Grave Games: A Collection Of Riveting Suspense Thrillers

by James Hunt

  She darted toward the dining room, leaping over the bodies in her path, and came to the kitchen just as Burke thrust an electric carving knife down on the leg of a seated Omar, whose screams were muffled by a sock stuffed in his mouth. Blood spurted from his leg as he twitched in agony, sweat pouring down his face.

  Burke had tied his hands behind the chair and had knotted extra rope around his legs and waist. Omar smacked into the chair repeatedly as though he were having a seizure, but Burke didn’t seem to care.

  He stood up and held the bloody carving knife in the kitchen light as its cord dangled in the air. “Start talking, Omar. I want the address to every supply drop you’ve done in the past two weeks.”

  Omar winced and cried, clearly in pain but not looking as though he was ready to talk. Burke jerked his head over to Angela as she slowly walked into the kitchen, holding his pistol out for him to take.

  “Keep it,” Burke said. “I’m only getting started here.”

  Angela didn’t know what to say. She wanted the information just as badly as Burke did. But getting it, so it seemed, would be at the cost of their humanity.

  South of the Border

  Burke drove the rattling blade into Omar’s other leg like a buzz saw. The grinding buzz coupled with Omar’s high-pitched, muffled screams worried Angela that someone would hear. So much for a covert operation, she thought, peeking out a back window as the gruesome spectacle continued behind her.

  Thick red blood poured from Omar’s wounds in rapid spurts—so much that Burke nearly slipped as he circled his helpless captive. Angela turned from the window and watched Burke as he turned the carving knife off and held its dripping blade to the side. He leaned down inches from Omar’s face, causing the terrified man to shudder, and then Burke began further taunting him.

  “Not much to work with here, Omar, but that doesn’t mean I can’t get creative. You tell me what I need to know, and we’re gone. You keep holding out on us, it’s going to be a very long night.”

  Omar cried out, shaking his head as sweat dripped down his face. He still wouldn’t talk, despite the jagged wounds on his upper legs.

  “What’s that?” Burke asked, holding a hand to his ear. “I can’t hear you.”

  Angela stepped forward, wary of Burke’s sadistic behavior. “Stop toying with him, and take the sock out of his mouth. He’s trying to talk to you!”

  Burke spun his head around, glaring at her. Omar’s frightened, nervous eyes darted between Burke and Angela. He gaped like a pig with an apple in its mouth and looked about as terrified as a man could look.

  “You just keep watch. Got it?” Burke said in the short, dismissive tone she had heard from him before. This time, however, it was clear that he meant it.

  When it came down to it, the truth was that she feared him in some way. What he had done in the past, and what he proved capable of doing now, was cruel and troubling enough. But he was her only hope of getting her children back. She turned back to the window feeling deeply conflicted.

  Omar rocked back and forth as his smothered screaming reached a fever pitch.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Burke said into his ear. “If you tell me where your terrorist pals are, they’ll do even worse to you.” He paused and stood up straight and held the knife inches from Omar’s groin. “But that’s a concern for the future. You have to worry about who you’re dealing with now, and I am not someone to fuck with.” His gloved hand swooped upward and clutched Omar’s throat, pushing his head back and holding the jagged carving knife to his face. “And I’m not leaving here until you tell me about the supply drops. Where have you been?”

  Omar’s terror-stricken face brimmed with fresh tears as blood continued to flow from his ravaged leg wounds. He nodded in frantic agreement as Burke yanked the sock from his mouth. In that brief moment of silence, Angela turned from the window, relieved that the carnage seemed to have ended.

  “I only want to know where they’re holding my daughters,” she said.

  Burke placed a hand on Omar’s quivering shoulder and squeezed. “You can start there. But I want to know every location, no matter how remote.”

  Omar gasped for breath and hung his head as his chest rose and fell in rapid succession. Burke waited patiently, still holding the knife. Omar looked up with tears in his eyes and spoke in an exhausted, strained voice. “I don’t know anything about her daughters.”

