Jewell (The Kings of Guardian Book 8)

by Kris Michaels

  Jacob blinked at her tirade. "Contrary to popular belief, I am not afraid of Jade." He closed the distance between them and put his hand under Jewell's chin. "You really do care for this guy don't you?"

  Jewell twisted away from her brother and faced the Dark Net computer. "I don't care for him." She turned and faced her family. "I love him."

  Jared stuck his hand out toward Jacob. "Pay up, asshole."

  Jacob hit Jared's hand. "I'd rather owe you the money than cheat you out of it. Now, how about we get our response teams together and find this motherfucking thorn in our side?"

  "I want the same teams and investigators you used when we took down the Bravata if they are in town. I want the evidence, and I want the man. Alive if possible." Jason threw out the orders to his brothers.

  Jacob glanced at Jewell before he spoke. "If Zane is involved, alive might not be an option."

  "He won't kill him unless someone else is in danger." Jewell automatically responded.

  "You don't know that. His training would indicate otherwise." Jacob's voice sounded guarded.

  "His training isn't who he is." She was sure of that fact. Zane was a decent human being, and her lover. She wouldn't believe otherwise.

  "Get those teams alerted." Jason nodded toward the door.

  Jewell watched them walk out. Jason's hand landed on her shoulder startling her. "I chose Zane for this assignment because I believed he would die before he let anyone hurt you. I'm praying that doesn't happen."

  "Me too."

  "He will be a hard man to love." Jason tugged her in for a hug.

  "No. He's easy to love, Jace." She leaned into him and let his warmth wrap around her.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Unfortunately, the pain that threatened to split his skull in half wasn't unfamiliar. He'd been knocked unconscious before. What sucked was this time he allowed the buffoon to do it. Hell, he'd encouraged it. The man that followed him from his building to his car wasn't a professional. Zane had spotted him the instant he cleared the building's foyer. He played dumb and even dropped his keys by his car so the bastard could club him over the head.

  He took stock of his injuries without moving. He knew better than to alert his captors that he was awake. He remained slumped forward allowing his body weight to pull against the rope that bound him to what felt like a wooden chair. Jesus, these guys were rank amateurs. One good slam against the wall and the flimsy chair he was tied to was kindling wood.

  He could hear some mouth-breather over in the corner. It was probably the goon that had been hired to bring him here. The room couldn't be that large. The first smart thing the bastard had done right and Zane would lay odds the dumb-shit didn't know keeping him in a confined space would limit Zane's options. Not that it would matter. He could still kill the man in ten different ways, luckily he only needed one.

  Still, his head hurt like a motherfucker. Hopefully, the thug hadn't cracked his skull. Zane regulated his breathing and listened. There was a television playing in the corner of the room. It was almost muted. He couldn't understand the words, but the canned laugh track that punctuated the droning voices told him whoever was in the corner had shitty taste in programming.

  Zane listened as a page crinkled when his guard turned a page of the newspaper he was reading. If Mr. Muscles was reading and distracted by the television, he wasn't watching his victim with any regularity. With that thought in mind, Zane opened his eyes slightly. The concrete floor under his chair had dark splatter stains on the portion he could see without moving. A dank smell permeated his senses. He was in a basement. The television was behind him and to his left. He glanced that way.Well fuck, that wasn't good. In the corner, he could see the base of a large metal drum. There were twenty-pound bags of lye stacked next to it. Two that he could see. Somebody had a basic idea how to dispose of a body, and that meant someone other than the knuckle-dragging douchebag in the corner was involved.

  He heard a door slam and then the echo of footsteps, but they moved away from the room he was being held. Mr. Muscles tensed when the door slammed. As the sound of the steps diminished, he sighed loudly and moved in his seat. He'd take the bored motherfucker out of his own misery in an instant if he could confirm Vista's identity and location.

  Zane slowly pushed his weight forward and the ropes that bound him moved with him, loosening under the strain. He could probably work his way out of the binds without breaking the chair if his hands weren't zip tied. He'd have to get his hands in front of him and stand to break the bindings. Using the plastic restraints on anyone with even rudimentary training was a mistake.

