One Last Bullet: An Action Thriller (Adrian Hell Series Book 3)

by Sumner, James P.

  “Vengeance is a powerful tool,” I say. “I think he’ll be fine.”

  “It’s kinda sweet that he thinks you’ll be able to do this without pulling a trigger,” he says with a smile.

  “Kiss my ass, Josh,” I say, getting out of the car.

  He makes an exaggerated smacking noise with his lips as he climbs out behind me.

  We all cross over and stand in front of the building, looking somewhat conspicuous. I take a quick look around. No surveillance that I can see. I glance through the window, but there’s no one on the front desk. Maybe admin staff isn’t required for weekend work.

  I try the door, but it’s locked.

  “Kick it down or try the back?” asks Josh.

  Before I can answer, Frank pushes past me, reaches into his coat, and retrieves a lock-picking kit. He crouches down, puts the two long, thin metal pins into the key hole, and moves them expertly for a few seconds. The door clicks open and he stands, pausing for a moment to put his kit away, and pushes the door open. He faces us both and winks, gesturing for us to walk in, like a doorman.

  “Nice,” says Josh, smiling as he heads inside.

  I take one last look up and down the street and follow him in. Frank comes in behind me and shuts the door quietly.

  Inside is very standard. The carpet’s a neutral color, the walls are white, and the desk and chairs look like they’re from IKEA. Two sofas form a reverse L-shape in front of the window and against the right hand wall, acting as the waiting area. The front desk covers the top right corner of the room, with a door leading to the offices beyond in the top left, facing the entrance.

  Frank walks over and listens at the door. “Seems quiet,” he says.

  “Let’s go,” I say.

  We head through and into the main office area. A central bank of empty desks stretches to the far wall. Along the right hand side are four small offices, all of which are empty. They have floor-to-ceiling windows and fitted blinds, with a door to the left.

  “So far, so quiet,” whispers Josh.

  I point to the staircase in the back left corner. “I guess we go up,” I say.

  We cross the office space and climb cautiously up the stairs. Halfway up, they wind to the left and as we turn, I hear voices. They’re low and relaxed, with the occasional chuckle of meaningless conversation. We creep up the rest of the way, pausing just before the staircase opens out in the middle of an open-plan vestibule area on the second floor. The layout is identical to downstairs, except there are offices against the left wall too, on either side of the staircase. Also, before the main office area starts, there’s a circular desk, like a security station, dead ahead in the center of the room. Three men are behind it, two sitting down, with one standing and resting his crossed arms on the counter.

  I peer around the corner. From where I’m standing, I can almost see beyond the desk into the office. The main floor is deserted, and every door along both sides is standing open. All except one, against the far wall in the left corner.

  “Bernstein must be in his office,” I whisper over my shoulder.

  I take a step forward, but feel a hand on my arm. I look back at Josh.

  “Adrian,” he says. “You want me to handle this? You can’t talk your way out of anything. We both know that.”

  “I’m not intending to talk at all,” I say.

  Frank goes to say something, but I pre-empt his objections. “And no, Frank—I’m not gonna shoot them. Just... disable them for the time being.”

  He lets out a sigh of obvious relief and nods, as if giving his approval.

  The security guards haven’t looked up. I’m thinking the best way to take them out is quickly and head-on—surprise them and attack before they know what’s happening. This tactic works best when a large group’s altogether. If you’re ever in a situation where you’re outnumbered and they’re spread out, more often than not, they’ll come at you individually or in pairs, which is easy enough to handle. But when you’re approaching them and they’re close together, you run the risk of being mobbed. The trick is to hit hard, hit fast, and hit once.

  I look over my shoulder and signal to Josh and Frank to wait here, just out of sight. I step out into the office and walk briskly toward the desk. After a few steps, as expected, they look up, initially confused. The guard that’s standing is a tall, dark-skinned man wearing a charcoal-gray suit and no tie.

  “Hey!” he shouts to me. “Who the fuck are you?”

