Lillian!
His eyes flew open. The seat beside him was empty. God, no. Where did she go?
Brandon shook off the fog of confusion, trying to focus his mind. The pain was forgotten. He unholstered his Glock and cocked it ready. Men coming. Two of them. Their voices carried to where he was.
“Did you finish him?”
“Three in the chest. That should finish him.”
“Chest? What are you…an idiot? Head, man, head. We ought to be sure.”
Fuck. Brandon kicked the car door open and fired two shots to the source of the voices. One missed. Brandon fired another and made the man’s head explode before he could fire a retaliation shot. Men yelled. Bullets rained in his direction.
Brandon flattened his body on the ground, taking cover. He scanned his surroundings, analysing the situation. He saw two high mobility vehicles parked to block the road about a hundred yards from the car wreck, and about a half dozen suits, fully armed. Most of them were Japanese and a couple were his fellow bodyguards for Blackwell. Shit. Brandon bet they’d be really pissed that he’d snatched Lillian right in front of their noses. Talk about treachery.
Three heartbeats passed. Brandon snatched a Berretta from his ankle strap and jumped forward, propelling himself while opening fire. His Glock and Beretta vomited their rounds. Thin, whinnying sounds slashed the muggy air and human flesh. Men screamed. Wails split the air. Some of them returned fire. Brandon whirled and took cover behind the wreckage. A rattle of bullets chorused.
Brandon unclipped his Glock and loaded a fresh mag. He blindly blasted a few rounds above his head. More screams. Bullets thundered around him. He took a deep breath, gambler’s impulse, and slammed himself down onto the warm asphalt, firing the Glock and the Berretta at the remaining men with crystal clarity.
His bullets gutted them. One hit straight in the eye. The back of the man’s head sprayed like a garden hose. Brandon hit the other shooter by his neck, ripping his shoulder. The Yak flailed backward. Brandon vaulted up in a split-second, firing the third shooter before he’d the chance to pull his trigger. Half of his face ripped open, his hand jerked. The semi-automatic in his fingers dropped. The man’s body lolled on the ground.
Brandon loaded a fresh mag into his Glock and charged the hi-mob car. He jumped on the roof of the vehicle and searched for the last fucker. Or two. He saw one curled by the tire with blood covering his face, trying to load a fresh clip into his gun. He knew that man. John Ishac. A former marine also employed by Blackwell from when Lillian was still in diapers.
“Wait… “ John halted him as he was about pull the trigger. “You don’t want to do this, Shea.”
Brandon paused. “Oh? Why not?”
“We can talk. I’m just doing my job. You know that, Shea.”
Doing his job. Following orders. Brandon understood that very well. But one thing he didn’t understand was how Ishac could sit still watching the girl he was supposed to protect being abused by her father’s crony and doing nothing about it. Brandon had become disdained with his fellow bodyguards after he’d found out what was truly happening to Lillian, and how they had turned a blind eye watching the injustice happen right in front of them. The way money had bought their loyalties disgusted him.
“Drop your gun and put your hands behind your head.”
“Okay, okay…” John did as he was ordered.
Just as Brandon was about to jump from the roof, he saw John, quick as the wind, snatch his gun back to shoot him. Brandon’s finger pulled the trigger before John could. John’s head whipped backward. The asphalt behind him sprayed red.
Brandon went looking for the last man and he found him cowering in a passenger seat in one of the cars. “You call yourself a Yakuza?”
The man stammered and begged for mercy in Japanese. Brandon decided to clog his head and dumped his unconscious ass next to John Ishac’s body. Brandon slipped behind the wheel and turned the engine on.
Lillian. He must get to her before Stanford could lay a hand on her.
The hi-mob vehicle was equipped with a sophisticated GPS and an online motorcade system so the drivers would know where their fellow cars were at all times. On the small screen that streamed the map and location of the others vehicles, he saw a moving dot labelled “Tengu One” heading back to Tokyo. Tengu was Stanford’s codename among the security executives. And Brandon would bet he had Lillian with him.
Brandon slammed on the gas and turned one hundred and eighty degrees to catch up with Tengu One.
