by Gwyn McNamee
Click. Click. Click.
It’s music to my ears. One step closer to having Jade safe and back in my arms. One step closer to killing Tarek and ending this thing.
The second he’s through the door, I strike.
One hand clamps over the mask covering his mouth, and the other arm circles his neck, pulling him back into a choke hold.
I kick the door shut with my foot to ensure anyone upstairs can’t hear what’s going on. Doc clutches at my arms and thrashes to free himself.
My arm tightens on his throat, and I walk him to the table. Dried blood and other things I don’t want to think about cover the surface.
“Good morning, Doc. There’s been a change of plans.”
Once his struggles cease and I know that he’s out, I strap him to my former prison and set to work.
I need any information he has. As little as it may be, it could be essential to finding Jade and my asshole brother.
He stirs, and a sharp slap has his eyes flying open. They blink against the bright light overhead before finally focusing on me.
“What do you want?” His voice wavers so badly, I can barely make out the words.
Leaning over him, I grin. “Information, and for you to suffer as much as I have.”
I have to give the guy credit. He doesn’t even flinch at my words. But that mask has to go; I want to know who I’m really dealing with. I tear it off, and he has the balls to smirk at me.
Shit. I know that smirk.
Something niggles at the back of my mind…a very old memory…
“Recognize me, Konstandin? It’s been a long, long time, miku im.”
Old friend?
No.
It can’t be…
A barrage of bullets twenty years ago made it impossible.
I shake my head and rack my brain for any way to explain it. “No, you’re dead.”
He grins. “No, not dead. Close to it. After you abandoned me, I managed to crawl to a blown-out building and perform basic triage until I was finally found by some locals who took me in and nursed me back to health.”
Jesus.
We all thought he was dead. He didn’t have a pulse, at least not one we could find in the two seconds we had to check. We didn’t even have time to try to collect his body before we had to turn our attention to saving our own lives.
War is brutal. It’s unforgiving and relentless. It makes men do things…things that can never be taken back or forgotten. It taught me how to kill and how to survive. It sent me down the path that’s led to this. To a place where one killer is facing down another. To a place where an old friend has to kill a ghost.
“Why didn’t you contact me? Return to the unit?”
A low chuckle rumbles from his lips. “Because being dead gave me freedom. From debt. From servitude. From the life I had been living. I was born anew.”
“Into a sick, twisted psychopath.”
His eyebrows raise. “Look who is talking, miku im.”
Ouch.
He’s not wrong, but it’s beside the point. Old friend or not, he’s the enemy now, one who has something I desperately need.
“Armend, I need to know where Tarek took Jade. Tell me everything you know.”
The firm set of his jaw assures me this won’t go as easy as I had hoped. Perhaps he’s forgotten what I was capable of, even back then.
“Fine. We’ll do it the hard way.”
I grab a scalpel from the tray next to the table and cut away his clothing, exposing his skin. Scars riddle his torso from the rain of bullets that met him during the firefight so long ago. How could be think we abandoned him? He was my unit medic, and one of the closest friends I had.
Any other time, I may feel guilty about what happened. But not after what he’s done, what he would have continued to do if I hadn’t managed to free myself.
“I am sorry I have to do this, miku im.”
The words are hollow, and he knows it. As the blade pierces his skin, his bellow of pain ricochets around the room and has my heart beating a rapid tattoo. Maybe I’ve missed this more than I thought. It feels like coming home.
“How about we start with the ribs?”
EIGHT
“Ik pirdhu, motherfucker.”
Saying goodbye to Armend isn’t bittersweet. It’s just sweet. He’ll linger here for days, as his body slowly succumbs to infection and blood loss. It’s the only thing that could be done with so little time that would give him the full agonizing experience he deserves.
A quick death would have been too good for him.
I push the door open slowly, exposing a long ascending staircase. My legs shake violently, reminding me of the very real trauma my body has endured. The adrenaline of what just occurred is waning.
Fuck…I hope I can make it up there.
It looks like Mt. Everest from here, when in reality, it’s probably only fifteen steps. The door at the top of the stairs is closed, giving me a brief second to regain my breath and prepare myself.
With every step, searing pain radiates throughout every fiber of my being, but I can't acknowledge it. If I do, I'll stop, and there's no stopping from this point on.
The branding iron and crowbar are my only weapons. Anything else down there was too small and delicate or too heavy for what I have planned.
Knowing my brother, there’s no way there aren't more men here. When I was working, he always ensured I wouldn’t be interrupted by placing a handful of others in the building. I pause at the top of the stairs. Voices trickle through the crack at the bottom of the door.
I count three.
But there could be more.
It doesn’t matter. I’m ready for anything. I just hope they’ve become complacent and aren't expecting me.
Why would they, though?
Doc psychopath down there probably has them as convinced as he had himself that there was no way I could escape. Dumb fuckers.
I can barely make out their words.
Something about chicken?
How sweet, they’re planning lunch. Too bad they’ve already had their last meals.
