Breaking: Fall or Break, Book 2

by Barbara Elsborg

  “You fucking bastard,” the guy who’d kicked him screamed.

  The alarm stopped and all Archer could hear was moaning. Some of it was coming from him.

  “Drop the gun.”

  Archer tried to drag sense back into his brain. Who’d said that? Deefor licked his face. He looked up to see Conrad standing behind the man holding the shotgun on his father.

  “You won’t kill me,” the gunman said.

  “No, you’re right, I won’t, Morgan,” Conrad said. “I’ll cripple you. The bullet will go through your spine. You’ll lie flat on your back for the rest of your life with plenty of time to appreciate what an idiot you’ve been. You’ll have a tube up your cock so you can piss. Fucking will be off the menu forever. You almost did that to me. Why shouldn’t I do it to you? Drop the gun or I’ll pull the trigger.”

  Archer didn’t think Conrad had a gun. He was too close to be holding the shotgun. Deefor kept licking him. Yeah, yeah, give me a minute. I’m still seeing stars.

  “I’m sorry about what happened to your brother,” Conrad said. “I’m not sorry he got the sentence he did. A mother and child died. But I know it was an accident.”

  “He should have been in an open prison.”

  “That can’t happen immediately. It has to be earned. I told you.”

  “He was killed by another guy you got put away.” Morgan spat out the words like venom.

  Keep him talking while I get my head in gear. He knew Conrad’s father would be thinking of trying something, but Archer caught his eye and shook his head.

  “You’re not going to shoot me,” Morgan said.

  “You kill my father and I will,” Conrad said.

  “It’s not your father I want dead.”

  Archer sprang up as Morgan spun around. Conrad gasped and dropped the candlestick he was holding. The shotgun was a hindrance to Morgan. Conrad was too close and as Morgan shifted back to pull the trigger, Archer collided with him and they fell to the floor. The gun went off between their bodies, the shot striking the wall. Archer flung the gun aside, knotted his fist and plowed it straight into Morgan’s stomach. One more blow and the guy doubled up on the floor. Archer pulled him onto his stomach and sat on his back, struggling to regulate his breathing. His chest felt as if he’d been stepped on by a horse.

  “Where’s the rope?” Archer croaked.

  Conrad unfastened a plaited tieback from a heavy curtain and brought it over. Archer tied it around Morgan’s wrists and rolled him onto his back. Conrad’s father had gathered up the guns, moved them out of reach and was now on the phone. Archer retrieved his knife and nodded toward the man he’d stabbed. “Press something against his stomach.”

  Conrad tugged a cushion from a chair and pushed against the wound. Conrad looked shaken but okay and Archer exhaled.

  “Are you all right?” Conrad asked.

  “What part of stay put wasn’t clear?” Archer snapped. “A fucking candlestick? What happened to the shotgun?”

  “I should have known you wouldn’t shoot,” Morgan snarled. “You fucking pansy.”

  Deefor growled, his hackles went up, and Archer almost smiled.

  “At least I’m not an idiot,” Conrad said. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? It’s not my fault your brother is dead.”

  “Yes it is.”

  “How did you know I was here?”

  Morgan closed his mouth.

  “One of you will talk,” Archer said. “Maybe Mac who’s in the pantry or Tino who’s going to find walking difficult for a while. Or you.” He crouched down, sliced open the front of Morgan’s jacket, and it fell apart.

  Conrad groaned.

  “Let me do that,” his father said and took over with the pressure against the stab wound.

  Conrad slid to Archer’s side. Does he think he can stop me? Conrad could have died. The thought choked him.

  “No blood spilled yet,” Archer said, and flicked Morgan’s buttons with his knife. “How many more layers can I cut through before that happens?” He sliced again and the sweatshirt fell open. “I’m not an expert.” He slit the T-shirt. Morgan’s bare chest was heaving.

  “You can’t just cut me,” Morgan gasped.

  “Archer,” Conrad whispered.

  “Why not? Four of you break in with guns. We have every right to defend ourselves.” He dragged the knife down the front of Morgan’s pants by the side of the zipper and the guy let out a cry of alarm. “Talk,” Archer ordered.

