The Dead Don't Lie

by Anne Russo

  “Do these have to be so tight?” Adam whined, squirming.

  “Shut up,” his captor growled in response to his antics.

  Adam licked his lips, noting Grady’s henchman did the same in return. Not exactly an ideal scenario, but at least there was something to work with.

  “My arms are going numb. Please, I won’t do anything,” Adam begged. The reward for his pleas was a stinging backhand across the face. For an instant, Adam’s vision disappeared, and his ears rang.

  “I said, shut up!” his tormentor bellowed, spittle flying. He leaned in close as if daring Adam to further argue the point.

  Instead, Adam bowed his head in submission, nodding as he wiggled a hand enough to slip a finger through. Inwardly, heaving a sigh of relief as he continued to pull off his scheme undetected. Adam struggled more, checking the guard for his response to his histrionics. Every move he made was calculated to make him appear as defenseless as possible. It also had the rather unpleasant side effect of turning him on.

  The guard grabbed him by the back of his hair and jerked him backward, keeping him locked in a tight, brutal hold. He was side-tracked by Adam’s lips while he feigned innocence, working an entire hand out of his bindings, and this dumb asshole stayed none the wiser. The lecherous intent on his face gave Adam the creeps. He fought through the overpowering desire to attack and waited. He groaned instead, getting his captor’s attention.

  “Oh, you like this, don’t you, you little bitch?” The guard flung him upright, glaring, red faced, panting and sweating.

  Adam licked the blood from his lips as flirtatious as he could manage. “Please. If you’re—if you’re nice to me, I’ll be nice to you.”

  “Oh, is that so? You want me to play nice? What’s in it for me?”

  “Please, whatever you want, just stop hurting me.”

  The guy gripped him hard by the back of his neck and drew him close.

  Adam seized his opportunity and struck—smashing his forehead into the bridge of his nose, breaking it with a satisfying crunch. Grady’s henchman howled, stumbling backward, hands covering his face as blood gushed.

  Adam jerked free from his binds. Once upright, he stepped backward, gathering his momentum. He slammed his foot into the distracted man’s sternum with enough force to send him crashing into the nearby wall. His assailant hunched over, gasping for air. Adam charged him. In sheer preservation, the guard caught Adam by the arm, throwing him toward the far wall. Adam fell into the chair instead, shattering it into pieces under him. A nasty shard of broken wood tore into his side and took the breath right out of him. Adam pushed the pain aside and tried to get on his feet, his attacker barreling toward him in a blind rage.

  “I’m gonna kill you, you little shit, but first, I’m gonna tear that ass up!” The man planted a savage kick in Adam’s ribcage.

  Adam curled away from the blow, fighting the urge to vomit as waves of red agony washed over him. Frantic eyes searching for a way to defend himself, zeroing in on an insignificant, sliver of shattered wood. He closed his palm over it, fighting to stay upright between blows.

  “Come on,” Adam challenged between gritted, blood-speckled teeth.

  His captor grabbed him, hoisting him to his feet by his collar, close enough for him to see the whites of his eyes. Fighting to stay focused, Adam drove the wood sliver into the man’s side, right between his ribs, diving into the soft tissue. Taking a not so secret delight in the inhuman shriek his attacker let out a dreadful sound, so loud that Adam worried it might alert the others. With sickening horror, Adam grasped that whatever screams heard they assumed were his. The thought brought a renewed burst of fury as his tormentor dropped to his knees. Wide eyed in shock as Adam drove his foot into the protruding shard and shoved him to the ground, the man fell back, coughing and spitting up mouthfuls of blood. Adam pressed on the wound as hard as possible.

  Later, Adam wondered why he’d stood there and waited for the man to die. Or why a twisted part of himself got pleasure in seeing him choke to death. But it marked a turning point. Adam watched him take a last gurgling breath, and the tension in his chest loosened. He bent over the body, ignoring an intense jolt of agony as he searched through the dead man’s pockets for his keys. Adam took them along with a handgun and unlocked his prison cell, determined to escape.

