Destruction

by Knightley, Reese

  “You need to focus and quit taking off or you’ll forever be out of the latest loop. I get that Rossi ordered you to keep quiet about Caleb, but that wasn’t to give you leeway to take off on your own out of Oregon and stop answering your phone.”

  “I came back before Roscoe’s house was attacked!” he snapped.

  “True, but then you disappeared again.”

  “I got a phone call. It was a lead I had to follow.” He gnashed his teeth. “I should have been told!”

  “Some of this information cannot be left on a god damned voicemail!” Stefano growled back. “We need you here working with us!”

  Stefano stopped abruptly and took a long, deep breath. “You no longer need to keep secrets.”

  “It was difficult to keep it from the unit,” he said tightly. And one of the reasons he’d stayed away so often. He closed his eyes and then opened them. “I didn’t fuck up anything, did I?”

  “No, of course not,” Stefano said gruffly. “We’ve been working the same angles. We just need to work together now.”

  Alex

  He’d reached the address that Wolf had given him. The meeting room was empty and the door open. Swiping a pen light around, he spotted blood.

  Following the trail of blood to the stairs, he jogged down them until the trail ended at a stairway door. He flipped off his light and waited for his eyes to adjust before he quietly eased the door open. Slipping into another dark hallway with the soft glow of a light in the distance, he paused.

  “No, stop, don’t!”

  Alex heard a woman’s voice coming from one of the numerous doors that lined the far end of the hallway. He pulled his gun and moved toward the voices. Some of them were laughing and the girl screamed.

  He reached the first dark and open doorway and took a quick look inside. A dark figure lunged with one arm raised and Alex instantly deflected. The man’s other hand swiped in low and glanced off his side. He grunted beneath the burn of the knife and put two in the man’s chest with a soft snick, snick. Another perp lunged out of a room ahead.

  Dropping low, he ducked back into an open doorway. Bullets from a silencer plugged into the door frame and sent wood splintering. He dove out and rolled, coming upright on one knee, and fired a round into the perp’s chest and the guy fell backwards.

  A sound behind him had him spinning around and the chop to his arm hit hard enough to send his gun to the floor. He lunged upright as the man came at him and they exchanged blows. The quiet slap of flesh and muffled thump of strikes grew in the silence.

  A wetness on his side trickled down into the waistband of his jeans. Laughter roared from the distant room.

  The assailant pulled a knife and lunged, jabbing at him. With a violent snap, Alex slapped the weapon arm away and pulled his own knife. Grasping the blade in a chambered position, he came in quick, hard, and fast. Metal hit metal as his free hand was deflected.

  The man’s next strike was practiced and designed to take him out of the game permanently. Alex dodged and came in hard and fast. He punched the side of the man’s head, smacked with his free hand, and dropped low. When he came upward, his blade found the man’s throat and opened it from side to side. Wide eyes stared into his before Alex shoved against the man’s chest. The guy toppled to the ground, clutching at his throat.

  Alex stumbled back against the wall. Bending over, he took in several short, panting breaths to keep as quiet as possible.

  He glanced down, blood dripping from the surprised strike of his first opponent. He wadded up the bottom of his shirt and hissed as he pressed it to the wound. Another two slices along his knife arm weren’t too deep. He shoved from the wall and found his Glock, then slipped toward the room with the light in the distance.

  It was eerily quiet, no more begging, no more laughing. Alex stilled, gun held close to his body, and he heard a crunch beneath a boot.

  “Go see what’s taking them so long,” a voice ordered.

  Two more seconds went by and then Alex moved. Three men were standing closely together, it was hard to pick out the leader of the pack. He took one guy out with two to the chest. Dropping to one knee, he took another one out with one to the head. A bullet lodged in the door by his head, showering him with debris. Alex ducked and shot the man in the shoulder as suspect’s gun went flying. He shot the guy in the leg and the man toppled to the floor, cursing and clutching his leg.