  “Fuck you. A lawyer can prove you tortured me.”

  “There’s a lawyer here who’ll say I didn’t. And anyway, you’re assuming I care.” Archer sliced open Morgan’s shorts to reveal his cock and balls and lifted the sac with the flat of the knife. “They’re not looking very happy. Don’t blame them. Tell me who told you we were here. Tell me who you did the deal with.”

  He trailed the knife down Morgan’s cock and a tiny bead of blood followed the blade.

  “Don’t,” Conrad said.

  Archer lifted the knife. “You hear that? A guy who was left for dead, who was nearly crippled for life, is pleading for the one responsible. Because that’s the sort of man he is. A decent guy. A guy who believes in the law and did his best for your brother. I’m not like that. I don’t give a fuck what I have to do to get answers. Who told you we were here?” He rested the blade against Morgan’s cock. “An inch at a time. Not going to take long with a little prick like yours.”

  Morgan gasped. “I don’t know who he is. I had a call telling me Black was staying in a cottage at Shennan Sands. Price for that was he wanted you dead too. He sent a picture of you. Two of my guys went up there, killed two men but when I saw the photo, I knew the idiots hadn’t hit the right ones.”

  “Could you tell where the photo of me was taken?” Archer asked.

  “Novotel. Looked like Moscow.”

  “Why did he tell you we were here if you cocked up last time and killed two of his guys? You didn’t think it might be a trap?”

  “No,” Morgan said sullenly but Archer could see realization dawning. Morgan had the wrong idea but it didn’t matter. “He said the men were expendable, they’d cocked up because they’d arrived too soon but if we dealt with everyone in this castle, he’d pay me two hundred thousand. He emailed pictures of this place a few hours ago. Told me where the alarm was, what the doors were like. Said it had to be tonight. Fucking bastard.”

  Archer looked up when he heard the sound of snow being crunched under heavy boots. Armed men came through the front door. He’d wanted to be gone with Conrad before they arrived. Just because Conrad’s father said they were coming to help didn’t mean it was true. Archer had been wrong about the snow being impassable. A bad mistake. He made sure his knife was hidden.

  “Drop your weapons,” one of them shouted. “Down on the floor. Hands behind your back.”

  “It’s okay,” said Conrad’s father. “The situation’s contained, but medical assistance is required. The man tied up on the floor is uninjured. This man has been stabbed in the stomach and shot in the shoulder. The one in the corridor has been shot in the feet. The other…” He glanced at Archer.

  “Locked in the pantry.”

  Archer said a mental goodbye to his gun as he shuffled to the wall. He leaned against it as they secured the scene.

  Conrad and Deefor joined him. “Well, that was exciting.”

  “I haven’t forgotten you didn’t do as you were told. Where the hell did you come from?”

  “There’s a secret passage and staircase that runs between rooms upstairs and downstairs.” He blew out a shaky breath. “That could have gone badly wrong.”

  Archer didn’t waste time thinking about what could have gone wrong.

  “I take it the photo Morgan described was the same as the one in the pocket of the guy in Paris,” Conrad said
.

  “Yes.”

  “Maybe a tech team can find out more from Morgan’s email and phone.”

  “Possibly.” His knife would have been more effective if he’d had a few minutes longer.

  Conrad elbowed him. “Cheer up. We’re still alive. Thanks to my candlestick.”

  Archer mustered a chuckle from somewhere, though part of him wanted to throttle Conrad for being so cavalier.

  Across the hall, Conrad’s father was speaking quietly to the guy in charge. Archer felt uneasy. That could have been because he’d wanted to kill and let himself be persuaded not to, or it could be down to dissipating adrenaline. All Morgan’s men had been brought into the hall, Archer was a little surprised at the lack of concern for the men’s injuries. Conrad slid his hand across the floor in front of Deefor and rubbed Archer’s little finger with his. Archer moved his hand. He watched the guys with the guns and didn’t like what he saw.

