Destruction

by Knightley, Reese

With shaking hands, he pulled his cell phone out and punched in the number he knew by heart.

  “Hello?” the deep voice answered.

  “Alex,” he choked out.

  The back of his skull exploded with pain. The blow sent him forward off the stool and into Vladimir’s bloody body. The phone clattered to the floor.

  Slipping on the slick floor, Micah fell forward, cracking his nose on the cement. He rolled, keeping ahold of his knife, he brought his arms up just as another crack landed against his upraised arms. He’d crossed them so that both arms took the brunt instead of one.

  Rolling, he staggered upright and swiped out with his blade at his assailant. The light overhead exploded, leaving them in darkness.

  Micah snarled between his teeth. Calling on every ounce of his will to survive, the killer in him stilled. The light from the hallway bled into the room.

  A man moved in and Micah struck, his knife sinking deep as the man howled and stumbled away.

  Someone rushed in and a sharp prick went into his neck and he swung out and smashed against the hand and needle. Hopefully, he’d stopped the complete dose of whatever the hell it was they’d given him.

  He wasn’t going out like this. He was going to fucking finish this!

  Whatever they’d drugged him with was working quickly. He briefly made out figures as the room swam. He shook his head but the move increased the woozy feeling. When the next man rushed in, Micah struck again and missed. He tried to dance away from them, but he stumbled. Something hard hit his hand and his knife was knocked to the ground. The man in front of him moved in, but then spun abruptly toward a noise at the door.

  A figure came out of the darkness and the soft snick, snick of a silencer sounded. Micah swayed, waiting for the burn of the bullets, but they never came. Instead, both of his attackers’ heads exploded, showering him with brains and blood.

  Micah blinked at the gunman standing across from him in the dim light of the doorway. Through the swimming darkness, he held the man’s gaze before the man was gone in the next second.

  Micah slowly lifted his knife from the floor and then staggered to Vladimir. The man was awake and staring at him with renewed rage.

  “Too bad your men didn’t succeed.”

  Vladimir growled at him behind his gag. Micah stumbled against the guy. He pulled down Vladimir’s gag and lifted his knife.

  “Did Mez kill my little brother?”

  “Yes!” Vladimir hissed, coughing and choking on his own blood.

  A gloating expression filled Vladimir’s eyes.

  “You’re fucking lying,” he snarled.

  Vladimir’s sinister smile grew. “You’ll never know.”

  “If he’s dead, then so be it.” His words came out slurred.

  He sank the blade deep into Vladimir’s gut. The man gasped, eyes locked with his. The man’s mouth gaped, his body wiggled and throat gurgled.

  Micah withdrew the knife and then reached out and sliced the kingpin’s throat open with no regrets. Vladimir’s gaze went from stunned to vacant, his reign of terror ending for all time.

  Rivers of blood ran down the man’s body, legs, and pooled on the floor beneath his swinging feet.

  Micah slipped to his knees on the floor and screamed.

  “Caleb, I’m so sorry.”

  Alex

  The team was silent, dressed for the cold weather and armed to the teeth. Every expression was grim and Alex knew it matched his own. He shook off the tiredness and rolled his shoulders.

  Over the past month, they’d been chasing a ghost. Micah had eluded them every step of the way. The locations Mendez had shared, they were able to clear out and shut down. This morning, someone had called in a list of the same Vladimir locations to the cops. Alex suspected it was Micah. Micah’s list had more addresses on it than Mendez’s.

  He stood outside of one of the residences on the list. The cops were inside completing the bust.

  Alex leaned against the van, sipping a cup of hot coffee and trying to get his brain to think. He was that fucking tired.

  His phone rang with an unknown number and he answered it.

  “Alex?”

  “Micah?” he shouted, and then heard a scuffle and then a sound as if the phone fell to the floor. “Micah!”

  He handed the phone to Reggie, who pulled up the application on his laptop to track the number.

  “It’s five blocks west of here.”

  Two minutes later, they were in the van and Reggie stomped on the gas, the tires spun in the snow and the van lurched forward. Everyone hung on as the techie sped through the night.

