The Thriller Collection

by S W Vaughn

  “Is that all?” Stone spoke through his teeth, and his hands clenched white-knuckle tight. “Exactly how are you planning to verify that information?”

  “Regrettably, there will be pain for both of you. But once I’m convinced you’ve told me everything, I’ll release your lady friend, and you can all go back to your little club.”

  Roman opened his mouth to call bullshit, but Stone stopped him with a gesture. “Where and when?”

  “One hour, at this address.” Fischer rattled off a number and street name.

  “Fine. We’ll be there.” Stone looked at him. “Hang up.”

  “But—”

  “Do it.”

  He punched the end button. “Bad idea, man. You’d better have a damned good plan.”

  “I don’t. But we can’t waste any more time talking to him.” Stone nodded toward the front of the van. “First, we need to take that camera out.”

  “Is there a screwdriver in that toolbox?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m on it.” He headed for the box behind the driver’s seat as Stone climbed into the ambulance behind him. Armed with a screwdriver set and a hammer, he started on the vent.

  He’d no sooner loosened the first screw when the phone rang again.

  This time he answered with a snarl. “What the hell do you want?”

  “Roman?”

  “Oh, God. Kat.” He’d left the phone on speaker, and they both winced when her voice came through. She sounded worked over, worn out. “Don’t you worry,” he said, trying to keep his tone even. “The cavalry’s on the way.”

  She drew a shuddering breath. “The colonel wants me to tell you…not to touch the camera. He says he’ll kill me if you do.” Another breath, a slight gasp. Then her voice hardened as she said, “And I say this lowdown pile of pig shit can kiss my ass. You keep doing what you’re doing, hear me? He’s got nothin’.”

  “Kat, please—”

  A long, wavering scream cut him off.

  “You son of a bitch!” Roman shouted. “Don’t you fucking touch her. I swear to God, I will cut your balls off and feed them to you. Are you hearing me?”

  “The camera stays where it is, gentlemen.” Colonel Fischer came back on the line with a cold, flat tone. “Unless, of course, you want this lovely specimen to bleed to death.”

  “You won’t kill her.”

  “Goddamn it, Stone!” Roman glared at the man. “Are you insane? I won’t let you risk her life trying to call this bastard’s bluff.”

  “He won’t do it.” Stone shifted his focus to the phone. “You need us to come to you, and she’s the only leverage you’ve got. You kill her, and we vanish. You know I can do it. Then it’s only a matter of time until the MPs show up at your door. Colonel.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” Fischer said. “But if you disable that camera, I will hurt her extensively.”

  “If that’s what you’re planning, you’re going to do it anyway.” Stone’s expression was a complete blank. “But I don’t think you are. She’s a means to an end. The more you hurt her, the less we’ll cooperate.”

  Silence from the phone.

  “We’re turning the camera off,” Stone said. “For you this is business, but for us it’s personal. You’ll have plenty of time to take pleasure from suffering when we get there, one hour from now. And we will be there. Until then, Colonel—you don’t get to watch.”

  After a long pause, Fischer said tightly, “I’m going to enjoy breaking you, Captain Stone.”

  “I’m sure you will.” He stared at Roman. “End the call.”

  “No. I’m not going to let him—”

  “Hang up, or I’ll smash that damned phone.”

  “You are one cold son of a bitch. You know that?”

  “Blade.”

  “Fine!” He stabbed the button to disconnect. “Happy now?”

  “I will be when you take out that camera.”

  “I’m not doing it.”

  He’d forgotten how fast Stone could move. One instant the man was lunging for him, the next he’d taken the gun away from him and fired. The single shot thundered in the enclosed space, blowing a twisted, smoking crater in the vent. A few sparks sputtered from the hole and the obliterated camera.

  “All right, that’s it,” Roman spat. “After we take these bastards, I’m beating the shit out of you. This is Kat, remember? How the hell could you take chances like this with her life?”