Lillian folded her legs up to her chest and laced her fingers around her shins. She sat in the farthest corner of Stanford’s limo, trying her best to avoid any body contact with him. Stanford made her want to vomit. If he tried anything with her, she swore she’d claw his face and gouge out his eyes. Brandon was dying in that mangled car and no one would help him. If anything happened to Brandon, she promised herself Stanford would pay for it dearly. By any means necessary.
Kei Yamazaki, Mr. Gray’s second-in-command, was also sitting next to Stanford with a gun pointing at her. He looked unhappy. Perhaps because Brandon had tasered him in the elevator. His chubby face was beaded with sweat, like always, even in the cold weather.
“Where are you taking me?” Lillian asked.
“Home, my dear. Where else would you be going? You’re my fiancée. Our wedding is in order and long overdue.” Stanford took out a cigarette from a slim, metal case in his pocket. Yamazaki lit a match for him with his free hand.
Her tongue felt glued to the roof of her mouth. “N-no.”
“No?” Stanford puffed a ring of smoke. “You do realise, you don’t have a say in this matter, don’t you?”
“I’ll kill you if you dare to touch me.”
Stanford laughed. “Be a good girl. We have plenty of unfinished business. My dungeon is waiting for you, my dear.”
Lillian fought the gag reflex in her throat. Bile had risen when Stanford mentioned his dungeon. The hot poker bearing his initials vividly flashed before her eyes. The whip with a steel-tipped edge that was guaranteed to shred her skin. The razor-sharp nail called a flechette that he promised to use on her kneecap if she displeased him.
She couldn’t let him touch her. Ever. “N-no. I swear I’ll kill you.”
“How? You don’t have your protector anymore.”
“I’ll tell my father what you’re trying to do to me.”
Her empty threat earned her a big, hearty laugh from Stanford. “Your father?” His fat fingers pounded the luxurious leather seat from the hilarity of her remarks. “My dear. He never told you, did he? Sad, indeed…”
“What are you talking about?”
Stanford tipped the cigarette ash onto the floor and drew a long puff. His beady eyes glinted. “William Blackwell isn’t your real father. Your whore of a mother cheated on him behind his back. When he looked at you for the very first time, he just knew you weren’t his. He consulted me and we agreed to take some action.”
The revelation hit her unexpectedly. Lillian blinked. Her mind went hazy trying to discern what he’d just said. “He’s i-isn’t m-my father?”
“Not by a long shot. Don’t you ever wonder why you’re nothing like him? You didn’t look like your mother either. So whose kid are you?”
“William Blackwell isn’t my father?” she echoed like a loon.
That would explain everything. His coldness. His aversion. His punishments. The way he said ‘I can’t believe you’re as stupid as your mother.’ His hatred for her wasn’t because she reminded him too much of her mother. He hated her because she was a cuckolded daughter from her mother’s illicit affair. “Who’s my real father?”
“Thurman.”
“Keith Thurman?”
“Do you know who he is? I’m sure you’ve heard about the Three Musketeers? William, me and Keith? William had heard rumours that his lovely bride was having an affair with Keith, but he didn’t want to believe it. We’d sworn loyalty to one another, we wouldn’t be
tray each other’s trust.” Stanford paused, grinning. “The day you were born, William’s suspicions were confirmed. When the DNA test revealed you weren’t his, he simply strangled your mother to death. As I recall, with you in her arms.” Stanford gave out a loud chortle.
She flinched. William Blackwell, the man who she thought was her father, had strangled her mother to her death. Cold chill seeped through her bones. How could he do that? Murder her mother?
And the three musketeers. She remembered the story. William Blackwell, Maxwell Stanford and Keith Thurman were best friends. But Keith Thurman died in a boating accident. She never saw his pictures before, just read the stories from the newspaper articles. One of the articles nicknamed Keith the “Viking God” because of his blond hair and his beauty.
Now, everything just clicked.
Her throat felt parched. Her voice was raw. “He killed my mother. Did you two have anything to do with Keith Thurman’s death, too?”
“Clever girl. I’m the one who took him out to go fishing. When Keith got drunk, I simply pushed him off the boat. That bastard couldn’t even swim. He sure couldn’t do anything when the boat’s turbine chopped him into fish food.”
