The Thriller Collection

by S W Vaughn

  He’d instinctively tried to take the pain, before he understood what it was. Lasted less than a minute before he went down.

  Stone looked worse than he felt. The big man had been stripped to the waist and chained with a set of manacles from the ceiling in the middle of the room, high enough that his feet weren’t completely on the floor. Another set fastened his ankles together. He was still unconscious. Two dark, bloody spots on his chest and stomach marked where the Taser darts had hooked in—the bastards must’ve dosed him extra-long to put him under.

  Belatedly, Roman realized he wasn’t wearing a shirt either. This just got better by the minute.

  Right now they were the only ones in the room. He had no doubt their captors would be along soon. But if they stayed away long enough, he just might be able to get them free. All of the restraints in the club had built-in safety features—self-release mechanisms, in case keys were lost or things got out of hand. A little fact their soldier pals wouldn’t have known. He could open the cuffs, and then get Stone down from there.

  But first, he had to be able to move.

  “Stone.” At least his mouth worked, but his voice came out rough and thick, like he’d been sucking on sandpaper. He swallowed and tried again. “Hey, Stone. If you can hear me, you’d better try to wake up.”

  Nothing.

  “Shit.” Roman flexed a hand, sending a shot of pain down his arm. It was a start. He did the same with the other hand and kept alternating, with pauses until the initial flares subsided. Eventually he could make a fist without wanting to scream or vomit.

  Then he started on his legs. Those were a lot worse.

  After a few minutes, he was drenched in sweat but able to stand. Sort of. He gritted his teeth and forced himself upright. “Come on, Stone,” he said. “Rise and shine. We really need to move this party.”

  At first he thought the click he heard somehow came from Stone. Then he realized the playroom door was opening.

  He let himself go limp. If they thought he still couldn’t move, maybe they’d pay less attention to him and he could find an opportunity to release himself. He had no idea what he’d do after that—but whatever it was, he’d have to do it fast.

  Roman wasn’t even slightly taken aback to see Tim walk in. But he was surprised when the man closed the door, and Johnny hadn’t followed him. The faintest hope stirred in his gut. He probably didn’t have a shot in hell against two of them, especially if they were armed—but he might be able to take down just one.

  Tim had a bunch of full, liter-sized water bottles under one arm, and a police style wooden baton in the other. The Taser gun was tucked into his waistband. He looked at Stone first, with eyes full of wicked promise. Then he turned his gaze to Roman. “Oh, good. You’re awake,” he said. “Wouldn’t want you to miss this.”

  Roman glared at him. “Where’s Johnny?”

  “Who?” He started setting the water bottles on the floor. “Oh, that’s right. Tim and Johnny. You’d think he could’ve been a little more creative.” He hooked the baton through a belt loop and opened the last bottle he still held. “Actually, it’s Tom and Jerry. Get it? Like the cartoon.” A terrible grin split his face. “I’m the one with claws and fangs.”

  “Fine. Where’s Jerry, then?”

  “My little mouse of a partner won’t be joining us.” Tom headed toward Stone. “He had this crazy idea that you’re some sort of cyber-god, Caesar. He didn’t want to go along with the program.” He stopped in front of the suspended figure and sighed. “So now I’m going to need a new Jerry. What a shame.”

  Roman suppressed a shudder. This guy was a psychopath—and crazy had a way of overpowering strength.

  “Well, I guess that’s more fun for me,” Tom said. He pulled out a pocket knife and cut the narrow top off the plastic bottle, sloshing some water on the floor. Then he dumped the rest of the contents over Stone’s head.

  Stone gasped and spluttered. His body jerked, and the chains shivered wildly as he thrashed his arms. But they held fast, and he opened his eyes and pinned Tom with a furious stare.

  The man didn’t even blink. “Let’s get you up to speed, Brutus,” he said. “I’m Tom. Not Tim. Jerry, not Johnny, punked out on me. He’s dead now. You’ll be joining him soon.” He paused for another sick smile. “I think that about covers it.”

  Stone shifted his position with obvious effort, and his gaze found Roman. Something like a smirk formed on his lips. “Blade.”