  He came in fast and knocked the guy out before stumbling to the young girl slumped in a corner, knees curled, and one arm pillowing her cheek, the other pressed to her stomach. Her hair hung limp against her neck. Her green eyes held pain and fear as she looked at him.

  “It’s okay, I won’t hurt you,” he murmured, dialing 911. He spoke into the phone as he gently reached and pulled down her skirt, covering her legs before ending the call.

  The relief was instant in the girl’s eyes. Her breath sounded a strangled, gasping wheeze in the quiet room. Blood welled from between her fingers where she pressed at the wound, but she struggled to smile. “Thank you.”

  Alex clenched his teeth so tightly that his jaw ached. “Hang on,” he growled. She held out a shaky, bloodied hand to him.

  He sat there then, holding the girl’s hand until the light faded from her eyes. After a few moments, he reached out and carefully brushed her lids closed and moved her hand to rest on her stomach. He sat for a moment, then rolled slowly to his feet.

  The man that worked for Wolf lay dead, slumped against the wall. Alex walked over and pressed his fingers to the man’s neck and found no pulse. He sent a text to Wolf and received a response in seconds.

  Fuck!

  I’m sorry, man.

  And the men he was holding?

  I’m on it.

  Hurrying, he took all cell phones. Returning to the wounded thug, he winched and lifted the guy into a fireman hold. Clenching his teeth, he slowly trudged out the back way.

  The sirens of the emergency services wailed in the distance, but they were far too late.

  Alex slapped the man on his cheeks. “Wake up.”

  The guy jerked, then cried out, finding himself hung upside-down, swinging by his ankles from the third story stairwell in an abandoned building. Three stories below lay a tiled-covered concrete floor.

  Alex adjusted the makeshift bandage he’d fashioned against his wound, but he could feel the blood seeping down the waistband of his pants.

  The man coughed and gagged while blood dripped down his neck, running off to the floor below.

  “Why did you kill the girl?” he snarled into the silence.

  “S…she was too much trouble.”

  “Yeah,” he growled. “You don’t like it when they fight, do you? Sadistic fuck.”

  “Fuck you!” the man spat.

  Alex reached out and pulled the gag back over the man’s mouth, and then carved off his earlobe. The man screamed behind the gag and his body swung, wiggling like a fish.

  “I’m looking for this boy.” Alex shoved a photo of Caleb in front of the man and then jerked down the gag.

  “I’ve never seen him,” the guy gasped.

  “Are you fucking sure?” Alex asked, his voice low, menacing, as he reached out with his free hand and hovered his knife over the man’s crotch.

  “I swear, I swear, I don’t know who he is,” the guy babbled. The man wiggled and swung over the steep drop. Alex tucked away Caleb’s photo.

  “I’m also looking for Mez, Boris Petrov, or Vladimir Lakhonin.” At the man’s confused look, he continued. “They’re Russians, and hard to miss.” He watched the guy’s eyes. There was no hint of recognition at the names.

  “I don’t know them.”

  “You know that’s funny because one of the men you were with was overheard talking about Vladimir.” He squinted at the guy.

  “You killed my boss, he knew all sorts of people I don’t know.”

  “All right, what about Gashi?” He threw out the name Wolf had given him and watched the guy’s
eyes widen. He then pulled his cell and found the picture of Gashi.

  He shoved the picture into the man’s face. “Where is Gashi?”

  “I don’t know! I swear!”

  Alex slid the blade against the man’s cheek. The guy raged at him, spitting profanities until he started begging again.

  “Where is he?”

  The man spat blood at him. Alex side stepped and then moved back in.

  “Where is he?” he growled. He hovered his blade against the man’s remaining ear, etching the metal into the skin.

  “Address…it’s in my phone!”

  Alex pulled each phone until the man’s thumb print matched. He typed the address into his own phone using the maps app. It was a place in Beverly Hills. A very wealthy area.

  “Is Gashi who you work for?”

  The man hesitated, and then nodded.

  Alex lifted his gun. “Tell me everything you know.”

