He charges up the stairs, ignoring the slower moving elevator in favor of keeping himself moving, and skids into the hallway. It’s almost like déjà vu, the feeling he gets when he sees his apartment door partially ajar, almost but not quite since even from a distance he can see the way the wood is buckled inwards, obviously smashed open by force. There’s a nearly silent creaking noise inside that captures his attention and quietly, almost dreading what he’ll find inside, Josiah unholsters his pistol and steps through the doorway. He’s face to barrel with a high caliber rifle as soon as he steps across the threshold, and he feels his shoulders relax slightly as he lowers his own weapon.
“Gar.”
“Josiah.”
“You know you can lower Boo now, right?”
“Oh, right, my apologies.”
Their exchange would have been amusing if Josiah wasn’t hanging onto his control by the skin of his teeth.
Still even if it doesn’t exactly lighten the mood it does make Josiah feel as if his feet are planted firmly on the ground now. Gar’s here in the flesh, which means that he has all intentions of backing Josiah up personally.
He would have never shown up otherwise.
Gar lowers his beloved rifle, putting it back into place across his shoulder as carefully as he always does, and Josiah gets his first real look at the man in years.
Gar’s not changed any; he’s the same tall, leanly muscled ghost that he’s always been. His hair is a shaggy mess of black spikes that fall down far enough to cover his oricula from sight and still look like they’ve never actually seen a brush before. It’s always been his eyes that truly attract attention however. His right eye is a clear bright blue, while the left is a deep dark brown. The contrast is startling, giving Gar’s stare an almost unsettling depth that takes time to get used to. Even after all the years they’d spent together in the dark, dirty war zones of the world Gar’s eyes can still throw even Josiah for a moment before he shakes it off.
They move forward together as one, hands wrapping around each other’s forearms in a sign of greeting and solidarity. Josiah knows that Gar is more than aware of the fact that the situation is delicate and that time is of the essence and his appreciation for his presence grows tenfold. When he turns an expectant look on the other man he isn’t surprised by how easily they slip back into the roles they’d filled while serving together, and Gar begins to give him a quick rundown of the situation. Josiah forces himself to remain calm, to take deep even breathes and approach this situation like he would have any other operation with the Crimson Elite.
If he isn’t careful, Rafe is dead anyways.
“The charge that was set off was a short lived EMP pulse designed to temporarily knock down anything with an electrical charge. It dissipated approximately ten minutes before your arrival. According to what my 6network managed to pick up before the blackout there were five intruders, all moderately armed and moving with intent. I’ve had eyes and ears around you for weeks now but I was too far out to be able to get here in time to stop any of it. I’m sorry for that, Josiah.”
Gar’s voice is deep and husky and apologetic, but Josiah doesn’t blame him. If it weren’t for Gar he’d have no hope of ever getting Rafe back. It was Gar’s information he’d passed to Marcel and it was Gar’s call that had alerted him to the fact that Rafe was no longer where he was supposed to be. Josiah just shakes his head at Gar and motions for him to continue talking while he moves past him down the hallway and into the rest of his apartment.
“I’ve got a search program running right now that’ll be able to tell us if any one of them have been anywhere near a still functioning camera. If they show their faces we’ll know about it.”
Josiah can see evidence of a struggle as soon as he steps into the living room. The couch is flipped onto its back, and the coffee table is reduced to a twisted metal frame and broken glass. It gets worse as he continues on down the hallway towards the bedroom he’d shared with Rafe just hours before. There are holes in the walls, chunks of plaster missing and large gouges in the paint of other areas. The room itself is destroyed, clothes and glass everywhere, the drawers from the dresser flung across the room to shatter against the opposite wall. It looks like a war zone.
