Out of Luck

by Kendall Talbot

  The bloody body groaned.

  “There you are.” Noah squatted down to get a better look at the mess. “What the hell happened?”

  Diego spat out blood, and it landed on his chin in a thick globule. “Por favor. Ayuadame. Por favor.”

  “English, Diego.”

  “Please.” Diego spluttered more blood. “Help me.”

  “Yes. Yes, I will. Tell me what happened.”

  “I…I not know. Man, he just started shooting. Help me. Please!”

  “Where’s the girl?”

  A small gasp released from Diego’s throat, and Noah wondered if he’d succumbed to his injuries.

  Colt approached Noah’s side. “They’re all dead, boss.”

  A scream burst through the silence, and Noah jumped up and spun to the shrieks. It was Stella. Her hands were in her hair, her eyes wild as she stood over the body of the nearest man. “Shut the fuck up,” Noah yelled at her.

  She didn’t.

  “Jesus, woman, get back on the fucking plane.”

  But Stella just stood there, screaming like a banshee. “Ahh, for God’s sake.” She was a problem, and Noah realized, too late for her, that it was stupid to have brought her along.

  “Give me that!” Noah snatched Colt’s Ruger from his oversized hand, aimed at the wailing woman, and put a bullet in her belly. Shrieking, she flew backward with a burst of crimson across her tailored suit and slammed onto the dirt. It wasn’t his best shot, but given the tension blazing through his brains, it was a wonder he’d hit her at all.

  That was Noah’s second murder. But it wasn’t anywhere near as satisfying as his first. Killing someone at a distance paled in comparison to watching the life drain out of their eyes and feeling their body dwindle beneath his fingers. Next time Noah murdered someone, he’d do it properly.

  And if things went according to plan, his daughter would own that designation.

  When Stella moaned, he extracted her murder from his repertoire and handed the weapon back to Colt. “Go finish her off. Then drag her body into the bushes and make sure she’s well hidden.”

  Colt swaggered over to Stella, who was clutching her stomach and groaning. He raised his gun, and Noah glanced away before the blast of the gunshot shattered the silence.

  “Such a shame.” He mumbled to himself. It occurred to him that he’d have Madam Athena to contend with next. But she was the least of his worries.

  He turned toward a new disturbing noise to witness Colt and Steele dragging Stella through the dirt by her wrists. “Pick her up!” Noah barked at them. “Goddamn apes. And make sure she has no jewelry or identification on her.”

  If her body was ever found, she’d be just another Jane Doe on the coroner’s table. Noah glanced around the surroundings. If she was found. The first time he’d been here, Diego had told him the remote runway hadn’t been used in decades. It was once a key asset in a drug cartel’s distribution center. But all that changed with a major drug bust here at the end of Batista’s reign. Anyone under the age of forty probably didn’t even know it existed. Noah never did ask Diego how he came to know of it. It was one of the things about the Cuban that’d impressed Noah. Diego had been a man who got things done.

  Had been…

  One glance at Diego was enough to know he was a dead man. Noah jabbed his leather shoe into a part of Diego’s hip that wasn’t covered in blood. “Hey, you still alive?”

  Diego’s lips moved, and Noah squatted down to hear if he was speaking. “You say something?”

  “Help me.” His voice was a strange, wheezy gurgle.

  “Yes, I will. Where’s the girl Diego, Claudia? Where’s my daughter?”

  A bloody bubble formed on Diego’s lips, followed by an exaggerated sigh that could only mean the end.

  “Shit.” Noah stood up, stepped away from the body, and glanced around. His eyes fell on the rusted pole the jeep headlights were aimed at. Two decades ago, Benita had been tied to that pole. At that time, he’d flown from New York to Cuba without any concept of what would greet him. His sole purpose had been to eliminate Benita. This time he’d had prior knowledge of the setting, yet the mounting bodies and missing target confirmed that his plan had tipped irreversibly off course.

