The Warrior: DERRICK (Cover Six Security Book 4)

by Lisa B. Kamps

  Long enough for night to fall outside the cabin windows.

  He yanked his gaze from the windows and stared into the eyes of Satan himself. Marko Stefanović stared back at him, a wide smile wreathing a face that should bear a mark of evil instead of looking so...average.

  "You've finally decided to join us, my friend. I was worried." He looked up at the loft, made a small motion with his hand. "Release the rope. Just enough to let our friend stand."

  The tension on Derrick's arms was suddenly released and he fell, his legs buckling as he hit the floor. Pain exploded in his left shoulder, fresh blood running down his chest as the wound started to bleed again. Any sound that he might have made was drowned out by the sharp scream behind him. Derrick rolled, felt the bottom of his stomach drop open when his gaze landed on Lee.

  She was sitting on the chair he'd been in earlier, when he had so callously acted as her judge and jury this morning. Her wrists were bound together, the ropes so tight that her hands were pale and bloodless. He watched in silent horror as the man beside her backhanded her. Her head snapped to the side as she whimpered in pain. She turned back, a trickle of blood dripping down her chin from the fresh cut on her lip.

  Fury ripped through Derrick, white-hot and consuming. He wanted to rip the man's head from his shoulders. Wanted to tear the heart from his chest and shred it before doing the same to Stefanović. To all of them.

  But Derrick didn't move. Didn't flinch. Didn't even blink. He was physically unable to do the first, his arms and legs completely useless. And he didn't dare do either of the others. Doing so would be the same as signing Lee's death warrant—but only after Marko made her pay. After he made both of them pay.

  Derrick struggled to keep the mask of indifference in place and tried to sit up without using his arms. Cold sweat covered his body from the effort, the chill bone-deep. Sharp needles of pain raced along his legs as feeling slowly came back, tingling and burning, his limbs shaking with the sensation. The pain was worse in his arms, almost unbearable. Nausea twisted his gut. From the shattering pain ripping through his body. From the agony and horror on Lee's face. From the chilling certainty that there was nothing he could do.

  Not for himself.

  Not for Lee.

  Regret ripped through him. Lee would suffer—because of him. He'd failed to keep her safe and now she would pay. Maybe Stefanović had always planned to kill her but now...

  Now he would make her pay. He'd prolong her death, drag it out, simply because she was with him.

  Because he had nothing he could use to barter with to save her, not even his own life.

  He was already dead. He had known that from the second he'd seen Stefanović standing outside the cabin. The only reason he was still alive was because of the man's twisted sense of games. Stefanović was playing, waiting to see how long it would take for Derrick to break. This, what was between them, was personal. And it had never ended. Wouldn't end, not until one of them was dead.

  And it was Derrick who had drawn the short straw—only now, Lee would pay the price with him.

  "Pull him up."

  Derrick's arms were jerked up, his entire body following like a puppet on a string. He clenched his jaw, bit down against the agony exploding in his arms and shoulders. Blood filled his mouth, warm and coppery, a bitter reminder that he was still alive.

  For now.

  A fist came out of nowhere, caught him against the jaw. His head snapped back. Fell forward then snapped back again when the same fist pummeled his cheek. Lee screamed again, the hoarse cry interrupted by the sound of flesh smacking flesh.

  Derrick spit the blood from his mouth, opened his eyes and glared at Stefanović. Maybe the man saw something in his gaze. Maybe he sensed it. Or maybe he was just a sadistic son-of-a-bitch. Why didn't matter, not when the gleam of unholy amusement flashed in the man's gray eyes.

  "Josif, bring Lidiya here to me."

  Derrick didn't move. Didn't blink. Didn't fucking breathe. He couldn't, not now. Not with Stefanović studying him, watching for even the smallest sign that Lee might mean something to him.

  Derrick kept his gaze focused on the wall behind Stefanović, refused to so much as glance at Lee when the other man dragged her over. Refused to look when Stefanović grinned her and held her against his chest.