  “Stone.”

  Tom sneered. “If we’re finished with the introductions…”

  Roman barely saw the man move—but he heard the crack of the baton as it came down on Stone’s collarbone.

  Stone made a harsh sound through clenched teeth. His body sagged, and his head fell forward. After a minute, he lifted it slowly with rage in his eyes.

  “That’s one,” Tom said. “Only two hundred and five more to go.”

  Stone coughed. “You’re not very good at this game, soldier. Keep going, and I won’t be able to answer your questions.”

  “Oh, I don’t want to ask you anything.” With a grin, he drew his arm back and held. “I just want to kill you.”

  Roman flinched as the baton crashed down on the other side.

  “Two hundred and four.”

  “Give it a rest, kid. You couldn’t break bones if they were made out of chalk.”

  The words were out before Roman could stop them. So much for not drawing attention to himself—but he had to get this guy off balance, rattle him enough to slow his reaction time. And hopefully save Stone from a busted neck.

  Tom faced him with a laugh. “That’s right,” he said. “You’re supposed to be some kind of bad-ass. You takes a lickin’ and keep on tickin’.” He walked toward him, staring pointedly at his bruised chest. “Looks like somebody already taught you a lesson today. But if you want another one, I’m happy to oblige.”

  He managed to turn away just before Tom struck the same way he’d hit Stone. A blinding white flash filled his head, and his eyes watered involuntarily. But he didn’t make a sound—and as he convulsed with the hit, he sprung the lock on the first cuff, gripping the chain to keep from falling.

  “Not bad.” Tom grabbed his chin and forced his head to the other side. “Let’s see you do it again.”

  Roman closed his eyes.

  This one was a lot harder, and he felt something crack. Still, he kept his throat locked and his mouth shut. And managed to open the second cuff.

  “Huh. I guess you can take a hit.” Tom leered at him. “But you’re still just a geek, same as Jerry,” he said. “You think you’re all that. But take away your keyboard, and you’re a weak, pathetic loser—all brains and no brawn. Captain Stone there, he’s the real challenge.”

  As Tom turned away, Roman pulled himself erect and shifted his weight from foot to foot, trying to make his legs as functional as possible. He’d only get one shot at this, and it had to be soon. He worked one wrist free slowly and lowered his arm.

  And noticed Stone staring wide-eyed at him.

  Before he could try to pantomime some kind of look-away warning, the man got with the program himself and diverted his attention to Tom. “This countdown thing,” he said. “You’re going to break all my bones. Is that the idea?”

  “More or less.” Tom ran the end of the baton up one arm, then down the other. “Haven’t decided which one’s next,” he said. “Do you have a preference?”

  “Yeah. One of yours.”

  While Tom laughed, Roman slipped the second cuff. His legs immediately tried to buckle. He managed to hold up, but he was forced to wait precious seconds while pins and needles surged through him, restoring circulation.

  “Let’s go with a rib,” Tom said. “After a few of those, I bet you’ll come up with an alternative.”

  Roman had only closed half the distance when the blow landed with a sickening crack, and Stone released a harsh, drawn-out gasp. Rage flushed the last of the hesitation from his system.
He went right up behind Tom and tapped his shoulder.

  When the man whirled around baton-first, Roman ducked under it and came up swinging. His fist connected squarely with Tom’s jaw, dropping him. Before he could even think about getting up, Roman stomped on his shoulder and yanked the baton from his hand.

  But Tom had been busy pulling the Taser.

  He had a split second to realize what was happening before the gun popped, and the barbs of the twin darts pierced his bare chest. There was no delay before the shock. He fell to his knees as excruciating pain surged through him—and he embraced it. He rode the pain, and kept control.

  Then he grabbed the wires with both hands and yanked the barbs free.

  As Tom gaped at him, he snatched the Taser from the man’s hand and ripped the wires out of the chamber. “No more toys for you,” he said, throwing the device hard across the room. “Oh, and I’m not going to break every bone in your body. Just an important one. Like your skull.”

  Tom let out a wheezing laugh. “Caesar thinks he’s a tough guy.”

