Rescue for the Student

by Jeri K Raine

  Rescue for the Student

  Jeri K Raine

  Copyright © 2019 by Jeri K Raine

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Epilogue

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  Logan

  I guess what I learned as a kid; I learned from admiring my dad. I can’t say more than that because I hardly knew him. He was only there until I was three. But he was my hero. What I was able to learn about him later was not all good, not by any stretch. But he was my dad.

  * * *

  As I stumbled and fought my way into adolescence, carrying the burden with every pickup job I could get, he was my inspiration. I worked for everyone in that little town who would employ a kid of eight, then nine and ten years old, all the way up to 14. I did everything that I could to bring in money for mom. To take care of her. Everything I could to replace my dad, I guess.

  * * *

  Of course I couldn’t replace him. Not in any way. And it wasn’t enough. I hope she found peace.

  * * *

  I didn’t know it, but all my life I think I was looking for someone to take her place. Someone I could care for and protect.

  No girls I knew measured up. Whatever they offered me, and they all offered a lot, but never what I needed. I could never settle for a piece of ass. That works for enough guys and good luck to them. Not for me. I didn’t even know what I was looking for.

  * * *

  I was dark and empty inside. I didn’t even know it until I saw her in the crowd.

  * * *

  Petite and bouncy, her curves make me sigh. She’s being jostled by a big asshole. The look on her face, pushing back, standing her ground, cutting her eyes at him, pressing her lovely, full lips into a defiant heart shape, makes my heart thump.

  * * *

  As soon as I see her, a light flashes on inside me. Like I had been wandering through a thick mist. Like a beacon she snaps me into focus. Over the top of my shades, my eyes lock with hers. An electric thud pounds my cock alert. I need her. My body knows immediately that she is the prize I’ve been waiting for, all my life, even without me knowing it. The eye contact between us is a clear breeze of light and a snap of electricity.

  * * *

  Time slows down, almost stops, in that fraction of a second. I want to run to her right away. I can’t. But I can’t not.

  Chapter 2

  Logan

  Chopper blades swish and cut the air above our heads, slowing as we burst out to run against the handrail of the metal walkway, ahead of the candidate. My group breaks out first. We hold a disciplined line, proceed at a rapid pace along the raised walkway.

  There must be north of a thousand people crowding into the East Chicago car park. How they all knew about the ‘secret, unscheduled’ meeting is a mystery.

  Like it’s a mystery how the candidate had time to arrange two helicopters, a detachment of bodyguards, and the local FBI and law enforcement for this supposedly ‘unscheduled meeting,’ that would be a mystery, too. There’s something wrong about this whole setup.

  But all that’s way above my pay-grade. Anyway, a past like mine keeps me out of the gold-chip, legit, all-above-board assignments, so I take what I can get.

  Guarding the candidate is a long way from what I’m used to. I’m more accustomed to a big helmet with a hi-rez digital telescopic sight, cameras, and headphones, lugging a heavy duty pack, an AR-15, handguns, combat knives and grenades. Back from special forces operations in Syria, Central Africa, and Afghanistan, I’m adapting. A lot.

  Here, I have no body armor, just a black suit over a Kevlar body shield. Earbuds, and a pair of shades. And my Sig Sauer 9mm. The recruiter wanted us carrying Glocks. I don’t love a Glock. I love my Sig.

  I scan the crowd, fast, on the move. Peer out, sweep the faces in groups. Imagine a grid, sixteen to twenty faces in each square. Swipe across. Sensing for nervousness, tension, anxiety, any hint of threat. Trained reflexes do the work. Scan the square. Move on. Next. As we move, the crowd packs closer and tighter at our feet.

  Two things stand out in the same instant. Her at ten o’clock, and a threat at two o’clock.

  The skinhead at two o’clock catches the corner of my right eye. A few feet back from the walkway, near the front of the crowd. Silver studs and tribal ink craze over his face. He has a fixed look in his eye. My sixth sense picks up on the way he reaches into his denim coat. Instinct takes over.

  Without a thought, I comm to Russ, my GroupCom, “Potential threat ID’d. Cover my position,” With no hesitation, I vault over the handrail and off the walkway. I drop through the air and my knee connects first, on his right shoulder. He starts to crumple. I jab my left elbow at the side of his head. He topples. Straight to the ground. Face down.

  I’m on his back. My knee between his shoulder blades. The arm that was reaching dislocated at the shoulder. The hand on the end had pulled a long, silver colt automatic. I twist the gun from him. Drag his other arm up behind his back.

  Two uniformed cops come running, their hands on their guns. Coming straight at me. Still kneeling on the perp, I hold the silver pistol up, thumb and forefinger holding the barrel, showing it to them. They understand.

  I’m already looking, searching the crowd. Yes, I need to look for other threats, but that’s not where my attention is directed.

  Only one thing is on my mind. And I can’t find her in my field of view.

