The Alex Troutt Thrillers: Books 4-6 (Redemption Thriller Series Box Set Book 2)

by John W. Mefford

  A man opened the car door for her, dipping his head as if he was afraid to look her in the face. Kyle was dumped into the trunk, and the lid shut before he could say a word. They made three stops that first night. On the last one, the trunk popped open. He was quickly tasered and tossed onto a discolored concrete floor. He was in what looked like a three-car garage. It was empty, except for some type of crate set off to the side, a sink, two chains affixed to the ceiling, and a metal storage cabinet. Five men and the same hot chick from the party house stood around him.

  “You will tell us everything about your operation.” The woman crouched lower and enunciated each word with precision and a healthy Spanish accent.

  Wobbling while trying to move to an elbow, Kyle lifted his sights. She was stunningly beautiful, with almond-shaped eyes and lashes that jutted out like a bunch of tiny, black arrows. At any other time in his life, he would have put his patented moves on her. But this wasn’t like any other time in his life, or even in his worst nightmare.

  He let her words replay in his head. “What operation?” He rubbed his eyes, unable to connect the dots of her threat.

  “More defiance. That is not good, Mr. Spencer.” She nodded once, her full lips drawing together to form a sea of red. “The chains!” she barked, flipping her hand toward the wall.

  Kyle tried to fend off the men, but it was pointless. He had the strength of a second-grader, and within seconds, his wrists were clasped inside metal, his toes just able to touch the floor. He could hear metal doors slamming open, and he turned to see a man in a wifebeater rummaging through the storage cabinet. He took hold of something and walked over to Kyle. Before the college kid could grasp what he was looking at, he was doused with a bucket of water. It was frigid, but after the initial shock, he lapped up the water. It tasted out of this world.

  But then he turned his head and saw the man plugging in a generator. Attached to it were electrical cables. The man held the pair of claws in his hands as his face widened into a gnarly smile, his eyes nothing more than narrow slits. He reached above Kyle and clasped the end of the cable to the metal chain, then moved over to the generator and put a hand on the knob.

  A soft pat on the side of his cheek, and he turned to see the woman looking into his eyes, a heavenly perfume lingering in the air. “I have no inner desire to hurt you, but I will tell you this: once I give these men the signal, they will break you, Mr. Spencer. You will crumble into a million pieces before they are done with you. What can I do?”

  She sauntered a few steps off to the side. A man that outweighed Kyle by at least fifty pounds approached him and put all of his weight into a right cross. A tooth went flying out of his mouth, which wasn’t surprising, given how he’d just been slugged with the equivalent of a lead mallet. As blood trickled across his puffy lip, he was hit with another blow, this one straight to his gut, instantly sucking all of the wind out of him.

  The plus-size man with fists the size of mailboxes reached behind his head and pulled a rubber band from his ponytail. He scratched his head feverishly, and in a couple of seconds, his wild hair looked like unraveled twine. Then, he gritted his teeth and yelled at the top of his lungs. “You are fucking dead!”

  “You have no idea how much we enjoy these little assignments,” said the man at the generator.

  Kyle struggled to form a coherent protest, but finally pulled some words together. “But you have it all wrong. Back at the party house, I just started talking shit. I was so high on coke, I had no idea what I was saying. I’m not even sure exactly what came out of my mouth.”

  From the other side of the garage, the woman took four pronounced steps. “You cannot hide your true self. We will pull it from you, one way or the other. These men are trained to extract information. They have never failed.”

  He jerked his sights to each person in the garage, hoping to find a sympathetic set of eyes or even a nod, an acknowledgement of his situation. But they all wore scowls.

  “I…I can’t give you what I don’t know. I swear to you, I don’t have a drug operation or anything like that. I’m just a college kid with a big fucking mouth. I’m a nobody.”

  He tried to contain his emotions, but small whimpers escaped through his lips. He looked at the woman, who refused to look back. She nodded her head once, and then the man in the wifebeater turned the knob.