“You killed him? My real father?”
“Death fit for a betrayer. We’d agreed that it was too gruesome an accident to put in the papers. We wanted to preserve our fond memories of him. We, after all, have the money to buy the silence and loyalties we want.”
Money could buy your heart’s desire. She slumped on the carpet. Her mother was murdered. And her real father as well because they’d had an illicit affair. “Why did he keep me if he knew I wasn’t his real daughter?”
“That…” Stanford lit a new cigarette. “Actually, we didn’t know what to do with you. William decided to keep you out of spite. You’d to be punished for the sins of your mother, somehow. William gave you to me as a reward for helping him get rid of the betrayer. That is why, my dear, you’ll never get away from me. You’re mine, Lillian. My pretty little fuck doll.”
The chill seeped to her very soul. Her eyes were hot with tears. She’d promised herself never to show weakness in front of Stanford since a fiend like him thrived on his power and dominance over his victims, but her tears leaked. She cried.
She heard Stanford laughing, savouring his victory. Lillian barely heard what he was saying as everything had became too much to bear. Her brain didn’t register what was happening, until a sudden force threw her off to the side. She became aware of her surroundings. Stanford stormed curses to the high heavens. Yamazaki looked pale, clutching his gun even tighter.
The limo shook. Someone was trying to ram them off the street. Lillian held on to the edge of the seat as the luxury car took another hit. She heard rapid gunshots and tires screeching against the asphalt. They bounced off their seats when the limo unexpectedly stopped. More gun shots. Lillian retreated to her corner seat when the limo glass shattered and Yamazaki’s head exploded before her eyes. She screamed. Stanford quickly snatched Yamazaki’s gun and grabbed her hair, pressing the muzzle to her temple. Lillian thrashed.
“Be still or I’ll blow your head off,” Stanford barked.
The door of the limo was yanked open.
Lillian’s mouth fell open. Brandon! In the flesh. But how could that be? She saw him get shot. “Brandon!”
“Silence!” Stanford jammed the gun to her head. A burst of pain erupted. “Back off or I’ll shoot her.”
Brandon cocked his head, a sinister smile hovering on the corner of his lips. “I just want her, Stanford. I’m not interested in you.”
“Back off!”
Brandon stepped back a few feet. “Okay.”
Stanford forced her to crawl out the limo with the gun still nudged against her head. He climbed out behind her. She couldn’t see him directly, but she just knew that Stanford was shocked realising they had been ambushed single-handedly and all his men had been killed on the spot.
“Look.” Brandon’s voice was calm as ever. “You can take that Humvee but leave Lillian to me. She’s all I want. You’re free to go.”
A bitter laugh escaped from Stanford’s throat. “I think I’ll take her with me until I’m safe. You can have her then.”
Lillian knew Stanford was lying. She would never be free as long as Stanford was alive. He’d told her that. Out of nowhere, she’d had enough of Stanford’s conniving, abusing lies. She wanted to end it all. Lillian grabbed Stanford’s crotch, planted her hand on his genitalia, and squeezed him as hard as she possibly could. Stanford wailed in agony. In that split-second, Brandon fired his gun and shot Stanford’s gun-holding hand. Stanford’s grip loosened. Lillian ducked and lunged to Brandon. He held her and shielded her with his body. Lillian peered at Stanford. He stumbled on the ground with a bloody stump. His eyes were consumed by terror. He inched backward as Brandon marched to him.
“We need to have a talk, pal.” Brandon punched his face.
Lillian looked away and covered her face. She couldn’t bear to see any more violence.
“It’s about your smoking habit,” Brandon added.
Stanford gurgled as the sickening crunch of a fist met his face. There was a pause. Lillian felt compelled to take a peek. She saw Brandon grab the cigarette case from Stanford’s jacket and pluck out one. He lit a cigarette from the lighter, also pilfered from Stanford’s jacket, and drew a long puff.
“Don’t you know smoking is bad for you?”
Stanford shrunk in fear.
