His first case with Chase Adams was investigating the murder of a man who had been stripped naked, his arms and legs bound behind his back, a bloody butterfly painted on his pale flesh.
“Thomas Alexander Smith,” he whispered. “The butterfly killer.”
“What did you say?” Wesley snarled.
Drake shook his head slightly but stopped when the gun was jabbed painfully into his temple.
“Nothing,” he grumbled.
“Put the gun down, Drake,” Ken repeated, the smile now all but gone off his face. “It’s over.”
“No, you're going tell me what you just said,” Wesley ordered.
“Wes, let it—”
Wesley held his hand free hand up to his father, silencing him. Drake watched as Ken's lips twisted into a frown.
He wasn’t a man who was used to be told what to do.
“Let him speak.”
“I don't think—”
“Be quiet,” Wesley snapped.
Ken's eyes went dark and Raul's boy slowly lowered the heavy package to the ground in anticipation of what was to come.
Drake suddenly recalled how Wesley had freaked out when he’d mentioned his name back beneath the diner. How the man had lost control and knocked him out.
“Jesus,” he said softly. “You don’t know, do you?”
“Know what?”
Drake sighed, and his eyes drifted to his brother’s, to the emptiness within. They'd come so far but had regressed even further.
“You don’t know about your brother, about Thomas, do you?” he said almost forlornly. “You don’t know what your father did.”
The pressure on his temple eased a little.
“This is bullshit,” Ken said, a slight tremor creeping into his voice. “He’s just making stuff up, trying to save himself.
Power… this is all about power, always has been.
Ken Smith and his son Wesley were cut from the same cloth, but Thomas wasn't. He was different.
Drake remembered the video that he gotten from Dr. Kruk, the one where Thomas spelled out this difference in no uncertain terms. How he didn’t share his father’s quest for power.
But Wesley sure as hell did.
“What did he do?” Wesley demanded.
“Wes, don’t listen—”
“Shut up! Drake, tell me what he did!”
Drake took a deep breath and looked away from Dane.
“Your dad… your dad killed him, Wesley. Your dad killed your brother.”
Chapter 66
Blood pooled repeatedly in Hanna's mouth and she had to hang her head to one side to let it leak out. The bottom of her tongue had been punctured, but she didn't think that nor the hole beneath her chin were fatal.
One thing was for certain, however, if Steffani returned, she wouldn't hesitate in delivering the final blow.
I have to get out of here, she thought. But it was a useless thought, one that had no bearing in reality. She couldn’t move, she couldn't so much as stand, let alone get out of this place. And while there was some sort of commotion going on up above, she couldn't count on anybody coming to rescue her, either.
Hanna desperately glanced around looking for anything to help her out of her predicament, but she saw nothing. She was surrounded by stone and concrete walls. Her only chance was the single window up high above her.
A window that she couldn't possibly get to because she was strapped to a chair.
Panic returned.
I have to get out of here. I have to—
The door at the top of the staircase suddenly opened, but it wasn’t thrown wide as Captain Loomis had previously done. This time it was opened just enough for a person to slip through before it was closed again.
Shrouded in near darkness, Hanna felt her heart start to race again, which only increased the amount of blood spilling to the floor.
“Don't kill me, please,” she said, but her words were garbled by all the fluid in her mouth.
It’s Steffani, she came down here to finish the job. To make sure that she killed me before whatever is going on upstairs got out of hand.
But as the figure approach, she saw that it was a man, not a woman. A man not nearly as large and imposing as Captain Loomis.
“Screech?” she said hopefully.
But it wasn't Screech; it was someone else.
“Mackenzie?”
The man nodded as he stepped into view.
“Shit, she stuck you good,” he muttered. He pulled the white pocket square from his suit jacket and then gently grabbed her chin to inspect the damage.
Hanna had to pull back and spit to clear her mouth of blood.
“I’m going to put this under your tongue to try and stem the bleeding,” Mackenzie informed her.
Hanna nodded and then lifted her tongue to allow him to jam the material inside her mouth.
Almost immediately, the pocket square started to soak up blood. And then, without another word, Mackenzie set about undoing the shackles on her wrists and ankles.
“Who are you?” Hanna tried to ask, but what with the fluid and the kerchief in her mouth, her words were unintelligible.
I’m a fixer… I’m good with my hands.
“Don't speak,” he ordered. “We need to hurry.”
Hanna waited, and less than a minute later, she let out a sigh as her wrists were freed. She instinctively rubbed the soreness from them, and then her ankles were free too. Mackenzie wrapped his arm around her waist and helped her to her feet. Then he tried to close her torn dress, but Hanna shook her head; that was the least of her worries.
All she cared about now was getting the fuck out of here before Steffani returned.
Mackenzie, sensing her fear, started towards the bottom of the stairs before suddenly stopping.
“What is it?” Hanna tried to say, but once again her words were muffled.
Mackenzie brought a finger to his lips and then pointed at the door.
Someone was trying to open it.
Hanna's eyes went wide then Mackenzie moved his finger from the door to the window.
