Annihilate Me (Vol. 3) (The Annihilate Me Series)

by Christina Ross

  As we moved toward it, everything shifted into slow motion when one of three men walking toward us removed a gun from his jacket. A ripple of fear went through the people on the sidewalk. The two men standing on either side of him followed suit. With a frightening brazenness, they quickly lifted their guns and trained them on Alex even as Alex’s team, including Tank, removed their own guns.

  But all were a millisecond too late. Lasers now cut the distance between these men and Alex. The lasers hovered over his forehead and spiraled around his heart, confirming my worst fears. Whoever was behind this wasn’t going away. They were serious. For whatever reason, they were going to kill him.

  “Put away your guns,” the man standing in the center of the group said to Alex’s men.

  I committed his features to memory. He was somewhere in his thirties, blond hair, light skin, dark clothing, cleft in his chin, clean-shaven. His voice was so cool that there was no question that he knew that, right now, he had the upper hand.

  “It’s your choice,” he said. “Lower your guns or we kill him. You know we’ve got this. Just do what I ask and he might survive. But only if you cooperate.”

  “Do it,” Alex said.

  Terrified, I looked at him. “Don’t,” I said. “They’ll kill you.”

  “They already would have. They want something.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Be calm, Jennifer.”

  I looked beyond the men and saw that the people on the street a moment ago had dispersed. Was someone calling 911? Somebody had to be calling 911. These men didn’t look like fools. They knew they didn’t have long before the police arrived. Their jaws were set. Their hands were steady. They reminded me of Alex’s team. These weren’t ordinary men. They were professionals.

  Whose professionals?

  A car that resembled Alex’s brute of a Mercedes pulled up in front of it. There was something about it that made it look newer to me. The long slope of the hood? The detailed headlights?

  The man with the cleft in his chin said to Alex, “Tell the driver to get out of your car.”

  Alex turned to the car and waved his hand. “Get out.”

  Slowly, the driver stepped out of the car and onto the sidewalk. Cars sped by on the street.

  “Get rid of your gun,” Alex said.

  The driver threw his gun on the sidewalk. When he did, the front passenger door on their car shot open, followed by the rear passenger door. I looked inside and saw the driver. Dark hair, full beard clipped close, early forties. He looked directly at me, and I instinctively looked away.

  “Get in,” the man with the cleft said to Alex.

  “Don’t,” I said.

  Alex turned to me with a mix of intensity and sadness. Was this the last time we’d see each other? I couldn’t imagine the thought and pushed it from my mind.

  “What choice do I have?” he asked. “If I resist, they shoot me. If I don’t, I might stand a chance.”

  The lasers spread out to include one for Alex, one for Tank, and one for me. Apparently, Lisa was too small to be considered a threat. And with only three of them, they had to choose who the biggest threats were. Time was running out for them.

  One of the men came forward.

  “Drop your gun,” he said to Tank.

  “Do it,” Alex said.

  Reluctantly, Tank did.

  “Get in the car,” the man said to Alex. “Back seat. Just you.” He looked at Tank. “If you follow us, we will kill him. It’s that simple. Your choice.”

  Before he was taken from me, Alex held up his hands to show the men that he had nothing in them, and then he leaned in to kiss me on the lips. It was a hard kiss, one filled with love and depth. It was the sort of kiss that said goodbye. “They won’t win,” he whispered to me. “You’ll see.”

  I started to tear up. “Please don’t go.”

  But within moments, Alex was in the back of the Mercedes along with the rest of the men, and they sped away from us into the night.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  I ran to Alex’s Mercedes, only to be stopped by Tank.

  “Jennifer!” he yelled.

  I opened the rear passenger door and swung around to look at him. He was picking up his gun.

  “We wait two minutes,” he said.

  “Why? We’ve got to follow them before we lose them.”