Brandon stooped over him and continued in a dangerous, low voice. “Cigarettes could really kill you. Especially when you used Lillian as your personal ashtray. “ Stanford let out an ear-piercing shriek when Brandon jabbed the burning end of the cigarette into Stanford’s face.
Lillian turned away and covered her ears. She didn’t want to see it. It was too much. The screams continued for about fifteen minutes until she heard another thud. Brandon’s fist. Then utter silence. Lillian didn’t dare peek. She didn’t wish to see the gruesome scene anymore.
Brandon swept her into his arms and planted a kiss on top of her head. “Babe, are you okay?” His expression fell when he noticed her face. “Did he beat you?”
“N-no. It was one of his men.”
“Damn. Let’s get going before more of his dogs arrive.”
“O-okay.”
“Babe, will you promise me something?”
“Yes?”
“Never grope my crotch like you did to Stanford. That’s gotta hurt.”
Suddenly, the dam of emotion fell apart. Lillian hit his chest and cried in his arms. “Stupid man. I thought you were dead. I…” Her words drowned in her sobs.
“I’m sorry, babe.” He patted her back. “Yakuza are pussies. They can’t kill me that easy. Come on, let’s hurry.”
Lillian felt as if she was dreaming as Brandon ushered her into the passenger seat of the tank-like car. He buckled her up and told her to sit still. A minute later, they were slicing through the roads until they reached the American naval base. Brandon slowed the car as they approached the heavily guarded gate. Several men in uniform waited for them by the entrance post. One of them looked at Brandon curiously and nodded.
“Are you Major Brandon Shea?” he asked.
“Just Brandon Shea. I’m no longer on active duty.”
“I’m Lieutenant Simpson. General MacCunnen has instructed me to escort you to the Kitty Hawk III.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Is that Miss Lillian Blackwell?”
“You are correct, Lieutenant.”
Lieutenant Simpson craned his neck lower, looking curious. “No offence, but you look like shit, sir.”
“Hey, same to you.”
Lieutenant Simpson took them straight to the sick bay where two corpsmen tended their injuries. Lillian was fine. The petty officer gave her an ice compress to reduce the swelling on her cheek, but Brandon was in pretty rough shape. Lillian winced as the medic guy stitched the gunshot wound on his
shoulder, and also a deep gash on his temple from the car accident. She didn’t know that Brandon had worn a Kevlar vest under his shirt. She’d wondered why he was able to survive after being shot three times in the chest.
After they finished receiving medical treatment, Lieutenant Simpson returned with the captain of Kitty Hawk III who introduced himself as Admiral Walter. The admiral came with a civilian man who looked as if he wanted to cry as soon as he saw her. He was blond and slender, looked neither young nor old, and was wrapped in an expensive black designer suit. Lillian felt as if she was looking in the mirror.
“Lillian, do you know who I am?” the man asked. “My name is Robert Thurman. I’m Keith Thurman’s twin brother. You might not know it, but you’re actually my niece.”
Brandon cut his eyes to her. “Say again?”
Lillian took Brandon’s hand and held him tight. “Maxwell Stanford told me who I really was when we were in the limo.” She then recited the revelation she’d found out from Stanford. About the three musketeers, her mother and her biological father’s murder. And Blackwell’s promise to Stanford to give her to him as his personal plaything.
“Sons of bitches.” Brandon looked taken aback. “Now I know the reason why you were treated like that.” He looked at Robert with suspicion. “How long have you known that Lillian is your niece? And how come you didn’t try to save her?”
“We did, Mr. Shea. We used you.”
Brandon blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Even though my brother and I were identical twins, we weren’t close. I was content running our family business while Keith…well, he seemed obsessed with the get-rich-quick schemes. We never got along. Keith shunned me when he befriended Blackwell and Stanford. One day, he just took off with them to Japan and we lost contact. I heard that my brother had become an overnight billionaire. I followed his news through the media. But nothing more until, out of the blue, my brother called me, saying he’d become a father. He told me there was a slight complication and he was working on it to make it right. He said I should look for my baby niece if something went wrong. That was the last I heard from Keith. Then I read about his death in the newspaper. My family and I were devastated.
Gilded Cage Page 9