They have no idea what's about to be unleashed upon them.
A brief pause to catch my breath and try to alleviate the spinning in my head is all I allow myself before I shove the door open. Three confused faces look up at me from where they play cards around a small table in the center of a kitchen.
“What the fu—”
The crowbar connects with the side of his head, and the question dies in his throat. Before the other two can even react, my hand is around the weapon that had been sitting on the table to his right, and I fire off two shots.
But it's not quick enough. Searing pain laces through my side right as my two shots connect, dropping his buddies to the floor…at least momentarily. There’s no time to assess the damage to me or acknowledge the pain.
A large buoy knife sitting on the edge of the table catches my eye. The handle feels at home in my hand, and I step over to one of the wounded men. I press my bare heel against his chest where blood oozes from the entry wound.
His buddy sputters and moans next to him. My bullet hit him in the neck; it's only a matter of seconds before he bleeds out, so he's not a threat. I can focus my attention elsewhere.
Wide, scared eyes meet mine.
“I…I…I didn't…I don't—”
The tip of the blade presses into his jugular, and I smile down at him. “Don't waste your last words on bullshit excuses, my friend. If you just tell me where he took Jade, this will end much quicker for you.”
He struggles underneath me, and I grind my heel into his chest harder. His scream rents the air.
“Fuck…Jesus…fuck…okay. I don't know. I don't know anything.”
I don't believe that for one second. “Do you know who I am?”
The man nods almost imperceptibly.
“Then you know that I'm going to get what I want, one way or the other. Tell me what I need to know, and I can end
this quickly and relatively painlessly.”
I have no intention of letting him get off lightly, but he doesn't need to know that. Most people will latch onto any thread of hope that they might not have to suffer. “Tell me where he took Jade.”
His eyes narrow at me with defiance. Again with the tight lips. When will these assholes learn?
“All right, I guess you want to do this the hard way.”
With a glee that should probably concern me, I press the knife into the base of his throat. Slowly. It doesn't take much for most people to crack, and the pressure of a blade against the skin usually does the trick.
He flails, scratching at my arms and my naked body, trying to free himself from underneath me. I don’t relent, just press more firmly until it pierces the skin.
“No! Stop! Fucking stop!”
I pause but don’t remove the blade.
“All I know is he left with her on his jet. That's all I know, though. I wasn’t even there. I was here, and he told me to wait until you were brought here and the doc arrived.”
“And where exactly is here?”
He sucks in a deep breath and coughs up blood. “Montana.”
Christ, leave it to my brother to drop me in the middle of fucking nowhere. I don't think this guy knows anything about Jade. But his time on this planet is through.
I pull the knife from his throat, and he breathes a sigh of relief and then coughs again. Blood spews from his mouth. The bullet in his chest likely hit an organ. He’s a dead man soon, but after what he's been part of, the least I can do is make it more painful, physically and mentally.
Before he can say anything else or react, I stab the knife into the middle of his gut and jerk it upward. The slice tears his shirt and flays him wide open.
Screams echo in the barren room, mingling with the gurgling sounds from his soon to be deceased friend.
I reach in and grab the first thing my hand finds. A quick jerk rips his intestines from his body, and I drop them onto his chest.
His eyes widen briefly, and he chokes on his own blood. Then the life slips from his body far too quickly for my liking.
Fucker got off easy. And without giving me anything to go on. I need more information.
My crowbar victim is my next task. I wander over to where he lies next to the table where he fell when I struck him.
Shit…he's dead too.
My only solace is that he likely didn't have any more information than the other motherfucker did. These guys are just thugs. Mindless worker bees doing the dirty work while my brother controls the hive.
I’ll just have to find Jade the old-fashioned way.
But first, I need some clothes.
I eye up the three men and determine Mr. Crowbar is pretty close to my size, and his clothes aren’t bloody, yet. Once I don his T-shirt, jeans, and combat boots, I search their bodies and the house for any additional weapons, information, or useful supplies.
Loaded up with ammo, a few handguns, and the surprising amount of money I found stashed at the house, my confidence level about my chances has certainly increased. But then I open the front door to the vast nothingness outside, and my heart drops into my stomach.
NINE
Empty fields span as far as the eye can see. I don’t even know if there are any neighboring houses. A mountain range looms to the south, and a gravel drive leads into the vast nothingness.
The first order of business when I step outside and survey the house, is locating a vehicle. The house itself is inconspicuous and looks like any other ranch home out here. You would never know the kind of depraved things that happened in that basement.
Which is likely why it was chosen.
No one to hear you scream.
No one to question your coming and going.
No one to watch you dig the fucking graves.
It wouldn’t surprise me if Tarek had this place all set up just for when he found me. Or he may have been using it since I left for all I know.
A large building to the side of the house looks promising, and I make my way across the gravel driveway. The crunch of the stone under my borrowed boots reminds me a little too much of the sound the bolt cutter made going through my finger.