  But Tank shook his head. “If we follow them right now, especially in this traffic, they’ll see us and they’ll kill him. Don’t think they won’t. Alex was correct. They want something from him. Otherwise, they would have shot him here in the street.” He pulled out his phone and turned it on. “Alex has a chip in each pair of shoes he owns. We’ll be able to track them through this.”

  He held up the phone for me to see the screen. There was a small, pulsing red dot moving through a map of the city. Looking at it, I realized that, with the exception of Lisa, everything I held dear was reflected in that dot.

  “They’re moving down Fifth now,” I said.

  “Two minutes. I need you to listen to me. I need you to stay here with Lisa. Let us take care of this.”

  “Absolutely not—”

  “I’m giving you a directive. It’s my job to keep you safe.”

  But there was no way I wasn’t going to be there for Alex. I turned to one of the men standing behind Tank. “Stay with her,” I said, pointing to Lisa. “Drive her home. Don’t let anything happen to her.”

  “Jennifer,” Lisa said.

  I got into the back of the Mercedes before Tank could stop me. “I’ll be fine,” I called out to her. “Just get home. Keep him with you until you hear from me. Under no circumstances are you to leave that apartment.” I looked at Tank, who appeared furious with me. But so be it. Alex came first. “We’re now at three minutes,” I said to him. “Get in the car before something happens to him. All of you. Move!”

  * * *

  They moved.

  Tank took the front passenger seat. The driver picked up his gun and stepped inside. Two other men got on either side of me, leaving me pressed between them in the middle. There was no room for anyone else, which left Lisa with two men to protect her. That gave me a trace of relief.

  We cut into traffic, nearly striking a cab as we did so. Car horns sounded. Our driver jolted forward only to press hard on the brakes so he wouldn’t hit the car in front of him. The traffic wasn’t moving fast enough. I could see the green light that would allow us to turn right onto Fifth and follow them ahead of us.

  Then it turned yellow. And then red.

  “They’re moving east on Forty-First Street,” Tank said. “Once we get on Fifth, things will open up.”

  After a moment, the light changed, the cars ahead of us lurched forward, and finally, by some miracle of God, we were able to at last cut right onto Fifth and race down the street to hook a left onto Forty-First Street.

  In a city consumed by traffic, even at this time of night, and with rows of uncooperative traffic lights, which our driver busted through whenever he could, I feared that we were too far behind them to do much good. I leaned forward and saw that there was another dot on the map. It was blue, and on this tiny, illumined map, it didn’t appear to be too far behind the pulsing red light.

  “Is that us?” I asked.

  “That’s us.”

  “We’re close.”

  “It’s an illusion. They’re way ahead of us.”

  “How far ahead of us?”

  “Three blocks. They’re at Third. We’re at Madison.”

  “Three blocks doesn’t seem—”

  “Look at the traffic, Jennifer. It’s not moving any faster, is it? It could get better or worse. Pray that it doesn’t get worse.”

  “Should we call the police?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “They’ll kill him. We handle this ourselves.”

  The car jerked through traffic and sailed across Park Avenue’s wide thoroughfare. Pedestrians walked
in front of us, and then sprinted to the curbside and cursed at us when they realized that we had no intention of slowing down.

  But then we had no choice but to slow down. We were held up again by traffic and had to come to a complete stop, which nearly drove me out of my skin because I knew we were losing time.

  “They’ve stopped,” Tank said.

  I leaned forward. “Where?”

  “Between Second and First Avenue.”

  “What could be there?”

  “I don’t know. It’s mostly residential there.”

  “Where does Gordon Kobus live?” I said.

  “Who?”

  “Gordon Kobus. Kobus Airlines. Where does he live?”

  “That’s a random question, but Google it,” Tank said to the man at my left. Then, to me, he said, “What’s your interest in Kobus?”

  “Wenn is entering into a hostile takeover with him. It’s just a thought, but I know Kobus is furious and ready for a fight. How far will he take that fight? How far will he go to protect what he built? All of the threats Alex and I have received began not long after Kobus learned that Alex was going after Kobus Air. It’s all I’ve got—unless Immaculata is behind this, which we both know is a stretch.”