Without waiting for further instructions, she bolted over to it and Mackenzie followed.
Chapter 67
“It's true,” Drake said with a nod. “He arranged your brother's death, hooked him up with a psychiatrist who has a split personality disorder and a penchant for murder.”
“Bullshit,” Wesley snapped back.
He didn't know. Drake couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen this before. Wesley didn't know about any of this.
“Ask him,” Drake demanded.
Wesley’s eyes flicked over to his father's.
“Don’t listen to any of this bullshit, he’ll say anything to save his life. We got we wanted, Wesley. We got both the Drake brothers. We can end this now and start to rebuild our empire, get back to where we were, back to New York. Everything’s still in place. I've got people there, people can get us out of this trouble. It'll take time, but—”
“Is it true?” Wesley demanded. “Did you get Thomas killed?”
Ken took a step back from Dane but kept the gun trained at the back of his head.
“No, of course, it isn’t true. He was murdered by some psychopath… I had nothing to do with it.”
“He's lying,” Drake said. “Your brother had a video of your dad, of him talking about your business. He was going to send it to the press, and Ken couldn’t allow that. So, he came up with an elaborate plan to get Thomas to see a psychiatrist, one who just happened to be someone Thomas terrorized as a teenager.”
“He's talking out of his ass, Wesley. Let's get this over with,” Ken said. But there was something in his voice now, something different. A hesitation, a tremor, maybe.
Or maybe Drake's mind was just fabricating this whole thing.
Maybe he died back when Wesley had first abducted them.
Maybe this was just his mental purgatory.
“You know who killed your brother?” Drake asked.
Purgatory or not, he wasn’t going to stop now.
“Yeah, Dr. Kruk.”
“And you know his other name? His real name? Marcus Slasinsky?”
Wesley nodded.
“Yeah, I read about it. I know all about it.”
“Then you know that I’m the one who caught the bastard, threw him in prison,” Drake continued.
“And the one who let them back out again,” Ken said quickly. But both Drake and Wesley ignored him.
“Don’t you think it’s strange that of all the psychiatrists in New York, your brother just happened to pick the one who’d assumed a new name, a person who he knew long ago?”
Wesley just stared.
“Who do you think paid for those sessions, Wesley? Come on, use your brain. And who do you think paid off the cops so that your brother wasn’t prosecuted when he gave Marcus Slasinsky a nervous breakdown?”
Wesley still said nothing, but he swallowed audibly.
“Don’t listen to—”
“Shut up,” he said hoarsely.
A hint of a smile formed on Drake’s lips. Wesley was on the edge and all he needed was one… final… push.
“But here’s the kicker, Wesley,” Drake continued slowly. “It was your dad who paid for Marcus Slasinsky to go to school, to become a psychiatrist. He planned your brother’s murder long before he even made that tape.”
“You did this,” Wesley said softly. “You killed Thomas.”
Ken’s eyes went dark.
“And he'll kill you when you’re no longer useful,” Drake said. “He won’t even hesitate.”
Wesley suddenly pulled his gun away from Drake’s temple and swung it around. He aimed it at his father.
“You did it! You killed him! You killed my brother, your son!” Wesley suddenly roared.
This was the tipping point.
Drake knew that it would come to this. He remembered Wesley from all those years ago, how he’d come to Thomas’s wife’s house, how he’d demanded that the woman stay quiet. Not because he was involved, but because he was hurting, he was furious. Wesley loved his brother, and in that way, he wasn’t like his father.
All Ken had to do was continue to deny it, to stick to the refrain that this was all a coincidence, a desperate ploy for Drake to save his and Dane’s lives.
But Ken couldn't do that. He couldn’t do that because now he was being challenged, and like the alpha that he was, when the king of the jungle was threatened with being dethroned, he had to stand up for himself.
Power… it’s about power now, and it always has been.
“Of course, I did,” Ken yelled, his mouth twisting into a snarl. “I had to kill your brother because he was weak. He was going to bring me down, he was going to bring all of us… everything that what we worked for. He was—”
There was a growl from Drake's left and in his periphery, he saw Wesley take a single step forward.
And then someone squeezed the trigger and all hell broke loose.
Chapter 68
While Mandy was being hauled away, Veronica slipped into the hallway. Screech hadn’t given her much to go on, except for the fact that Hanna was being held in some sort of basement. The problem with that was, every door that she passed looked the same.
There was no telling which one led to the basement.
And now, with everybody moving in the opposite direction, toward the front of the Estate, it wouldn’t be long before some noticed her going against the grain.
But she wasn’t giving up.
If this Hanna, whom she'd never met, was a friend of Screech and Drake? Well, then she was a friend of Veronica and Mandy.
She would do everything in her power to make sure that the girl left here alive.
Veronica tried the first door she passed but this led to an office. The second was some sort of yoga room.
“Shit,” she swore under her breath. Hanna would die from old age before she ever found her by going door to door.
Just as she was about to consider other options, she noticed a flicker of color up ahead. It was the swirl of a dress as someone took a left near the end of the hallway.
