Cowboy Ending - Overdrive: Book One

by Adam Knight

  “You don’t understand. None of you understand,” Parise growled, backing up the steps one at a time. Aaron’s body no longer fighting back, just following fearfully. Aaron’s fingers were bloody as he examined the damage done to his previously perfect teeth. “The money. The opportunity. It was too good to turn down. Our girls were a big hit overseas. Fresh blood.” He laughed then, climbing another few steps. “The Koreans need fresh girls for their own purposes, we need a solution to street prostitution. A way to cripple the street gangs! This is that solution!”

  My feet hit the bottom stair. I began to climb after him. The crowd behind me started to dwindle, smoke following David and Big Mike out the main entrance.

  “I get the pimping, but why kill the girls? What did Candace Cleghorn do wrong?”

  Parise’s face twisted and he went silent, cutting off his villainous exposition.

  “Nothing,” Aaron choked out from behind bloody and broken lips.

  “Nothing?” I growled, the Neanderthal now howling at the sky from my belly. Strength and vicious anger surged through my body. Images of missing girls from the Posse’s victim wall flashed through my mind’s eye in a blur. Candace’s smiling face in that green party dress repeating the most often.

  “Nothing?” I shouted, my voice echoing off the walls.

  “It was an accident,” Aaron’s sputtered despite Parise’s choking grip, dragged another step or two further. “One night, there was a party. She was … She was the party … One of the guys … He just … He went too far and …”

  Shit.

  I closed my eyes and stopped midstride.

  Images of Candace partying in the club under my very nose flickered through my brain. Her and the other girls, all kitted up and dragging well to do gentlemen around by their ties or lapels. Whispering in their ears while giving sultry, sexual looks. Taking them upstairs for “after party fun.”

  And one of those party goers killed her.

  And Aaron and Parise covered it up.

  “Is that what you told her brother?” I growled up at them, opening my eyes. They were more than half a flight ahead of me now. “Is that what you told Keimac Cleghorn before beating him to death?”

  Aaron’s eyes widened. “Was that you?” he sputtered, starting to flail again. “Did you and your ape …” His voice cut off as Parise tightened his grip and continued backing away up the stairs.

  I followed grimly, my fingers clenched tight.

  Once Parise had dragged Aaron up near to the top where the balcony platform rested the double wide doors swung open behind them. A number of Korean men in suits came rushing past them down the stairs. Two of them held the arms of an older gentlemen between them, this one dressed in the sharpest suit I’d seen yet.

  The big boss I presumed.

  The two lead Korean bodyguards raised pistols and opened fire. The electrical rush overwhelmed me, surging from the back of my neck and sending my body into overdrive as the thunder of guns was echoed by the thunder outside.

  Instinct hurled me back and away instead of towards the gunmen this time. I found myself leaping over the railing of the marble staircase in a high wide arc, landing heavily near the entranceway to the dance floor. Bullets whined and cracked in the air behind me, ricocheting wildly against the aged stone walls.

  When I hit the stone floor it wasn’t pretty. No high speed ninja tuck and rolls for this guy. Hurtling myself thirty feet headfirst through the air I was lucky that I landed as well as I did, high on one shoulder and smashing flat to the floor. My momentum carried me forward in what was technically a roll I suppose, though it was more of an uncontrolled sideways fall than anything else.

  Eventually I crashed into the base of the main bar where I finally stopped.

  At least I was out of the line of fire.

  Pushing myself off the ground took a ton of effort. The agony was intense. Breathing had become very difficult and labored. Feeling at my side I was almost certain that I’d cracked my ribs if nothing else. My left shoulder was in agony and lights floated in front of my eyes.

  I tried to shake my head clear, reaching for the tingling sensation at the back of my neck.

  It was still there. But weaker now, less of a rush and more of a pulse.

  Gritting my teeth I reached for that sensation and let it flood through my body in a short wave, lending strength and feeling to my agonized body. Both a blessing and a curse, pain became crystal clear in areas where I had thought it muted. My eyes cleared up instantly however, allowing me to see the Korean gentlemen hustling down the last of the stairs and rushing out of sight. Presumably out the main entrance to the street.

  “Come on, Joe,” I grunted to myself between short, painful breaths. Reaching for the top of the bar with my right hand. “Get off your fat ass.”

  Pulling myself up with a grip on the main bar took more effort than it should have. My bad knee was complaining for the first time in days even with me drawing heavily on the energy pooled behind my eyes. It was clear that the well was running dry. I knew this because my stomach had begun to growl again, aching as if completely empty.