  Noah was not accustomed to losing. Losing twice in one day was unprecedented. Losing the same target twice was incomprehensible. To top that off, he couldn’t fathom a way to cut his losses. Noah eased up to the pole and placed his hand on the cold metal. It was hard to believe this bleak spot was the site of his life-changing moment. He had hoped to replicate that delicious experience with Benita’s daughter.

  His daughter, if Benita was to be believed.

  His gaze drifted to the area where he’d thought he seen the woman running into the bushes. It had to be her. But who was the mystery man with her? The last time he was here, Claudia had been whisked away by Pueblo.

  Diego had told him Pueblo was dead. Looks like he was wrong, or maybe he’d lied on purpose.

  The crunch of gravel had him turning toward the twins. They’d both managed to get themselves covered in Stella’s blood, and Noah had a good mind to kill them both here too. Ignoring the stupid fools, he glared back at the bushes again. “I thought I saw the woman running into those bushes.” He pointed ahead. “Go check it out.”

  Without a word, Colt and Steele strode, side by side, in that direction.

  A gunshot cracked through the silence, and a millisecond later an explosion of blood burst from Steele’s neck and shoulder. The brute flew backward in a howl of agony.

  “Shit!” Noah dove for cover behind the nearest jeep. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

  Steele was on the dirt, clutching his neck and writhing in apparent agony. Colt ran to his brother and fell to his knees at his side. “Steele, Steele, no!”

  Steele curled into a fetal position, wailing as his blood squirted through his fingers.

  Another round of bullets pinged off the jeep, taking out the headlights. Bullets continued and whizzed barely inches from Noah’s head. “Fuck!”

  If the twins noticed the barrage, they didn’t show it. Colt was leaning over his brother, smothering him with his body as if for protection. He seemed to be crying. Noah stared in disbelief. The mission had careened dramatically off the rails. It was time to get the hell out of there.

  Colt flung backward with a spray of blood bursting from the back of his head. His body hit the dirt in a sickening crunch, and it took Noah only one look to know the fool was dead.

  “Fuck!”

  The next sound Noah heard shot a blaze of panic through his veins. The pilot had fired the engines. Noah snapped his eyes to the plane and could just see the pilot in the glow of the cockpit lights. “No!” He screamed and waggled his finger at the pilot. There wasn’t a chance in hell the pilot heard him, but when he finally looked over, he gazed right at Noah. “No!” Noah screamed, shaking his head.

  The pilot’s response was to set the plane into motion, inching forward.

  “Fuck!” Noah didn’t think. He didn’t even breathe. He just jumped up and, casting caution aside, sprinted at the moving jet.

  One hundred yards.

  He felt the crosshairs on his back. Felt the fierce concentration of the shooter. Felt the tingle in his spine where he imagined the bullet would hit.

  Felt the intensity of imminent death.

  He dodged left, right, careful not to enter into the remaining jeep’s headlights. Eighty yards.

  He forced power into his limbs. His arms pumped, his legs pounded the dirt, and he clenched his jaw, determined to make it.

  Sixty yards.

  Even with the whir of the engines, he heard another round of bullets whiz past. One slammed into the tail of the jet, taking out a small chunk in the tip.

  Time seemed to move at two speeds, fucking fast and painfully slow.


  Thirty yards.

  Noah had to get around to the other side in order to get onto the steps. If the asshole hadn’t pulled them up that is. He prayed for that miracle as he aimed for the back of the plane. If he went for the front, the pilot would probably run him over.

  Surging pain filled his lungs.

  Ten yards.

  He ducked beneath the undercarriage and gasped at the miracle. The stairs were still there. “Wait for me.”

  Adrenaline spiked his veins. He was going to make it.

  He couldn’t breathe. His legs burned like acid.

  Two yards.

  Noah dove at the steps and clutched the railing.

  The engine noise became louder. The speed increased. Noah strangled the rail, desperate to hang on. His energy vaporized in a flash. His legs wouldn’t move. Instead they whipped around, pulled by the drag of the g-force.