The two black SUVs parked inside the out building have keys in the ignitions.
Thank fuck.
The soft leather hugs my overly sensitive body. Everything fucking hurts. I managed to throw a few stitches into the wound on my right side. It looked like a through and through, but fuck, does it hurt. Coupled with the pinky situation, and all the other things done to me, I’m in rough shape.
When the engine roars to life, a wave of relief washes over me.
One more step closer.
A search of the GPS for my location has me slamming my good hand against the steering wheel.
Jesus fucking Christ…we have to be 100 miles from anything even resembling a town.
The cell phone I took from one of the idiots in there doesn't even get service. Not that I'm sure who I would call at this point. I don't know who ratted us out to Tarek or who is on our side. The best course of action is to head toward the nearest city with an airport and start making my way east…
I eat up the miles racing across Montana toward Billings.
There's only one person I can think to go to for help who hates my brother maybe as much as I do. One person I can maybe, possibly, potentially, somewhat trust.
They always say the enemy of your enemy is your friend.
I hope that's true because, otherwise, I'm walking into a fucking lion’s den while I’m weak and bleeding.
***
The flight to Chicago is excruciating. There weren't any pain meds in the torture chamber, and frankly, I probably wouldn't have taken them anyway. I need to have my wits about me when I talk to Saban.
There's a 50-50 chance his men will kill me as soon as they lay eyes on me. If I make it past his guards, and he actually listens to me, that chance may go from 50-50 to 70-30, but it's still not great odds.
I don't have a choice, though. I don't have any resources, and almost all the money I got off the assholes back at the house was used to pay for this airplane ride. It was pure luck I even found someone with a plane willing to fly me halfway across the country at the drop of a hat. Cash talks though, and I found a lot of it at the house. I probably paid his plane off for him. Plus, I think the pilot must have smelled my desperation and taken pity on me.
Seven hours, including a refueling stop in Minneapolis, later, we finally touch down in Chi-town. The old mechanic at the airport is kind-hearted enough to loan me his vehicle in exchange for the last of my cash. It’s not like I can rent a car with no I.D.
So now, it’s time to beg, something I don’t do.
Information…that’s all I need. It doesn’t seem like a lot to ask, but when we’re talking about Saban Gashi, it might as well be asking for the world.
I just pray the tentative truce Tarek and Saban have had for the last few years was just smoke and mirrors, and Saban still wants to latch on to any opportunity he has to get rid of Tarek. It’s really my only hope at this point.
As soon as I'm in my borrowed car, I hit the streets of Chicago and wind my way to the southwest side where Saban’s headquarters are. It's been a long time since I've been here—at least five years—but it doesn't look like things have changed much.
Armed guards mill about outside Pasha, the restaurant they use as a front. Saban will be holed up in the back in his office, probably with at least two or three additional guards near him. If I can get in there without killing anyone, I'll be happy. I don't want to start a war with him and have to watch my back even after I get rid of my brother. Let's just hope he's receptive to visitors.
The car door slams behind me, and I slowly make my way across the street, my eyes never leaving the guards. When the big guy in front of the restaurant door finally notices me, he immediately goes for his weapon.
I raise my hands as I step
onto the curb and stop a few feet from him.
“Stop right there.” The barrel points directly to my chest. His voice is strong and steady. He’s not afraid to use that gun if he needs to.
“I’m here to see Saban.”
His eyebrow shoots up.
“And who the fuck are you?”
I grin and snort. He must be new.
“Konstandin Morina.” My name draws the full attention of the other two goons out front, and they immediately draw their weapons and point them in my direction. At least they've heard of me. “I'm unarmed.” I raise my shirt and turn, then I lift up my pant legs. “I just need to talk to him.”
The guards are understandably skeptical at my request. They wouldn’t be doing their jobs if they weren't. After a beat, the big guy lowers his weapon.
“I'll be right back, keep your guns on him.” He disappears into the building, and I keep my hands raised. The neighborhood is quiet. No one reacts to the pulled weapons. Not even the patrons inside the restaurant, who can no doubt see what’s happening through the front windows, seem to be paying any attention. My guess is it’s a common enough occurrence around here, people don’t even give it a second thought anymore. Either that or they are too afraid to acknowledge what’s happening around them.
I send the guards a friendly grin. “Guys, this is really unnecessary.”
They both chuckle, and one steps forward. “What kind of idiots do you think we are?”
I grin again. “You probably don't want me to answer that.”
Before either of the geniuses can register my insult, the door opens and the big guy returns. “He says he'll see you.”
Good. I'm able to at least get inside without any bloodshed. Let's just hope it stays that way. The last thing I need is more enemies.
TEN
“I was wondering if you were going to show up.”
Saban leans back in his chair and grins smugly.
He’s a smart man. Only someone with extreme intelligence would be able to establish the empire he has here. The same with my brother. The only difference is, at least from what I’ve seen, Saban seems to have a tiny bit of a conscience. Maybe.
