Two masked thugs, one much larger than the other, with rifles in hand crept down the steps toward Kirin and Martinez. The woman backed up, pinning Kirin’s body against the back wall. Protecting her. Overwhelming sympathy rose in Kirin’s chest. This woman was prepared to die for her. And she didn’t even know her.
Both men aimed rifles at the woman’s face, but they didn’t shoot. Then it clicked. They must’ve been ordered to take Kirin alive. And they didn’t want to screw that up by shooting this woman in the head. Whoever wanted her dead, wanted to do it themselves. Maybe she could keep this woman alive, but she’d have to take a risk. God, she hoped she was right.
By now the men were at the bottom of the steps and came to a halt. Over the noise, she yelled, “You want me? She lives.”
The female officer’s head cocked to one side. She cut her eyes briefly back at Kirin, not moving her stance, as if to say Kirin had lost her mind. Kirin used the slight hesitation to hip shove the woman off balance. She staggered just enough for Kirin to grab and yank the handgun from her, spinning it to rest underneath her own chin. The larger of the black hooded men flinched. When the female officer caught herself, she turned back toward Kirin and stopped.
“What the...” Her jaw tightened. Her angry face made Kirin doubt she’d done the right thing. Each of the men before them had a rifle pointed at a different woman’s head. Kirin repeated.
“You want me alive, you let her live.”
The bigger one, lowered his gun. Without warning, he punched the woman soldier in the jaw. She fell to the ground with a sickening thud. She lay motionless but breathing—alive, but out cold.
Then he turned and held out one hand for her gun. She didn’t have another option. She could possibly take one of them out, but she’d die in the process. Who’d protect her boys then? Sam maybe? Assuming he was still alive. Reluctantly, she handed over the pistol.
Her only thought was, at least Stacy got away.
The larger man snatched the pistol and stuck it in the back of his pants, then grabbed Kirin’s arms and yanked them hard behind her back, cuffing her. The other masked man produced a black bag, hooded her, then led her up the steps.
She felt like a dog who’d never walked on a leash before. She tilted and staggered. From underneath the hood, she could see her feet which helped a little. One man held her tight across the back of her neck, while the other held her elbow, high, making her shoulder burn. She was a criminal in their world. Someone who’d killed their president. Or so they thought.
Shots rang out. She prayed she’d be hit by a stray bullet. At least then, they might just drop her, thinking she was dead or too much trouble. No such luck. The light surrounding her feet changed from dark gas-soaked concrete to light-gray pointy gravel. They’d ushered her outside. Sunlight filtered through the black hood, allowing her to see objects in shadow. A giant truck roared into the hangar. Black suited bodies scurried and dodged bullets to load boxes of drugs into the back of the truck.
As the two men ushered her, a realization smacked her in the face. If they took her, she was dead. Sam would never find her. They’d been looking for The Club’s fortress for weeks. Her gut twisted.
The men led her, zig-zag style around bodies littering the ground. The gunfire had slowed, but not ceased. She focused on dragging her feet and looking at faces. Please don’t let any of them be Sam. She had to force her eyes to stay open and scan the ground. There were so many. This couldn’t be real.
Death surrounded her. Not because of her, she told herself. They came for the stolen drugs too. But she couldn’t deny, they came for her too.
A diesel engine ahead roared to life. And they were headed straight for it. Through the hood, she made out a large, urban assault vehicle, with huge tires and four doors. She dug in, dragging her feet like a dog who knows he’s going to the vet. She pulled backward with everything she had, twisting and kicking, but the man holding her elbow lifted higher on her bad arm. Pain shot through her shoulder. They held her so high only her tiptoes were touching the ground. One man’s grip indicated he’d rather just shoot her in the head and be done.
The smaller man opened the back door, while the other one lifted her and chucked her inside. She skidded to a halt on her face, the seatbelt scraping her cheek.