  “There’s no chance he’s going to kill her until he has us.” Stone calmly handed the gun back. “The real problem is, once that happens, there’s every chance he will. Don’t you know that?” he said. “His plan is to question us, and then kill us and everyone we’ve ever talked to. Including Kat.”

  Goddamn it. That made a lot more sense than he wanted it to. He took a moment to pull himself together, and said, “Fine. How are we going to stop him?”

  “By doing something he doesn’t expect. Remember what that Jerry kid said about why we’re still alive?”

  Roman frowned and thought back to the confrontation in the club parking lot. It already seemed so long ago. You only survived this long because you have potential. Both of you. Keep that in mind when they find you. “So you’re saying if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em?”

  “Exactly,” Stone said. “We say we want in, get them to drop their guard, and then we each take one of them out.”

  “And that’s your plan.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Great. I like it.” He didn’t think they had a chance in hell, but he wasn’t going to mention that. “Listen, we need to swing by the club before we head for ground zero. There’s no way they’re going to believe I didn’t copy the data, so I’ll give them copies. Just not the ones I have now.”

  “Good. That should buy us some time.”

  “I hope so.” The words lacked confidence, but he couldn’t summon much of that.

  Their chances of coming through this alive were slim to fucked.

  Chapter 43

  Blade had spent most of the trip on the terminal in the back of the van, doing something he said would give them a bit of leverage. Eventually he wrapped it up and made his way to the passenger seat, where he’d been sitting in complete silence since.

  They were ten miles out from the final destination when Ozzy said, “Have you ever killed anyone?”

  Blade barely glanced at him. “What do you think?”

  “I think you haven’t.” He was worried that Blade seemed to be giving up, shutting down—as if he was already dead. That was the surest way to make sure he would be. “It’s not an easy thing to do, you know,” he said. “No matter how many times you do it.”

  “Sure it is.” Blade took the gun out and stared at it. “You just point and click.”

  “It’s not that simple.” They’d decided to bring weapons, even though it was likely they’d be forced to surrender them on arrival. But if the opportunity presented itself to kill one or both of these bastards, Ozzy intended to take it. “Hating them isn’t enough to make you pull the trigger. Anger isn’t enough. If you rely on emotion, you will hesitate—but they won’t.”

  “Come on, man. I’m not going to have a problem wasting these sick fucks.”

  “Yes, you will. Trust me.”

  “Let me guess…you won’t,” Blade said. “You still think I’m weak.”

  Ozzy shook his head. “It’s not about strength and weakness. Not the way you think,” he said. “I think you’re angry and fueled by revenge, and you have every right to be. But when you’re faced with ending another person’s life, you’re going to hesitate. And that makes you strong.” He frowned. “But it also gives the weaker man, the one who wants to kill, an advantage. So you need to be prepared to take that advantage away.”

  “All right. How should I feel when I’m about to kill someone, then?”

  “Afraid.”

  “Come again?”

  “Fear is the strongest motivator we have,” Oz
zy said. “If you know, without a doubt, that the person you’re facing is going to kill you, then you don’t have to act. You will react. Your survival instinct won’t let you hesitate.”

  Blade nodded slowly. “That…actually makes sense.”

  “Good. Just keep that in mind once we get in there.”

  He slowed for the next turn, and the destination came into view. Blade had already looked the place up with satellite mapping—it was a nondescript cement building with few windows, semi-isolated and surrounded by a chain link fence. The kind of building the Army liked to use for temporary storage or operations, and then abandon. Fischer would’ve had no problem securing a place like this.

  “Hey, Stone?”

  “Yeah.”

  Blade released an unsteady breath. “Just wanted to say thanks for sticking around,” he said. “You know, since we’re probably not coming out of that place alive.”

  “We’re going to make it. All of us—even Kat.” He tried to sound confident, despite his own doubts. “And you’re welcome.”

  The front gate was open, so Ozzy drove through and slowed as the van encountered cracked pavement riddled with potholes. He kept going until they reached what looked like the main entrance to the building.