  Kyle’s entire body felt like it had caught on fire. He screamed out loud as the smell of his burning skin loomed in the air. The jolt felt like it went on for thirty minutes, but it probably lasted for no more than twenty seconds. The longest twenty seconds of his life.

  “That was just a warm-up,” the large man in front of him said. He then pounded Kyle with a dozen body blows.

  “Burn him again,” the woman said.

  The pitch of his shrill could have broken glass. When it finally ended, he begged for mercy, begged for forgiveness. He begged for it to stop.

  They chuckled and continued the torture for the next hour.

  And then they threw him in the crate—essentially a human-size, homemade casket. He heard hammering as the lid was sealed shut, and then a drill poked a hole by his feet. They wanted him alive. Did they still think he had information that was valuable?

  ***

  He jostled inside the casket as they threw it into the back of some type of van or covered truck. They traveled for hours and then stopped again. This is where the man in the wifebeater had even more fun. They pulled open the casket, and Kyle watched with horror as the man dropped in about ten tarantulas. He was told that if he moved, he was as sure as dead. So he didn’t budge. For hours.

  The torture of various types continued day and night. Somehow he stayed alive on nothing more than luck and a leftover candy bar.

  And now, here he was. Physically, he was barely able to function. He could hardly open his swollen eyes; his throat had closed up—a likely response to the spider venom; and he had bruises and burn marks all over his body. But that didn’t compare to the mental and emotional anguish he had suffered. He was a basket case.

  Voices. Some sounded familiar, but at least one was different. They were speaking a combination of Spanish and English, but it was garbled. He fought the urge to cry out, knowing that if any of them were the same guys on the torture trail, they would find another reason to put him through hell.

  A booming thud pounded next to his ear. It was a hammer. They had done this before, to pull out the nails and open the lid to the coffin. His last resting place. He focused his thoughts on something happy—a round of golf with his dad, playing hoops with his buddies. Anything to take his mind off the pending torture.

  The pulled nails screeched, and the top board wedged open. He looked up and spotted five sets of eyes looking down on him.

  “He’s still alive. Can you fucking believe it?” The man in the wifebeater showed his gnarly teeth again.

  Chuckles all around.

  “Okay, okay, you guys have had your fun. Now we just need the final word on what to do with this gringo.” A man pushed through the crowd of derelicts. He was older, his skin like an old, wrinkled sack. He had on a white shirt with green palm trees on it.

  “Just ask Hombre de Polvo. He’s not afraid to make the call,” said the man with the wild hair.

  “Not his call. Not on this one.”

  “What gives?” Wild Hair asked.

  “We’ve learned that this one is special. Make that extra special.”

  Wild Hair pulled his hair into a ponytail and stretched a rubber band around it. “He’s special all right. All he had to do was share the information about his drug operation.”

  Another voice. “We still would have tortured him. And then we could have killed him. So, what’s the difference to you?”

  “Nothing,” said Wild Hair. “I’d rather just kill him now and move on. He’s boring me. He’s got no fight left in him.”

  The older man held up two hands. “No killing. Not yet anyway. Apparently, Kyle Spencer is the son o
f some very wealthy parents. ‘Heir’ is probably a better term. And people are asking questions. We’ve got to put some thought into this one here, especially when there is money involved. I’ll wait until we get the decision. If we decide to kill him, we can do it cleanly right here.”

  There was a sliver of hope, but Kyle remained expressionless. The group broke apart and left the top of the casket off. He could hardly move, but his eyes found a sign on the near wall.

  Gomez Funeral Home and Crematorium

  Unless someone found him or maybe bartered some type of ransom exchange, he would be burned alive. A fitting end to a worthless life. He closed his eyes and tried to summon energy to use at a later time.

  8

  Archie lifted the frame off the built-in bookshelf and clipped a crystal vase. It teetered for a couple of seconds.

