Jackal thrashed his body and jerked at his arms, but couldn’t slip them free of the chains. He continued pulling, moving his head from side to side.
The reports of gunfire stopped. I caught a glimpse of the gunman closing in. He didn’t have a vest covering the outside of the brown coat he wore.
I fired two rounds. The Glock barked. The bullets hit center mass, killing him. I scanned the corridor, then moved away from the doorway.
Charlie was nowhere in sight. I reached up and pulled the dingy rag from Jackal’s mouth. I couldn’t reach the blindfold covering his eyes.
Jackal outlined his lips with his tongue, then said, “It’s about time you got here. These asshats have been using my face and body as a pinata. They’re a bit sore about us killing their men.”
“Yeah. You look like shit,” I said. “Is anyone else in here with you?”
“Minus Crew-cut, that Charlie guy was in here a minute ago as well. Once the gunfire started, he decked me in the face, then shoved that rag down my throat. Not sure where he ran off to.”
“I’m not seeing him. I clipped Crew-cut at the doorway, but haven’t seen anyone else,” I said.
Blood ran from both of Jackal’s nostrils and the side of his lip. His right eye looked swollen, the skin puffy and a purplish-blue hue. He had a gash on his temple that seeped blood down the side of his face.
He jerked his body side to side, then said, “You mind getting me down from here? My arms and wrists are killing me.”
“Yeah. Let me find where they have it tied off,” I traced the length of the chain back to the far wall behind him. I glanced toward the opened doorway across the room, then back to the chain. I studied the knot of metal wrapped around the hook screwed to the wall. My hand felt around the large links, searching for the end.
“Today would be great,” Jackal said in a sarcastic manner.
“I’m working on it.” I found the end of the chain, and untangled the knot, dropping the extra chain to the floor. The hook had one of the links slipped over its curved end. The length of the chain running to the pulley secured to the ceiling had no slack.
“Hold on. I’m going to have to—”
The floor creaked a warning behind me. I turned toward Jackal and found a man rushing headlong at me. It had to be Charlie.
I brought the Glock 17 to bear. He closed the distance in a blink.
Charlie grabbed my forearm and pushed my arm up as my finger squeezed the trigger. A single round fired, punching the ceiling near the pulley.
“What the hell?” Jackal kicked his legs and swung from side to side.
Charlie drove me back against the wall next to the hook. He headbutted me twice, then slammed my wrist against his knee.
Stars swirled in the air around my head. The Glock dropped from my hand and hit the floor. He kicked it out of reach.
He wrapped his hand around my chin, then leaned forward. “I’m going to make you suffer before I kill you and your friend there. You will not be given a quick death. You’re going to hurt for killing my brother and my men.”
I raised my arm in the air, then dropped my elbow across his forearm. His arm buckled. His hold around my chin lessened. I hit him with a right cross, sending him back on his heels. The blow dazed him from the blank stare on his face.
Charlie shook his head, then looked at me.
I pushed off the wall, speared him in the gut with my shoulder, and drove him back. He planted his feet, then hammered my spine with his elbow.
Each blow made pain lance through my body. I punched him in the ribs, stopping his heavy-handed strikes to the mid part of my back.
Charlie turned, then flipped me over, end over end. I hit the floor next to Jackal’s dangling legs. The air left my lungs. I rolled to my stomach—slow and sluggish.
My face contorted in pain. The small of my back hurt from the punishing blows. My hands searched the pockets of my coat for the United Push Cutlery Dagger.
“What’s going on?” Jackal asked, blind to the action.
Charlie punched Jackal in his kidneys. “I’m taking out your friend here before I finish you off.”
The tips of Jackal’s shoes nudged my side. He coughed hard and wheezed.
My hand found the dagger and pulled it out from the pocket of my coat.
Charlie peeled me off the floor and stood me up. I kept the dagger concealed while my free hand grabbed at his face. He hammered my abdomen twice with his fist.