  I scan. Searching for her. Urgently. I cannot lose her. Swiftly I hand the pistol and the perp to the police. They’re efficient and grateful. They don’t hang me up or hold me back. I’m glad they’re not asking questions or obsessing over procedure.

  I can’t see her. She is not where I saw her last. She’s gone.

  I climb part way back up to the walkway. Peering, fast and methodical, I search the crowd. I still can’t see her. There’s a ripple in the crowd, though. Toward the far edge. That’s her. I know it. She’s running.

  I jump back down. Charge into the crowd after her. I hold a hand up as I run. I’m six five, two hundred and ten pounds. All muscle. People part, get out of the way. Not always willingly. But they do. I pay no attention. If anyone stood in my way, I would just run right at them. Run through them. Whatever it takes.

  Alone in the middle of an edgy crowd, the breeze around my thighs makes me think the skirt is too short and the front of the shirt is cut too deep. The lovely silver chain that my father gave me has me feeling exposed with so many people so close around me.

  The chain that he told me so many different stories about. Where it came from, what he paid for it.

  As soon as I got here, I had serious second thoughts about what I chose to wear. In the mirror this morning, the short black skirt seemed innocuous enough, paired it with my snappy white shirt. Nice. I thought. Business-like. Now I’m not so sure.

  I can only guess what idiot thing my father did to get himself into this awful mess. I do know he wouldn’t approve of me coming here to try and get him out of it. Hell, I’m probably wasting my time anyway. Realistically, what can I do?

  The huge guys who came to the apartment yesterda
y, they were not messing. My father is in big trouble. There’s no getting away from that.

  It’s always been feast or famine for us. “There are good days, and there are great days,” My father says. Only, lately, the great days have gotten less often, farther apart. And the few good days get less good.

  Chapter 3

  Greta

  My father is always trying, always has a new scheme. ‘Always have a plan,’ he says, ‘and always have a backup. A fallback.’ He’s fallen back on the fallback too many times and I think he knows it, too.

  He’s not a bad man. He tries to be good, at least.

  The guy my father has the big debts with is due to be here today. I heard his goons grunt about it in our apartment, as they stood either side of the door to the kitchen. The door their boss had taken my father through.

  They talked about ‘the candidate.’ Whatever it means, I had no idea. All that really sunk in for me was that their boss would be here. I didn’t expect this crowd. People coming in helicopters.

  I just thought, the guy will be here, I’ll come and see him. Try to reason with him. Okay, I know. It was going to take more than reasoning to get anywhere with a guy like that.

  Well, I’m prepared to go the extra mile for My father. He worked hard enough to keep things together for me in the past, when Momma was first gone and we were left alone. He had nobody but me, and I had nobody but him. And he really could use a break. I guess I thought maybe I could be the one to make a break for him. And, no. I really didn’t think this through very far at all.

  I just wish sometimes that he could be more of my father, though, and I could be less of his mommy.

  I still shudder, remembering the two guys, folding their arms like guards or enforcers. They looked at me like a piece of meat. A thing they could take if they wanted.

  Those two goons are up there on the walkway. One sees me. Nudges his companion and nods in my direction. They both laugh. Nice.

  That’s when the men in come out of the helicopters. Shades, earphones, expensive suits with bulky padding underneath. This is some big-time show.

  A line of men in black suits and dark shades rush, stamping on high gangways. One man stops. I freeze when he looks in my direction. Over his shades his eyes lock on mine and I’m rooted to the spot.

  It’s like one of those moments in a movie where time slows to a stop. Way down inside me, I get a feeling so bad it’s good. This is not what I’m here for.

  Then he jumps off the walkway. I judder inside, thinking he’s coming for me, but he lands up ahead, on the back of a skinhead. Puts him straight down. No second thought. He’s an expert. I’m terrified and fascinated at the same time.

  I should not be feeling that way that I do. Not about a man who’s so threatening. So dangerous. And so so much older. I’m not sure I should be having these feelings at all. Much less about a total stranger, and a dangerous one at that.

  Two uniformed cops run toward him. He holds the skinhead down, but he’s looking round for me. Over the top of his sunglasses, his eyes send chills straight through me. My knees shake. He’s coming for me next. I know that he is.

  I’m frozen. I can’t move. Deep inside I know, I want to run, but I want him to catch me.

  He talks with the cops, but he keeps turning to look back in my direction.

  Panic takes over. It’s pure instinct. This is all too much for me to take. I’m shaking. I have to be gone. I turn and run. I’m short, and I’m not light, but I keep myself in reasonable shape. I doubt I can outrun him over any distance, but I’m good for a hard sprint.

  Head down, arms wide, I run as hard as I can. Cut through the crowd as fast as I can. And I weave. I know that much. At least My father taught me that. It’s what he always said about the people he owed money to. ‘Weave. Run in a zigzag. Present a moving target.’

