No Way in Hell: A Steel Corp/Trident Security Crossover Novel (Steel Corps/Trident Security Book 2)

by Samantha A. Cole

  He cocked an eyebrow in a silent question and she nodded, confirming she was ready. Opening the door, he checked the hallway, found it clear, and gestured for Mic to follow him. Out in the compound, the air was cold, their breath evident in puffs of condensed droplets of liquid and ice, swirling around their faces. The moon was hidden behind dark clouds that promised rain or possibly snow within the coming hours. Winter was rapidly approaching the hills and valleys of South Dakota.

  Phillips was right where he was supposed to be, behind the building that housed the gym, waiting for them in matching dress and similar weapons. Without needing to check, Carter knew that Trident, Jackson, the contracted special ops teams, and the feds were gathered outside the compound’s perimeter, waiting for the signal to blow this popsicle stand sky high. They would take as many members of the New Order as possible into custody, but also had clear orders to eliminate threats as necessary. Carter would prefer to bomb the place, but he didn’t always get what he wanted.

  With Mic and Phillips disappearing into the shadows, Carter strode out into the open, heading for the main gate. He’d made it a practice to conduct surprise inspections at all hours, first in Colorado, and then continuing here, so no one would think it was out of the ordinary for him to show up unannounced. As the front gate guards were being put out of commission, the perimeter security team would be shitting their pants as the special ops guys snuck up and took them down in utter silence.

  Two of the three guards tossed their cigarettes to the ground when they saw Carter approach, and stood at attention. The detail’s leader saluted. “Major, sir, all secure.”

  “Good,” he responded with a nod, stopping right in front of the man. The others never saw Mic and Phillips come up behind them. Both men dropped after being choked into unconsciousness as Carter knocked his man out with one punch. Figures dressed in black emerged from the shadows, restrained the guards with zip ties, then dragged them into the darkness. In under two minutes, the front gate was under the control of the good guys.

  Ian, Devon, and several other trained operatives met the three insiders on the dirt driveway leading back up to the compound. Marco and Brody were close by with their contingent while Jake was in a tree somewhere with his scoped rifle, as were several other snipers. There was almost one operative for every New Order member in the camp, but there was sure to be some who wouldn’t go down easily.

  A glance at his watch told Carter that he, Phillips, and Mic had ninety seconds to hoof it to the main house. Wexler was theirs as the other teams prepared to raid the cabins and bunkhouses. With a thumbs up to the Sawyer brothers, the three began to jog past the meeting hall, weapons at the ready.

  The shuffling of feet and a female giggling had them stopping short. Harmon and Brittany came stumbling around the corner of the building fixing their clothes. Of course, the horny trailer trash had picked tonight of all nights for some nookie.

  Harmon spotted them first. A look of confusion was replaced with rage as he noticed the operatives swarming the compound in silence. He drew his sidearm and was about to sound the alarm, but his yell was cut short by the bullet from Phillips’s gun that pierced his throat, the shot just louder than a puff through the silencer. Harmon fell to the ground in a heap, struggling to get air into his lungs, but failing. Brittany’s scream of horror was also halted before it could escape, but that was from Mic’s fist making contact with her jaw. The bleached blonde’s head snapped back and she ass-planted on the ground.

  Mic smirked. “Damn, that felt good.”

  She squatted down, flipped her unworthy adversary onto her stomach, and crushed her face into the dirt as Phillips pulled out some more zip ties to restrain Brittany’s arms. Certain Phillips had things under control, Carter and Mic double-timed it to the main house.

  Slipping in the front door as easily as Carter had gotten in the backdoor yesterday afternoon, they crept upstairs and into Wexler’s bedroom. The New Order leader was in his boxer shorts and snoring away in the king-sized bed causing Mic to roll her eyes in disgust. The takedown was anti-climactic as Carter set his 9mm on Wexler’s lips as a wakeup call.

  The bastard awoke with a start then froze when he realized his predicament. An evil grin spread across Carter’s face. “Good morning, sunshine. Welcome to your worst fucking nightmare. Mic and I will be your hosts for the next hour while you spill your guts. If you don’t, we’ll gladly do it for you.”