  “Caesar is dead, kid.” Roman smiled grimly. “I’m the guy who’s been training for two years to beat Ozzy Stone. Compared to him, you’re a featherweight.” He picked up the baton.

  Tom opened his mouth, probably to say something stupid—and Roman cracked him across the temple. He shuddered and stilled.

  “Damn. He’s still breathing.” Roman pulled himself slowly to his feet and drove a foot into the prone form’s ribs. “Now we’re almost even. Fucking psycho.”

  “Blade.”

  He turned to find Stone regarding him with a strange expression. “You probably want to get down,” he said. “Give me just a minute. I need to tie him up, in case he comes around.”

  “Fine by me,” Stone said. “Just wanted to say…I’m impressed.”

  “Er. Thanks.”

  He went to the room’s implement closet and got out a few lengths of rope. This way, Tom couldn’t accidentally find one of the release mechanisms and cause more trouble. He brought them over and tied Tom’s hands behind his back, with multiple loops and knots, then repeated the process with his ankles.

  Despite a strong desire, he resisted putting in a blow to the collarbone.

  “All right,” he said, going over to Stone. “Let’s get you out of those.”

  “How?”

  “Like this.” He knelt and removed the cuffs from his ankles with the safety mechanisms. “We have a saying around here,” he said as he straightened. “Safety first.” He reached up and found the release catch on one of the manacles. “Try to brace yourself. It’s not going to feel too great coming down.”

  He opened the iron cuff, and caught Stone as he wavered and his arm dropped like a rock. “Breathe,” he said. “I can’t hold you up if you pass out.”

  “I’m breathing,” Stone said weakly.

  “Good.”

  He gave it another minute before he released the other manacle. He couldn’t keep Stone from falling, but he controlled the man’s descent so he didn’t land too hard on his knees. “Okay?” he said.

  “Hell no.” Breathing hard, Stone raised his head. His eyes shone with pain—and something else Roman couldn’t read. “You saved my life,” he said.

  “Yeah, well don’t read too much into it. I saved mine, too.” He managed a faint smile and glanced back at Tom. Still unconscious. “What do we do with this asshole?” he said. “I’m not crazy about murdering people, but he tried to kill us first. And if we leave him alive, he’ll just try again.”

  “We don’t have to kill him,” Stone said. “There’s a better way to make sure he doesn’t come after us.”

  “Break his spine?”

  “No.” The man grinned. “We give him to my brother.”

  Chapter 36

  Ozzy felt like he’d swallowed a grenade that managed to explode inside him without tearing through skin. He was pretty sure his collarbones weren’t broken, but his rib was—and he could barely feel it through the rest of the pain.

  By all accounts, Blade should’ve been dead, or at least crippled. He’d already taken a beating before Tom started in. But he’d ripped out live, electrified wires with his bare hands while an active Taser was jolting him, and still had enough power to incapacitate a soldier and ease a bigger man out of chains. Now he was pacing with a manic, fury-fueled energy, and visibly restraining himself from doing more damage to the unconscious man.

  Ozzy found himself relieved that he’d cleared up the misconception about what happened in prison, before Blade could take all of his revenge training out on him. He suspected he would’ve lost that fight badly.

  “Turn him over to Detective Frank, huh?” Blade said. “Well, he actually did kill Shep. Would your brother still beat a confession out of him?”

  “Yes.”

  Blade bared his teeth. “Good. Let’s do it.”

  “We will. Soon as my limbs remember they’re attached.”

  “Yeah, he really fried you hard. Must’ve figured you were bigger, so you needed more juice to stay down.” He grabbed one of the water bottles Tom had brought in, opened the cap and set it in front of Ozzy. Then he pulled a small, waxy envelope from his pocket and shook out two white pills. “They’re Vikes,” he said. “Pain meds. Antonio gave them to me earlier, but I already took a dose. They should help some.”

  “Thanks.” Ozzy took them and washed them down. “By the way, I get it now.”

  “Get what?”

  “Why you do what you do. Put yourself through pain.” He shook his head slowly. “I’ve worked with some real hard-asses. Guys who do five hundred pushups for fun, who can take down three or four in a brawl and not break a sweat. And every one of them would’ve screamed like a girl if they went through half what you did.”