  Alex spotted the rental car and Noah made short work of getting the driver side door open. Alex snatched up the backpack and opened it. Micah’s things were inside.

  “It’s his.” He handed the bag to Reggie.

  He pulled his black hooded mask into place. Roscoe gave the nod. The warehouse district was quiet in the late night and they silently ran across the distance through the darkness, weapons drawn. Reaching the side of the building, he leaped up a set of metal stairs and kicked in the metal door. Phoenix separated once inside, spreading out, covering more ground that way.

  Micah’s scream echoed through the silence of the metal building, the sound filled with such anguish, his blood run cold. He ran, sprinting down a hallway and up a flight of metal stairs, checking doors as he went.

  He reached a room at the end and stopped dead in the doorway. A flickering light in the hallway, sent an eerie glow of red darkness into the room beyond.

  The area he stepped into was like something out of a nightmare. The scene barely registered because his attention was focused solely on the man kneeling on the floor in the middle of the room, covered in blood.

  Sweet fucking hell, his heart squeezed at the sight of Micah’s blank and unfocused eyes when he swung them upward, Alex’s appearance having startled him. The body hanging from the rafters swung too and fro.

  The tracks of Micah’s tears carved lines through the thick wash of red that covered his face. The closer Alex drew, he realized not only his face, but Micah’s head and clothing were soaked with the thick, sticky substance.

  Somewhere in the back of his mind, he mourned the loss of those long, gorgeous locks, but couldn’t be bothered to care for more than a second because the man he loved was alive. Micah could shave his head, alter his appearance, hell, even his body and Alex would know him anywhere. He would always know him, there was no way around it, Micah was in his blood.

  Micah looked diabolical and just a bit mad. But to Alex, he was the most beautiful thing on earth.

  “Alex?” Micah’s voice wobbled, the words slurred.

  “It’s okay, Micah,” he croaked and scooped the man up in his arms. “I’m here.”

  “They took him from me,” The man’s lips drew back in a silent, agonizing stretch of pain. Micah’s hands clawed at his shirt. “He’s dead,” the man’s voice broke.

  Alex tipped his head back and gripped Micah tightly as something withered and died in him. He couldn’t speak for a moment.

  “I’m here.” His thickly spoken words sounded hollow to his own ears. Nothing he could say would make one bit of fucking difference.

  Alex couldn’t think for a moment and then he turned and spoke quietly. “The real evil is still out there.” His gaze met Roscoe’s over the top of Micah’s head and he jerked his head to the swinging body and the two dead men on the floor.

  “I’ll do a sweep and check the place,” Roscoe said and spun. Storm was on the lieutenant’s ass like glue and Wild followed.

  Alex tightened his hold on Micah.

  Noah stepped forward and draped a blanket over Micah. Alex wasn’t sure where the hell he’d found the blanket, but he was grateful.

  Noah then moved and checked the bodies on the ground.

  “None of them are Mez,” Noah said, standing up and heading out of the room.

  Allison took pictures of the flesh stripped body swinging
from the chains as well as the two on the floor.

  He carried Micah through the hallway and down the metal stairs and out to the van.

  Reggie sat in stunned silence behind the wheel.

  Alex gently placed Micah on the bench-like seat and moved back so Rush could check Micah’s wounds and vitals.

  “Who was that?” Allison whispered to Alex after tugging him aside.

  Alex wiped the blood from his hands. “It was too difficult to tell, but I think it was Vladimir.”

  The normally outspoken Allison was suddenly quiet. Her eyes darted to Micah and then back to his.

  “I’ll have the guys grab prints from the body,” Seth said, racing toward the building with Frost running after him a few seconds later.

  Alex stepped up into the back of the van.

  “What’s the verdict?” he asked Rush.

  Rush lifted Micah’s eyelid and briefly shined a light before lowering the lid.

  “I suspect he’s drugged. His gaze is off, he lacks focus, and he’s disoriented,” Rush said as he quickly reached for a syringe. Within moments, the medic had drawn a vial of Micah’s blood.