  “You’re such a fucking coward,” Conrad said under his breath. “You’re leaving, aren’t you? Running away.”

  He could tell that because I moved my hand? “You don’t need me anymore.” But that wasn’t why he was going.

  Conrad scowled. “I never fucking needed you in the first place. I just wanted you. Give my father a chance to sort this out. If Kinsale is responsible, he’ll be arrested and you’ll be safe.”

  “I’ll never be safe and while you’re with me, you won’t be either.”

  “Bullshit. You’re a fucking coward. You just don’t want to admit how you feel. We have something here. Don’t throw it away.”

  “What do we have? We couldn’t be farther apart. You’re decent, honest and truthful, and I used to kill people for a living. I can’t escape from that—ever. What’s happened tonight has made you safe but while I’m with you, you’re still in danger. I can’t do that to you.”

  “How about if you let me decide that?” Conrad snapped. “Sometimes I think you actually like being broken.”

  Archer pushed to his feet as Conrad’s father and the other guy headed in their direction. Conrad rose unsteadily at his side.

  “You need to be debriefed,” his father said to Archer. “Go with them.”

  “I’m going too,” Conrad said.

  Another of the SIS guys came up behind them. “No. You stay here with your father. There’s no need for you to be questioned.”

  Now Archer was alarmed.

  “Where are you taking him?” Conrad asked.

  “Does it matter?” The guy smiled and Archer’s unease grew.

  “Look after Deefor,” Archer said.

  His voice almost cracked. It was entirely possible, probable that he’d never see Conrad again. The feeling didn’t sit comfortably in his chest.

  “I need a word first.” Conrad tugged Archer to a quiet corner. “When this is done, promise you’ll come and find me.”

  “I promise.”

  Conrad sagged. “You’re a crap liar. At least come and get your fucking dog.” He stared into Archer’s face then walked away.

  Archer kept his gaze on Conrad’s retreating back before heading for the stairs. One of the SIS team followed him. Archer retrieved the photograph from his bag and tucked it into his coat pocket. He pulled on his coat but left everything else. There was a thousand quid in his inside pocket.

  Back downstairs, as he crossed the hall, the guy still on his tail, Conrad’s father stepped into his path. “I wanted to thank you.”

  Archer kept his mouth shut.

  “The reason I drew you into this world was not for your benefit but for that of this country. We made you into what you are and we used you. Some thought you were done after what happened on the mountain. I wished you’d taken the help we offered but I understood the reason you wanted out. Yours is not a job that can be done forever. But your willingness to stay in the profession proved you still had value.”

  Archer kept his expression neutral.

  “But I’m aware that there has been some breach in security that means your face is known. I’m determined to find out how that happened. You saved my life tonight and likely that of Conrad too. I’ll do the best I can to discover who’s behind this but it might take time.”

  Archer nodded.

  Conrad’s father pulled him farther away from the agent and lowered his voice. “The other thing I have to thank you for is bringing Conrad back to me. On several occasions during his life I thought I’d lost him. The first time was when his brother died and Conrad blamed himself. My wife and I were too caught up in our sorrow to realize what we were doing to our young son. The second time was when he and I quarreled over his sexuality. For fifteen years, we hardly spoke to each other. The third time, when I thought I might lose him for good, was when he was hit by that car. I didn’t want to believe it was deliberate, but Conrad doesn’t lie. He never has. He was very low when he was in the hospital. He missed the young man who’d been part of his life for a long time. Then you came along.”

  Archer’s heart rose into his throat.

  “I know exactly what you are and I know I should be asking you to leave my son alone, but I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Don’t run away from him. Whatever you’re striving for in your life is right in front of you. Don’t lose it. Conrad is broken but I believe you can mend him. If you give him a chance, maybe he can mend you too.”

  Mend Conrad? Could I? And Conrad mend me? Can I really open my heart for the first time in my life? He had the feeling he wasn’t going to get the chance to.

  Archer palmed the photo he’d taken from the guy in Paris and put it into Conrad’s father’s hand as he shook it. Archer knew he’d surprised the guy when he pulled him into his arms but he needed him close. “Don’t trust them. I don’t think these are the men you called. Hide. I’ll come back.”