  "Lidiya. My dear niece. I think you like this man, yes?" Silence, broken only by a small whimper. Stefanović chuckled, grabbed something from the other man then swung his arm in front of Derrick. A line of fire sliced across his chest, searing and painful—but nowhere near as agonizing as Lee's sharp scream.

  "Ah, so I was right. He does mean something to you. Shall we see if the feeling is mutual?" Stefanović moved his arm, swung the sharp blade toward Lee's face.

  "No!" The roar erupted from Derrick's chest. He twisted, kicked out with his left leg and caught Stefanović behind the knee. Bit back a groan when his arms were jerked higher, when the man turned on him, the knife flush against Derrick's throat.

  Stefanović laughed again, the sound chilling Derrick. Letting him know he'd fallen into the man's trap. Letting him know he made yet another tactical error, a fatal one this time.

  Stefanović lowered the knife and draped his arm around Lee's shoulder. He pulled her against his side in an exaggerated hug, his voice conversational and mildly amused when he spoke.

  "You know, Lidiya, I believe you do mean something to him. How very interesting. Did you know he did nothing to save his wife when I threatened her? He didn't flinch at all when I killed her. Sliced her throat, right in front of him, and he didn't even blink."

  Derrick's eyes slid to Lee's. What he saw in their bottomless gray depths hit him like a punch in the gut, forced the air from his lungs. Horror. Sympathy. Fear. Regret.

  Could she see the same regret in his own eyes? Or had he so perfected his mask that everything he felt was hidden?

  It didn't matter. Not now.

  He clenched his jaw, turned back to Stefanović. "Let her go, Marko."

  "Now why would I do that, when the game just became so very much more interesting?"

  "She's your niece. Your flesh-and-blood. This is between us, not her. Let her go."

  "Ah, but she has something of mine. I take it very personally when someone takes what belongs to me. And I've been waiting two years for just the right time to take it back."

  "What she has is worthless and you know it."

  Stefanović shrugged. "Its worth doesn't matter. What matters is that it's mine. And unlike you, I go after what is mine."

  Derrick ignored the insult, the insinuation. Held the other man's gaze for a long time before he spoke again. "Let her go, Marko. She doesn't deserve this. You know it."

  "Hm. You know, you may be right. She is family, after all, isn't she?" Stefanović looked over his shoulder, nodded at the man behind him. "Josif, fill the bucket again. All the way."

  Derrick forced his eyes to stay open, forced his mind to focus on what was going on in front of him when all he wanted to do was sink into oblivion. He couldn't, this was too important, he needed to stay focused, dammit. For Lee. On the chance, however slight it might be, that he could help. That he could get her out of this mess.

  Anger tore through him, dulling the edges of pain tearing into him. Help her? How could he help her, when he couldn't help himself? When his arms were bound and stretched above him? When his legs were heavy and useless?

  He couldn't help her, but maybe somebody else could. Maybe they were already on their way—

  The hope withered and died as quickly as it appeared. Nobody knew where they were, had no way of knowing he was in trouble. He'd taken off, not bothering to tell anyone where he was going, not even TR. Nobody even knew about this place, would never find a record of it even if they knew to look for it. In two days, they'd start to wonder where he was. In three, the idle curiosity would turn into something more. They'd try calling his cell but wouldn't get an answer. They'd shrug, make a small joke, then put it
from their minds.

  In four days, they'd be more concerned. Zeus would be pissed. TR would be the one most worried and start insisting something was wrong. Then they'd put their heads together, try to decide of something was really going on that they needed to worry about, or if it was just a case of him going off on his own like he sometimes did.

  Maybe they'd think of the chip, talk about remotely activating it. More than likely, they'd wait. By day five, maybe six, they'd realize something was definitely wrong and finally get around to remotely activating the tracking device embedded in his left arm—the one they all had, the ones that had horrified TR when she first learned about them.

  But it would be too late. They didn't have five or six days. Derrick doubted if they had five or six hours.

  A hoarse scream jerked his head upright. He forced his eyes open, stared in horror as Josif upended the bucket of water over Lee's head, drenching her.

  What. The. Fuck.

  He opened his mouth, snapped it shut when Stefanović ordered the bucket be filled again before looking over at him.