  My, oh my, how the tables have turned. I stared at the door to the kitchen. We were still in Wexler’s house, and he was currently tied to a chair behind that door.

  “Ready for this, sweetheart?” Carter asked from beside me, a large, black duffel resting near his boots.

  “Yes.” My palms were a little sweaty and my heart was racing, but I was ready. The brass was waiting anxiously in the meeting hall for the information we needed to extract from this piece of crap. I wasn’t sure if it was because they couldn’t stomach what was about to happen or if they wanted plausible deniability, but either way they didn’t want to watch. “Let’s get it done.”

  “I like your ‘can do’ attitude.” Picking up his bag of tricks, he followed as I opened the door. The Sawyer brothers, who’d been keeping watch over the neo-Nazi leader, just nodded and left. I knew, at least, Ian had the stomach for torture, so their excuse for leaving was probably so they could deny being part of it.

  Wexler was slumped in the chair, bruises were already starting to show on his face where he’d “fallen” while in custody. We’d be doing a lot more damage than helping him down the stairs. Lifting his chin with a look of defiance, he spit in our general direction.

  “Now, Wexler, that’s just plain rude.” I smiled prettily, not trying to hide my appreciation of this moment. “I could give you a speech about doing this the easy way or the hard way, but that’s just clichéd as fuck. I’ve been looking forward to this moment since I walked onto your compound. Actually, that’s a lie. I’ve been looking forward to this since I learned of your miserable existence.”

  “Go fuck yourself, you cunt,” he snarled.

  The crack of Carter’s fist was loud and satisfying. “Oh, I’ve been waiting to do that for months now.” Tilting his head to the side, he eyed the blood leaking from Wexler’s mouth. “It felt so good, I think I’m going to do it again.” Carter’s fist shot out, smacking into Wexler’s jaw with a thud. Groaning, the bastard spit red down the front of his shirt, and then grinned at us with blood-stained teeth.

  “You’re going to have to do better than that, you bitches.”

  “Oh, goodie, Mic, he’s going to make it fun for us. I fucking love when they do that.” Dropping the duffel on the counter, Carter began pulling things out—setting them down well within Wexler’s sight. Pliers, knives, chisels, and a few hammers of different weights slowly began to pile up. “See, we all have things we’re good at. You . . .” He pointed at Wexler. “. . . for example, excel at being a level ten douchebag and racist. I have to hand it to you, though, if I wanted to kill half a million people in one day, your plan would be brilliant. Only, you didn’t count on me and my pretty associate here.”

  Adding an acetylene torch, bottles of different liquids, and a hefty wrench to the pile, Carter continued to speak as I watched, trying not to laugh. Damn, we both have sick senses of humor.

  “See, this woman is not just some regular bitch—although she likes to bust my ass at times. She’s a trained, government interrogator. As am I. This is what we excel at. Taking cock gobblers like you and making them sing.”

  “There’s nothing you can do. There is no stopping what’s coming. You can torture me all you want, if won’t make a fucking bit of difference. I win. You lose.”

  Picking up the large plumber’s wrench, Carter spoke again. “But I don’t like to lose, and we can’t just take your word for it now, can we? Ready?” Bringing the wrench down with speed, he smashed Wexler’s knee. The crack of bone and Wexler’s blood-curdling screams echoed through the house. Blo
od seeped through the fabric of his jeans and his face was white with pain.

  Tossing the wrench onto the table with a metal clang, Carter stepped back and waited for Wexler to recover from the initial shock. His knee was twisted sideways toward his other one. It almost turned my stomach—almost. Knowing what the bastard had planned to do to innocent people made it satisfying to see the damage.

  “Wexler. You okay? I imagine that hurt a lot, but I can’t have you passing out on us. I’ll just pull out the smelling salts or ice water to wake your ass up.” Crossing my arms over my chest, I did nothing to hide the delight I felt.

  Groaning, he lifted his head. Blood, snot, and spit coated his chin. “Fuck off.”

  An evil grin spread across my face. “I was hoping you’d say that. My turn.” I stepped forward and examined the implements on the counter. Pain might not be the way to go. “Carter, get a couple guys in here. I want this piece of shit on the table.”