Gar’s voice calls out to him from the next room over, the one he’d decorated for Rafe’s personal use, so Josiah turns on his heel and makes his way over. When he gets there he finds Gar crouched over a body, hand flying over the screen of his p.a.t.c.h, face blank and eyes focused. Gar makes a pleased sound in the back of his throat and stands back up, and Josiah notices that the p.a.t.c.h he’s operating isn’t actually his own. Gar’s is still docked in its station, which means that the one he’s currently operating belongs to the dead man on his floor. When Gar’s eyes fall on him again he smiles, a sort of awkward upturning of his lips, as he gestures to the body and the room with his free hand.
“Your boy did some damage, Josiah. He fought hard and as outnumbered as he was I’m impressed. I mean I knew he was good, the video and notes on his first escape were impressive, but he’s better than I expected.
These guys are all private sector according to this, efficient, ruthless, and not known for being particularly soft handed. This one must have gotten too close. His neck’s been snapped in a way that would make you proud. I suspect that the only reason they got him at all was because of this.”
Gar fishes in one of his many pockets and pulls out a tiny familiar syringe. Josiah takes it from him and knows what he’ll find even before he raises it to his nose and inhales the sickly sweet scent of quiesco root, the same sedative Rafe had overdosed on.
“Fuck.” Josiah runs a hand through his hair, gripping at the strands in frustration before he forces himself to calm down.
Before he can say anything else an alarm goes off on Gar’s personal p.a.t.c.h and Josiah watches as the other man unfurls the tech and his fingers fly over it almost too quickly for Josiah to follow his movements. A minute passes and then another and it takes everything Josiah has in him not to pace. He knows that if he doesn’t keep a tight handle on himself he’ll be out the door in flash and desperately searching for any sign of Rafe. His best bet is to be patient, to let Gar work and wait for the information that the other man is sure to provide.
“Got them.” Gar’s voice is filled with triumph and Josiah is immediately on alert, muscles tensing in preparation for movement.
“Where?” He growls the words out, sees the understanding and muted bloodlust on Gar’s face at his 6question. Even though the other dominant has never actually met Rafe, Josiah knows that Gar is fiercely protective of their old unit and anyone they consider family. It’s reassuring to have him at his back again.
“I’ve got a positive I.D. on our boy Frisch and his men on the far side of Ember Harbor, outside of a small warehouse. There’s no sign of Zweil outside but judging by the area and the travel time I’m ninety percent sure he’s inside. Address is being sent to your navigational system and details of the surrounding area are currently being worked up. I’ll do a full layout of the perimeter on the way there.”
Josiah’s already moving, long legs eating up the distance as he rushes out of the apartment and back to his still running transport, Gar hot on his heels. They’re peeling out of the parking area in seconds, Josiah focusing on weaving in and out of traffic while Gar types away at his p.a.t.c.h, mouth spewing a constant stream of information that Josiah absorbs automatically. Gar’s always been talented at battle strategy and they’d worked together for so long that Josiah trusts him to develop the most effective plan. It would be beyond foolish to ignore such a reliable source of information and support.
“I’ll set up on a neighboring rooftop and pick off any outlaying guards while you secure an entry point. Once that’s handled we’ll rendezvous and infiltrate together. A word to the wise, you might want to call Eagan. I thought you’d want to handle this in-house so to speak but given the nature of the situation and the dead man in your
apartment you might want to head off any currently unforeseen complications. Plus back up, no matter how late or inept, might actually be a good thing in this case.”
Josiah curses low and rough, hands tightening around the steering wheel until he hears the metal and plastic material groan in protest. He cannot believe that he’d not thought of that himself, that he’d let himself get tangled so deep in thoughts of Rafe being hurt and of killing Frisch with his bare hands that he’d let something so important as that slip his mind. Despite his best efforts to stay calm and clearheaded it’s painfully obvious that he’s not nearly as in control as he’s been trying to be.
He pries one of his hands loose and jabs roughly at his ocular, barking out a request for a secure channel with Eagan and waiting impatiently for the Lead Enforcer to answer.