  Blade smirked. “Not exactly my favorite way to test my limits,” he said. “But yeah, I can take a lot before I go down. And we’re even now.”

  “How’s that?”

  “You saved me, I saved you.” Blade picked up the water bottle from where Ozzy had set it down and drank some. “Come to think of it, I saved you twice. No, three times.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Really.”

  “I see your Frank, and raise you a Shep, a motorcycle, and a Tom.”

  “Pretty sure I survived the crash without your help.”

  “All right, we won’t count that. But it’s still two to one.” Blade grinned. “Better step up your game, Stone. You’re supposed to be the good guy.”

  He almost laughed. “Fine. Go put yourself in mortal danger, and I’ll save you.”

  “No, thanks. You’ll just have to wait for the next opportunity.” He looked around the room, and then walked past him. A moment later he came back with their shirts and handed Ozzy’s to him. “We should probably look presentable if we’re going to the cops.”

  “Sure. But you look like hell, even with a shirt.”

  “Speak for yourself. You look like Rocky after ten rounds.”

  “More like fifteen.” He pulled the shirt on, gritting his teeth as his muscles complained stridently. “All right. We’d better get moving.”

  “Can you?”

  “I will.” He shifted and braced one foot on the floor, and drew himself up a little at a time. Once he was standing and his head stopped spinning, he took a step toward the man on the ground and stopped. “We’re in the basement, aren’t we?”

  “Yeah. This is room fourteen.”

  “So we have to get him up the stairs.”

  “Shit. Didn’t think about that.” Blade stared at the still figure. “How’d he get us down here? I mean, I’m not exactly scrawny, and you’ve probably got a hundred pounds on him.”

  “I’d guess fireman’s carry,” he said. “The Army drills on that all the time. But it’s a lot easier coming down stairs than going up, and he wasn’t beat to hell when he did it.”

  Tom stirred and moaned a little. In response, Blade glanced around, grabbed the baton from the floor, a
nd started for him.

  “Wait,” Ozzy said. “If he’s conscious, we can make him walk.”

  “Good idea.” Blade traded the baton for the water bottle.

  A moment later, Tom spluttered awake under the stream in his face. He immediately started thrashing around, straining at the ropes that held him. Until Blade kicked him in the stomach and he curled up like a bug.

  “I thought so,” Blade said. “Assholes like you can dish it out, but you can’t take it.”

  Tom looked up with fiercely glittering eyes. “Fuck you, freak. Just kill me, if you’ve got the guts.”

  “Oh, we’re not going to kill you.” Ozzy retrieved the baton and walked over. “You get to stay alive and explain yourself to your unit. If you can still talk when my brother’s done with you.”

  “What the hell are you talking about? Blade isn’t your brother.”

  “No. My brother’s a cop. A dirty, sadistic one. And he’s almost as big as me.”

  Tom’s eyes widened. He straightened and tried to roll away.

  Ozzy stopped him easily with a foot on his chest. “Blade. Can you hold him down a minute?”

  “With pleasure.”

  When Blade had him pressed against the floor, Ozzy knelt and grabbed a leg. “We have to untie your feet to get you upstairs,” he said. “Means we can’t have you trying to kick or run. Don’t worry, though—it’ll probably heal eventually.” He brought the baton around and smashed it into a kneecap.

  Tom howled.

  “All right,” Ozzy said when the noise died down. “Let’s move out, soldier.” He untied the knots and removed the rope, then motioned Blade back and hauled Tom off the floor to his feet.

  “I can’t walk, you meathead fuck,” Tom spat. “You broke my goddamned knee.”

  “It’s not broken. And you’re going to walk.” He dropped the baton and grabbed the man’s bound wrists. “Now march.”

  Tom glared for a minute. Finally, he started hobbling forward.

  By unspoken consent, Blade went ahead and opened the playroom door. Once they were out, he led the way down the hall. No one said anything until they reached the bottom of the stairs—where Tom balked again. “I can’t get up those,” he said.