  “Just that address. We were going to take the girl there. That’s all I know!” the guy swore, wiggling at the end of the rope. “I swear. Cut me down, I told you what you needed.”

  “And you’ll do what? Kidnap, sell, or rape another unsuspecting victim?”

  “It wasn’t personal!” The man spat blood at him.

  “Tell that to her loved ones.” He reached up.

  The guy coughed, gasping for breath. “Wait!”

  Alex sliced through the rope holding the screaming man. He turned away, he didn’t need to watch the guy’s head explode on the floor below.

  Just knowing it had was enough.

  Micah

  Hunter’s Point was quiet. Micah tried for the third time to get Alex on his cell phone, but it went straight to voicemail and it was starting to worry him. Alex hadn’t responded to any of his texts or phone messages. He sighed. Through all their fights, problems, and eventual separation, there had never been a time when Alex didn’t pick up the phone when he called.

  He tucked the phone away and cinched the straps on his tactical vest before checking his weapons.

  He moved toward the meeting site located a quarter of a mile from the raid location. The fenced in area sat behind an abandoned building. Cobalt’s team, US Marshals, FBI, and locals were all gathered together.

  FBI agent Forest Richards was there with a team of men. The man was a friend of Roscoe’s. Micah had been introduced earlier. Mac and Jake were onsite to represent the US Marshals, assist with the bust, and monitor any witnesses that might come forward.

  Logan Cobalt stood nearby, but seemed apart from the raid. It wasn’t the man’s muscled and tall physique that set him apart, but rather the air of authority that radiated off the guy. Like them, the man was dressed in black tactical gear and held a semi-automatic rifle in his gloved hands. At the guy’s feet lay a massive, dark-colored dog. As if sensing his gaze, Cobalt looked over and gave him a slow nod before the man turned his attention away.

  Three people, one man and two women, melted out of the darkness and took up Logan’s flank. They were dressed similar to their boss.

  Roscoe approached Cobalt and the two stood speaking too low for him to hear. After several minutes, Roscoe nodded to the small group and made his way toward where he stood with the unit.

  “Let’s move,” Roscoe ordered. The Phoenix lieutenant had rolled out the plan earlier.

  Slipping through the early morning darkness, Micah covered the distance to the warehouse. The cool air bit at his face, but he welcomed the briskness. Salt lingered in the air, reminding him of dried crusty seaweed when it stuck across the rocks on the shore. The soft sound of the water hitting the shore filled the area and would hopefully mask their arrival.

  He vaulted onto the loading dock with the team. Several of Forest Richard’s FBI agents took up positions on both sides where the stairs were, and a few came up onto the dock to accompany them into the building.

  Storm had bolt cutters cleaving through the padlock and the door open in just a few moments. He stood to one side and Storm and Wild stood on the other.

  “Breach,” Roscoe said in that commanding growl of his and disappeared through the darkened doorway with Storm behind him. Micah moved in after Storm. Wild brought up his rear.

  Micah pulled up the night vision goggles hanging around his neck and moved into the narrow, enclosed area.

  Slipping around the enclosure, the smell of the ocean faded to be replaced by the stench of rotten food, filth, and something even worse lingered just below the surface.

  The timer on his watch silently pulsed against his wrist. Simultaneously, a loud crack echoed from across the warehouse as the far door was kicked in and the lights flicked on.

  Micah pulled his goggles from his face and held his gun up, hand cupping the other, as he moved slowly forward. Allison moved in at his back, her gun trained behind them, protecting their flank.

  His team spread out going in different directions. Noah, Mac, and Rush, along with the FBI, swarmed into the building from the far side.

  “US Marshals!” Mac’s deep voice boomed out. Sudden gunfire echoed through the warehouse.

  “Fucking cops!” a voice hissed nearby, coming from behind an eight foot stack of pallets sitting to his right.

  “Come on!” another voice whispered harshly.

  One of the suspects ran out from behind the pallets and turned his way.