  Archer fastened himself into the back of one of the two Range Rovers the team had come in. He hated leaving Conrad behind but while he was unarmed, he had to wait for the right opportunity to present itself. They thought he was cooperating. If he fought them and failed, they might use Conrad to ensure his cooperation. For the time being at least, they wanted him alive. If these guys were not SIS, not the ones Conrad’s father had expected, that meant the right ones would soon arrive and Conrad would be safe. Archer clung to that hope because he couldn’t see why these guys hadn’t just stormed in and killed everyone.

  The driver climbed in, and another guy sat in the back with Archer, which was enough of a warning something wasn’t right. As they set off, it was still snowing lightly and the driver took it steady down the country lanes. The pair neither spoke to each other nor to Archer.

  Do something. The guy beside him wasn’t wearing his seat belt but the driver was. Archer was torn between leaning over and grabbing the wheel or breaking the neck of the guy next to him. He needed the vehicle to drive back in. Disabling the guy at his side should come first. He waited until they were away from the village and then smashed the side of his hand into the throat of the guy at his side. Even as the man struggled to draw air through his broken larynx, he fought back. The driver yelled in a foreign language and waved a gun at Archer, swerving on the slick surface. While the guy sat wheezing beside him, Archer unclipped his seatbelt and wrapped his hands over the driver’s face.

  The driver shouted out but kept one hand on the wheel as he smacked the gun against Archer’s fingers. The gun went off, a wild shot that broke the window, and when Archer pressed his fingers into his eye sockets he fired another round that just missed Archer but hit the other guy. Archer kept the pressure on his eyes and the vehicle skidded, accelerated, then sharply braked. Archer knew a moment before it happened that they were going to flip over. He clung to the driver but when the vehicle slammed down, it knocked Archer away. His head collided with something hard and even as he struggled to stay conscious, the world slid away.

  When
he came round, the vehicle was the right way up and he was slumped in his seat. They’d stalled sideways across the road. His head and the side of his face felt wet and he guessed he was bleeding. Nothing hurt, then pain flared in his skull. He moved his arms and legs experimentally. He had no pain anywhere else.

  “We need help,” he heard someone say in Russian. “Davit’s dead, my arm’s broken and he’s fucked up my eyes… No, he’s unconscious.”

  The guy next to Archer was motionless. The driver stood in front of the vehicle. I need to move. But when he did, white spots danced in front of his eyes and his head pounded. No, no, no. Stay awake. But he could feel the world sliding away again. Sheer force of will kept him conscious. He searched for the dead man’s gun and frustratingly found nothing, not even a knife. He checked for the car keys but they weren’t in the ignition.

  When he cracked open the car door, the driver spun around. He pointed a gun toward Archer. “Stay the fuck where you are.”

  Archer stepped out and swayed. “What’s happened?”

  “You’re what happened. Get back in the car.”

  Archer needed to close the distance between them. He staggered to one side and then staggered back. He put his hand to his head, looked at the blood on his hand and groaned. “My head.”

  “Get back in the fucking car,” the guy screamed and waved the gun at him.

  Archer was pretty sure, though not certain, they didn’t want him dead, at least not yet. But that didn’t mean this guy wasn’t going to shoot. Archer stumbled a few steps closer, acting confused. When he was close enough, he spoke in Russian. “Who do you work for, asshole?”

  The moment of surprise was all he needed. He bowled the guy onto his back and the gun flew out of his hand. A wrench of the broken arm and the man screamed.

  “A name,” Archer said.

  “Fuck. You.”

  The sound of a vehicle coming the same way as they’d been traveling brought a smile to the bastard’s face.

  “Too late,” Archer said and snapped his neck.

  No keys in his pockets. Fuck. And the gun had disappeared into the snow. Archer dug for it but without success. He didn’t know for certain the approaching vehicle was foe; safer to assume it was. He took a risk and ran, using the tire tracks to disguise his route. If he could get around the bend, he had a chance.