  Without a word, I run at the desk, jumping as I reach it and placing my hands flat on the counter, using my momentum to lift me up and over. As I bring my legs up behind me, I swing them round, kicking the first of the two guards sitting down in the face. He falls backward off his chair and, as I land, I deliver a strong right punch to the guard next to him, who also flies off his seat and lands next to him.

  Before the remaining guard can react, I swing my left leg low as I turn to face him, kicking him firmly on the right knee. He loses his footing and drops to the floor. I kick him again, squarely in the face, and knock him out cold.

  I signal Josh and Frank over and set off toward Bernstein’s office at the back. Without waiting for them or breaking stride, I raise my right foot and kick the door clean off its hinges. I walk straight in and take the handset off Bernstein, who looks very startled and confused, and slam it down on the receiver. I stand in front of him, letting him look me up and down and process what’s happening.

  “What the… what’s going on? Who are you? Where’s our security?” he asks, the panic evident in his voice.

  “I am Adrian Hell… you are Wilson Trent’s money man… and your security is out cold,” I reply. “Which means me and you are going to have a real good talk...”

  His eyes go wide. I’m not sure what’s worrying him more—me, or the thought of what Trent will do when he finds out I’ve been here. Either way, he’s terrified.

  “I d-don’t know—” he starts.

  “What I’m talking about?” I offer, interrupting. “Sure you do, Joe.”

  “But you’re supposed to be dead…”

  “Ah, yes—the beautiful assassin Trent hired to kill me…” I show him my arm. “She missed.”

  I reach behind me and draw one of my Berettas, which I aim at him.

  “Now, this can go one of two ways. One option is that I ask questions, you answer them honestly and with vast amounts of detail, then I leave you alone, unharmed.”

  “What’s the second option?” he asks.

  “Pretty much the opposite of the first one.”

  Behind his desk, he plops down heavily in the chair. He looks around nervously for a moment before sighing with resignation.

  I smile. “Atta boy, Joe.”

  Frank and Josh walk in behind me. I stand in front of the desk, which is clear, save for a few pieces of paper and a computer. Josh walks around and stands behind Bernstein’s chair, resting on the back of it. Frank stays by the doorway, a little unsure of himself. I’m happy to take the lead with the interrogation. I lower my gun slightly before talking.

  “So, we want the inside scoop on Trent. You have access to all his money, and we know you were with him this morning, so you’re our golden ticket. Start talking.”

  “Do you have any idea what he’ll do to me if he finds out I’ve spoken to you?” he asks.

  “Yes. And I honestly don’t care. But if it’s any consolation, if you give us enough juicy details, I’ll make sure he’s too dead to take anything out on you anyway.”

  He takes some deep breaths, trying to stay calm. Like a typical numbers man, I see in his eyes he’s weighing up the odds, deciding on his best course of action.

  “What do you want to know?” he asks, concluding that my way is the only way, which is very smart.

  I look up at Josh, who takes his cue and spins the chair around slightly, so Bernstein is facing the right hand wall, looking in between the both of us.

  “I need information on all of his personal and busin
ess accounts,” he says, leaning over the chair.

  “I c-can’t give you that!” he exclaims, turning to me. “That would basically give you full access to every cent he has!”

  I smile. “Why else would we ask for it?”

  “You’re insane. Do you even know Mr. Trent? He’ll kill you, your family, everyone you’ve ever cared for, if he finds out what you’re doing.”

  “Joe, that ship has sailed—trust me. Trent won’t do shit to me. His time’s running out, and I’m gonna take everything from him. Understand? Everything. Now, before you get me all the account information my colleague has asked for, tell me more about where he lives. This big penthouse apartment he works from.”

  Bernstein shrugs. “What’s to tell? He works on the top floor of an apartment building. Everyone who lives there works for him. He runs some businesses out of the apartments there too.”

  “How tall is the building?” I ask.

  “Thirty stories, I think.”

  “What kind of protection does he have?”