  I yelled and jabbed my finger from the kitchen, “Archie!”

  He slowly took his eyes off the framed picture, then as he noticed the vase dropping to the travertine-tile floor, he quickly extended his arm and caught the expensive piece just in time to prevent it from exploding into a million pieces.

  I exhaled. “Damn, that was close.”

  “Eh. I had it the whole time. You know I was an all-district wide receiver in high school,” he said, replacing the vase on the shelf in Teresa’s well-appointed living room.

  “I figured you were the water boy.”

  His brow furrowed, but he refrained from further comment, probably because he was distracted by the picture.

  “So this hottie is your friend?” He held up the frame.

  “Her name is Teresa. We’re in her house, estupido. And why are you surprised that I have an attractive female friend?”

  He chuckled just once, then bit into his knuckle. “Attractive isn’t a word that comes to mind. More like the hottest piece of—”

  “Hey, Mom…” Luke walked out from the hallway, ignoring Archie, thankfully.

  I glared at Archie, then addressed my son. “Yes, sweetie, what’s up?”

  “We’ve been cooped up in this house all day. I’m ready to do something.” He clapped his hands and gave me a devilish grin.

  I turned my head to catch the view from the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over Teresa’s magnificent patio, lush landscaping, and a kid’s second favorite thing in the world: a pool. Unfortunately, raindrops were a part of that view, falling from a dark, gray sky.

  “Sorry, buddy. It’s still raining.”

  “I don’t mind. They say it’s better surfing conditions when you got something to stir up the surf.”

  “You don’t surf.”

  A clap of thunder, followed by a flash in the backyard. All three of us jumped.

  “And that’s why you don’t swim during a storm. Not in the pool and not in the ocean. Sorry.”

  “Damn. Here—”

  “Don’t cuss unless you want your mouth washed out with soap.”

  “But Erin…oh, never mind. Anyway, we’re on vacation, right? We’re supposed to do crazy stuff. Or at least something fun.”

  My phone started to ring. It was the call I’d been waiting on for the last hour. “Luke, I promise we’ll do something fun this afternoon. Just let me take this call. Go read a book or something, okay?”

  “A book?”

  I tapped the phone as Archie jumped in. “I just finished a good one. Ever heard of Fifty Shades of Grey?”

  “Archie!” I said to him even though the line was live. “Luke, you never heard that. Try to find some cool Boston Celtic videos on YouTube, and we’ll go do something fun later.”

  He mumbled something and disappeared down the hall. I answered the call, my phone still tethered to the wall, charging. I put it on speaker.

  “Alex, you there?” It was my partner, Nick, back at the FBI office in Boston.

  “Uh…yeah.” I kept my gaze on the hallway, wishing I could stop the rain, wondering if Luke regretted me focusing on the job again. Although this was different, since it dealt with family. At least that was what I told myself.

  “Alex, can you hear me okay?”

  Archie pointed at the phone as he walked up. “Right here, Nick. We’re both here,” he said into the speaker.

  “Archie?”

  That was Brad.

  “Are you on vacation with Alex and the kids?”

  Archie snickered.

  I jumped in to try to clarify the situation.

  “Believe it or not, we just happened to run into Archie in a restaurant here in Port Isabel.”

  “And it was a damn good thing you did.” Archie seemed to puff out his chest.

  “I’m sure you guys probably heard about the little incident down here a couple of days ago?” I asked my team.

  Archie interjected. “Never have I been so happy to have such an enormous piece on me.”

  Nick snorted out a laugh. “Would you agree, Alex?” He cracked up even more, and I dropped my head into my hand.

  I was usually right in the middle of the locker-room talk, but given how I’d left things with Brad, I didn’t want him thinking I was shacking up with another man, especially such a tool like Archie.

  “Guys, we’re talking about a drive-by shooting here. My dad and his so-called girlfriend Carly were caught in the middle of the crossfire. Fortunately, the kids were at the top of the lighthouse. Archie just happened to be in the right place at the right time. And yes, I give him credit. He didn’t back down. He took out two of the shooters, including one who I thought was about to kill us from point-blank range.”