  To his horror, the plane left the ground.

  Noah screamed. The engine roared. And the plane barely skimmed over the tops of the trees.

  “Pull me in, you bastard,” Noah shouted at the pilot.

  “Fucking pull yourself in. I’m trying to get us outta here.”

  Noah forced his brain to think. Forced his body to move.

  Inch by inch, he dragged himself into the cabin.

  “Shut the fucking door,” the pilot yelled.

  Noah hauled himself onto his hands and knees, crawled into the cabin, and, clutching the rail, used the last of his strength to drag the door up. The wind slammed into him…blinding his eyes, screeching in his ears, clawing him from the plane.

  “Pull it in!” The pilot screamed.

  “I am!”

  “Fucking faster! Or we’re both dead!”

  The plane shuddered, rattling every bone in his body. Releasing an almighty growl, Noah fought the door upright and latched it closed.

  He crumbled to a heap on the floor, and the plane surged higher. It was an eternity before Noah rolled to a standing position and flopped into his seat. When the pilot turned to him and smirked, Noah didn’t know whether to thank him or kill him.

  Chapter 25

  Charlene couldn’t believe what she’d witnessed. In the space of about five minutes, eight Cubans and three Americans were dead. One of whom looked like an innocent woman. And then there was Noah Montgomery. If she hadn’t seen him shoot that woman without any hesitation, she would never have believed it. The Noah Montgomery she’d seen on television was poised, distinguished, and respected.

  The Noah Montgomery she just saw was a cold-blooded murderer.

  When Diego told her that Noah had strangled her mother, she couldn’t imagine the New York lawyer doing that. After all, he fought for the innocent.

  She now knew it had to be true. It was impossible to believe that monster was her father. Charlene had never wanted someone dead before, but when Noah had begun running for the plane, she’d screamed at Marshall to shoot the bastard.

  Marshall had tried, and he’d cursed at the ancient weapon throughout the attempt.

  But, once again, Noah had gotten away with murder.

  It wasn’t until the plane was airborne that Marshall stood up. He offered his hand to help her up too. She groaned at the pain searing through her body. It seemed that every bone and muscle was screaming for attention.

  Marshall clutched her hand in his. “Come on. We need to keep moving.”

  Charlene winced at every footfall, and her bare feet were no match for the scrappy weeds and sharp rocks. The clearing was only slightly better, and she tried to ignore the stabs to her insteps as they made their way toward the massacre.

  The scene was unbelievable. Brutal and shocking. She wanted to look away, but at the same time, she couldn’t. Five ghoulish bodies lay in the beams of the jeep’s headlights. All deathly still. The metallic stench of blood and death invaded her nostrils, and silence, as haunting as a graveyard, hung in the air. Charlene made a direct line for the gory mess that was Diego. She had thought witnessing Peter’s bloody death would be the worst thing she’d ever see. But the wound on Diego’s face was much worse. Still, she had to confirm he was dead. What he’d done to her mother was inhuman, and it only seemed fitting that he should die an agonizing death. Blood and gaping holes covered his corpse. His eyes were open, staring into the headlights.

  He was dead.

  She snapped her head away, fighting a wave of nausea that was stinging her stomach.

  A muffled groan broke the silence, and she turned to the sound. It was a couple of creepy seconds before she realized who’d made it. It was one of the American men.

  “Marshall, he’s still alive.”

  Marshall strode to the muscle-bound brute and nudged him with his foot. “Hey, man, what’s your name?”

  The man gurgled a response.

  Marshall shook his head. “He’s not going to make it.”

  “Good. After what they did to that woman, they don’t deserve any mercy.” It was impossible to comprehend why the woman had been on the plane. They might never know. But it was obvious she’d been as shocked about the killings as Charlene had been.

  Marshall turned to her, and the look on his face was a curious mix of horror and justice. “Come on.” Marshall turned from the dying man and strode toward her to clutch her hand again. “Let’s go.”

