No Return

by Nolon King

  Jasper said nothing, smiling up at his tormentor.

  “We’ve got your phone. It won’t take us long to decrypt it, find all your contacts, and get the info. We’ll find those closest to you and kill them all once we do.”

  Jasper doubted they’d get past his encryption, but even if they did, he’d deleted most of the contact info for anyone close to him. Though, that number was small these days — really only Alicia.

  Still, there were associates, including Spider, and if they hadn’t already gotten to her, then they might be able to do it with the info on his phone.

  But that wasn’t his biggest concern. No, that was escaping, finding Jessi and Mallory, then getting the hell out of this place — which would be significantly harder to do without his weapons or Anders’ help.

  “A guy like you isn’t a freelancer, no. You FBI?”

  “Yeah, and if you do anything to me, you’re in for a world of hurt. You think your family is safe, but I got people, too.”

  A door opened behind Anders and a short Spanish woman entered wearing a black dress that matched her jet-black hair. Behind her was a tall, muscular, bald man holding a machete.

  Jasper remembered his nightmare, and the world of hurt he was in for.

  The woman, surely Madam Pandora, said, “Why did you come here?”

  “To save Jessi Price and Mallory Black.”

  “Why?” The woman circled around him, looking him up and down.

  “Because I don’t want them to die,” Jasper said, wondering what kind of question was that — why?

  “Who are they to you?”

  Jasper looked past her and toward the brute in the corner, waiting to put his blade to use. He wondered how many others had been dragged down to this basement and butchered. How many cops, politicians, and, of course, girls who disobeyed them?

  “I asked you a question,” she calmly repeated, stopping in front of him and looking down at his naked body with a smirk.

  Jasper had never felt more vulnerable, but he refused to give either Madam or Anders the satisfaction of any emotion beyond a cold, hard stare.

  “I told your man, I work with the FBI.”

  “No, you don’t. You’re not in any database. We’ve looked. So, again, who are you?”

  “Someone who can pay you incredibly well to free them.”

  “What is incredibly well?”

  “You name the price,” Jasper said. “I can get my hands on it.”

  She stared into his eyes. “Any price?”

  “Any price.”

  “Fifteen million.”

  “Not a problem.”

  “Each.”

  “Again, not a problem.”

  “Bullshit,” Anders said, “I say we kill him.”

  “Seriously. I can get you thirty million, easily. Just let me make a few calls.”

  Anders looked like he was going to object, but Madam Pandora raised a finger to silence him.

  She leaned over and got right in front of Jasper, inches from his face. He could smell her sweet perfume. Could see her pulse quickening along her neck.

  She was considering his offer.

  “I think you could get me the money. Which makes me even more curious who you are.”

  “Let them go, then I’ll tell you. And I’ll pay you.”

  “I’m sorry, Mister … whatever your name is. I run a place of discretion and trust. If I sell out one of my own clients to a higher bidder, what would that tell my other clients?”

  “Nobody needs to know.” Jasper’s voice cracked as he pled. It was too close to begging, and that made him feel weak. “Just let them go. They don’t need to die.”

  She went to the brute. “I want his name.” Then she turned to Anders. “Come, Mr. Martin. We’ve things to discuss.”

  “Please,” Jasper called out, but Madam Pandora ignored his plea.

  The door closed.

  But only for a moment. Then it opened and another pair of men entered. Not as large, but equally menacing.

  The first man looked Jasper up and down. “I don’t suppose you’re going to give me a name?”

  Jasper shook his head.

  Chapter 41 - Mallory Black

  Mal woke to jostling in darkness, the world around her nothing but hums and vibrations, the stench of gasoline as the van drove over an unpaved road.

  Her hands were cuffed behind her. The van was too dark to see, so she whispered, “Jessi?”

  No response.

  She rolled over, slowly, and bumped into someone. She prayed it wasn’t a corpse, especially Jessi’s. She moved closer.

  “Jessi?”

  Still nothing.

  Mal felt with her cheek and her head, pressing against the body until she confirmed that it was most likely Jessi beside her. She brought her head to the girl’s chest, listened for a heartbeat, and sighed with relief when she felt and heard it.

  Still alive … for now.

  The van continued bumping along the road as Mal evaluated her situation. Their captors were taking them somewhere, but where? She wasn’t sure how long she’d been out, or how long they’d been driving. Most confusing of all was why they were being moved.

  They had been in a secure place with armed men. Why move them?

  Because, she knew in her heart, they were being disposed of. Which meant the next time that door opened, Mal needed to find a way to kill whatever motherfucker was in front of her.

  Kill them, break free, and escape before more bad guys came.

  Easy, right?

  Her police academy training had never prepared her for this scenario, or anything like it. But it had taught Mal that you never let your captors take you anywhere. Once abducted and moved from one location to another, the odds of survival practically disappeared.

  So with the odds not on their side, they needed fate to intervene.

  But how likely was that, twice in their lives?

  Again she thought of Parish, who might very well be their only hope. If he was truly psychic, had he seen this happening? She thought back to their phone call and his warning — they’d be with Dodd again and not to stop him.

  Did she dare to hope his prediction played out? If so, then this wasn’t the end quite yet.