  “Kobus lives on Park Avenue,” the man next to me said. “Sixty-Seventh Street.”

  “Then it’s not Kobus,” Tank said.

  “Unless he owns property down here. Is there any way to find out?”

  “Make the call,” Tank said to the man.

  But before he could, far ahead of us came an explosion that was so intense, I could see a fireball roiling up from the center of the street. It was like something out of a movie, a fiery mushroom cloud that boiled toward the heavens and turned inward on itself until the fire inside evaporated in orange plumes of smoke. The sound wave was so strong that it literally shook our car and stopped every car in front of us. There was an eerie moment of what seemed like absolute silence in a city that eschewed silence before people either started to get out of their cars and run toward the explosion, or move away from it all together, likely believing it was a terrorist attack.

  Horrified, I looked over Tank’s shoulder at the cell phone in his hand. Unmoving, he stared down at it. I leaned forward and looked at the screen myself. My stomach sank at what I saw.

  The blue blip that was us remained, but the pulsing red blip that had represented Alex was gone.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  But then the red light was back. It flickered on the screen before it started to pulse again and move farther east.

  “He’s alive.”

  “We do this on foot,” Tank said.

  The driver pulled to the curb.

  “Stay here, Jennifer. I need you to listen to me. I need to keep you safe.”

  “Like hell I’m staying here.”

  “You won’t be able to keep up with us.”

  I kicked off my shoes as we fled the car. “Watch me.”

  We ran, but Tank was right. I was no match for the speed at which they ran. But I was damned if I wasn’t going to be there for Alex. They weren’t in love with him—I was.

  I saw Tank look over his shoulder at me and order one of the men to fall back so he was running alongside me. Protecting me. The other three men ran ahead of us. I busted my bare feet along the pavement and gave it my all. And my all wasn’t so bad because I was in shape.

  I ran as hard as I could. I dodged oncoming cars, leaped and slid over the hood of one car before it creamed me, and wended my way through the rest. My only thought was Alex. I knew I could be running toward my own death, but I didn’t care. If he died, what was left for me without him? Even if we arrived at the explosion after the others, which we would, who’s to say what I could offer? If I had to, I’d offer up my life for Alex’s. I was prepared to do that. He’d given me so much that he deserved that.

  And so we ran straight down Forty-First Street until we came upon an unimaginable horror.

  * * *

  In the middle of Second and First Avenues, the car Alex has been hustled into was burning to the point that it was beyond recognition. Two men were roasting inside, the fire already so deeply entrenched in their bodies that it flicked out of their gaping mouths like serpents’ tongues.

  How had this happened? Had Alex tried something? He must have. But what? Did he wrest a gun out of someone’s hand and shoot them? Did he shoot the engine and thus cause the explosion? I might never know.

  Tank was well beyond the smoke, which smelled almost sweet given the burning bodies. I could see that he and the two other men had their guns drawn. Not far beyond them was the East River. There was shouting as we drew closer to them, and then gunfire was exchanged. Chaos unfolded as the man at my left took me by the arm and pulled me onto the sidewalk and restrained me.

  I struggled against him. “Let me go!”

  “No.”

  “I’ve got to get to him. What’s the matter with you?”

  “You’ll only get in their way. I’m sorry, Ms. Kent, but this ends here for you. Let them do their jobs.” More gunfire, this time in rapid succession. “Do you seriously want to be in the middle of that?”

  I fought him, but he was too strong for me. “You don’t know what the hell I want. You have no idea what he means to me.” When I spat in his face, it shocked him enough that I was able to free my arm, slam my fist hard into his groin, and watch him fall to the ground. I couldn’t believe I’d gotten him there. He was cupping himself and writhing.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  Then I took his gun and was off again.