I gasped and doubled over. His hands kept a tight hold on my jacket.
“Oh, stay with me. We’re just getting started. The true pain has yet to come,” Charlie said, patting the back of my bald head. “I think I’m going to tie you up next to your friend here, then we’ll get back to business. Show you the many ways I can make you hurt. Make you experience pain.”
“You talk–too–much,” I said, trying to catch my breath. I stood up straight before him, my legs weak and unsteady.
Charlie flashed a devilish smirk, then reached for my arm. “Keep that sense of humor. You’re going to need it.”
My hand grabbed his wounded shoulder and squeezed. Pain washed over his face. His lids clamped shut and teeth gnashed. He wailed in pain, backing away from me.
I raised his arm in the air, buried the dagger deep into his armpit, and twisted. I turned him around as he fought to break free. He slammed into Jackal, thrashing his head and striking my arm in a feeble attempt to remove the dagger.
Jackal turned toward him, lifted his legs into the air, then wrapped them around Charlie’s neck. I yanked the dagger from Charlie’s armpit and took a step back. Jackal squeezed his legs, cutting off the flow of air.
Charlie thrashed and grabbed at Jackal’s legs. His face turned red, and his lids fluttered. He clawed at Jackal’s pant leg a second longer before going limp.
The pulley bolted to the ceiling gave. Jackal fell to the floor with Charlie dead between his legs. He hit hard, landing flat on his back.
I secured the dagger in the pocket of my coat, and tossed Charlie’s dead weight from between Jackal’s legs. Charlie rolled over with his arms stretched out.
“You good?” I asked, standing over Jackal.
He scrunched his face in pain, then nodded. “Never better.”
I worked his wrists free from the chains, took his hand, then yanked him from the floor. “Come on. Let’s get out of here before backup arrives.”
Jackal pulled the blindfold off, then squinted. He glanced at Charlie’s dead body, bent down, and removed the Ruger-57 from the holster on Charlie’s hip.
I stepped over his arm and retrieved the Glock 17 from the floor. I ejected the magazine and took stock of the few rounds loaded.
“What’s our exit strategy?” Jackal asked, slapping the magazine back into the well of the Ruger.
“Don’t die, find a ride, and leave,” I answered, heading for the open doorway.
“Works for me.”
We moved out into the corridor and double timed it down the hallway. I took point with Jackal covering our backs. We skirted past blind corners, moving as quickly as we could. Jackal wheezed with each step he took. My back ached and my head throbbed, but I kept moving.
We hit the front entrance to the building and stopped. I peered outside to the falling ash and scanned the area. I didn’t spot any movement beyond the tinted glass.
“All right. Come—”
Gunshots sounded. The incoming rounds hammered the wall at our backs. We ducked, then pushed our way through the double doors to the grim outside.
We stayed low, racing across the open grounds toward a black Chevy Yukon. We kneeled next to the off-road vehicle. I tested the handle to the driver’s side door. It opened. I stood and leaned inside, checking the ignition for keys.
Jackal covered the entrance to the building and swept the grounds for any threats.
“How are we looking?” he asked, voice strained. “I’ve got three, no five, armed inbounds on the far side and heading this way
with heavy ordnance.”
“I’m working on it,” I answered, finding the ignition empty of any keys. I reached for the visor and pulled down. A set of keys dropped to the light-gray cloth seats. “We’re in business. Load up.”
Jackal moved around the back end of the Yukon.
I climbed into the driver’s seat and slammed the door. I thumbed through the few keys on the metal loop, searching for the right one.
Jackal slung the front passenger door open and climbed inside. He grumbled as he settled into the seat. “Hurry it up.”
“Got it.” I found the right key and started the Yukon.
The headlights turned on, shining at the men charging us with rifles shouldered. The doors to the front entrance flew open. Two more armed men funneled out and opened fire on the Yukon.
I glanced to the rearview mirror at the chain link fence, but didn’t want to risk destroying our ride out of the compound.