  Understanding flashed in his blue eyes along with a bit of evil amusement. “Oh, sweetheart, I like the way you think, but I don’t think our friend here will agree.”

  In moments, Wexler was transferred to the kitchen table, and ropes kept him in place. Duct tape across his forehead kept him from lifting his head. I held a thick towel in my hand and Carter was filling buckets with water as Ian and Devon left the room again.

  “Do you understand what’s about to happen to you?” I asked our prisoner.

  His only response was his broken record of “fuck off.”

  Ignoring his remark, I continued. “I’m about to put this towel over your face and pour water over your head. You’ll feel like you’re drowning, only you won’t drown. Over and over, you’ll feel like you’re about to die. It’ll be impossible to take a breath. Your chest will burn like fire with the need for air, only there will be none to be had.” Bending down closer to his face, I spoke directly into his ear. “Before we’re done with you, you’ll be begging for death. Only I’m going to hold the reaper off for as long as I can. I’m going to use every bit of skill I’ve been taught to make you beg for death.” Involuntary goosebumps spread over his neck and bare chest, and he couldn’t hide his shudder of fear.

  Without another word, we brought Hell to Earth and into that room with us. The Devil was getting his due. One bucket after another, we poured them over his face. To make it extra fun for the bastard, we alternated hot and cold water. We were careful to keep him in shock but not send him into cardiac arrest.

  My boots were soaked; water covered the whole kitchen floor. I’d just poured the fourth bucket over Wexler. He was sputtering and gasping, the wet towel suctioning to his mouth, as his limbs struggled against their restraints. Carter let go of the ends of the towel he’d been pressing flat onto the table.

  I surveyed Wexler’s body. His broken knee canted unnaturally to the side, the pain forgotten under the stress of waterboarding.

  “Give him a short break,” Carter said from where he was taking the man’s pulse. “His heart rate is dangerously fast. Can’t have him dying too soon.”

  Nodding, I stepped away and dropped the empty bucket in the sink. Needing a short break myself, I headed out to the hall only to find Ian holding up a wall and staring at me. His thick arms were crossed over his chest, and he said nothing.

  “What? Got a fucking problem, Sawyer?” I was irritable and on edge. This was hard work, both physically and mentally. I pushed past him and strode into the living room as he followed.

  “Nope. No problem. Just remembering Iraq and that hut in the desert. How you worked over that poor bastard. You scare me, woman.” The last was said while the corners of his mouth ticked up in a slight grin, belying his statement. There was nothing but appreciation and respect in his gaze.

  “Yeah, don’t get on her bad side. Mic here is gaining a reputation for cold-bloodedness,” Phillips chimed in.

  The only person in the filled room who wasn’t Trident or Steel was the Brit, who I’d come to like during this op. I glared at all of them. “Any other comments from the peanut gallery? Huh? Got something to say to me?” Silence. “Well, then, fuck you very much.” Jackson smirked, and Liam was blank as a canvas. A few others hid their grins.

  Pivoting, I left the jackasses behind me—break time was over. I smacked the kitchen door with my hand, sending it crashing open. “I’m done fucking around.” Snapping on latex gloves before handing a pair to Carter, I selected a knife, and advanced on Wexler’s limp body. “That was just foreplay; now the fucking starts.” Jerking the towel off his face I set the blade against his cheek. “Last chance, fuck face.”

  “Go-Go to hell,” he choked out.

  “You first.” As I dragged the blade down his cheek, it didn’t take much for the sharp edge to slice it to the bone. Wexler screamed long and loud. Blood soon coated the table around him—and me. It looked like I was wearing red gloves.

  Carter stepped up to the table, a pair of pruning shears in his hand. “Come here, pin his hand. He doesn’t need all his fingers anyway.”

  “Which one first?” I asked as I pinned Wexler’s right hand flat against the table. He was trembling and jerking, but between the restraint at his wrist and being weak from pain, it took very little effort to hold him down.

  “Let’s ask him.” Arching an eyebrow, Carter addressed the man who was finally nearing his breaking point—close, but not quite. “Hey, buddy, is this your jerking off hand? I bet it is. Thumb or pinkie?”