The sting of blood rushing to the surface gave her a realization. These animals didn’t care if they injured her, they just couldn’t deliver her dead. Trying to sit up, she felt like a duck with broken wings trying to right herself on the seat. Idly, she wondered if they’d put a seatbelt on her. Ridiculous. It’d be like taking the time to wrap eggs in bubble wrap before egging someone’s house. She was set to die anyway. Bruises wouldn’t hurt.
Before the door closed, she spotted a body in the gravel. The face, once she recognized it, trapped her gaze. She couldn’t look away. Was he dead? She couldn’t tell.
Brandon’s eyes were closed. His face was pale and littered with dirty pieces of gravel. His babyface features somehow looked older. Her heart sank for the boy. And if they killed him, they had Stacy. Todd would torture her. The thought sent angry electricity through her. She had one friend in a coma, and one headed toward torture. They’d all been through enough. The image of Stacy’s purple eye came into clear focus.
Kirin used her cuffed hands to push off the back seat and sit straighter. With her head hanging low, she stared under the hood at the military boots she’d been given. One of the thugs climbed in next to her tossing a black bag in the floorboard. Kirin angled her body toward him slow, then counted to three in her head. Quick as lightning, she planted her left foot and kicked up toward his head with the full force of her right leg.
She tagged him in the nose, but not as hard as she’d hoped. He let out a yelp, grabbed her by the leg and shoved her body into the floorboard. Kirin kicked like an angry child throwing a fit. Her heavy boots pummeled his knees, shins and even stubbed one of his outstretched fingers as he tried to grab her legs to stop her. Curse words flew out of the man as he scrambled and yelled.
The man in the front seat had no sooner sat, then he’d thrown the car into drive and sped down the runway. He cursed as he swerved around vehicles on fire, ripping off his mask and throwing it in the floor. He was young. God, he still had peach fuzz on his cheeks. Gunshots peppered the door next to Kirin. The sound alone caused her to stop kicking and her eyes to shut. She was damn lucky she hadn’t been hit by a stray bullet.
From the floorboard, it felt like they were going a hundred miles an hour. The truck creaked and bounced. The young driver yelled, “Hold on!” In an instant the sound of crushing metal filled the cab. The truck pitched and flew airborne before bouncing and crashing back to the ground.
The fence. He’d broken through the fence. Something inside her snapped. There’d be no way Sam could find her now—if he was still alive. Her heart sank, and she was glad they couldn’t see her face. Hot tears formed. Neither Sam nor the FBI would be swooping in at the last minute to save her this time.
Nope. If she wanted to survive, she was going to have to use her wits. And do it alone.
Chapter Twenty-One
If she’d been the sort to get carsick, now would be the opportune moment. The driver swerved in and out of the narrow one-lane road. The screeching sound of trees scraping the side of the truck, made her wish her arms were free so she could cover her ears.
The man in the back seat pulled off her hood. Sunlight flooded her vision, causing her to squint. Then he ripped off his ski mask and slapped it to the back of his neck. One of the stray bullets had grazed him and it bled like a fountain. With his free hand he pointed at her.
“Kick me again, Lane, and I swear to God I’ll knock you out.”
She nodded. His voice was low and robust. It matched his body. He eyed her as he unzipped his bag and dug around. She watched him struggle. Something about him seemed familiar. His nose maybe? He was a stout man, probably in his thirties, with round, piercing dark eyes and a strong, stubble-l
ined jaw. The ski mask had jacked-up his hair, making him look not only murderous, but bat-crap crazy. His lips pursed as he searched in the bag, looking over at her every few seconds like he was too close to a copperhead about to strike.
He pulled out a first aid kit but couldn’t open it with one hand. He tried turning it on its side and propping it against one leg, yanking on the clasp. It wouldn’t open. He even resorted to using his boots to pull it apart but couldn’t get it to open.
Finally, she spoke. “Take these cuffs off and I’ll help.”
He slid her a look of not no, but Hell no.
“Have it your way. You’re gonna bleed out. I’m a nurse, you know.”
He searched her face, then shook his head and leaned toward the front.