I shifted into drive and punched the gas. The engine roared, the back tires dug into the ground, and the SUV lunged forward.
The incoming rounds pelted the driver’s side, pinging off the doors and missing the windows by inches. I spun the steering wheel clockwise, mashing the gas pedal to the floorboard.
The back end of the Yukon swung wide as we headed for the gated entrance. Jackal looked to the side-view mirror, then back through the rear window.
Muzzle flashes lit up the area like fireflies. Bullets punched the rear door. We slipped through the opened part of the gate and past the guard firing at the passenger side of the SUV.
We tore down the dirt road, swerving and weaving as I wrestled the Yukon under submission.
“I’m not seeing any headlights or vehicles. Looks like we might be good for now,” Jackal said, facing forward in the seat.
I focused on the winding dirt road ahead, trying to keep us from veering off and losing control. Dirt turned to pavement. I jerked the steering wheel counterclockwise and pumped the brake. The SUV turned on a dime. I straightened us out and punched the gas.
We drove down the desolate road, checking for any inbound vehicles closing fast, but spotted none.
Jackal exhaled a deep breath.
My hand adjusted the rearview mirror, then lowered to my side. I patted down my coat, feeling for the map. I reached inside the interior pocket, pulled it out, then handed it to Jackal.
“Our next stop?” he asked, taking the map from my hands.
I nodded. “Salt Lake City. Time to finish this job.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CORY
Domingo’s men escorted us back to the warehouse and out through the side exit. They stayed in the shadows, cloaked by the darkness.
“You better not screw us over,” Antonio said, cold and callously. “If you do, I’ll kill you both myself.” He shoved us out of the side entrance to the sidewalk. We got on the move toward the street.
Anna probed the gash on the side of her head. She pursed her lips and pulled her hand away.
“That went better than I expected,” I said, checking over my shoulder.
“Agreed,” Anna replied, showing me the thumb drive. “We got what we needed, him on our side, and managed to avoid an all-out gunfight. We just need to focus on the next part of this—convincing McCone’s men they’re in the clear.”
“Hopefully they’ll buy it,” I said, skirting the corner of Domingo’s building with Anna beside me.
“I’ll make sure they do.”
We crossed the street in a hurry and rushed down the sidewalk toward the alley. Stocky’s men poked their heads out from the blind corner of the building with rifles shouldered.
Anna slipped by the gunmen with me in tow. They scanned over the street and sidewalk a second longer before falling in line behind us. She flashed the drive at one of the men.
He ripped it from her hand, then flashed it at Stocky sitting in the SUV. He smiled, then nodded.
I made for the back seat with Anna behind me. Stocky’s goon grabbed her arm, then wrenched her around.
Anna jerked her limb free of his hand. He shoved her back against the grille of the SUV, then trained his rifle at her. He reached for her waist, pulling the piece from her waistband.
His partner opened the back door on the driver’s side and forced us inside the cab. I slid across the seat with Anna climbing in behind me.
The door slammed shut, sealing us inside, and the engine roared to life.
Stocky rolled his window down, took the thumb drive from his goon, and held it up in front of him, studying the small, rectangular device. He nodded at his man, then rolled his window up.
Both men moved along either side of the SUV and climbed in through the rear door. They closed the hatch, then took their seats behind us. They stowed their weapons between their legs and sat at ease.
“You know, I’m truly impressed that you managed to get this.” Stocky turned in his seat, facing us. “We’ll need to verify that it’s all good first, mind you, but I’m pleased to see that you didn’t disappoint. Your reputation precedes you. Tell me, did he suffer or did you make it quick?”
“Let’s just say he will no longer be a problem,” Anna shot back without missing a beat. “We also took out his right-hand man. His crew, the few who are left, are scattered.”
Stocky smirked, then looked over at me. He studied our faces for a moment. “Looks like they made you work for this. I didn’t expect it would be an easy task.”