  The minutes ticked by. While he waited, Zane ran through the steps he'd take to kill the fucker reading the paper. One: Stand. Two: Swing the chair into the concrete block wall. Three: Lunge into Mr. Muscles and incapacitate him. Four: Slip his arms around his legs and stand. Five: Snap the zip ties and Six: Break Mr. Muscles' neck. Step six was thrown in just for the hell of it. The reality of his past meant that he would probably never run a tactical scenario where the final result wasn't death. Not acting on that last step was the key to staying on this side of the black door. For Jewell, he'd let the man live. At least the mental exercise cleared away the lingering fog of unconsciousness, but it did little to alleviate the pain radiating through his head.

  Even with a plan to escape in place, Zane sat still and waited. There was little he could do without knowing Vista's location. That fucker was his only concern, everything else was collateral noise. If he had to remain in this position all night, he would. The goon in the corner shifted, and the volume of the television rose to the point that he could hear the sitcom. The noise almost obliterated the sound of a door opening and someone coming down the hall. No, there were two people. One heavy on his feet, the other… With Zane being bound, even as poorly as he was, two could mean trouble. The steps stopped outside the door. He heard the sound of a key engage and then turn in a lock. Mr. Muscles stood and shuffled over to the door.

  "Good, I got to fucking piss, and I'm…" The buffoon didn't have a chance to finish the statement. Zane heard the sound of a suppressed bullet hit flesh and then bodily fluid and brain matter splatter on the concrete wall behind him. A professional. Now shit was getting interesting.

  "Why did you kill him?" Zane recognized a northeastern accent and a younger voice, not baritone, more tenor and it was shaking with emotion.

  "He was dead the moment he agreed to be involved in this piss-poor plan. You hired me for a reason. I don't use rented meat to do my dirty work. What the fuck were you doing kidnapping this guy? You want him dead, I'll kill him. I won't let a brainless goon bring the cops to my door. You brought him to my safe house. I should fucking kill you, too." Zane noted the characteristics of the man talking.No accent. Clear and brisk voice. He heard the soft pad of footsteps and saw the black leather of expensive Italian shoes enter his vision field. Right, an assassin with dress sense. Just his fucking luck.

  "He isn't awake yet. Do you think he is in a coma?"

  "Shut up." The man's shoes were now next to the leg of Zane's chair.

  "I know you're awake." The man planted the muzzle of his suppresser under Zane's chin and lifted his head. Zane blinked acting dazed. He crossed his eyes and blinked again before he rolled his eyes back into his head and let it fall off the barrel of the suppressor. He didn't look directly at either of the men not wanting to let them know he was cognizant.

  "Shit, his fucking brain is scrambled." Northeast US said again.

  "What information does he have that you needed him alive?" No accent asked.

  "I don't want any questions answered. I want him awake so I can tell him how badly I'm going to fuck up his organization now that he isn't there to stop me."

  "You have got to be fucking kidding me." No accent turned toward Northeast US. Zane could see his shoes move from between his eyelas
hes.

  "What?"

  "Do you think this is some sort of made for television event? You're paying me five million dollars to kill five men starting with this one, and you have nearly fucked everything up so you can get off by jacking your shit all over him? What the fuck kindergarten bullshit have I gotten myself into?"

  "He is the one who is in charge of the intelligence gathering and computer security section. He is the reason I had to blow upmy fucking safe house and the reason my brother had to die. I had to throw him off my tracks. I want him to know I have plans for his damn organization and those fucking bastards that run it. I want them to hurt just as bad as I am hurting. They don't get to sit out there under his protective umbrella any longer. They are going to lose one of their own. They have no idea that I've already set the plan into motion. She'll be dead or wish she was by this time tomorrow."

  Zane lifted his head drawing both of their attention. There was no way the motherfucker was taking Jewell out. He'd kill the son of a bitch with his bare hands before that would happen. His eyes raked over the assassin that stood before him. "You're right. You don't know what you've gotten yourself into."

