by Linzi Basset
He passed her the phone. “You should have a number in your head of what you cashed in before the raid. Use that and be careful of what you say. We don’t want him catching wind of anything suspicious.”
“What if they trace the call and come here to kill me? These people are ruthless. They’re not going to allow me to walk away.”
“This is a secure bunker. No signal can be traced down here. Make that call, Emily.”
Emily took a couple of deep breaths to calm her nerves. She was shaking so much, she dropped the phone twice before she managed to find the number to dial.
“Put in on speaker.”
“Gun,” the voice barked sharply in the quiet room.
Rhone frowned, listening to the echo. His muscles tightened at the familiar tone he detected.
“It’s Emily Sanchez with my weekly update.”
He was silent for so long, Rhone thought he’d ended the call.
“Where the fuck are you?”
The final trickle of recognition triggered the cogs in Rhone’s brain. Devastation set in. Another betrayal.
“I’m in hiding. One of the chemists managed to warn me during the raid and I ran.”
“What about the cash you had?”
Emily glanced at Rhone and bore back at the viciousness that turned his expression black and as dark as any demon. His lips narrowed and he nodded.
“I took it with me but I didn’t have time to get the stock out. Chances are, they didn’t find it. I made sure it’s well hidden.”
“Good. How much do you have on you?”
“Roughly four million. I had just received all the takes from the stash houses the morning of the raid. I hadn’t tallied it yet”
“Keep your phone on. I’ll contact you with instructions. And Emily, don’t let me find out you’re bullshitting me. Flap your lips about anything and you know what will happen.”
“My lips are sealed.”
The line went dead. Rhone didn’t say a word. He took the phone and walked out. His fist connected with the concrete wall so hard, his skin split open. He didn’t feel the pain.
He was too furious, too betrayed to feel anything but the desire to commit murder. His voice echoed with raw pain and murderous intent in the hollowness of the hallway.
“You will rue the day you set out to side with those bastards. Mark my words. You will die a slow death.”
Six weeks ago, the day after the explosion …
“Fucking hell,” he groaned as he pushed himself to his knees. It felt like someone was beating against his head with a hammer. He didn’t move, forcing his mind to bury the pain that coursed through every part of his body.
“Mind over matter. C’mon, Jack! You can fucking do it!”
His breathing was irregular, a broken rib or two was undoubtedly the cause of the pain that shot through him with every breath he sucked into his lungs.
“Push through it! Fucking do it!”
He kept talking to himself, his eyes closed, knowing it was better than staring into the blackness that surrounded him. His ears were still ringing from the blast.
“Fuck!” He spat on the floor as he tasted the blood filling his mouth. “I’ve got internal bleeding. Shit! This hadn’t been part of the plan. What the fuck went wrong?”
But he knew. He had worked out every detail to the second. They had been on time and none of them were supposed to be hurt. He had fucked up. The bastards had managed to get inside and plant another device, and he’d been too caught up with his marriage proposal to do a second sweep. It had been his fault.
“Jesus, I hope Lance and Alex made it out.”
The explosive device Jack had planted had been set to blast outward, causing minimum damage and away from the hallway, giving him more than enough time to get into the underground bomb shelter undetected. If he hadn’t been on alert, he wouldn’t have heard the soft ‘click’ in time. One he knew he didn’t set. He had enough time to shout at his mates to fall back and dove toward his study, seconds before the Semtex ignited and caused the blast wave that catapulted him against the wall. With his body battered and his lungs filling with smoke, he’d managed to open the secret hatch under his desk. Flames were licking at his clothes as he fell through. It had been the fall that caused him to black out as he hit his head when he crash-landed against the hard, cobbled floor.
It took him over an hour to gather himself and push through the pain to get up. His hands trembled as he stumbled along the wall until he found the flashlights stowed in the corner. He limped to the generator and started it up, sighing when dim lights flooded the darkness. The bunker had been redone and reinforced with steel after he bought the house as a potential hideout. It was fully equipped with tinned food, bottled water, medical equipment, and clothes. It took a mammoth effort to get out of the torn suit and into a pair of jeans. He winced as the material brushed against the burned patches of skin on his back.
“God, I have to get cleaned up.”
He lifted his head wearily and stared at the shower stall in the corner. His pain threshold was high and he’d learned while in captivity to ignore it. This time wasn’t as easy. He felt weak and the danger of internal injuries flashed through his mind.
“Just fucking do it, Jack. You have to get out of here and fast.” He glanced at his watch, surprised to notice it still worked, shocked when the time and date registered. “I’ve been out for over twelve hours.” It was the only incentive he needed to move. He had to be far gone before anyone discovered the shelter.
It was the best and most painful shower he’d ever taken, but he ground his teeth and carefully washed the grime from his body. Dripping wet, he stumbled toward the bolted steel cabinet against the far wall and removed the first aid kit. He did his best to disinfect all his wounds before he wrapped a bandage tightly around his ribs. Getting dressed in a pair of jeans and black tee took almost the last of his reserves.