  "Ah, I see your back with us. Just in time. I've decided that you were right. I will let Lidiya go free." He reached down, cut the wet ropes from her wrist and brusquely rubbed her pale flesh. "But—we shall make a game of it."

  Fresh dread filled him. "Marko—"

  "I think you will like this game, my friend. I will let Lidiya go free. At sunrise, my men will go look for her. If she can find her way to safety, she will be free. If she can find a place to hide from my men, she will be free. But, if they find her..." His voice trailed and he shrugged. "If they find her, she will come back to us and we will the end game here instead."

  Jesus.

  Derrick watched as Stefanović emptied the second bucket of water over Lee's head. Not just her head—he made sure her shirt was soaked. Her jeans. Her boots. Every inch of her was wet, the clear liquid dripping from her hair and face and the hem of her sweatshirt. She was already shivering. From the cold. From fright. Did she know what he had planned? Had she figured it out?

  No, not until Stefanović threw open the door. Cold air rushed in, lowering the temperature inside a few degrees in just as many seconds. There had been frost last night—and tonight promised to be even colder.

  Stefanović clapped his hands then motioned for Lidiya to come toward the door. Derrick struggled against the ropes, bit back a howl of pain when his arms were jerked from above.

  " Stefanović, think about what you're doing. She's your niece. Your flesh-and-blood—"

  "No." Lidiya's voice, hoarse and scratchy. "No. I'm nothing like him."

  "Lee—"

  Lidiya stepped toward him, her eyes big and round and filled with sadness. She started to reach for him, to caress his cheek, but dropped her hand before she touched him. Because of the silent threat from Josif, or because she couldn't bear the thought of touching him after what he'd said? After what he'd done?

  "Lee—"

  She shook her head, a sad smile briefly tilting one corner of her mouth. Her voice was a whisper, meant for his ears only. "I don't have any regrets, Chaos. Please remember that."

  Then she turned and walked away, trailing water behind her as she stepped through the door and into the cold night.

  Toward certain death.

  Something snapped inside him when Stefanović closed the door behind her. Derrick roared in fury. Called her name. Pulled against the rope stretching his arms overhead. Ignored the pain in his chest, the pop of his left shoulder as it dislocated. He twisted. Kicked. Arched his back and lashed out, thirsty for blood, determined to get it—

  Until pain exploded in the back of his skull and darkness overtook him.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The scream was inhuman, the kind of sound a wounded animal might make. It lifted the hair along the back of her neck and prickled her skin with bumps of fear and horror.

  No, not a scream—a howl. Filled with anger. Desperation. Rage and fury. Pain and the promise of retribution—until it was abruptly cut short.

  Derrick!

  Lidiya stumbled, tripped and fell. Her heart squeezed in her chest. Tight. Tighter. So tight she thought it would implode and shatter.

  Yes. Let it shatter. Let it end, here and now.

  She collapsed against the cold ground, her chest heaving from the exertion of running, her body shaking from fear and cold. Tears fell from her eyes, tears of sorrow and regret and heartache.

  Yes, let it end. Here. Now.

  Derrick.

  Oh God, what had Marko done to him to draw out that inhuman sound? What had he done to make that unbearable noise stop so abruptly? Lidiya didn't want to know, didn't want to imagine—but she could, all too well.

  Derrick.

  Horror ripped through her at the memory of Marko shooting him. At the way his men had dragged his limp body into the cabin. They'd stripped his shirt off. Bound his wrists, their hands rough and abusive. Dragged rope to the loft and jerked his body upright, higher and higher, until only the tips of his boots scraped across the floor. She had watched in horror as Marko used his limp body as a punching bag and she had wanted to scream at him to stop—had screamed. But it had done no good.

  Time had no meaning as she sat there, watching Derrick's body hanging from the loft. Minutes turned into hours, long enough for the sun to sink and turn the night black. And Lidiya did nothing but sit there. Watching. Waiting. Praying that Derrick wasn't suffering, praying that he couldn't feel the pain Marko had inflicted on his body.