  But it was hard to trust anything Jasper said. He was clearly missing some cards from his deck. He thought his dead daughter was alive. How the hell could she trust a word he said?

  He knew Ashley was in danger. And that both you and Jessi were in danger, twice.

  The man might be crazy, but he clearly knew something.

  Still, Mal couldn’t count on him being right this time. If she saw an opportunity, she needed to strike. To take fate into her own hands and find a way out of this jam.

  A siren blurted behind the van. Twice.

  She sat up, her heart racing as fate seemed to be intervening yet again.

  Did she dare to hope against hope?

  The van pulled over.

  Yes!

  She heard two men in the front of the van saying something in Spanish, one of them clearly trying to calm the other down.

  Then she heard footsteps approaching the rear of the van.

  Yes! Yes!

  Now was the time.

  She kicked at the floor and screamed, “Help! Help!”

  The cop’s voice boomed, demanding something of the driver.

  More back-and-forth in Spanish. She couldn’t understand the words, but had heard some variation of the conversation, or had it herself, hundreds of times before.

  Hands up and let me search your vehicle.

  “Help me!” She screamed so loud, nobody could mistake her panic.

  Footsteps came around to the rear.

  The doors opened, daylight spilling in before giving way to the police officer standing there with whom she assumed to be her driver and his accomplice.

  The police officer looked at her.

  “Please, help me!” Mal cried out trying to crawl toward him. “These men kid
napped us.”

  She looked down to see Jessi, still passed out, hands cuffed behind her.

  The cop looked at the two men then said something in Spanish.

  This is it. He’s going to arrest them, and we’re free.

  But that wasn’t happening.

  Instead one of the two men grabbed a rag from his pocket, climbed into the van, and shoved the rag into Mal’s mouth — while the cop stood there.

  What the fuck?

  Mal head butted the man hard and scrambled toward the open doors.

  The cop pulled his gun on her and yelled, “Stop!”

  Mal froze, realizing what was happening. “You motherfucker.”

  The man she’d head butted slammed her head against the side of the van and spit out, “Puta!” before climbing out of the van.

  The doors closed again.

  And Mal screamed through the rag in her mouth.

  Chapter 42 - Jasper Parish

  Jasper woke alone in a dark room, hands tied behind him, sitting in a chair, a bright light burning into his eyes. Everything was fuzzy. His vision, and how he’d gotten here.

  Dad!

  He tilted his head, thinking he’d heard something, but the only thing reaching his ears was the dull thrumming of music coming from nearby. He must be in a room under the club.

  Every part of his body ached. He’d been battered, cut, and water boarded to within an inch of his life, the men holding him wanting him to “just fucking tell them.”

  What they wanted him to say, he wasn’t sure. It was all vague.

  “Dad!” he heard a girl’s voice in the distance, as if underwater.

  No, not a girl, but his daughter, Jordyn. “Dad!”

  He looked around, his vision fuzzy, blood seeping from his brow into his eyes, hot, stinging and sticky. But Jasper couldn’t see her.

  He heard movement behind him, turned his head. But it wasn’t Jordyn. It was a big bald man, the first of his attackers, dragging a machete against the ground. “You ready to tell us?”

  “Dad! Remember!”

  Jasper had a flash of his vision, and what had happened before, how it had ended so horribly.

  He had brought it on himself, and remembered exactly what happened with a sudden, terrible clarity.

  The hulking man stared down at him, glaring.

  After hours of torture, Jasper had given him nothing, and now the man was sick of his bullshit, was within a hair’s breadth of snapping and doing what brutes like him did best — getting stupidly violent. The man’s grip tightened on the blade, itching to swing it. All he needed was one little push.

  Jasper leaned slightly forward in the chair, hands still bound by something tight. It wasn’t cuffs, which meant he could eventually break free.

  He whispered something to draw the man forward, just a bit more.

  “What was that?”

  Jasper laughed.

  The man’s eyes bulged.

  Then Jasper gave him the push he needed. “Fuck you.”

  The man snapped, then came at Jasper, swinging the machete.

  But Jasper had seen the man’s move in his vision, and easily moved to counter it.

  He pushed himself up from the chair with every molecule of his remaining strength, before the man could bring the machete down.

  Jasper’s forehead slammed into the man’s face with a sickening crunch.

  The guy stumbled back, blood flowing from his broken nose.

  Jasper raised his foot and kicked him hard, right in the chest. Then he pushed his wrists together, raised his arms over the small of his back, and brought them down, breaking the zip tie.

  As Jasper righted himself, the brute was coming at him, screaming, machete raised.

  Jasper looked up just in time to sidestep him, swiftly sweeping his foot out and causing the big man to tumble forward straight into the chair.

  He dropped the machete in an attempt to save himself from a face plant.

  Jasper scrambled toward the machete and grabbed the handle.

  The brute had tumbled over the chair, breaking it on impact, but was already getting back up.

  Jasper raced toward him then thrust the blade through his gut.

  The brute cried out as the blade sliced through his stomach and out his back.