“Marx. I didn’t think I’d be hearing from your ugly ass for a while longer.” Eagan is as loud and cheerful as always but Josiah doesn’t have the time for pleasantries.
“Eagan, Rafe’s been taken. Private sector muscle under Frisch’s command broke into my apartment while I was meeting Marcel and took him. Gar’s located their position and we’re in route now, E.T.A. eight minutes.”
Eagan’s silent for a moment and when he speaks there’s a commanding tone to his voice that chafes at Josiah even as he tries to shove the instinctual reaction back down.
“Do not take any unnecessary risks, Marx. I know how you are and I told you before that I don’t want to lose my best agent over this. Take the little fuck alive if you can, but I’m honestly not going to lose any sleep over it if deadly force is necessary. He forfeited all rights to be treated with care when he kidnapped someone under enforcer protection. We’ll use him to send a message.”
Josiah smiles, a sharp stretch of teeth and lips, at Eagan’s words. Frisch has fucked up royally by kidnapping Rafe. By directly violating the protection laws in such a blatant manner he’s lost all right to consideration by the law. Enforcers are charged with protecting the people and are authorized to use deadly force in more situations than the public seems to realize.
“Lead Enforcer Eagan, you should also know that there’s a corpse in Josiah’s apartment. His boy’s apparently a bit harsher than any of us gave him credit for.” Gar’s voice is distracted but slightly amused, his eyes and fingers still flying over the screen of his p.a.t.c.h as he sorts through and discards information at 6lightning speed.
“Great, just what we all need, another Marx floating around the area. I’ll dispatch someone to process the scene. As for backup I’ve got a full squad assembled and heading in your direction, but they’re going to be a while, longer than I’m sure either of you are willing to wait. Just try not to get yourselves killed, either of you. I really don’t want to deal with the paperwork.”
Eagan signs off without another word and Josiah knows that his commanding officer is diving head first into the storm. He’s more than happy to leave all of the red tape to Eagan in this instance. He’ll deal with the aftermath when he has to and if anyone has a problem with his shooting Frisch, because he’s eighty percent sure that it’s going to end like that and he’s looking forward to it, then they can take it up with him later.
Grim faced and determined, Josiah pushes his transport even harder, watching the speed gauge climb higher and higher with cold satisfaction. It won’t be long now and he’ll have Frisch’s throat between his hands.
He’d just better hope that Rafe is alive or Josiah knows ways to make a person wish for death and he can only pity anyone who’s foolish enough to try and stop him.
6Chapter Sixteen
The warehouse in the distance is new, obviously recently erected and well put together. Josiah pulls his eye away from Boo’s scope before handing the rifle back to Gar carefully. Even in this situation he knows better than to handle Boo with anything less than reverence.
“We’ve got four on the outside and no sign of any movement near any of the windows. You take them down and then we’ll go in hard. Back up’s still twenty minutes out and I’m not inclined to wait for them.”
“You’ve never really been inclined to wait on back up. That’s why you’re Vanguard.”
Josiah smirks slightly before he turns to make his way down the ladder that’s attached to the rooftop they’re currently perched on. Gar stays behind, a secure channel open between them as he sets up his equipment so they can begin their operation. He slinks through the alleyways of the neighboring warehouses, careful to keep to the shadows, his electric pistol in hand and rapier thrown securely around his waist. He stills when he’s finally in place, eyes locked on the back entrance, ready if there are more hostiles than they’d previously been aware of and trusting Gar to handle the front entrance.
It starts between one second and the next; Josiah hears the nearly silent sound of Gar chambering a round, a quiet snick, and then there is yelling and the sound of running feet and Gar’s voice is in his ear growling out his code for a successful take down.
“Scratch.”
The next three happen in quick succession, Gar growling out his code word back to back, each one within seconds of the other until all four of the guards that they’d counted are dead. Josiah goes to speak, goes to make the call for Gar to come down from his perch when the door in front of him bursts open. Four more guards, their presence previously unknown, pour out of the building. Instead he raises his hand to his ear and gives Gar new orders, his voice low and tight, a part of him anticipating the fight. He’s more than capable of taking down four on his own but he knows better than to underestimate any situation.