  Praying that the end would come quickly—for both of them.

  But it hadn't.

  Derrick.

  Oh God, the things Marko had done to him. But Derrick had been silent the entire time. Stoic. Unaffected.

  Until Marko had threatened her. Only then had he tried to fight back. To barter for her release. To do what he could to keep her safe, even appealing to her uncle's sense of family.

  But you couldn't appeal to an animal. A monster. Didn't Derrick know that? Yes, he must, especially if what Marko had said about his wife was true. And if it was, Derrick must hate her even more, knowing that Marko's blood flowed through her own veins.

  Blood will tell.

  Blood. So much blood.

  Lidiya struggled to open her eyes, to banish the sights playing out behind her lids. Cold, so cold. And tired. It would so easy to close her eyes and go to sleep, to drift off until she felt...nothing.

  But she couldn't close her eyes, not without seeing Derrick's bloodied body. Not without seeing that last look of sorrow and regret that had been in his eyes before she turned away from him.

  He had tried to save her, even though they both knew it was too late. But he had tried.

  Which meant she had to try, too.

  She pushed up, fell back to the ground as her hands, swollen and numb, gave out on her. Cried and tried again. Stumbled. Caught herself and finally straightened. One step, then another and another.

  Weaving.

  Staggering.

  Knowing she had to move. Keep moving.

  Knowing she had go try. Keep trying. Not give up.

  Derrick.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  "You know this is bullshit, right? Absolute, total bullshit. We're going to get there and Chaos is going to go apeshit—if he doesn't fucking shoot us first."

  "He won't shoot us."

  "You sure about that? Because I wouldn't put it fucking past him."

  "He won't shoot us."

  "Yeah, well, if he does, I'm blaming your wife. Sending us out on this damn stupid wild goose chase because she has a feeling. She's fucking pregnant, for shit's sake. That feeling was probably heartburn."

  Daryl stepped around Aidan "Flare" Wilt before Mac could pummel his ass. He shot them both a quelling look, silently telling them to shut the fuck up. Yeah, he happened to agree with Flare about the wild goose chase part, even if he had seen the look of terror on TR's face when she burst into Mac's office. She'd
been convinced, one hundred percent, that something was wrong—and she hadn't let up, not until Mac had grudgingly tried Chaos's cell phone, only it went straight to voicemail.

  TR hadn't cared. Had insisted they go find him. Now. Or else. Daryl had no idea what the fucking or else was but it had been enough for Mac to suggest checking the tracker. And hell, since they now knew where Chaos was, they might as well drop in and pay a visit.

  And go prepared for war, just in case.

  Because yeah, Flare was right about Chaos going apeshit when they showed up at his door, or tent or lair or cave or whatever the fuck was out here—uninvited and unannounced.

  At least, Daryl had agreed with Flare—until about two hours ago, when the skin on the back of his neck started crawling. The sensation hadn't eased up, either.

  He wasn't the only one feeling it, this certainty that something wasn't quite right. That's what was behind Flare's damn bitching: the fact that something might actually be wrong.

  Daryl turned to Ninja. "How far?"

  Colter "Ninja" Graham studied the small handheld locator for a brief second then looked up. "Just under two miles."

  Daryl nodded, did a slow study of the other men with him, their faces nothing more than shadows in the night: Mac, Ninja, Flare, Wolf. Five men total, for what he'd at first considered a wild goose chase.

  Now he wondered if five were enough for whatever fucking trouble Chaos might have gotten himself into.

  Hell yeah, it was enough to handle any trouble—but he was more worried about handling Chaos if this really was nothing more than a false alarm. The man would be pissed when they showed up, when he found out Daryl had made the decision to activate the tracker. It wouldn't matter that TR had a feeling.

  That was an issue for later, after they got to wherever the hell they were going. Standing around doing nothing wouldn't accomplish that.

  Daryl made a single motion with his arm, a silent order to spread out and start moving. The men peeled away, disappearing into the shadows as they moved forward, intent on the job at hand. This was what they did best. Moving together. Silent. Deadly when they needed to be. Working as a team and anticipating each other's moves.