  His eyes were wide, his face sported a painful scowl. Hot sticky blood poured onto Jasper’s hands as he gripped the blade tight and twisted it upward, doing as much damage as possible before yanking it free and letting the man fall back to the ground, twitching and gasping.

  Jasper plunged the blade through the man’s temple, into his brain, to make sure he wasn’t just dead, but quiet. Then he sighed while searching for his clothes.

  He found them sitting in a pile behind him.

  “Quick, Dad!” Jordyn said, now in the room. “Before they come with their guns.”

  Jasper craned his neck to listen but didn’t hear anyone coming just yet. He hoped the music was loud enough to mask his kill.

  He threw on his clothes and shoes, disappointed that his gun and knives weren’t in the pile. At least he had the machete.

  Jordyn placed her palm flat against the door and said, “There’s one guard in the hall.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yeah. He’s ten feet away, facing the other way.”

  Jasper approached the door, adjusting his grip on the sticky handle, then opened the door.

  The music was louder in the hall, enough to easily mask Jasper’s footsteps.

  The guard, one of the men who had been in the torture room earlier, was at the end of the hall, looking down at his cell phone, facing the other way, an AR-15 dangling from his shoulder by the strap.

  Jasper crept up behind him.

  At the last moment, whether he’d heard Jasper or felt him, the man spun around.

  His eyes widened he dropped the phone and tried to raise the rifle and squeeze off a shot. But Jasper sunk the machete’s blade straight down the center of the man’s skull before he could, dropping him to the ground.

  Jasper left the blade in his skull, then yanked the rifle from the man’s corpse, a process made more difficult by the rifle sling wrapped around the lifeless body.

  He pulled the AR-15 free, wiped the handle, then did a press check and peered inside the chamber to make sure a round wasn’t already in there.

  Nope.

  He pulled the charging bolt back, then let it go, pulling a round into the chamber.

  Jasper selected SEMI on his selector switch and checked the extended magazine, which was full.

  A suppressor on the rifle added to the rifle’s weight, and he’d need to adjust his shot, but it was better to avoid drawing too much attention, assuming the bullets were subsonic. Otherwise, the shots might still be loud, suppressor be damned. Thankfully the weapon didn’t have any shitty extra optics.

  He slowly ascended the stairs. As he went up, he saw a shadow moving, growing larger on the wall.

  The other man?

  Jasper raced up the stairs, saw the other guy in the upstairs hall, holding a drink and not paying attention. He took aim and said, “Put the gun down.”

  Jasper was afraid that the man didn’t speak English, but he obeyed, placing his rifle on the ground while staring at his assailant with wide eyes. Probably frightened by the blood on Jasper’s suit and face.

  “Where is Madam?”

  The man pointed up.

  “What floor is she on?”

  “Fourth.”

  “Kick the gun over.”

  He did.

  Jasper bent down, removed the cartridge and slipped it into his jacket pocket. “You got any more guns?”

  The man reached into his jacket.

  “Slow!”

  He slowed down, reached inside his jacket, grabbed the pistol, then lowered it to the ground and kicked it over.

  Jasper picked it up and slipped it into his back waistband. “You’re gonna take me to see Madam.”

  The man nodde
d.

  Jasper removed his jacket, threw it over the top of the AR-15, then put the pistol against his back. “Walk.”

  Jasper followed the man, keeping him close so anyone who happened to see them wouldn’t take notice of what was happening. They walked through the door and into the club, a cavernous space, dark and packed with people.

  The techno was loud. Colorful lights on and off, in time with the beat.

  As they skirted the main dance floor, Jasper caught one sickening sight after another — men and children, boys and girls, at the bar and in booths, making out. One man, a guy who had to be at least sixty, was getting blown by a girl who couldn’t have been more than eight.

  He wanted to put a bullet in the fucker’s head right there, grab the girl, and free her.

  It was all Jasper could do to turn away from the horrors before him. And this was right out in the open. God only knew what disgusting acts were happening in the rooms. This wasn’t paradise, it was something out of Dante’s Inferno. Maybe worse.

  A pair of women approached them near the exit, flirting, saying something in Spanish. Jasper couldn’t hear the guard’s response, but one of the women put a gun in Jasper’s face and started shouting.

  Her pistol went off, but he was already spinning away. He fired three shots into her falling body with the Glock.

  Then pandemonium as three things happened at once.

  One — the man Jasper had been following took off, disappearing into the crowd.

  Two — men, women, and children ran hither and yon in every direction.

  Three — automatic gunfire erupted from somewhere in the chaos.

  A glass partition shattered behind Jasper.

  He shoved the pistol in his waistband, dropped the jacket, raised the AR-15, and ran.

  More shots fired. People around him, men and women, fell.

  The fuckers didn’t care who they were hitting.

  Jasper wanted to turn and locate the shooter, but doing so would make him an easy target, and if he didn’t know where the bullets were coming from, it would also make him dead.

  He slipped into a crowd heading toward the double sets of glass doors at the entrance.

  The music kept pumping above the screams of the people, making it impossible to get a feeling for where shots were coming from as the floor and walls were chipped away by gunshots. Staccato lights and unrelenting darkness played with his vision, putting Jasper at a serious disadvantage to his enemies who knew this location far better than him.