  Northeast US snarled and lunged at him. No Accent caught him by the back of his hoodie and shoved him away. Northeast US was definitely Carter Lufkey. Older, pudgier, and greasier than his DMV picture, but him nonetheless. "Shut up! I won! I will destroy you, and there is nothing you can do about it." Lufkey spit at Zane leaving a trail of saliva running down the side of his face.

  Zane kept his eyes on the assassin and spoke clearly. "Fury, Anubis, Thanatos, Demos, Moria, Lycos, Asp."

  "What the fuck is he saying?" Carter screamed at No Accent.

  "Shut up!" The hitman crossed over in front of Zane. Zane tracked him while keeping Lufkey in his peripheral vision. The hitman kept his weapon trained on Zane. The gun did not waiver. No Accent used his free hand to rub the back of his neck. They exchanged stares. Zane knew what his words were doing to the man in front of him.

  No Accent suddenly moved and crossed the room to push Carter against the wall. "Why the fuck didn't you tell me?"

  "Tell you what? I gave you the details. Five men, one at a time. I'll give you the other four's location, and you take them out. You've never had a problem with the arrangement before."

  "You are a complete idiot. If I didn't need this fucking money, I'd be out of here. That guy," He pointed toward Zane with his suppressed automatic, "Is spouting off names of assassins. Not hitmen like me, but the big boy assassins. You can't work in this business and not hear of them. If he knows about them, he's dangerous, so you need to get the fuck out of here. I'll dispose of this guy and meet you at your place in Massachusetts. Wait for me there. If I have to hunt you down, I'm going to kill you just for the fun of it."

  Carter Lufkey blanched, his pale face contorted with a mix of rage and crazy that left little doubt he'd carry through with his threat against Jewell. The bastard bolted out of the room like the hounds of hell were snapping at his balls.

  Zane bunched his muscles to move, but the hitman leveled his gun at Zane's temple. "Who are you? You aren't some computer geek are you?"

  Zane drew a breath and let it out slowly before he answered. "I have many names." He allowed the darkness he'd pushed down for the last two years to come out to play. He rolled his eyes toward the hitman and presented him an evil grin. "I'm going to kill you."

  "You are bound to a chair with a suppressed 45 at your temple, excuse me if I'm not afraid. What. Is. Your. Name?" The killer shoved the suppressor into Zane's skull tearing the skin. Zane smiled and pushed his head into the weapon. His act shocked the fucker, and that told Zane the hired killer was weak. Coating his voice in icy hate, Zane asked, "What makes you think you can kill me?"

  "I know I can. You're going to die, like all the other men I've killed. One bullet through the brain. No one survives. Tell me your name."

  Zane whispered his code name. The fucking idiot leaned in to hear it. It wasn't his first mistake, but it was his last. Zane launched backward and then reversed, head butting the fucker. His world spun from the pain, but he sprung to his feet hitting the man's shoulder with his. Zane twisted violently swinging the chair tied to his back into the hitman. The hitman slammed into the wall and grunted. Zane kept his momentum going forward. He pitched his body and followed the man toward the wall. Before he slammed into the cement, Zane twisted and crashed into the block wall. Sharp cracks of sound from the wooden chair splintering filled the small room. Zane felt the bindings loosen and shrugged violently. The ropes fell around his legs just as the assassin lunged forward in a flying tackle toward Zane's knees. The impact dropped them both. They immediately rolled, each trying to gain the advantage. The hitman scurried to his knees searching for… The matte black of the weapon lay next to the large barrel in the corner. It was to Zane's left. With his hands behind his back and sprawled out on the ground there was no way to snap the zip ties, so he improvised. Zane brought his knee up and struck out as the man leaped toward the weapon. His aim was meant for the man's chest but landed against the man's groin. The fucker collapsed next to him. Zane tucked into a ball, brought his arms around his legs and lurched to his feet. In one practiced motion, he lifted his arms above his head and then brought all his weight and strength down pulling out as he did breaking the plastic at his wrists. He stepped forward. A sharp tug on his shoulder blazed a trail of red hot pain through the haze of his adrenaline-soaked mind. Zane twisted and lunged backward. He felt his cheek explode with a lightning bolt of searing heat. His back hit low the cement block wall. He flipped up, off balance. The assassin rolled on the ground and took aim. Zane kicked the fucker with all his strength hoping to shatter ribs and puncture a lung. He dropped on top of the man and grappled for the gun. Zane's hand found the man's chin, and instinctively he pushed it up at the same time as his forearm deflected the weapon from its point blank aim. Three splats of gunfire chipped the cement block in front of Zane's face. He pushed his knee over the man's hand and weapon. With the weapon neutralized he cranked the bastard's head severing his spinal cord.