“Child-locks engaged, right?”
The younger man nodded as he navigated the large vehicle onto the main road. The truck bounced, and the tires squealed, changing from gravel to pavement. Then it leveled out. From where she sat, she could only see trees whizzing by. She couldn’t see if anyone followed but based upon her captors face when he turned to look for himself, there was nobody there.
Of course not.
“Move up.” He ordered.
Her knees were shoved next to her nose and her hands were still cuffed behind her. What the hell did he expect her to do, float from the floorboard to the seat? She prayed the door didn’t accidentally open, or at this speed, she’d be roadkill. Pressing her back against the door, she shoved her body upward, grunting. Her boots gripped the carpet, which helped her to get into a squatting position. Her movements were slow, but her body was rising. Her thighs quivered trying to use her own body weight to heave herself on to the seat.
Impatient, the man reached out effortlessly with his free hand, grabbed her by the elbow and threw her onto the seat. She turned and glared. He glared right back. Pulling a carabiner off his belt loaded with keys, he flipped them around until he found the right one.
“Turn.” He ordered, and she complied. Grabbing her elbow once more he pulled her back roughly to get close enough to unlock her cuffs. Before turning the key, he leaned forward and lowered his voice.
“Don’t do anything stupid.”
When the cuffs released, she pulled her aching arms around and rubbed her wrists. His eyebrows shot up as if to say, get on with it.
Kirin grabbed the first aid box between them and popped it open. Raising her eyebrows as if to say, wow, that was hard. The man rolled his eyes.
She angled her body toward his. Her expert, nimble fingers took out tape, gauze, some large bandages and a few alcohol swabs. She opened the bandages and ripped a few pieces of tape. He watched her every move. When she tore open the alcohol swabs, she raised one and waited. He nodded. Pulling his hand and a blood-soaked mask away from the wound, she rubbed the small fabric over the wound. The man’s body went rigid with pain.
“Mother scratcher!” He yelled, causing her to stop and stare at him.
“What?” he yelled over the road noise.
“Nothing.” She giggled. “Just never heard that one, out of an adult, that’s all.” She pulled out another swab and applied it. Then to herself, but loud enough he could hear, “Next, he’ll be saying, ‘whoops-a-daisy.’”
His eyes narrowed. With one hand, she turned his head toward the window, giving her a better look at the wound. No bullet. In a perfect world, he’d need stitches. She’d found two butterfly bandages, she hoped would close it. She dabbed at the running blood with some gauze, then applied the butterflies, gauze, tape and one more bandage. When she finished, she gathered the wrappers.
He turned back toward her, his hand touching the bandages. His expression was still angry, but in his eyes she noticed a touch of gratefulness. He grabbed the trash from her hands and shoved it and the first aid kit into his bag. Before he zipped it, she caught a glimpse of rope and something shiny, a knife maybe.
She scooted back and stared out the window. She’d lived here most of her life, but honestly had no idea where they were. A clicking sound made her turn and look back at her captor.
When their eyes met, he ordered, “seatbelt.” For once, she didn’t argue.
“So,” she began, even though he shot her a look like she’d lost her mind, “you from around here?”
He shook his head to himself, then leaned forward toward the driver. “How long?”
“An hour before we ditch the truck to go in the back way. Think they were smart enough to tag a tracer?”
“No.” The man in the backseat answered. His knee began to bounce as he checked his watch and spoke only to the man up front.
“Cutting it too close.”
The driver nodded, then added, “Joel—you see team two? They get their target and make it out?”
A nonverbal conversation ensued through the rearview mirror, where the man in the back glared at the driver. The young driver’s shoulders scrunched up and his eyes snapped back toward the road.
She watched the man in the backseat. He wore a band on his left hand. She stared at his features, until he turned to look at her. She smiled. He ignored her and stared out the window.
She took in a deep breath, and lowered her voice, “So. Joel. Look, I know you think I’m the enemy, but Saul took his own life. I didn’t kill him.”