  Burke crossed his arms and towered over Omar, staring down with complete skepticism. “I’m sure you know plenty. It’s the same place where they killed her husband. You remember him, right? The American in your latest snuff film?”

  Omar whipped his head from Angela to Burke, growing pale and despondent. He struggled with his words as his teeth clenched in reaction to the pain from the deep gashes on his mangled legs. “I-I don’t know. All I know is that they move around a lot. They don’t tell me. Maybe a day’s notice.”

  Burke turned the carving knife back on with its ominous whir. Omar slammed his back against the chair, flailing the air in desperation to get free. “Okay! Okay, I’ll tell you.”

  “You’d say anything to save your skin,” Burke said. He then paused, holding the vibrating blade close to Omar’s chest. “This is a hell of a knife. Where’d you get this thing?”

  Burke stuffed the sock back into his mouth and then drove the blade across Omar’s arm, tearing into the flesh and unleashing a river of blood.

  Angela turned away from the sight, but she could still hear everything only too well. Omar’s endless, muffled shrieks sent shivers down her spine as Burke continued to saw and grind Omar’s lower arm, tearing a jagged line open from top to bottom.

  She opened her eyes and took one sure-footed step forward, filled with outrage. “Enough!” she shouted.

  Burke stopped, blade entrenched deep within Omar’s arm, and looked at her curiously.

  “What now?” he asked.

  “This is wrong.”

  Burke stepped casually away from Omar and set the blood-soaked knife on the counter as Omar’s faint cries continued. The captive’s T-shirt was drenched in blood from his arm. His dark-tan face had gone nearly pale, and he appeared to be losing consciousness.

  “You have a better way to get information?” Burke asked. “Because if you do, I’m all ears.” He took a threatening step forward and got directly in Angela’s face. She backed into the wall, fearing him like before. “I’m trying to find out where your kids are at. And now you’re going to sit here and object to my methods? Have you lost your mind?”

  “There has to be another way,” she said, voice trembling. “This is sick. It’s sadistic!”

  Burke extended one arm past her head, pressing his palm against the wall, and she could feel his hot breath in her face as he spoke quietly, just above a whisper. “Death is all these terrorists know. You think he’s going to talk if we ask him nicely? That how you think this works? Omar damn well knows that once he tells us, he’s a dead man. So we’ve got to make him more afraid of us than of his own people. Understand?”

  Angela stared back at him, unblinking, not saying a word. Having made his point, Burke turned around just as Omar began to talk through the sock in his mouth. Burke yanked it out again as spit dripped down from the balled fabric.

  “I’ll talk,” he said. “Just… just stop cutting me. I-I’m losing blood. I feel dizzy.”

  Burke walked past him and straight to the kitchen sink, where he took his black tactical gloves off, turned on the faucet, and began to clean off the electric knife. “Not a problem, Omar.” He turned off the faucet and dropped the knife into the sink. He then walked toward Angela, pulling his gloves back on. “Why don’t you find some towels somewhere so we can clean him off?”

  Angela glanced down at their defeated, butchered prisoner. He had lost a lot of blood, and the color leaving his skin wasn’t a good sign. She believed Burke had gone overboard but said nothing in protest. It was time to stop the bleeding and hear what the man had to
say. She walked to the laundry room, where she remembered seeing some towels, quickly grabbed a couple from atop the washing machine, and reentered the kitchen.

  Burke grabbed some of the towels from her without saying anything and wet them at the sink. Angela stepped carefully around the red puddle on the tiled floor and tried her best to stop the bleeding by tying one towel around his arm. Omar winced and jerked his bloodied arm away.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “I’m just trying to stop the bleeding.”

  Omar dropped his arm to the side out of pure exhaustion as his breathing slowed and his eyelids got heavier. Burke suddenly approached and lightly slapped Omar in his face. “It’s not naptime yet, pal.”

  He then handed Angela the wet towels as she continued her work, dabbing his open wounds while soaking the towels with blood in the process. She was lucky to have grabbed so many. Omar moaned, seemingly delirious. Whether it was an act or not, Angela didn’t know. However, she didn’t think that the extent of Burke’s torture was necessary. Omar was no good to them dead, and his faint whimpering and drooping eyes indicated that he was fading fast. How long could he last without medical attention?