“Skirmisher, I’ve got eyes on four more hostiles. Reposition and provide support. Vanguard shall engage.”
“Affirmative, Vanguard, repositioning.”
Josiah steps out of the shadows of the warehouse, hands steady and pistol ready and when the first guard turns in his direction, weapon drawn, he puts an electrically charged bullet between his eyes. Josiah’s moving before the body even hits the ground, throwing himself down behind a stack of crates and lining up his next shot in seconds. Another body hits the ground but the remaining two have found cover and begin to return fire with a vengeance.
He ducks out from behind his cover, intent on taking down the remaining opposition, but the gunfire abruptly halts and there’s the quiet hiss of Gar’s voice in his ear.
“Double scratch. Game, match.”
Josiah straightens slowly, eyes scanning the area but confident that the coast is clear. Gar would have never called the cost clear otherwise.
“Rendezvous in three.”
6He slides up beside the now open door, impatient but determined to wait on Gar’s arrival. He’s checking over his equipment, making sure that everything is functional, when a scream reaches out past the open door and grips him by the heart.
Rafe.
He’s moving before his brain catches up with him, rushing through the doorway and around the various stacks of crates and barrels, ears trained to the horrifying sound of Rafe screaming in pain. He’s deaf to anything else, unable to truly register Gar’s voice in his ear, or the fact that he can hear the other man pounding across the warehouse floor somewhere behind him.
He skids to a halt a few moments later, eyes trained on the glass and metal plated wall and the engaged intercom that’s broadcasting the room’s sounds to him. Rafe screams again and Josiah’s eyes snap up and focus on a sight that makes his body go still and his mind blank with rage. Frisch is on the other side of the partition, scalpel in hand, wild-eyed and hair in disarray with blood streaking his face as he gazes at Josiah through the glass.
He rips his eyes away from the other dominant and it is Rafe who truly holds his gaze, Rafe who’s strapped to an inverted table, lines of blood running down his back. Josiah levels his pistol, takes aim and fires a round into the glass, cursing low in his throat when it doesn’t penetrate. Rafe jerks on the table and Josiah knows that the intercom works both ways, knows that Rafe will be able to he
ar him so he starts talking, tries to let him know that he’s there and that it’ll all be over soon.
“Let him go, Frisch. Just let him go now and you can walk away from this alive. Just give him up and no one else has to die.” He does his level best to keep his voice low and soothing, to keep the rage from spilling over. He wants Frisch’s throat between his hands but he knows better than to upset him when Rafe’s still trapped on the other side of that glass divider.
Frisch’s eyes flicker for a moment. His face crumples in confusion and his voice sounds surprisingly young when he speaks for the first time.
“My men? You’ve…killed them all?” He asks the question with what sounds like genuine puzzlement and Josiah hesitates for a moment before he answers him.
“Yes.”
“Why, why would you do that?”
“You orchestrated the abduction of a submissive under enforcer protection; under the law, their lives were forfeit.”
“Abduction? I didn’t abduct anyone!”
Josiah stares at the man, caught briefly off guard by the adamant denial. This isn’t the same man he’d dealt with in the hospital or the same sadistic dominant he’d watched ramble gleefully on about the various things he’d done to Rafe. This is a man broken, a mind cracked and damaged, and Josiah tenses further because those are always the most dangerous types of people.
“You abducted Rafe, Frisch; your men stole him out of an apartment and brought him here against his will.
You need to give him back now.”
“But Rafe is mine. She gave him to me! He’s mine!” Josiah can tell Frisch is getting more and more agitated and he knows that he has to tread carefully.
6“Not anymore, you need to give him back to me. Give him back to me and you can still walk away.”
Love in the Land of Fire Page 11