  The fire was quickly getting out of control.

  The stage was completely engulfed in flames. Over near the deejay booth sparks still sputtered and flashed into the air, adding the sharp scent of burning ozone on top of burning bar. Smoke was black now and hanging just above my head, making my already labored breathing even more difficult. Distantly I could hear sirens wailing. Police and emergency services were going to arrive on scene shortly if they weren’t here already.

  I had to get out of there.

  Lurching away from the bar with a grunt, I made it half way across the dance floor before stars exploded behind my eyes with the sound of shattering glass. Liquid spilled down the back of my neck and over my battered leather coat as I was hammered to the stone floor again.

  Agony exploded through my chest. My poor ribs already beaten senseless took another blow as a massive boot caught me right in the side, knocking me over onto my back.

  Brutish Officer Miller stood over top of me, outlined in a stark silhouette of flames and billowing smoke. His bearded, animalistic face twisted in rage with blood pouring over his eyes from a cut high in his scalp. The broken neck of a vodka bottle still held in one hand.

  Chapter 48

  There were no words. No witticisms or epithets to utter. No dialogue required.

  Neither of us were big talkers anyways.

  The Neanderthal in my belly pranced a sadistic war dance and threw every last piece of wood he had left onto his bonfire, howling maniacally the whole time.

  Reaching for the well at the back of my neck proved fruitless. The tingle was still there, but my mouth was dry and my empty stomach began to chime in with the rest of the pain I was feeling.

  Nothing left in that tank.

  My teeth gritted together until my jaw hurt. But I managed to get an elbow under me, my coat slipping a bit in the vodka and blood mixture pooled on the floor beneath me.

  Miller didn’t wait, stepping forward with another meaty kick.

  Catching his foot as it hit didn’t make the blow hurt any less. It still hammered into my chest, driving what was left of the air out of my lungs in an agonized breath. What it did do was keep him from trying to complete the Riverdance on my face as I tried to regain some semblance of composure.

  Miller tried to yank his leg free with no avail. Finally he reached down, broken bottle neck swinging towards my head.

  Twisting my body hurt like hell, but it succeeded in torqueing Miller’s leg to one side. Turning his momentum away and driving him face first to the floor beside me. The motion cost me my grip on his leg so I rolled away to my left, trying to find space and air to breathe that wasn’t completely filled with smoke.

  Getting up to my knees was tough. Up to my feet was worse. But I did it. The smoke was very low now and making me cough like crazy. I wasn’t certain which direction I was even going in anymore. All I kn
ew was that Miller was behind me and that’s where I needed him to stay.

  A movement off to my left pulled me up short.

  Officer Don Mackie sat curled up in a tiny ball, shaking and trembling at the base of a plush couch. The top of the couch was on fire as well and adding to the acrid smoke in the air. His eyes were distant, shocked and spaced out. Like a guy on wicked drugs. Or one who’d finally slipped.

  “So sorry, honey …” he was mumbling, I could barely make it out over the background noise. “So sorry, honey. Daddy can’t be there this weekend. Mummy is taking you away. So sorry, honey…”

  Thudding footsteps were my only warning. I turned back in time to see Miller’s huge frame come barreling out of the smoke to hammer into me with a full speed tackle.

  I was launched off my feet into the couch Mackie was huddled in front of . It rocked heavily under the impact, slamming back against the wall.

  The back of my neck screamed at me, but not like the other day with the headaches and nausea. The smell of burning flesh added to the other foul aromas surrounding me. My body flailed in agony, twisting away from the pain.

  My coat. My damned vodka soaked coat caught on fire.

  Still flailing and trying to roll away from Miller’s advance I managed to get my left arm out of the coat, lessening the burning sensation slightly as I staggered to my feet and stumbled into the mini bar in what was left of the VIP area.

  Miller seized the capsized couch in both hands and hurled it out of his way as he stalked towards me. He’d lost his suit jacket somewhere along the way. His white dress shirt was now a ruin of sweat, soot and blood. Where it wasn’t ripped and torn of course.

  Seeing me on my feet Miller strode forward, backhanding Mackie’s mentally shattered form on his way by and charged.

  My aching body protested my next move.

  Pushing myself off the bar with a cry of agony I swung my right arm forward in a short arc and caught the charging Miller with my blazing leather bomber jacket right in the face. His scream was accompanied by a faint sizzle as flames seared his flesh.

  The momentum he’d built up carried him forward into me. Reaching up with my left hand I grabbed at the opposite sleeve and wrapped the flaming coat tighter around Miller’s head, trying to keep the bull sized man tied up and blind. The coat blazed in my face, I could only imagine how it felt on his flesh.