  * * * *

  After the phone call with Katherine, Ian got to work. Time was of the essence, and Ian utilized every ounce of manpower and resources at his disposal. Calling on every favor they had, and following up with a few promised threats, but it worked. Twenty-four later, they’d tracked Grady and his crew to a warehouse by the East River. The building lay surrounded by water on three sides, only the primary entrance to fortify. Ian, several blocks back, staked out the place with a pair of high powered binoculars. Behind the massive gates, a half-dozen men milled around with automatic weapons. Ian lowered the binoculars, a plan forming. He turned to everyone, Mei, Regan, Hector, and Kalifa, the four of them, waiting on the ready.

  “Okay, listen up. Kalifa and Hector, I need you both on the roof of that old fish market, a block back. You’re to wait twenty minutes. At twenty, start taking out as many of the guys by the gates as you can without causing a scene. Mei and Regan, once they’ve finished, you two pick off the stragglers and follow me inside.”

  “Vince?” Ian called into his earpiece.

  “Yes sir,” Vince replied from his spot parked at the harbor’s front gate.

  “Find me a wetsuit and a waterproof bag, enough for a set of clothes and several weapons.”

  “A wetsuit? Fancy a swim now, eh?”

  “Just do it and get your ass back to the harbor straight away. Anyone comes through those gates, handle it. And no one, I mean no one, takes a shot at Grady until I do. Got it?”

  Without a word, Kalifa and Hector headed off to retrieve their weapons, needing no further instruction.

  Ian turned to Regan and Mei beside him. “That leaves me, and I’m going in through the back. If everything goes according to plan, I’ll be inside with no one the wiser by the time you two come in.”

  Mei nodded. Regan echoed the gesture but added, “Be careful, okay?”

  “I will,” he reassured, overcome by a swell of emotion deep in his chest as he surveyed each worried face. Affection? Pride? He shrugged the sentiment aside and went to await Vince’s return. There was not a moment to waste.

  * * * *

  Lungs burning, eyes on fire, Ian pushed himself through the murky water. He struggled to keep going; every passing second brought another fresh surge of panic. He couldn’t see an inch in front of his face, relying on instinct alone. He took the chance and resurfaced, gulping welcomed breaths of the cold night air. The water streamed into his vision, stinging his eyes, leaving him unable to see.

  To his dismay, Ian was close but not close enough. However, he’d positioned himself more or less where he needed to be at the building’s rear. From this vantage point, he spied three well-armed guards strolling the grounds. Ian drew a deep breath and dove back underwater, pushing himself through the last hundred feet.

  He reached the dilapidated dock at the far end of the property and kept himself out of the closest bodyguard’s sight as he paced the perimeter. Ian stayed in the shadows, head above water, waiting, footfalls creeping above.

  Once he’d wandered away, Ian pulled himself onto land, careful to steady his ragged breathing. The guard stood with his back turned, unaware of the threat. Ian crept up behind him as stealthy as possible. The guard, too late, swung toward him, gasping in surprise, but didn’t stand a chance. Ian pressed his forearm tight against his throat while he choked and gasped, unable to call out or get free. Within twenty seconds, he slumped into Ian’s arms, out for the count. Ian lowered him to ground and searched his pockets, lifting his keycard and gun.

  Then he sprinted off to hide, struggling to keep a steady eye on the other two guards as saltwater stung and burned his vision. Blind, he fought to remove th
e wetsuit as swiftly as possible, then zipped open his bag, putting on a set of dry clothes and shoes before pocketing the weapons. Finished, he tucked the bag and wetsuit into a narrow hole in the wall, out of sight. He counted to ten before stepping out in the direct path of the other guards. Neither heard as sound as he came out from the darkened shadows and fired in the space of a breath.

  They dropped where they stood, with one neat shot to the head each. Stepping over them, Ian headed inside the building, massive and daunting up close. The urge to continue at full speed was all consuming. Instead, Ian restrained himself. He could ill afford his temper, getting the better of him.

  The rundown and ramshackle warehouse was too quiet as he jogged up the hallway, weapon out, eyes alert. There were many rooms he had to stop and clear first. Each empty except for various broken furniture, trash, and debris. He searched several corridors, growing frustrated to find the place desolate.