“Fuck, I feel as weak as a baby.” He groaned as his ribs protested when he bent over to pull on his boots. He sat gasping for breath until the pain faded to the back of his mind. He closed his eyes, visions of Jordan flashing through his brain. He felt like a dog for what she must be going through … and his family and friends. But it couldn’t be helped.
“It’s time to end this.”
The thirty minutes it should’ve taken him to reach the dark side street where he’d stashed a beat-up truck took over an hour. He was a lot weaker than he’d first thought and had to take numerous short breaks to catch his breath and dredge up the energy to continue.
Without thought, he found himself in front of Lance’s house. He sat staring at it. It was after four in the morning, the surroundings silent and dark. No lights shone from the windows, apart from the garden lights that illuminated the outside.
Jordan was in there. He could feel her. Lance had promised to keep her safe. He only prayed he would believe Jack had survived.
“Fuck! I can’t just leave … I have to see her.”
It was child’s play for Jack to avoid the security detail and gain access to the house. Irrespective of his injuries, which he knew he’d have to seek medical attention for, his footsteps were light as he walked closer to the bed in the downstairs spare room.
She was lying on her side with one hand tucked in under her cheek. Her body shuddered with dry sobs. He could see the trails of tears that fell even in her sleep. His heart contracted.
“Ah, god, baby, I’m so sorry for doing this to you.” His low whisper sounded like a plea to his own ears. He ached to touch her but had to be appeased by a longing look. At that moment of staring at her ethereal beauty, he came to a decision. “I’m not going to die, my love. I promised you a future and it’s one promise I’ll never break.”
The thought that he’d have to survive his injuries first before he could even think of putting his plan into action, spurred him toward the door. He turned for one last look at the beautiful woman on the bed.
“I will keep my pro
mise to you, Jordan.”
The charred side of the house stood in the bright midday light like a half-sunk ship. To the right, it stood proud and regal, but to the left …
Jordan swallowed hard. She was inundated with joy that her belief that Jack was still alive had been confirmed. A desire to be close to him had migrated her to the house she’d only shared with him for such a short period of time. It had been home to her, more like any she’d known before. It had been so alive, so vibrant, especially when he was there. Inside had been a place of love and security, a place where they had been building their own memories.
Now the wind whistled through the skeleton and the harsh rays of the sun beamed down onto the twisted plastic and metal that had been furniture and electronics. The majestic staircase hung haphazardly in the air.
“A house can be rebuilt, but my heart is lost without you, Jack,” she whispered into the breeze.
Her feet carried her forward and she stumbled through the rubble in the direction of the great open room, where only one partial wall had survived the destruction. She blinked back the tears at the vast emptiness that encapsulated her. Somewhere among the ashes were buried the only photographs she’d had of them. She’d proudly framed them and had been touched when Jack had bought a special table where she could exhibit them. She glanced toward the stairs. The upper level was unattainable. If only she could get to their bedroom and find the one picture of him on her dressing table. She yearned to look into his eyes, albeit pixilated, to assure herself that the warmth of his heartbeat she still felt pulsing inside her was real.
“Stop doubting him, Jordan. He survived his injuries. He’s out there and he will be back.”
Suddenly she experienced the destructive power of the inferno, just like that day when she’d stood watching the black smoke billow into the heated air, sending its distinctive aroma over the neighborhood. She could hear the loud crackle of the orange flames that blew out the windows and sent horizontal jets of flame out ten feet or more.
“Oh god,” she whimpered and covered her cheeks as she imagined feeling the radiating heat on her face as she waited, praying that Jack would come stumbling toward her.
She pivoted on her heels and ran to the car. Within minutes she was on her way to Upperville, Virginia. To the farm he’d laughingly introduced to her as their retirement spot. It was where she and Jack had spent some very pleasant weekends away from the city. She needed to connect with him, to feel his closeness. She hoped to find it there, in the quaint little cottage he’d built by the lake for weekend stay overs.
Her tears finally dried up halfway there. A quick glance at the digital clock on the dashboard confirmed that she’d arrived in Upperville around five in the afternoon.
“I might as well stay over. I need to be alone for a while.” She loved how well Lance and Lexi took care of her, but at times it felt like the attention was stifling her. All she needed today was to be alone with her thoughts of Jack to keep her sane.
She used the Bluetooth to send a text message to Lexi informing her where she was and that she’d be back the following evening.
“I better stop at the store for some food,” she mumbled and turned into the parking area next to a convenience store. A tall man exiting the shop just as she was about to get out froze her in place. “Isn’t that? Yes! Michael Flores. What is he doing all the way out here?”
She threw her handbag onto the passenger seat and cranked the engine to follow the old beat-up truck he drove off in.
“Now, why would you do that, I wonder?” Instinct had driven her to Crown International to confront him two weeks ago. It seemed that her feeling had been spot on. One way or the other Michael Flores was the key to finding Jack.
When he drove through town in the direction of the farm, she knew where he was going and fell back. The road was quiet this time of day and only one car passed from the front. A black dot in the distance behind her indicated at least one other vehicle on the road. She hardly noticed the SUV overtaking her soon after, she was too busy contemplating where Michael was heading. There were only two places he could stay on the farm. In the cottage at the lake or the empty mansion currently partly utilized as an office for the staff managing the Ayrshire business.