Joel turned toward her and stared like she was missing something big.
“I don’t give a shit.”
“Oh, okay. Good. So, you’re a paid mercenary? Not one of the family, I take it?” He stared straight ahead, neither confirming nor denying. “Come on, I’m gonna die anyways, you might as well tell me.”
He checked his watch again. “You talk too much.”
“I do not,” she huffed, crossing her arms. “And pardon me for trying to get my mind off the fact, they’re gonna kill me when we get there.” Kirin stared out the window. She needed to prepare her mind—what she’d just spoken was true.
After a long silence, he spoke. “Paid, yes. Not blood, but loyal.”
She spun toward him and spat, “Loyal? To an organization that tortures and kills innocent people?” He stared at her, like she was lying. “Your parents alive?” She didn’t wait for his answer. “Mine aren’t. They killed my mother and enslaved my father. Maybe you knew him? Sonny Terhune?”
Joel shook his head. His eyes showed sincerity and she believed he didn’t. Maybe he didn’t know his employer as well as she thought. Or maybe he did. Just then, the phone in his pocket squawked. He dug it out and stared at the number before answering.
“Team one. No, sir. No casualties here. Yes, we have the package. No, no word from team two.” Joel looked again at his watch. “Longer than planned. Pull extraction back ten minutes.”
He hit the end button and glanced at the driver through the mirror. The driver nodded. Joel looked out the window and spoke, “The extraction point is gonna be tricky.” Joel turned and looked her dead in the eyes.
“If you care at all about the people trying to save you, you’ll come willingly. If not, they’ll die.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Joel’s brown eyes held a conflicted honesty. He’d been generous to prepare her for what might happen at the extraction point. Maybe he was easing his conscience or paying her back for caring for his wound. Either way, he wasn’t what she expected.
Peach-fuzz driver made a sharp right turn, leading them on to a two-lane highway dotted with trailers and farms. The landscape was slightly different than her neck of the woods. But she felt like she’d seen this part of Tennessee before.
Joel’s knee bounced nervously again. He cleared his throat, took off his seatbelt and scooted toward the front, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. She strained but could only hear one side of their conversation.
“Stick close to me and don’t try to be a hero. Get her in the boat. I’ll hold ‘em off.”
Joel listened to what the young man had to say, then laughed. A nervous, but hearty, gut laugh poured out. The driver
’s eyes danced in the mirror as he too laughed. They had a bond like they were related but looked nothing alike. Joel sat back and re-buckled his belt.
These guys didn’t seem like the enemy. They didn’t seem like hard core mob types at all. This puzzled her. So, if they weren’t in it for the family, then it was for the money. She was being drug in, so they could get rich. Her face felt flushed as she balled her fists.
“How much?” She spat.
Joel’s demeanor flipped to defensive in an instant. “How much what?”
“How much did they pay you to deliver me?” His jaw tightened. When he didn’t answer, she continued. “Did they tell you I’m a widow, with two little boys? That’s who you’re delivering to them. My only crime was being related to my father. And they’ll make a sport of killing me, Joel. And my boys will be orphaned. They’ll only have each other to lean on.”
Joel turned his back on her silently stewing out the window. Kirin took a deep breath and changed tactics.
“Have you got brothers?”
Joel turned and stared at her now, like he was seeing her for the first time. “One.”
“Then you know, it’s a love/hate relationship, right?”
For the first time, the edges of his lips turned up. “True.”
“Is he older or younger?”
“Older. Wiser. Bossier and prissier. Mine is a piece of work.”
“Worse than you?” She asked, eyebrows up.
Joel nodded, “way worse than me.” She couldn’t help but notice the longing in his voice. She thought of Will and how Little Jack might describe him someday. She wondered what they’d be like when they grew up. What they’d become. Her only hope was that they’d be happy.
She wouldn’t be there to see it.
Joel watched her and she cleared her throat. “I’ll bet he’s a picnic compared to you.” She said, half joking.
He searched her eyes and agreed.
Unraveling Page 13