  Seconds passed with nothing coherent coming from his mouth. Mumbled prayers and begging could be heard, but nothing more.

  “Thumb it is,” my partner announced. I held the digit still by the end while Carter slid the blades of the pruners around it. “Count of three.” I nodded as he began to count. “One . . .”

  Snap! Blood spurted onto Carter’s face. Wexler howled, kicking his good leg and thrashing as best he could in his restraints.

  I gaped at Carter. “Did you fail math in school?”

  An innocent expression came across his face. “What?”

  “Who the hell taught you to count? The poor guy thought he had two more seconds to enjoy his thumb. Oh, well, guess he’s not going to be spanking the hairless monkey anytime soon.” I dropped the thumb onto Wexler’s chest with my latex-clad fingers. I saw another scream building up in his chest and face before he even let it loose. Pain was one thing, but seeing your own severed finger sitting on your chest was horrifying in an indescribable way.

  When the screaming stopped, and he passed out I exchanged glances with Carter. Half his face was a mask of blood, his eyes a very bright blue against the red. It was almost artistic in its eeriness. He looked like he’d just walked off the set of a slasher film.

  “We’ve got nineteen more fingers and toes. Fifty bucks says we get one more off before he starts talking.” I smiled, trying to maintain a bit of humor in this horror show. He was one tough bastard. The trick with torture is being mentally stronger than your victim is physically. I knew the sight of the fucker’s severed thumb resting like a savage offering on his chest was going to haunt me for a long time. But if what we were doing saved the lives of a quarter of a million people, I would gladly carry the scars.

  “You’re on. I think we’re going to have to take all of them from this hand first.”

  “Let’s hope not.” Wexler was coming around, moaning and blinking rapidly. “Hey buddy, How ya doing? I smacked his check with my palm. The exposed check bone felt warm and very slick under my hand. He was beyond screaming, he just moaned in agony.

  Carter clicked the pruning shears open and closed, fiddling with the bloody blades. “Wexler, your index finger is next. I’m going keep cutting until I run out of fingers—then I’ll start on your toes. Or you can talk and save me the trouble.”

  “O-Okay. I’ll t-tell you. Does-doesn’t matter an-anyway. You’ll never s-stop it in time.”

  Several minutes of Wexler spilling his guts nonstop passed. He told us everything we needed to know a
nd more. The recording app on my phone came in handy; I didn’t want to forget one syllable of what he said.

  “Okay, Wexler. That’s it.” Pulling out my KA-BAR I laid the blade against his throat. Carter’s hand on mine stopped me. Wexler closed his eyes and tipped his head back, welcoming death. Thinking it would be an end to his pain.

  “Let me,” Carter ordered.

  “Fuck that! And you in the process. I’m doing it.”

  “You don’t need the burden. I can handle it.” Stubbornness tightened his jaw.

  Not willing to argue, I elbowed Carter back and shoved the blade in deep. Wexler gurgled once and shuddered as his heart pumped his life away. Jerking the knife out, blood splattered our chests and arms.

  “Stubborn ass. I can live with this easier than you.” Spinning on his heel, Carter strode to the sink and began to wash the blood from his body. I joined him, dropping my knife into the sink. The water was dark red as it swirled down the drain.

  “I’m not one of your girls who needs protecting. I’d think you’d know that by now, Carter. I finish what I start. Now, if we’re done feeling our feelings, can we go and bag these mother fuckers before they ruin my country? Oh, and you owe me fifty bucks.”

  Five minutes later Phillips, Carter, Jackson, and myself were jogging our way across the compound to an Air Force chopper we had standing by in a clearing. Ian and Trident would follow in a second bird. A dozen of the other special ops guys were already en route to Kansas City and would set up a landing zone for our arrival. There was so little time, I tried to mentally prepare myself for the possibility that we wouldn’t make it. Liam was on the phone with MI6, his share of the mission complete. He’d be heading home on the first flight out. He needed to be on the ground to assist with the aftermath of the raids in Britain while Germany and France coordinated with Interpol to take care of the other cells in Europe.