Jordan frowned as she noticed the same black SUV that had overtaken her earlier, turn onto the service road of the farm a couple of miles ahead of her. The road was generally used by large trucks for deliveries and transporting of the produce.
“It seems someone else is onto you, Mr. Flores,” she contemplated and drove by. It wouldn’t serve to alert them of her presence. She elected to take the scenic route Jack had always taken to the private gate entrance of the cottage. The thought to phone the Precision Secure team flashed through her mind, but she pushed it back. It would be better to scope out the situation first. To create panic where there was none didn’t serve a purpose.
She approached the lake with caution but relaxed when there were no cars or any sign of life anywhere. The cottage was a couple of miles from the main house, which wasn’t visible from there.
“It might be better to go on foot. The sound of the car might draw their attention.”
Thirty minutes later she flattened her back against the wall of the large barn a couple of yards from the main house. She carefully studied the area. The homestead was built on a gentle rise that sloped gradually away on every side; in front of the wide plain, dotted with huge gum trees and great grey box groves. At the back, the well-kept garden led to a recently added orchard, on the banks of a long lagoon, bordered with trees and fringed with tall bulrushes and weaving reeds. She’d fallen in love with the place at first glance and shared Jack’s dream of retiring there one day.
A sudden movement to the left side of the house drew her attention. “Shit! I knew those bastards were up to no good.”
Two men dragged an unconscious Michael Flores between them toward the barn where she was hiding. They seemed out of place with their dark suits and shiny shoes.
She inched further to the back of the building.
“I still think we should take him to the Sauna Room, Zee. This is a working farm and tomorrow morning it will be crawling with people.”
She stopped to listen to the guttural voice, repeating the Sauna Room over and over to ingrain it to memory.
“You’re right. Get the pilot to bring the chopper to this location. In the meantime, I intend to loosen his fucking tongue. Did he honestly believe we wouldn’t catch on immediately that he’d canceled the sale with Select Liquor on our behalf? This bastard has tested my patience for the last time.”
Jordan eased onto her toes and peeped through the small window next to a side door. They flung the big man to the ground. The instruction that spat from one of them sounded like a demon on a quest as it floated toward her.
“Chain him up on his toes. It’s time for some fun.”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Jordan grabbed for her phone but in her haste, she dropped it to the ground. “Damn it!” She looked around with a frown when it was nowhere to be found.
“Looking for this?”
She spun around, her back against the hard wall. The black man towered over her, his eyes as black as tar, emotionless and utterly terrifying. Her legs tensed and reacted before the instruction reached them, she sprinted to the side.
“Ugh.” Her cry was muted, filled with pain as she flew through the air to crash on the ground, flat on her stomach from the hard push against her back. To him, it must have been no more than a tap but the force of the action caused her to skid forward on the gravel, wincing as the little pebbles tore into her palms.
I should’ve called Lance when I saw that SUV! The beratement came too late as she was hauled to her feet and pushed toward the entrance of the barn. Her struggles were in vain and too soon she blinked against the sudden doom that filled the inside of the space surrounding them.
“Look who decided to drop by,” the man growled above her.
Jord
an saw the two men turn, but her attention was with the man strung up on his toes to the rafters. His head hung forward and this close she noticed the gash on top of his head where blood was clotting his dark blonde hair.
“Well, well, well,” the taller of the two men crowed. The smile on his face wasn’t what caused Jordan to go cold from within. It was the drone of his voice that reminded her of that night just before the first slash of the belt connected with the soft skin of her belly. The man who had caused her brother’s death, Dexter Powell.
He glanced at the man beside him. “Now isn’t this a twofer, buddy? Jack might be in his grave but it would give me the greatest of pleasure to play with his little pet.”
Both men barked with laughter as they approached her. The man holding her pushed her forward. She stumbled but quickly found her feet and stood straight and proud as they slowly circled her.
“Who knows, I might just keep you as my slave,” Dexter dragged a finger down her cheek. His voice turned cold. “Locked up, naked, in a steel cage like a dog. Yes, that’s exactly what I’ll do. It’ll be the perfect revenge on my old pal, Jack. To humiliate and sell the favors of the love of his life for my enjoyment.”
“Fuck you,” Jordan sneered as she spat in his face.
His hand cracked across her face, snapping it back with the force of his blow. She reeled back but the black man caught her by the arms. Black dots floated in her vision. She cried out in pain as he yanked her arms into a painful grip behind her back.
“Hurt her again and your death is going to be slow.”
The two men spun around at the deep voice grating out the warning behind them. Jordan’s pain filled eyes met his and she imagined she read a silent reproach there. She realized her presence made his own escape more difficult. Now, he didn’t only have himself to worry about but her as well.
“Good to see you’ve woken up from your little nap, Flores. It’s time you learned who is in charge.”
“Good luck with that.”
His head snapped to the side as Dexter planted a straight right-handed fist against his jaw. Michael’s mocking laughter filled the acoustic of the wide expanse of space.