  No sooner had he put the ambulance in park, than the doors opened and four armed soldiers marched out, their weapons trained at the windshield. None of them were Corvair or Fischer.

  So much for the plan.

  “Get out of the vehicle,” one of the soldiers said, gesturing with his gun—an M-4 assault rifle, rather than a standard M-16. That usually meant special forces of some kind. “Keep your hands clear of your body, and place them on the back of your head.”

  “Great,” Blade murmured. “We’ve got a welcome wagon.”

  “Guess we’ll play this by ear.” Ozzy reached for the door. “Whatever happens, do not provoke them. They might decide they only need one of us.”

  Blade went pale. “No provoking. Got it.”

  They both stepped out at the same time. The soldiers split into pairs, and within seconds had them handcuffed and marching off in different directions. So they were going to be interrogated separately. Of all the scenarios Ozzy had considered, this was the worst possible one.

  He should’ve known it would be Colonel Fischer’s first choice.

  Chapter 44

  Roman wasn’t all that surprised when the soldiers brought him to David Corvair.

  The man had an interesting setup in the room they delivered him to. There was a workstation with three monitors, an assortment of bondage furniture—a St. Andrews cross, a wooden chair with locking arm and leg restraints, a steel frame with cuffs attached to the top bar—and a pile of benches and sawhorses pushed into a corner. A video camera on a tripod pointed at the chair.

  Corvair had his hands full, with a gun in one and a leather sap in the other.

  The soldiers shoved him to attention and left the room without a word, closing the door behind them. Corvair favored him with a chilling grin. “The mighty Caesar has arrived,” he said. “I’m not sure if I should bow, or stab you in the back.”

  Roman glared at him. “I want to see Kat.”

  “Do you?” Corvair approached him with deliberate steps. There was a blur of motion, and the sap struck him hard across the face. He managed not to fall—but the impact had him tasting blood. “Little news flash for you, Blade,” Corvair said. “You’re not here to make demands.”

  “I want to see Kat,” he repeated slowly. “Or you’re not getting the password to decrypt your little darknet.”

  Corvair snorted. “Don’t even try bluffing me,” he said. “I changed the system passwords the minute we found out you two had compromised the van. There’s no way you got back in.”

  “Are you sure that’s what you did?” Blade flashed a cold smile of his own. “Because I think you might’ve changed the passwords to the back end of a fetish site that’s looking to legalize marriage to blowup dolls. See, there may have been a slight IP address mix-up on your servers.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “See for yourself.”

  Snarling, Corvair thrust the sap in a pocket, then grabbed his shirt and dragged him toward the workstation. He slammed him against the table. There was a dull thud as the gun tucked in the back of his waistband collided with the wood.

  Corvair heard it. He dragged him forward, pulling his shirt free, and yanked the gun out. “Cute,” he said, tossing the weapon on the surface of the workstation. “Did you really think you’d even be able to touch that?”

  Roman shrugged. “I was hoping you’d be as dumb as you look.”

  The man shoved him again and thrust the barrel of his gun into his stomach. “Don’t you fucking move,” he said, pulling out the keyboard tray and typing one-handed.

  A moment later, the center monitor displayed the admin panel for a site called RealDolls4Life.

  “Son of a bitch!” Corvair punctuated the shout with a fist to the table. He drew in a long breath, and regained control as he let it out. “All right,” he said. “You want to see your little whore of a boss? I’ll show you.” He went for the keyboard again.

  “No,” Roman said. “Not good enough. You could’ve doctored a video feed, like you did with Teryn’s. I want to see her live and in person.”

  Corvair stood motionless for a long moment. Finally, he said, “You know what? I think that’s a great idea. Seeing her will only make what’s coming hurt you more—and I’m all for hurting you. In every way possible.”

  Roman refused to respond to that.

  “Come on, tough guy.” Corvair stepped back and motioned with the gun. “Right this way.”