  Burke stepped around one of the bodies in the dining room and began tossing around the empty pizza boxes on the table and found a pen. He then walked into the kitchen and casually leaned against the counter, holding a pocket-sized notebook.

  “Let’s start at the start, Omar. Where are the girls being held?”

  Omar raised his head slightly and nodded as his eyes began to shut. Angela had cleaned up a lot of his blood and destroyed many towels in the process. She began wrapping some clean ones around his leg to control the bleeding, while trying to pay attention to what they were saying.

  Suddenly, Burke stomped on the floor with his black boot, shocking them both.

  Omar’s head shot up as Angela froze and turned only to find an enraged Burke inches away.

  “Don’t fuck with me, Omar. You think you’re going to sleep your way out of this?” He spun around to the kitchen and grabbed the carving knife, holding it up and ready to use it again.

  “No!” Angela said. “Give him a moment to speak.” She didn’t want to see all the work she had done cleaning him up wasted, and she didn’t want to see him hurt again.

  “Don’t fall for his tricks,” Burke responded. “We’ll end up right back at square one.”

  Angela looked up at Omar, whose eyes were open and his face much more alert than before. She slowly rose to her feet and backed away. Was Omar trying to play them?

  “Just tell us where they are,” she said, placing a hand over one of the towels wrapped around his leg. Omar clenched his teeth in pain, and for a moment, Angela felt a satisfying sense of power. She squeezed above his knee cap, just barely, and Omar cried out and began to violently cough.

  “Easy there, killer,” Burke said from behind them.

  Angela backed away again, not knowing what had gotten into her.

  Omar breathed heavily for a moment, appearing as though he was reeling from the pain. He looked up as Burke stared back, waiting for him to begin.

  “There’s a place. An underground compound. About two hours from here. That’s where they took the family.”

  Burke scribbled, nodding. “An underground compound? Got it. Where is it?”

  “El Paso,” Omar replied. “But like I said, they never stay anywhere for too long, especially with hostages.”

  “El Paso’s a big place,” Burke said. “I need specifics. Coordinates.”

  Omar shook his head. “I’ve only been there once and didn’t drive.” He tilted his head toward the body lying in the dining room. “Marid drove that time. And you killed him.”

  “Tragic,” Burke said. “But that doesn’t get you off the hook.” He then lowered his notebook and approached Omar with his chest out and muscles flexed.

  “I don’t remember!” Omar shouted.

  Before he could say another word, Burke’s gloved hand clutched his neck, squeezing.

  Angela felt the need to intervene again and stepped behind Omar with her hands on his shoulders. “Let him speak! I’m sure it will come to him.”

  Burke looked up, amused, and released his tight grip. Omar gasped and coughed.

  “Certainly, Agent Gannon. Let’s just wait here all night until it comes to Omar in a dream.”

  “That’s not what I mean,” Angela said. “Just don’t be so quick to attack him.”

  Omar’s eyes shifted between the two sparring Americans, ready to tell them more. “I can’t tell you for sure where the compound is…” Omar paused, catching his breath again. “But I can give you the address of a man who may know.”

  Burke shook his head in disapproval. “We’re not going on some wild goose chase. You get us to the compound, or I’ll carve you up like a Christmas ham.”

  “He’s British and has been to the compound many times. He knows far more than I.”

  “Bullshit,” Burke said. “Trying to pass the buck onto someone else? Not going for it.”

  Angela stepped forward, feeling an intense revelation. “Wait a minute. A British man?” She walked closer to Burke and spoke softly. “That man in the first video… he had a British accent. You heard this, as did I.”

  Burke paused, thinking to himself. “Yes. I recall a British man.” He then shoved a finger into Omar’s chest. “But how do we know this lump of shit isn’t leading us into a trap?”

  Angela scoffed, surprised at the scorn in her voice. “Either you trust him to get us to this underground compound or to this British man’s house. Which is it?”