  He marched to the jeep she’d traveled in, reached into the back, and removed a gasoline can. When it emitted a sloshing sound, Charlene wondered how he’d known the can was even there. “Hey, is this yours?” He held up her bag.

  “Huh, I didn’t think I’d see that again.” Resisting a look inside, she wrapped it across her chest. The chance of her money still being in there was minuscule, but the fact that Diego had kept it meant there must be something inside.

  Marshall clutched her hand and led her toward the bush.

  “We’re not taking a jeep?”

  “No. Got something better.”

  The playful lilt in his voice had her doubting his statement. A dozen questions raced through her brain at once, but she couldn’t voice even one of them. It was like she was swimming through that murky well again. That already seemed like weeks ago.

  “Stay here.” Marshall stopped at the edge of the clearing, let go of her hand, and took a step away. Then he turned back. It was too dark to see him properly, but she felt his presence, felt the warmth of his body. His hand touched her cheek, and she leaned into his palm. “Are you okay?”

  His concern and careful embrace had all the knots in her mind unraveling. She barely knew this wonderful, brave man, yet she felt like she’d known him forever. “Yes and no,” she finally said.

  “I know what you mean. We’re nearly out of this, so I need you to stay strong for a little longer.”

  She nodded. “Okay.”

  “I’ll be back in a sec.” He released his hand and trotted away with the gasoline can.

  In the last twenty or so hours, Charlene had thought she was going to die several times. But when Marshall had appeared out of nowhere and her breath had caught at the intensity in his eyes, she knew he’d save her. It was six men against one. The odds were against him, yet she never doubted it. Never doubted him. It was strange to be so certain about a man she barely knew.

  When she’d started her stupid quest for answers, she’d never stopped to consider the dangers. But the fact that she’d also put Marshall in that danger horrified her.

  He could have died trying to save her.

  No matter how many words she said, they’d never be enough to thank him for that. But as soon as they had a quiet moment together, she’d try.

  She traced his footfalls through the bushes and then frowned as he grunted and cursed for a few minutes before a motor roared to life and a dim light pierced the vegetation. The light was like an alien beam as it wove a pa
th toward her.

  When she finally saw what it was, she burst out laughing. “Really?”

  He shrugged and climbed off. “Your trusty steed.”

  “You want me to get into there?” She pointed at the metal capsule that was about the size of a baby crib.

  “Well, unless you can drive this thing, then yes. Come on.” He nudged her toward the sidecar.

  Charlene placed her hand on the side for support, and her aching legs seemed foreign as she lifted them up and folded them into the car.

  The instant she sat her bottom on the bare metal, she knew this was going to be hell. Her legs were too long to lie flat, and she couldn’t cross them either as the space wasn’t wide enough, so she bent them up beneath the metal cocoon at an awkward angle. She was still wriggling around when Marshall climbed back onto the bike.

  “Ready?”

  “I feel like a sardine.”

  “You don’t look like one.”

  “I smell like one.”

  Marshall chuckled. The engine roared to life again, and with a jolt, he kicked the machine into gear. She glanced one last time at the bloody scene in the headlights as they pulled away. Eleven people had been killed right before her eyes, and she felt sorry for only one of them. Did that make her a monster too?

  It was just another unanswered question flooding her brain.

  The sidecar bounced over the uneven ground, and Charlene felt every single bump. In an attempt to take her mind off the new barrage, she watched Marshall’s battle with the steering. His arms bulged and flexed with each movement. His jaw was clenched, symbolizing his fight to keep the clunky bike on the road. Even though she couldn’t see his eyes, she could easily picture his emerald-green pools, flecked with copper.

  When he looked at her, he truly looked at her. Other than Peter, no man had done that.

  When the plane had landed, Charlene had thought she’d never see Marshall again. Now, though, as he whisked her away, she never wanted to leave his side. He’d touched something in her soul that hadn’t experienced so much as a flicker before. Yet it was impossible to believe he felt the same way. Marshall was a navy man driven to complete his mission. Saving her was his duty. Nothing more.