  The man directed him out of the room and down to the end of a hallway. They made a right turn and came to a door with two of the soldiers standing guard. “Move it,” Corvair barked on approach.

  Both soldiers gave him narrow-eyed glances as they complied. Obviously, they weren’t feeling too loyal to the rich civilian.

  Corvair pushed the door open. “Go on,” he said. “Have your look.”

  Roman hesitated, attempting to steel himself before he walked in. But when he caught sight of her, all the resolve in the world couldn’t stem the enraged horror welling through him.

  Kat had been tied to a wooden rack. It was upright, but obviously adjustable—there was a hand crank for raising or lowering the platform. She was half-conscious, one eye blackened and swollen shut, blood drying beneath her nose and on her lips. Her clothes had been repeatedly torn, leaving her indecently exposed.

  His mind seized on that as the worst part, and all he wanted to do was cover her up.

  It took another minute to realize what Corvair meant when he said seeing her would make things worse. The light in the room came from two large screens set up in front of her. A few halting steps brought them into view.

  One of them showed Stone—stripped down to just his pants and tied to some kind of metal frame, struggling to free himself. He appeared to be alone. The other screen showed the empty chair in the room Roman had just left.

  They were going to make her watch.

  “Oh, God,” he moaned. “Kat…”

  She stirred at the sound of his voice and raised her head slowly. It was painful watching her try to smile. “Roman,” she said in a hollow, strained tone. “Welcome to the party.”

  “Some party.” Despite his best efforts, moisture scalded his eyes and slipped down his face. “This looks pretty bad, doesn’t it?”

  “I’ve seen worse.”

  “Liar,” he whispered. “Listen, Kat…we’re getting out of here. It just might take a little longer than we thought.”

  She grimaced. “Now who’s the liar?”

  “All right. Time’s up.” Corvair came into the room and grabbed Roman’s arm. “We’ve got so much to do here, I hardly know where to start.” The leer he sent Kat’s way clearly said he wasn’t finished with her, either. “Enjoy the show, whore.”

&n
bsp; She ignored him and looked at Roman. “Don’t you worry about me,” she said, cutting her gaze briefly to the screens. “I’m just gonna pretend we’re back at BondCon, havin’ the time of our lives.”

  He managed to keep his features neutral as Corvair dragged and prodded him from the room, back into the hallway. The last time they went to the annual BondCon had definitely not been fun. A couple of struggling club owners, jealous of Kat’s success, decided it’d be a great idea to strap her into a new bondage chair model and leave her in a back room while she was supposed to give a presentation. They figured when she didn’t show, they’d volunteer to take her place.

  Roman had found her, but the other club owners had the keys to the padlocks that held the straps closed. Together they’d figured out the safety release for the chair—small hidden levers that dropped hinged portions of the arm and foot rests, leaving the cuffs slack enough to pull free.

  The chair in the other room looked a lot like that model.

  He shuffled along as Corvair manhandled him back to the room, in no hurry to let the torture begin. If that chair did have safety mechanisms, he’d have to wait for the right opportunity to use them, one where Corvair wasn’t paying much attention to him. He doubted that opportunity would arrive quickly.

  But when they entered the room, Corvair went right for the camera and refocused it on the steel frame. “Think I’ll beat on you a while, before we get to the real pain,” he said, gesturing for Roman to walk to the frame. “You freaks like to warm up and ease into the main event, don’t you?”

  Roman shuddered inwardly and forced his feet to move. “That’s right,” he muttered. “Us freaks love a good warm-up beating.”

  Corvair kept the gun trained on him while he fastened shackles around his ankles, then circled behind him to release the handcuffs and attach his arms to the top bar. “I’ll try not to break too many bones just yet,” he said as he came back around. “I want you fully conscious for as long as possible.”

  “You’re doing this interrogation thing wrong,” Roman said. “Here’s how it works. You ask me if I want to talk. I say no, and then you hurt me.”