  Ian was clearing another room when a single gunshot exploded from the opposite hall. A surge of panic swept over him so strong his vision warped and went black. A second later, it roared back into hyper focus as his adrenaline kicked in.

  He took off toward the sound, approaching the turn with his weapon on the ready. Ian had only a moment to glimpse the improbable scene before a bullet ricocheted off the wall near his head. He dove for cover as a second shot rang out. A whizzing round taking out a sizable chunk of concrete by his ear, causing his head to ring from the nearness.

  “I won’t miss next time,” the shooter announced.

  At the sound of his voice, Ian exhaled the lungful of air he’d been holding, relief overwhelming. “Adam, it’s me,” Ian called, feigning calm.

  “Ian?” a pain filled voice inquired, and the slight tremor of hope he detected made Ian’s heart clench.

  “Yeah, it’s me. I’m coming out.” He came around from behind the corner with his hands up, weapon raised. “I’m here,” Ian affirmed, making a quick sweep over Adam from head to toe, attempting to assess his injuries.

  Bloody, and beaten, his once radiant face was now a motley collection of red and purple bruises. Unsteady, Adam swayed back and forth, struggling to find his balance. Their gazes met and held, terrified, dark meeting with hesitant green. Adam stepped over the dead body, managing a few steps toward Ian but stopped, legs buckling. He watched Adam slip to his knees, his entire frame sagging forth as if someone had cut the strings.

  The panic in Ian was sharp and desperate as every muscle kicked into overdrive. Ian hurried to catch him, hands pressed tight against his face, a shade too rough in his haste. He tilted Adam’s head, forcing him to meet his eye.

  At the touch, Adam attacked, catching him off guard. Arms swinging, eyes unseeing but full of hostility and fear. The absolute ferocity in Adam shocked Ian. He used only as much force as necessary to hold Adam’s hands to his side, desperate to snap him out of the nightmare. Ian fought through the overwhelming surge of protectiveness that washed over him. The need for revenge, bloodlust surging forth. It took every ounce of restraint to curb back those emotions and lock them under control. First, he needed to assess Adam’s injuries, and he needed him calm enough to allow him.

  “Hey! Stop it!” Ian jerked him forwards, catching his eye. “Adam. It’s me. It’s Ian.”

  Ian nearly sobbed with relief when the light in his eyes returned. Adam blinked, once, twice, until the fog cleared. Ian waited as cobwebs of confusion were swept away into the dark as reality beckoned. Once Adam stopped fighting to twist out of Ian’s hold, he loosened his grip, taking his face between his palms.

  “Can you hear me? You’re safe. You’re safe now.”

  Adam bent his head, choking back a sob, the sound part laughter, part moan. Adam sagged into his arms as Ian hoisted him to his feet. Adam more or less dead weight, but Ian held him tighter, moving them until he had Adam against the nearest wall.

  Ian wiped away the blood and pushed back matted hair from his Adam’s brow. But even that slight touch made him wince in pain. Ian’s careful fingers skimmed over bruises and cuts. Adam leaned into his caress, wrapping one shaking hand around Ian’s neck. They pressed their foreheads together. Ian closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, letting out a loose, shaky breath, afraid to let go of him.

  “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

  Adam chuckled through a mouthful of bloody teeth. His split lip broke into something resembling a smirk. “You should see the other guy.”

  Ian pulled back, loosening his grip. He was all business now as he set Adam against the wall to inspect his injuries. Ian noted evidence of several beatings. The discoloration of his bruises told of at least two separate instances. Ian bristled at the sight, reminding himself the damage looked worse than it was but no doubt leaving a scar or two as a permanent reminder of this brief but terrible foray. Adam had a few bruised ribs, surface wounds. But he’d live, and for Ian, nothing else in the world mattered. Now that he’d found Adam, Ian focused on the next and final stage of his mission—getting his hands on Grady and making him pay for what he’d done.

  “The guy who held you, Grady? Is he here?”

  “I don’t know.” Adam’s grip tightened as if sensing the meaning behind the determined intent in Ian’s eye. “No, Ian, let’s go, please.”