  A second of silence.

  “Alex, are you and your family okay?” Brad’s voice was laced with concern.

  Hearing his caring tone warmed my heart, and I wished I could open up and share my fears. But no one knew about our enhanced relationship, or at least the possibility of one. Sharing the status of our newfound appreciation for each other was the last thing either one of us wanted at this stage.

  “Dad suffered some minor cuts, but otherwise we’re all good and still in vacation mode. Thanks for asking, Brad.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I felt slightly exposed, wondering if my tone revealed my hidden feelings. Yet, at the same time, part of me didn’t care. I only wanted to feel his arms around me, take in the smell of his aftershave as his face nuzzled against mine.

  Archie snapped his fingers. “Are you in a daze?”

  I held a hand up to his face and spoke into the phone.

  “Guys, I need your help.”

  “I’m here too, Alex.”

  “Oh, Gretchen, didn’t know you were there with the guys.”

  “Actually, I’m working from home today. A little under the weather.”

  Gretchen, one of our best staff operation specialists, had been hot on Brad’s trail for months. But it became all too clear for her that he just didn’t view her in the same manner. For him, she was a colleague and a friend.

  Then again, that was how I would have described Brad prior to our garage kiss. I wondered if Gretchen was still in the doldrums.

  “Well, I appreciate you jumping on, and—”

  “I saw Archie’s interview after the shooting the other night,” Gretchen said in monotone, followed by a sniffle.

  Damn, she sounded like she’d lost her best friend.

  Archie leaned an elbow on the kitchen bar. “How did I come across?”

  “Well, the way the reporter described your actions during the gunfight, it really made you seem like a modern-day hero.”

  Brad and Nick both offered Archie their gratitude for helping to save lives and not backing down.

  “No thank yous are necessary. I would do it again in a heartbeat,” he said as his eyes sparkled.

  A sentimental Archie. Not sure I could get used to that.

  “But what’s up with pitching your new PI website, whiteshaft.com?” Gretchen could barely let the words escape before she broke into laughter.

  For the next five minutes Nick and Brad razzed the form
er CIA agent. At first, Archie cinched up his pants a couple of times and tried to defend himself. But it only dug the hole that much deeper. Finally, he shifted closer to me, put his hand over the phone, and said, “They’re just jealous about all the success I’ve had in the private sector.” Then he quickly nodded his head, as if he expected me to automatically follow him.

  I shrugged my shoulders and tried to move us forward.

  “Speaking of investigative work…” I waited another moment for the noise to die back.

  “I’m not sure people think about investigative work when they see a website called whiteshaft.com,” Gretchen said in a heap of laughter.

  Archie just stood there with his arms crossed, shaking his curly head, which only made me want to laugh that much more. We all had definitely shed a few tears at Archie’s expense.

  “So, Alex, I know you didn’t get us on a call solely to make fun of Archie. What’s up?” Nick asked.

  “Well, I wondered if you could squeeze in a couple of tasks for me, just to give me some peace of mind.”

  “Related to the drive-by?” Nick asked.

  “Somewhat,” I said, for some reason splitting hairs in my own mind.

  “What she’s trying to say is that she doesn’t trust her soon-to-be new stepmom.”

  I shifted my eyes to Archie. “Never said that. I just need more information, that’s all.”

  “Okay, spin it how you like. I just think your team would be more helpful if you were transparent and didn’t play any games.”

  My face went flush, fully prepared to knock Archie off his righteous pedestal. Then I took a breath and realized he was right, at least partially.

  “I didn’t want anyone worrying, but anyway…In the middle of the gunfire, I had just reached Dad and Carly at their SUV. Glass had shattered all over the concrete. Dad was on the ground, tending to some guy who had a bullet in his head. Blood was everywhere.”