  "Freeze! Guardian Security!"

  Zane sat straddling the dead man. He leaned back and lifted his arms. He looked at the shoulder of his left arm. The darkness and quantity of blood soaking his shirt meant the fucker hadn't hit an artery. The Guardian team that entered the room wore helmet cams. From the months that he shadowed Jewell, he knew that she and her brothers were watching.

  "Vista was here. He is Carter Lufkey. He said he had plans in motion to take her out. She stays in that fucking building until we find the bastard."

  Zane grabbed the hitman's weapon and checked the magazine. Three bullets left. He'd have two spares. He looked at the team lead. "Where the fuck are we?"

  "Apartment building in Arlington."

  "Is the perimeter secure?" Zane knew that bastard Vista hadn't gotten far.

  "Yes."

  "Then the motherfucker is still in the building." They moved toward the door. Zane froze as the power died and the fire alarm blared. It was pitch black in the basement. The team lead ripped his night vision goggles off and yelled over the klaxon, "Arch Angel said to give you these."

  Zane put them on and started out of the room again adjusting to the amplified ambient light. "Sir, the power for the entire grid is down. The teams outside are reporting the residents are exiting the building. They no longer have a cordon."

  He grabbed the man's helmet cam and looked into the lens. "The hitman told him to go to his place in Massachusetts. Follow the vehicles from the building on the traffic cams. He's pissed and running, he might not think to deviate. Find that fucker."

  Another team member handed Zane his com unit. He tucked the thing into his ear and dropped the receiver/transmitter into his pocket. "We have fifteen cars that have left the parking lot. Seven are heading north."r />
  Jewell's voice set him in motion. "I need a vehicle." He looked at the team leader.

  "Sir!" A set of keys flew toward him from the other direction. He caught them in midair.

  "Black Humvee outside to your left. Emergency weapons are in the tack box in the back. Keys are on the ring."

  Zane shouted as he bolted out of the room, "Clear this building and make sure that fucker isn't laying low."

  "Yes, sir!" The reply echoed off the walls of the hallway as he pounded down the dark corridor.

  Zane reached the ground level and found the door to head out of the building. He threw the NVGs off as he burst out of the building. "Talk to me!"

  "Head north. Get to the 495. If he is heading north, he'll take 495 to 95." That was Jared's voice.

  "We have the airports and bus stations covered. Still tracking the vehicles. Three are still heading north. A blue Camaro, gray SUV and white sedan." Jared answered his questions before he could ask them.

  Jewell's voice came over the comms. "I have visual confirmation from traffic cams. Lufkey is in the SUV. He just got on the 495. Alerting local law enforcement."

  "I'm three minutes behind him." Zane floored the tactical vehicle and ran a red light. He rammed the bumper of a small green car sending the vehicle careening toward the side of the road and into a parked car.

  "They'll need an ambulance." Jared's voice floated past him. The accident was unfortunate, but Zane couldn't let Lufkey get away. He raced past the vehicles in line to access the on-ramp and plowed his way between the on-ramp's cement embankment and the cars heading onto the interstate. He saw blue strobing lights behind him. "Tell them I'm not stopping."

  "Local Law Enforcement has been apprised." Jared's calm voice came across again. Zane floored the vehicle and veered in and out of traffic. "I'm on the 495. Where the fuck is he?"

  "Five miles ahead of you in the passing lane. LEOs are blocking his upcoming exits. That will clog the interstate and his escape route."