  “Drop it!” he shouted, dodging with Allison behind a large piece of docking equipment. The suspect shot and the bullet pinged off the metal near his head. Micah swung a quick look around the side, but the suspect lifted his gun again.

  “Damn it,” Micah drew back and shouted. “Stop shooting!”

  The guy never got off another shot. The sudden sound of gunfire filled the area and a body hit the ground.

  “Don’t kill him!” Micah yelled, dodging out, but it was too late. His head snapped around and he scowled at the cop.

  The other perp ran through a side door and Micah lunged after the man with Allison on his six.

  “Stop! Police!” he shouted, but it didn’t faze the guy at all.

  The suspect burst through the open door and out into the early morning dawn. Micah came to an abrupt stop in the doorway.

  The street lamps lit up the area and FBI, SWAT, and tactical teams had guns trained on the guy.

  Law enforcement were screaming through the noise at the guy to put the gun down and lay on his stomach.

  “Drop it!” one of the officers ordered, but the suspect was too freaked out to respond.

  “Fuck!” Micah yelled from the doorway when the guy lifted his gun at the cops. The guy fired and the two lead officers opened fire.

  Micah dove back into the cover of the warehouse until the shooting stopped.

  “Son of a bitch!” he swore when the noise abated. Springing out the door, he ran and dropped to a crouch near the guy, kicking his gun away. He pressed two fingers to the guy’s neck but found no pulse. Allison stood next to him.

  “Quit fucking killing suspects!” He clenched his fists, then stood and whirled around on the cops. Allison set a hand on his arm and Micah shook her off.

  “Lash, they’re just doing their job.”

  “No, they aren’t!” he raged, and somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he sounded like a lunatic. “They’re killing people who have information! Fuck!”

  “Lash.” Allison pointed to the suspect. “That guy was shooting to kill, both of them were.”

  Micah raised his fingers to grip at his hair. He knew Allison was right, but it didn’t mean it wasn’t frustrating.

  Just beyond the door to the warehouse, the inside called to him with the possibility that Caleb lay inside. He strode swiftly through the door and stopped. In almost a weird way, he hadn’t been ready for what he saw. The visual made his palms sweat. Leaden feet took him through the gruesome scene. Allison moved past him and disappeared further into the warehouse where the cops, FBI, and marshals were combing through the scene.

  Seth came t
hrough the door, then tucked away his weapon and moved up to stand beside him.

  “All four suspects are dead.”

  “Maybe the victims know something,” he said.

  A few victims sat against the wall, others were too scared or drugged to move, most if not all were crying. His gaze desperately searched for a curly-haired boy. He stepped forward and walked the line. Disappointment surged when he noted none were his brother.

  Kneeling down beside a young girl, he held a water bottle to her lips to take small sips. He moved on and lifted a blanket to help another stay warm until she could be checked over and moved by the EMTs.

  “Thank you,” the girl whispered through swollen lips.

  “You’re welcome,” he murmured and pulled a picture from his vest. “Have you seen this boy?”

  She studied the picture for a long time and then looked up at him. “No.” She shook her head. “Is he your family?”

  “Yes,” he said thickly and slipped the picture away.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. He tucked the blanket tightly around her. An EMT stepped closer and crouched to take the girl’s vitals, so he stood, backing away.

  “Lash, over here,” Allison called out and he headed that way with Seth following.

  “What do you have?” He stopped by her side in the doorway of one room at the far end of the warehouse.

  “Looks like they were brought in here when they either died or were too sick to sell,” Allison said, carefully circling the CSI technician crouched next to one of three bodies.

  The bodies lay crooked with seared clothing trapped in melted skin, their features unrecognizable. The stench filled the room with the lingering horror of death, along with a terrifying sickness that someone could do this to another human being.

  The CSI technician moved on to the next body.

  “Two males, one female,” the technician finally said and stood. “They burned the bodies to keep down the smell.”

  Micah lifted a sleeve to his mouth and nose and swallowed several times; burning covered only so much. He stepped forward and searched each charred face until Seth touched his arm and drew him back.