  “I’ve only ever seen his two bodyguards, Duncan and Bennett, by his side. But there’s a lot of muscle in that place. Scares the shit outta me every time I go in there.”

  Frank steps forward, level with me. He glares at Bernstein for a moment before speaking. “If we wanted to get to him, how would we do it? Doesn’t sound like knocking on his front door is really an option…”

  “I have no idea, honestly. He doesn’t confide in me and I’m not privy to any of his movements. I literally just make sure his money is all accounted for and in the right place. Please, you have to believe me!”

  Frank takes another step forward, his face turning red and his eyes going wide, as his anger builds. I’m assuming that’s out of frustration, and I can relate. I put my hand on his arm. He looks at me for a moment then walks away, out of the office.

  I look at Josh, then back at Bernstein.

  “Get the account details for my friend,” I say, leveling my gun at him once more.

  He nods hurriedly and starts typing on the keyboard in front of him. A few mouse clicks later and the screen flashes as spreadsheet after spreadsheet loads up.

  “There,” he says. “That’s all his financial records for the last six months.”

  Josh grabs him by the neck and forces him out of the chair before sitting down and reviewing the information on the screen.

  “Adrian, this is the bloody jackpot!” he says. “We’ve got it all here—bank details, recent transactions… you name it.”

  I allow myself a small, silent celebration. This is our first significant step forward since arriving here, and I can finally see some light at the end of the tunnel. We still have a long way to go, but this is a big win for us.

  “Brilliant,” I say. “Now we can hit him in his wallet, we need to find a way to hit him in his face.”

  “Well, I might just have the answer to that as well,” says Josh, engrossed at the screen. “There’s a transaction here on one of Trent’s personal accounts for what looks like a Pittsburgh Steelers season ticket.”

  “The Steelers are playing this evening…” offers Frank, who has reappeared in the doorway.

  We all look at Bernstein, who’s holding his silence in the corner as Josh works at his desk.

  “Joe,” I ask. “You hear any mention of this when you were with him today?”

  I see his hesitation.

  “Joe…”

  “He did mention a game this morning, yes,” he sighs. “And I know he has a private box at the stadium…”

  Josh and I exchange a glance, and I smile as our next move becomes obvious.

  “Fancy going to a football game?” I ask him.

  “That still ain’t football, Bossman, but I could sure use the R and R,” he says with a smile full of excitement and menace.

  He quickly downloads all the account details to a USB drive and puts it in his pocket. “We’re done here,” he announces as he stands.

  “Frank, is there anything else you want to know?” I ask, turning to him.

  “Not from him,” he replies, nodding at Bernstein.

  “Alright then.”

  I raise my gun again and pull the trigger. The bullet hits Bernstein on the neck, causing blood to spray across the back wall with a squelch. He clutches at the wound as he slumps to the floor. He starts to shake as blood pumps over his hand and down his suit, forming a dark, crimson pool on the floor around him.

  “Jesus Christ!” yells Frank behind me. “Are you insane?”

  I look at him impassively. “You honestly think he wouldn’t have called Trent the moment we left here?” I ask.

  “Well, maybe… but you didn’t have to shoot him!”

  Josh walks around the desk and heads for the door. He stops next to Frank and pats him on the shoulder. “You’ve got a lot to learn, Frankie,” he says with a humorless smile. “Adrian’s never finished an interrogation without putting a bullet in someone.”

  Frank looks at me, but all I can do is shrug. Sadly, Josh has a point.

  I look down at Bernstein, who’s stopped breathing. I put another bullet between his eyes, to make sure, and then leave the office.

  We all walk back to the car in silence. Frank gets in behind the wheel and sets off. “So, what’s next?” he asks after a moment.

  “It looks like we’re finally ready to launch our attack,” says Josh. “That right, Adrian?”

  My jaw muscles tense as I nod slowly. “Fuckin’ A.”

  27.