“These sorts of jobs never are,” Anna replied, rubbing the blood from the wound on her head between her fingers.
“The boss man will be pleased. With doing this, you could earn a place in his good graces.” Stocky looked to the driver. “Let’s go. We have what we need.”
The driver shifted into drive, pulled out from the alley, and onto the street. Stocky peered at Domingo’s place, smiling from ear to ear as the driver hooked around the curb and punched the gas.
Stocky lounged in the front passenger seat. His sausage-like fingers rapped against his knee as he watched the gray ash pelt the windshield.
Anna remained silent, staring out of the window. She wiped the blood from her fingers onto the top of her jeans.
I looked straight ahead, watching Stocky bask in false victory. His coy smile would soon be erased.
The trip back to the McCone’s flew by in a blink. We passed through the open gate, and down the brick drive. The driver pulled under the covered driveway leading to the building, shielding the vehicle from the ash. He killed the engine and removed the keys.
Stocky’s men opened their doors and got out of the vehicle. They stood next to the back driver’s side door and opened it.
“Let’s go deliver the goods and the news to the boss man himself,” Stocky said, jovially.
Anna climbed out of the SUV with me right behind her. The armed men shuffled us away from the back seat and shut the door.
Stocky walked around the front end of the vehicle, snapped his fingers, then pointed at the entrance. His goons stood on either side of Anna and me. They each grabbed our arms and followed him inside the building.
We passed through the doorway and down the corridor toward the dungeon-like space we were kept in. The lights overhead flickered, illuminating the dull, gray tone of the cinder block walls. The long, fluorescent tubes hummed from the surge of electricity running through them.
A dark-red dot glowed, then flashed from the center of the security camera mounted between the wall and ceiling. It lingered for a few seconds, then faded away.
“Looks like they’re making progress with the generator,” Stocky said, glancing up to the flickering lights. “This is the longest they’ve been on since we’ve lost power. Maybe they’ll get it fixed for good.”
The lights overhead crashed, casting the hallway in darkness. The beams from the flashlights cutting through the black void guided our way.
Anna looked up and concern flooded her face. Her eyes enlarged some. I parroted the expression, then wipe
d it away.
“What’s wrong with it?” I asked, trying to mask the trepidation in my voice.
Stocky looked to the side. “Do you know anything about generators?”
“No. Not really.” I shrugged.
“Then it doesn’t matter, now does it?” Stocky walked past the room they kept us in. The men walking at our sides tugged our arms.
Anna turned toward the open door and took a step forward.
Stocky raised his arm, stopping her. “You’re not going in there.”
“I’m not?” Anna asked, puzzled. “Where am I going, then?”
“You’re coming with me. The big boss man will want to speak with you.” Stocky pointed at me, then to the room. “You’re staying right here.”
“What?” I glanced at Anna, then to the dark ether of the room.
“It’ll be fine,” Anna said. “Don’t worry.”
The armed guard shoved Anna past Stocky and escorted her down the hallway. She turned and looked at me, giving a simple nod as they vanished around a corner.
Stocky turned and looked down the corridor, then faced forward. “I’m afraid for you this is as far as you go. Put him in there.”
I planted my feet and leaned back, refusing to go inside the dark abyss. His armed minion dressed in black-tactical garb rammed his rifle into the small of my back, weakening my legs. I fell to my knees, then over onto my hands.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to kill you, yet,” Stocky said, taking a step toward me. “I am going to torture and break you for shooting me at that house. When you beg for death, I’ll consider stopping.”
The armed guard shoved his boot into my backside, shoving me inside the room. My arms gave out, and I fell flat on my face.
“Tune him up a little bit,” Stocky said. “Don’t kill him, though. I just want him broken in some before I get back down here.”
I rolled over to my back, then eyed Stocky.
“I’ll see you soon, cowboy.” He winked and walked away, leaving his large goons standing in the doorway.
Brink of Extinction | Book 2 | Stay Alive Page 22