  Finished, the man said, “He’s got a knot on the back of his head, abrasions on his nose, and a laceration on the hand and slightly bruised arm.” Rush began wrapping up Micah’s hand.

  Alex glanced around the dark and deserted parking lot. They were in unknown territory. Alaska could be a deadly and traitorous place at night. Not only that, but Mez was out there with the rest of Vladimir’s men.

  “Are we going back to the hotel?” Reggie asked.

  “No. There’s no going back to the hotel. We’re covered in blood.” He thought for a moment. “Maybe Himes can help.”

  A few moments later, Micah’s lids fluttered and Alex thought he’d never seen a more beautiful sight than the golden flecked brown eyes. His pupils were blown and he looked disoriented.

  Noah got onto the phone. “Stefano? We found Lash. We’re going to need someplace to lay low,” Noah said and then added, “Yes, I understand.” Noah hung up the phone.

  “Stefano says there’s no place close and there’s a massive storm moving in.” Noah glanced at the app on his phone. “I’d say we’ve got about thirty minutes to find someplace out of the weather.”

  “Shit, what now?” Reggie asked.

  “Call Quick, number in phone,” Micah wheezed. “He’ll help.” Alex leaned forward to hear the words.

  “Who’s Quick?” he responded, but Micah had passed out again.

  He tugged Micah’s phone from his pocket and looked at the number before handing it to Rush.

  The door to the warehouse banged open and Alex tore his gaze away from Micah to see the rest of Phoenix stride out of the building.

  Smoke swirled and billowed behind the five men as they strode away with the flicker of red glimmering and outlining them in the darkness.

  With a loud boom, the building exploded, sending a flash of flames and debris into the night sky.

  Micah

  The light filtered through his closed lids and he lay in the softness of the bed beneath him. It felt so good. A slight pain in his head lingered and he lifted his hand to touch the bridge of his nose where he’d fallen. It was bandaged and so was his hand. It was just his palm and he wiggled his fingers, making sure the digits worked.

  The past several days came back in flashes and he remembered going in and out of consciousness. He vaguely remembered a doctor or someone mentioning a severe concussion and the drugs had been designed to capture him, not kill him. He’d passed out every time he’d wanted to ask a question. Gentle hands, sponge baths, and trips to the bathroom returned, but it was all through a haze of foggy memories.

  Finally, today he felt as close to normal that he could remember.

  A small noise drew his head slightly to the right with a wince.

  From where he lay, he could see Quick watching him.

  He opened his mouth, nothing came out, so he swallowed and opened it again.

  “What time is it?” he croaked.

  “Time? Don’t you mean day?” Quick asked. His green eyes narrowed and the man wore a scowl.

  Shit, he’d known that. “How long have I been out?” He studied his bandaged hand. More flashes started filtering through… worried gunmetal gray eyes and gentle hands pressing a cool cloth to his face and neck, and of all things, a plane ride, like a puddle jumper, which was ridiculous. A ride in another vehicle, then the quiet and the warmth.

  “A week.”

  A whole fucking week?

  “Why so long?” The drug couldn’t have been that potent.

  “You came down with a fever,” Quick said gruffly.

  The silence stretched and became strained.

  “What?” Micah sighed.

  Quick shoved from his spot and advanced into the room.

  “Going alone was stupid,” the man growled.

  Micah rolled his head to his other side. Through a massive window, the Alaskan wilderness and snow-covered trees sat barely visible beyond a wide deck and patio. The majestic scenery looked traitorous through the swirling snow storm.

  He slowly swiveled his head back, eyes landing on his friend.

  “Look, I know you can take care of yourself,” Quick said at his continued silence and crossed, muscled arms against his chest. “But you should have had backup. I told you in Russia I’d be here for you.”

  Micah pulled himself up in the bed to lean against the headboard. “Save the lecture. I didn’t even know you were in the area.”

  “Fuck that!” Quick’s fists clenched. “I headed here the minute I gave you that contact’s phone number in the off chance you’d need me. I called and sent you several text messages, so don’t give me that bullshit!”

  “Sorry,” he mumbled.