  MEANWHILE…

  14:01

  It had been an increasingly stressful day for Wilson Trent, and since Bennett had arrived back at his office, it had only gotten worse. After asking around, he’d found out that the woman he’d hired to kill Adrian Hell had lied to him, and that piece of shit had left the hospital earlier that morning with nothing more than a flesh wound. And that was after assaulting two police officers. They weren’t even on his payroll—he assumed Adrian was feeling extra paranoid, which was a good sign… it proved he was getting to him.

  He wasn’t interested in the reasons behind why she’d lied; he was only interested in making sure Adrian Hell was dead. And Dominique Tevani was still the best option he had.

  She just needed a little persuasion.

  It hadn’t taken much time or effort for Bennett to dig into her life and find her weakness. And now that had been exploited, he simply needed to remind her that he wasn’t someone you should betray.

  He picked up his cell phone and called her.

  “Hey, big boy,” she said as she answered. “You got more work for me?”

  “Cut the crap, Dominique,” replied Trent, who was in no mood for playing games. “You care to explain why the fuck Adrian Hell walked out of a hospital earlier today with a bullet hole in his shoulder?”

  She fell silent on the phone for a moment.

  “I don’t believe you’re that bad of a shot,” he continued. “So I wanna know why and I wanna know when you intend finishing the job I paid you exceptionally well to carry out.”

  “Look, Willy, like I told you before, you should’ve said it was Adrian Hell you were sending me after in the first place.”

  “What difference would it have made?”

  “I’d have told you to go fuck yourself,” she said. “Aside from the fact he is who he is, professional killers work to a code. And one of the rules of that code is that you never take a job to kill one of our own.”

  “Don’t give me that code of honor crap,” said Trent, losing his patience. “I very much doubt more than a couple of you psychopaths ever adhere to that so-called rule—the money’s too good. Now, you either finish the job, or you’ll find yourself just below Adrian fucking Hell on my shit-list!”

  She laughed down the line.

  “Listen, Willy, you don’t frighten me. You can have your money back, I don’t care—I’m not going after Adrian.”

  Trent took a deep breath, struggling not to lose his patience. “
I figured you might say that, so I took the liberty of finding something to encourage you…”

  He nodded to Bennett, who left the room, returning a moment later dragging a young girl by the arm. She was fourteen years old and dressed in jogging pants and a hooded sweater. Her eyes were red from crying and her long, dark hair was messy from the struggle she’d put up when Bennett took her from her home a few hours ago. He marched her up to Trent’s desk and held her still.

  Miley Tevani stared at Trent, her anger and hatred matched only by her fear.

  “I’ve got someone here who’d like to say hello,” he continued, before placing the phone on speaker and holding it in front of the girl’s face.

  “H-hello?” she said, nervously.

  “Miley? Sweetie, is that you?” said Dominique, her voice cracking with emotion.

  “Mom? Oh my God, Mom! Help!” she screamed.

  “Baby! Oh, God! Baby, it’s okay—Mommy’s gonna come get you, okay? Just be brave, sweetie!”

  Trent took the phone off speaker and nodded to Bennett, who escorted her back out of the office. When he spoke to Dominique, he was smiling from ear to ear.

  “I’m sure I don’t need to spell this out for you, you stubborn bitch—bring me Adrian Hell’s head, or I’ll send you your daughter’s in the fucking mail!”

  “I swear I’m gonna blow your goddamn brains out!” she replied, unable to suppress her anger. “If you hurt a hair on her head, I’m gonna—”

  “No, you’re not,” he interrupted, casually. “You’re gonna go and kill Adrian Hell, then you can pick your daughter up. She won’t be harmed as long as you do what you were paid to do. Making threats to me won’t get you anywhere, sweetheart. Now, I don’t wanna have to remind you again. Go and do your fucking job!”

  He ended the call and threw his cell phone across the room with frustration. It shattered against the far wall just as Bennett re-entered, narrowly missing his head. He ducked instinctively before closing the door.

  “Everything okay, Mr. Trent?” he asked.

  Trent sighed heavily. “Why do people insist on pushing me?” he asked.

  Bennett remained silent.