  People move aside, but the crowd is thick and space is cramped. I can’t believe how many people are here. They surely can’t all have turned out to see a gangster. I don’t understand anything.

  No time to think. I push through to the edge of the crowd. Out of the parking lot, I run into the street and halt at the edge of the pavement. Six lanes of traffic thunder past. On the near side there, is a break in the traffic. No hesitation, I’m taking a chance. I dash as far as the reservation. A motorcycle blares his horn as he swerves. He misses me by inches. But I make it.

  I don’t dare to look back. I don’t even know where I’m going. On the far side of the street is the back of a disused entertainment complex. Deserted theaters, hotels, bowling alleys. If I can get across the street, maybe I can lose the guy there.

  A million times I’ve driven by and seen this place, run down like an abandoned fairy-tale castle. It looks gothic and romantic.

  A break is coming up in the traffic. I’m not certain the gap is long enough, but I make a run. A big white truck is heading up faster than I thought.

  I have to jump to get out of its way.

  I get across the street and run headlong into the back of the derelict complex. Close up, the rubble and debris looks less romantic. More like creepy and dangerous. Somewhere scary things hide. Probably where scary things live. Scary people, too.

  Still I don’t look around. I run flat out. But I hear his feet beat the ground, coming closer behind me.

  I try to speed up. My heart is hammering hard now. My thighs are weakening. I see only one turn ahead and it doesn’t look promising. I feel I’ve got no choice but to take it.

  It’s an alley. High sides and a dead-end. I run down the length of it, panicking. The crumbling walls on two sides are topped with razor wire. The other wall is high and blank with a single door at the end of the alley.

  As I get near to the door, I hear noises behind it and they sound violent. I think about trying the door. How many more bad choices can I make today. The rise of panic is tightening my chest.

  When I reach the far wall, I flatten myself against it.

  He’s coming. He is so huge, I’m shocked and surprised at how fast and agile he is.

  He is bigger than my father. Bigger even than the enforcers who came to see my father yesterday. He is so big, I’m wonder how big the parts of him are that I can’t see. This is no time to think about that. But I realize that my pussy has been thinking him about this whole time. My panties are soaked.

  Chapter 4

  Logan

  I want to reassure her. I’m here to protect her. She doesn’t need to run from me.

  Russ comes on in my earbud. I’m irritated.

  His businesslike drawl, “Hey, where did you get to? People are asking for you, Logan.”

  “I know,” I’m walking slowly toward the girl. My hand held out. Palm up and open. Showing her there’s no need to be afraid. She’s pinned against the decaying brick wall, looking left to right. Her hands splay on the wall behind her.

  She looks panicked. The tips of her nipples shove through her soft shirt. She is so beautiful. What a woman. But with such innocent eyes. I need to protect her.

  And I know that’s not all. “Russ, I have a situation.,” I snap, “Do what you have to do. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “Logan, you—” I shut off the connection.

  I move toward the girl, cautiously. The door beside her starts to open.

  Three guys roll out, headscarves, shades, cut-off denim jackets. Muscled thugs, inked all over and pierced with shiny metal studs and spikes. They pile out, laughing and boisterous. Probably on drugs.

  Their voices are abrasive and fierce. One of them sees her. They stop. Her eyes flash. She looks back at me, now pleading. She tries to make a dash for the door.

  Bad move. Never show fear to guys like those. It inflames them. Can’t really help themselves after that.

  “Lookee here,” the smallest one cocks his head, “What’s this we’ve found?” Slow, lazy. He has all the time in the world.

  He leans against the wall in front of her. Blocks her way. The other two tur
n.

  “Leave her.” I speak. Loud and firm. We learned that. Don’t shout. Command. It makes them stop. But only for a moment. I bound up to the one in the middle.

  I assess the three of them. I want to go for the one who’s the greatest threat first. The smallest—ain't it always the way?—but he’s the farthest.

  I’m need a strategic advantage. I don’t want to use firearms. That could get messy. Questions, investigation. I don’t need any of that.

  My second choice is the biggest guy, the one in the middle. I land the side of my fist with a swing into the crook of his neck. It will stun him. Just for a moment.

  The guy next to him sees it. Turns, just a little faster than his friend. As I expected. So his chin turns into the path of my swinging forearm. The bone of my wrist slams the side of his jaw with a loud crack. His jaw flaps, dislocated. Temporarily, if he’s lucky.

  His knees give way. He goes down. The one in the middle whose shoulder I hit, turns and my fist slams into the middle of his face. It’s going to take me three blows to get him down. My boot swings straight into his balls.

  I’ve pulled the Sig, pointed at the short guy. Right in his face. Can’t take a chance now.

  Number two bends forward, I swing a huge uppercut into his chin. His head snaps back, and he’s going bye-byes.

  I grip the gun with both hands. Fully extended between the evil eyes of the short guy. He shakes his head, looks at his two friends and shrugs. Then he raises both palms, turns, and trots back the way he came.