  Before Ian could answer, a noise caught their attention, approaching footsteps. Without a second thought, Ian drew Adam behind him and had his gun raised, ready to open fire.

  Mei came bolting up the hall, brought to a stop when they fell into view. Ian gave Adam one last longing glance before he rounded to Mei.

  “Get him out of here.”

  Mei protested, stopping when she caught sight of Adam’s condition. Mei took Adam from Ian, draping his arm over her shoulder, and steadied them both, but Adam refused to leave him.

  “No,” Adam stressed. “I’m coming with you.”

  “I’m not arguing this with either of you. That’s an order. Go.”

  Adam pushed his way out of Mei’s arms and, though limping, stomped over to where Ian stood, getting in his face. “Look what this fucker did to me,” he hissed. “You don’t get to kill him alone, not after this—”

  Ian reached for him, running his fingers across his battered face, his expression softening as his touch trailed away. He glanced up, catching Mei’s eye before skipping away from her gaze, guilty.

  He turned to Adam. “I know. I’ll let you have the next one. Promise.”

  Adam opened his mouth to protest, but Mei’s tight hold on his arm stopped him.

  Ian nodded. “Go. I’ll be right behind you.”

  “You heard him,” Mei offered from his side.

  Adam sighed. “Be careful.”

  “You got it. Now go.”

  Ian watched as Mei led Adam away, sure and steady hold on his waist. He waited until they’d rounded the corner, breathing a sigh of relief once they disappeared from view. Once gone, Ian raced off toward Grady and his remaining crew, his desire for revenge renewed, the image of Adam’s injured face following him into battle.

  Panic built as Ian found little in the long corridors besides more empty rooms. He jogged along the long halls of the abandoned warehouse, frustration mounting. Ian would’ve preferred a firefight than this unsettling stillness. Grady had to be here, somewhere, and he’d find him even if it meant tearing this place apart brick by brick. Ian reared to a stop in front of an enormous metal door with a red neon exit sign above it. Sure he hadn’t seen it yet, heading toward it, flooded with relief, hoping it led to the other floors.

  Ian pushed open the door, stepped inside, taken off guard when a giant of a man barreled into him. He knocked Ian’s weapon out of hand, slamming him onto the concrete floor hard enough to daze.

  The guy had at least five inches and sixty pounds on him. Getting hit was like he’d had life knocked right out of his body. The impact shook Ian’s bones and made his teeth rattle as he rushed to his feet. He shook his head, clearing the ringing in his ears, trying t
o get his vision to focus so he could see one and not two attackers. He had only a second to move back as another ham-sized fist came flying. Ian’s vision cleared, and his adrenaline spiked as blood rushed back to his head.

  Game on.

  Ian ducked and said fist smashed into the wall behind him. Ian stepped out of the way, giving himself time to get his hands up. A flurry of blows rained down on him, each one hard enough to make his head spin. Ian pivoted and got his hands in place, able to block most of those savage blows. Ian managed a few of his own, landing far more than he took. Too bad, he had to knock down a tank and not a man. This bastard appeared unstoppable as he took everything Ian threw at him and came back at him.

  Ian spun away from him. His attacker chased him. He was in a rage now, and drained, he bellowed and grunted as sweat poured down his strained, red face. Ian had him right where he wanted him. All Ian had to do was tire him out before sustaining any further injury. Ian went at him harder, hurling punch after punch, beating him back as he came at him renewed, desperate. Then his attacker dropped his hands, and it was all over.

  Ian hooked him with a flawless right to the jaw. Pain exploded as if he had shattered every bone in his hand. Pain or no pain, it gave him the edge, dazing his pursuer. Ian wasted no time reaching for his spare weapon.

  The first bullet hit his assailant square in the chest, sending him reeling back. He glanced down, eyes fixed wide at the sight of his shirt blossoming red. Ian aimed again, this time going for the kill shot and nailing him right between the eyes. Dead, he slid down the wall, blood and brain matter smearing a grisly picture in his wake. Ian struggled to stand, breath heaving, injured, but he couldn’t tell how dire yet. Not with the amount of adrenaline coursing through his veins.