  He’d deliberately avoided Quick’s phone calls. He hadn’t wanted anyone to get between him and his target. And now he avoided the man’s accusing gaze.

  “Did you even stop to think?”

  “Think about what?” he finally asked when the silence stretched.

  Quick shook his head, disappointment swimming in his friend’s eyes. “What if he’d had Caleb close and you needed another pair of hands? What the ever-loving fuck were you thinking, Lash?”

  Every word Quick spoke stabbed into him with the truth.

  “You’re right, I’m sorry.” Micah pulled his knees up and set his forehead against the tops of them. “But he didn’t have Caleb.”

  Quick gave a heavy sigh. “What did Vladimir say?”

  Micah looked up and took a deep breath, looked out the patio doors, and then back at his friend.

  “He said that he gave Caleb to Mez. And then he changed his story and said Caleb was dead.”

  “Did you believe him?”

  His head jerked up. “I didn’t want to.”

  “Why?”

  “Because his expression was one of gloating.” He frowned.

  “Tell me more.” Quick took a seat in a chair near the bed and scooted the chair closer.

  “I was crazed. I asked him again if Caleb was dead and he looked like he had a fucking secret, so I called him a liar and he said, ‘you’ll never know,’ with an evil, smug smirk.”

  “So he said the words as if Caleb might be alive?” Quick asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay then, let’s go with Caleb is alive until we locate evidence he’s not.”

  “Okay.” He stared at his friend and took a long shaky breath. “Okay,” he whispered again. Any hope was better than no hope at all.

  “All right.” Quick nodded. “Now…Hungry?”

  “Not really.” He rubbed at his stomach, the queasiness lingered.

  “How about some juice?” His friend gestured toward the orange juice on the night stand.

  “Is that for me?” Micah blinked back the moisture from his eyes. “Thought you brought it in for torture.”

  “Someone’s feeling better,” Quick g
rumbled affectionately and lifted the juice from the small bedside table and held it out to him. Micah took it with his uninjured right hand.

  “I told you to be careful,” Quick reminded him.

  Yeah, I know.” Micah took a few long swallows of the juice and then let his head lull back against the pillow. “Hey, Quick?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you.”

  “No thanks needed. But I’m still mad at you for not returning my calls.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Quick took the juice and placed it back on the table, and then lifted Micah’s wrapped hand and began unwrapping it. “I thought you’d like to see the damage since your hands are your livelihood.”

  The bandage completely removed, he studied the slice along the edge of his left hand. Thankfully, the cut ran along the fleshy part of his hand down from his pinky finger and not across the palm. It was neatly stitched and he was able to make a fist. His right hand, his knife hand, wasn’t injured at all. “Thanks.” He opened and closed his left hand a few times.

  “Whose place is this?”

  “I have a friend who takes off for warmer weather when the snow comes,” Quick said. “We can use it for as long as we need.”

  Micah looked around at the expensive furnishings. The bedroom was a show piece with a woodsy atmosphere. Massive stone fireplace, a moose head over the mantle, a bearskin rug in front of the fire. He felt like he’d just stepped back in time.

  “Friends in high places.”

  Quick shrugged. “I have news.” The man tipped his head and studied him.

  “Tell me.” He rubbed at his chest and held Quick’s suddenly sympathetic gaze.

  “I had a friend do a flyby over one of the trafficking sites that sits further in the mountains. He spotted several men leaving the area. They took a shot at his chopper. I alerted the authorities, but they can’t get in there due to the storm.”

  “Were there any bodies?”

  “I don’t know.” Quick hesitated. “They torched the main house before they left.”

  Micah looked up at the ceiling. A tear ran down his temple, he didn’t bother to wipe it away.

  “I’m sorry,” Quick murmured.

  Micah nodded, turning his head. When his ass started to slide on the sheet, he shifted, sitting up a bit more on the bed. That was when he noticed the hulking, dark figure standing near the door. His eyes moved over Alex’s face, eagerly tracing the man’s profile. Alex’s jaw ticked as if the man was grinding his teeth. Micah darted a glance at Quick.