  Miller wrenched and reeled, trying to pull away from me, his thick man paws scrambling for a purchase point on the coat where he wouldn’t burn his hands.

  I was screaming. Didn’t remember starting. But I knew I was doing it.

  He kept trying to pull up and away from me but I used all of my leverage to maintain my grip on the coat. Miller roared in agony, bracing with both feet planted wide and finally wrenched the coat out of my weakening grip and flung it away. His face was severely burned, blisters and raw flesh bubbling in the open air. His beard and hair smoldering and charred.

  Miller’s eyes found mine and the rage expressed in that gaze blazed with murder.

  So I kicked him in the balls as hard as I could.

  What? He was standing in the perfect position for it.

  You’d have done the same.

  Anyways, after taking a field goal in the pills Miller hunched over and began staggering away from me. A reversal of roles if I ever saw one.

  I reached behind the mini bar and grabbed a bottle of liquor myself and stumped after Miller’s retreating, wounded form into the smoke looking to return the favor. My ribs ached like fury and I coughed on every breath. But there was no way I was going to leave this monster behind me until I was sure he was out of the fight.

  Which of course was when Mackie decided to regain lucidity.

  He rushed at me from out of the smoke, bleeding from the nose and with tears streaming from his eyes. Both hands extended before him like claws and his lips peeled back in a snarl. Words tumbled from his mouth in a monstrous mish mash that I couldn’t decipher.

  The tingle at the back of my neck pulsed in surprise, sending a jolt through my body as it reacted on instinct. Swinging the full bottle of whisky forward like a major league pitcher and smashing it across Mackie’s face in a shower of glass and amber liquid.

  His body still crashed headlong into me taking us both to the floor. My torso protested in agony again as we hit the floor in a tangled mess. I shoved him off of me as quickly as I could, trying to keep the whisky from soaking me as much as possible. Fulfilling the role of Human Torch after everything else was of no interest to me.

  Mackie’s face was a disaster. The glass had ripped his cheek and forehead wide open, blood pooled beneath his head and his eyes stared aimlessly towards the ceiling.

  His lips still moved though. Whispering.

  “… sorry … so sorry …. Didn’t mean to hurt her, Chris …. So sorry … it’s them bitches …. Always making me hurt them ….”

  He stopped talking.

  Mackie.

  Mackie was the client who killed Candace Cleghorn.

  That’s why they’d covered it up. To protect one of their own. And to deflect attention away from the club when they were meeting with the Koreans.

  Shit.

  I heaved myself back up to my feet. The smoke was thicker than hell at this point, the only things I could see for sure were the walls of fire where the stage and the VIP section used to be. The main bar was going to go up any second as flames licked at the casings and shelving units where the liquor rested.

  There. In front of the main bar. A thick and stumbling form.

  Miller.

  I lurched forward through the smoke and gathered what was left of my strength. My belly was past growling and full on cramping with emptiness. My head began to throb in time with the agony that pulsed in my ribcage with every beat of my heart. My lungs burned from the lack of oxygen and my eyes were as dry as the air.

  But Miller was not getting a chance to slink away from this mess.

  Stumbling after the man who seemed as wide as I was tall I built up what speed I could and crashed into him, driving his body into the edge of the bar in a classic two minute minor for boarding.

  Miller grunted in pain as we collided, flailing at my chest and pushing me back. I stumbled a few feet until I regained my footing and drove my left fist heavily into Miller’s face when he stepped forward. His head rocked under the impact but didn’t go down. He took a return swipe at me that I barely managed to duck, giving me the window to hammer him with another shot right in the nose.

  We continued like that for a few frantic moments. It was a sign of my fatigue that despite having a few clean shots at Miller’s head that I was unable to put him down. A straight shot from me on a good day – even before the crazy tingling stuff – would drop just about anyone. It had been years since I’d needed to land more than three punches on anyone in a fight.

  I was just so damned beat.

  After the fourth or fifth punch I managed to land my feet slipped on the slick, glass strewn floor and I stumbled forward. My shoulder coming into contact with Miller’s thick chest.

  Like an anaconda he vised his arms about my head and chest and began to squeeze for all he was worth.

  This was not good. My ribs screamed at me. My voice would’ve joined in had there been any air left in my lungs. Lights began to form in front of my eyes again. Miller’s harsh, animalistic breathing panted in my ears; dominating all the other sounds around us. He smelled of whisky and burned flesh.