  * * *

  Crossing First Avenue at Forty-First Street would have been a nightmare during the day, but at night, it wasn’t as bad. With the gun poised in front of me, I ran across the street, darted between the cars that came my way, and went in the general direction of the gunfire I’d heard a moment ago.

  Once in the clear, I ran to the right side of the sidewalk and looked everywhere for Tank and his men, but saw no one in the lights and shadows. I rushed toward FDR Drive, looked up at the bridge that glimmered above me, turned left and right, wondering where they were when I heard a single gunshot, just to my left, quickly followed by five more.

  With my finger on the trigger, I rounded the corner, and saw two men lying face down in the street, and, nearby, what appeared to be Tank skirmishing with another man.

  All traffic had stopped.

  Sirens wailed in the air.

  People remained in their cars, but because they kept their lights on, I could see well enough to rush to the bridge, jump over the cement support on which it rested, and charge toward them.

  Tank was fighting with the man with the blond hair and the cleft in his chin. There was no sign of Alex. I ran straight toward them on ruined bare feet and pointed the gun at the blond man’s head.

  “Step away from him,” I said. “Do it now, or I swear to God—”

  In a flash, the man pushed himself away from Tank and aimed his gun at me. Reflexively, I fired, but so did he.

  Two shots went off at once.

  As I saw the blond man fall face-first into the street, I realized before everything went black that I was falling as well.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  ONE MONTH LATER

  New York City

  October

  In the month that followed, I healed, I grieved, I felt an unimaginable loss that refused to go away, and I planned for my future. Now, the one day I’d been dreading most had arrived—it was morning and I had to return to work.

  The last thing I wanted to do was go back into that building, where all the memories Alex and I made there together would strike me, but I had to go through with it. Wenn was my future. The night before, I’d steeled myself for all that was to come.

  What will it be like without Alex?

  I had no answer.

  Lisa stepped out of her bedroom and walked into the living room. She’d taken care of me since the shooting, and sh
e was doting on me now as if I’d leave and never return. As ridiculous as it sounded, given the stress I’d been under, I think a part of her feared that.

  “Are you all right?” she asked. “How is your arm?”

  “It’s OK,” I said. “He shot me, but he was the poorer shot. I’m just glad the son of a bitch is dead. Whoever he was.” My shoulders dropped. “I’m sorry—I don’t mean to sound sharp. I’m just tense.”

  “I understand. You look pretty.”

  I was dressed in a black business suit tailored by Blackwell—it was a gift to me that she had sent yesterday along with a note that said she was eager to see me and to welcome me back. Naturally, the suit fit beautifully.

  “How are you going to handle today?”

  Though Alex had been declared dead three weeks ago, I still couldn’t fathom or absorb this reality, so I didn’t have an immediate answer. I was so focused on getting through the day and all that came with it. I just looked at her. I had no words.

  Alex had been shot. When I woke in the hospital the morning after that night, Tank told me that Alex had tripped back and fallen into the East River due to the bullet’s blow. Helicopters had circled with piercing spotlights in an effort to find him. Police had swarmed. And scuba divers had plunged into the river to search for him. But they all came up with nothing. Tank said they tried their best, but did that make it easier for me? Of course not. Grief took its toll, grief took me to my knees, grief punched me down further than my father ever had. After four days of searching, Alex had been pronounced missing and dead.

  “Alexander Wenn, 30, Dead,” the Times had reported on their front page. And in typical Post fashion, their headline was beyond cruel and pure tabloid: “Alexander Wenn Dead. A Shark Offered to the Sharks?”

  Obituaries followed, but none got to the core of the man I loved. Not one touched upon who Alex was as a person. Not one revealed the loving, generous, wonderful man I knew and missed with a tightness in my chest that kept a stranglehold on me. They spoke about his personal accomplishments with brevity, and they mentioned his celebrated parents and their sudden end, but never once did they get to who Alex was as a person. Did they even understand how he lifted Wenn over these past several years? No. But that day would come. I’d make certain of it.