And, like Veronica, she was heading away from the front of the building.
Pressing her back up against the wall, Veronica hurried after the woman.
This better lead to Hanna, Veronica thought as she took several different hallways. Otherwise, I’ll be the one dying of old age trying to find my way out again.
The woman stopped in front of a door with a heavy duty electronic lock on it. She raised her head and looked around; Veronica barely managed to duck out of sight in time.
Staying still as possible, Veronica heard a beep, followed by the unmistakable sound of a door opening.
Without even looking, Veronica pushed off the wall and spun around the corner. And then she hauled ass toward the now closing door.
She almost missed it. But she slipped at the last second on the polished floors. This caused her left foot to shoot and, as luck would have it, become wedged between the door and the frame.
After taking a moment to catch her breath, Veronica slid inside, letting the door close silently behind her.
Then she stood at the top of the stairs, staring down at a woman and an empty chair.
Chapter 69
None of the anxiety that coursed through Screech’s veins dissipated even after the sound of sirens filled the night air. Until he saw Sgt. Yasiv with Captain Loomis and his daughter Steffani in handcuffs, dragging them both away, he would remain on edge.
“Come on, come one,” he mumbled, tapping his foot, which caused the gun on his lap to bounce up and down.
People were being ushered out of the front of the house by security, and they looked none too happen about it. But it was the woman who exited out the back that held his attention.
Screech’s first thought was that it was Hanna, and he felt his tapping slowed. But the dress was different, and this woman’s hair was longer than his partner’s.
Without thinking, he opened the car door and started to rise.
“Uhh, Screech?” Leroy asked from the backseat. Screech ignored him; his eyes were locked on the woman who was hurrying across the yard.
It wasn't Hanna, but it was definitely someone he knew.
Someone that he had to speak to.
His legs moved as if by their accord, carrying him across the street and over the short fence. The guests and security were so concerned with seeing people off the property, that they never noticed him trying to get on the Estate grounds.
“Jasmine?” Screech said in a strange tone. “Is that you?”
The woman stopped cold and then spun around to look at him.
It was indeed, Jasmine. Jasmine Cuthbert, mother to Drake’s child.
And she looked… terrified.
Her eyes darted down to the gun in his hand, the gun that Screech hadn't realized he’d been carrying, and her face went a stark white.
“Screech? What the… what the hell are you doing here?”
Chapter 70
At first, Drake didn't know who fired the gun, he only knew that he hadn’t been the target.
But when a crimson eye appeared on Ken Smith's forehead just above his left eyebrow, he knew. Ken’s mouth went slack as if in complete shock, for a second it looked like he was about to say something, to admonish Wesley for daring to do such a thing, but the man was mortal, after all. Ken Smith staggered, then fell to his knees.
Wesley Smith burst into sobs to his left, but Drake knew better than to wait for the man to collect himself. He turned the gun that had previously aimed at Ken on the man and fired three shots in rapid succession.
While hitting Ken would have been impossible from his range, Drake had no problem targeting a man three or four feet away, even if his eyes were still locked on his brother’s.
The bullets peppered Wesley Smith’s side, making three holes in a dice pattern.
The man grunted, but unlike his father who fel
l silently on his face, Wesley cried out and dropped to the ground, immediately curling protectively around his wounds.
Drake, still stunned by what had happened, simply watched the man for a moment. It wasn’t that he felt bad, not really; Wesley Smith was responsible for the deaths of many people, not in the least the addicts that he sold tainted heroin to.
It was just that he couldn’t believe that both Smith’s were now dead. After chasing after Ken for—
“Don't let him suffer,” Dane said, suddenly appearing by his side. Drake looked at his brother as he raised his gun and shot the man in the side of the head.
He fell still instantly.
Something inside Drake lurched and he vomited yellow bile onto the dirt. Having not eaten or had anything to drink for some time, his second bout proved even less product. As he dry heaved, he realized that Dane had taken off, sprinting toward the hut.
Drake let him go. It was over now. The nightmare was finally over.
The Skeleton King and his minions were dead.
“Let go of me!”
Drake raised his head and wiped the tears from his eyes.
His brother hadn’t bolted for the jungle to live out his days in solitude as Drake had thought or hoped.
Instead, he’d gone for the young man. Visibly shaken by the violence, he didn’t react quick enough; Dane grabbed him by the waist and brought.
“No,” Drake groaned, standing up straight and raising his pistol. Dane didn’t seem to notice him. He was too busy trying to get the young man to stop squirming so that he could deliver a kill shot.
“No!”
Dane, brow furrowed, looked over at him this time.
“This is Raul’s son,” Dane proclaimed.
Drake didn't need an explanation; he knew who this was.
“Don't do it, Dane,” Drake pleaded. “He's just a kid, let him go.”
Dane shook his head. When the boy’s struggles intensified, he snaked an arm around his neck and started to squeeze.
“If we don't take him out, he'll come for you. He’ll spend his whole life looking for the man who put his father behind bars and killed his mentor. His suffering will be immense.”
Drug Lord- Part II Page 18