  Burke turned straight to Angela, grabbed her by the arm, and led her into the dining room while Omar looked away in fear.

  Angela jerked her arm away with a fierce glare. Unrelenting, Burke got within inches of her face. “May I remind you of who ISIS is and what they do?” He held up his hand and began counting off his fingers. “They stone, behead, and rape women. They commit genocide, burn men and women alive. They kill and enslave children. And that’s just for starters. Anyone fucked up enough to join that cause gets no sympathy from me. And they shouldn’t get any from you either.”

  Angela backed away, seeming more offended than before. She tried to keep her voice down, but anger and fatigue had gotten the best of her. “Those butchers killed my husband and are holding my daughters prisoner. And you think I have sympathy for them?”

  Burke relented, holding a hand above his chest, urging her to calm. “I’m not saying that. I told you from the get-go, I work solo. I’ve taken you on out of respect for your situation and, I must admit, from my failure to rescue your family the first time. But if you want them back, I’m only going to say this once… stay out of my lane.”

  Angela said no more as the air conditioner kicked on overhead and began to hum throughout the house. Burke walked away from her and continued his questioning of Omar.

  “The British man knows. He’s the eyes and ears of the Texas sleeper cells.”

  Burke remained unconvinced. “That’s great to know. Now tell me where the compound is.”

  A faint police siren suddenly sounded in the distance. Angela perked her head up and froze, noticing that she was standing over the dead body of the young man in the tank top. The severity of what they had done had just begun to come over her, and the sirens were only getting louder.

  Burke noticed too and listened carefully, pausing in his questioning, his arms at his sides. For a moment, everyone was still and quiet, emotions flowing through them all.

  “Someone must have called the police,” Angela said in a panicked tone.

  Burke knelt down and clutched Omar again by his throat. “Anyone else in this house that we don’t know about?”

  “It was probably one of the neighbors,” Angela said. “We need to get out of here.”

  With one hand gripping Omar’s neck, Burke pointed at her. “What did I tell you?”

  From there, the sirens only grew louder, and
Angela felt that they were quickly running out of time. Burke released Omar with a hard push that set off another round of hacking. For a moment, he seemed to concede that Omar’s house was no longer any place to be. He turned and looked past Angela to the bodies in the dining room and hallway beyond.

  “I don’t get it,” Burke said. “Why would their sirens be on?”

  “Because they must be pretty damn serious,” Angela said.

  He pulled a knife from a sheath at his side, leaned over Omar, and cut the rope binding his wrists to the chair.

  “Come on, hot shot. You’re coming with us.” He pulled Omar up only to receive an earful of agonized screaming in return.

  “I can’t walk!” Omar shouted. “Put me down.”

  To test his theory, Burke released Omar, who plummeted to the floor like a bag of potatoes. Angela ran forward and knelt next to Omar, trying to help him up.

  “We’re going to need to carry him,” she said. She looked up frantically, noticing that Burke didn’t look ready to lift a finger. “Come on!”

  The sirens sounded as though they were down the street and closing in fast. Burke sighed and knelt, lifting Omar up under his arms.

  “We should just shoot him and be done with it,” he said, grunting. “He’s only going to slow us down.”

  “Just do it, then!” Omar shouted. “I’m as good as dead anyway. Free me from this pain and send me to Allah.”

  “No!” Angela said, helping Omar balance. “We need him, and he’s not getting off that easy.”

  Burke gazed at her in agreement. “Now you’re talking.”

  They had little time left for conversation. Angela held one side of Omar as Burke reluctantly held the other. They shuffled forward awkwardly and attempted to keep him on his feet, but the slightest movement of his legs caused Omar to shudder and wince.

  “Suck it up and keep moving,” Burke said. It was clear that Omar wouldn’t get any sympathy. “You slow us down any more, I’ll leave you with the cops—balls cut off and shoved down your throat.”

  As they stumbled toward the front door, ready to make an exit, Angela found herself disgusted by Burke’s threat. But it seemed to work, as Omar started to maintain balance on his own trembling legs, taking much of the weight off Angela’s shoulder.