toward the door.
She gripped the gun tighter—its heat from her previous shots now felt heavier, more purposeful in her grasp.
She wasn't playing a cat and mouse game anymore.
Beth means business.
Splash.
Before she could fire, Angel quickly reacted.
Instead of running back to the door—he ducked, ran forward to Beth—splashing the two newly brewed coffee directly to her face—
He had great aim.
'Shit, that's my doctor.'
Then quickly hid a few steps behind Tony's back—out of her sight.
She gasped, her head jerking sideways.
A guttural sound of surprise and pain tearing from her throat.
Tony used the precious second of distraction.
He pulled his own weapon behind his waistband.
The glint of metal almost blinded him in the morning light.
A part of him recoiled, a deep seated aversion to this finality.
But the image of Angel, vulnerable and now actively involved, shattered any lingering hesitation.
He fired.
Then—
Bang!
His shot hit the sofa's leather headrest, where Beth's stomach had been—his goal was to incapacitate her—not fully killing.
But she dove to the opposite side of the sofa quickly, pushing off the coffee table using her full body.
She hid there in a fetal position, groaning while wiping her eyes—cursing and gripping her hurt knees.
"Get out of there Beth," he warned.
"Go to hell, Tony," she snarled.
Angel reached Tony's broad back, beads of sweat forming, rolling down.
"Hide in our room, amore," he instructed Angel.
"But—"
Tony cut him off, voice was harsher than he intended, "Please," he begged.
Angel's jaw clenched.
Emotions warring in his violet expressive eyes.
"No."
Tony was left stunned at the firm refusal.
"Don't you see that it's dangerous here!" he almost yelled.
Angel shook his head.
"No," then his expression softened but determined.
"I'm not leaving your side."
Tony swallowed hard.
The monster within started to stir.
"I won't go anywhere, Tony," his voice trembled.
"We're in this together," Angel said with steel finality.
'Fuck,' Tony cursed.
He was unable to say anything as he saw movements.
Beth crawled like a goddamned cockroach behind the sofa that was now misaligned.
It seems that she had already recovered.
Fluid and dangerous.
"Hah, look at you guys," Beth rasped behind the sofa.
"I really hate queers like you, I should have killed you then in that warehouse."
His brows furrowed.
'What nonsense? What warehouse—?'
Then Tony remembered.
The warehouse in East L.A.—where his whole team died.
He stilled for a brief second.
Then—he raged.
"You're the one who killed my team?" Tony growled.
Beth snickered.
"Bingo," she answered, full of venom.
Silence.
Then—
"Motherfucker!" he shouted.
But that only made Beth laugh.
"I enjoyed putting bullets in their heads," she continued to taunt Tony, buying time.
"They cursed you, you know."
She cackled like a real villain.
"They hated your horny ass, it's your fault they died after all. Falling for a pretty face who cried wolf."
Tony stepped forward, ready to attack Beth, but Angel stopped him—worried.
"Tony, don't fall for it," Angel pleaded, his warm hands on Tony's arms.
Grounding him.
He tried to calm himself.
But it was proving to be hard.
She was hitting him where it hurts the most.
His guilt.
He could still feel his blood boil to that revelation.
"You're a coward!" Angel yelled at Beth.
"Hah! You can say what you want, but the ones who win are those who know how to use their brains," she countered.
Rustling.
"Are you avenging your father?" Tony asked quietly, asking whatever questions that came into his head.
'Anything to calm me down.'
But the question was met with absolute silence.
The rustling even stopped.
And then—
She laughed, sarcastic.
"Why would I? He's nothing to me."
"Then why?" Angel asked.
A beat.
"Is it because I shot you? But you're going to shoot Tony!" Angel tried to use reason with her.
"The reasons were not important anymore, boy," she shot an answer back.
Then a pause.
"I just plainly hate both of you. You two make me sick."
Angel was about to answer her when Tony stopped him.
He already recovered from his rage.
His blood cooled down.
'What's more important right now is to take her out,' Tony thought.
A plan was already forming.
'For good.'
"Distract her, babe," he whispered to Angel, in which Angel nodded.
Getting what Tony's plan was.
"I'm sorry for shooting at you back then," Angel said in a loud voice while Tony tiptoed closely to the sofa.
"Are you okay now?"
Beth clicks her tongue loudly.
"Is that the best you could come up to?" she asked.
Sound of her clothes was moving.
Tony was already close.
His gun angled low.
Body half-crouching.
"Why don't we just talk about it face to face, Beth? Oh, that is your name is it?" Angel continued to get Beth's attention.
But there was no reply.
Tony looked back to Angel, he motioned for Angel to duck.
He could feel that Beth was about to attack.
He rushed behind the sofa—empty.
She wasn't there.
"Tony—!" Angel pointed to the opposite far end of the sofa.
One hand gripped the gun, aimed at Angel, the other—
A bundled-up rug came flying—there was something inside it.
'A fucking vase?'
The unexpected weight and impact on his outstretched hand made him lose his grip on the gun.
Clatter.
His gun went under the sofa.
'She's a real crafty one.'
Tony shouted quickly, his heart stopped beating, "Angel hide! Quick!"
"Shit," he cursed, but Beth was already in motion.
She dove close, surprising him.
She slammed her body into Tony—sending him crashing to the floor.
The gun still clutched in her hand.
She moved quickly.
Trained.
Her injured knee slammed into his chest—adrenaline overriding pain with terrifying force.
It drove the air out from his lungs.
'Shit, why was she so strong,' he struggled.
'She's desperate.'
Beth now straddled him.
She pressed hard against the carpeted floor.
The gun, a cold menacing presence pointed at his head.
Her eyes, still red rimmed from the coffee, gleamed with vicious intent.
He could feel the tremor in her hands, but her grip was like iron.
Tony struggled, bucking beneath her, trying to dislodge her.
'Feels unpleasant, damn it.'
Beth's strength was immense—fueled by a hateful fury he could almost taste.
She moved like she'd been trained.
'Of course, CIA training.'
She's sloppy now, but the muscle memory was real.
He knew how to get out of this.
He was faster, more agile and had a lifetime of combat ingrained in his very bones.
But she had a gun.
Her fingers started to curl to the trigger.
"Say your prayers," she said.
Smash!
His gaze met Angel's who smashed a vase on the back of Beth's head that he had grabbed from across the room.
She loosened her hold.
"You!" Beth growled.
Tony twisted, his open palm connecting hard with the side of Beth's gun.
Smack!
The impact jarred her hand, sending the weapon spinning away.
It landed with a dull thud.
Far from her reach.
Lost in the shadows.
"Goddammit!" Beth cursed, her voice a high octave.
'Good, she's panicking!'
No more guns.
Just them.
Angel tried to pull her off Tony, but she snarled.
Acted like she would bite.
And she would—feral—like an animal.
Beth then focused on the man beneath her, forgetting her gun, ignoring Angel.
She locked Tony, her body coiled tight, using a swift judo hold that pinned his arms, pressing his spine painfully into the floor.
She was surprisingly adept.
A dangerous combination of brute force and trained technique.
Tony strained against the lock, muscles burning.
His breath hitched.
Face turned red.
Eyes darted, looking for any opening.
Any advantage.
Then he saw it.
A glint.
The gun Angel threw last night, just before the end of the carpet.
Beth also saw it.
Within reach.
Grab.
**
AN// I'm not good at fighting scenes haha. Took me days to choreograph their movement. I even tried some of it (scratches head). Welp. I hope you enjoy it! One more chapter for the side story -- On The Run.