The Relic Runner Origin Story Box Set

by Ernest Dempsey

  "Through the door, please," Bert said.

  He walked over to it and pushed it open. Hot, muggy South Florida air rushed into the study.

  Carson exhaled and trudged across the room. His mind raced with ideas of how to get out of this, but the guards, the bookie, even Deno, were playing it safe, keeping their distance from the former Delta Force operator's deadly reach. Bert led the way, backing out through the door, keeping his barrel pointed straight at Carson's chest.

  When everyone was outside, the last guard through the door closed it shut and stepped to the side.

  "Now what?" Carson asked, throwing his hands out wide. "You took my guns. You gonna shoot me here in your garden? Your neighbors will hear that, Bert. Cops will come. Federal investigators too. You should have killed me in your house, called it self-defense. You can't shoot a man outside."

  Bert's head turned from side to side in a deliberate, slow movement. The grim look in his eyes betrayed no fear, no concern.

  "Like I said, Carson. I'm not going to kill you."

  Carson flinched at the sound of his real name. There was no way the Puerto Rican could know that.

  "What did you call me?" he asked, fear suddenly trickling into his throat.

  "He called you Carson, Carson." A new voice entered the conversation from behind the row of bushes.

  Then an apparition stepped out of the maze, a ghost that had haunted Carson's mind in his most paranoid of moments.

  "Dak?" he said, bewilderment cracking his tone.

  Dak nodded. "Yeah, Carson. It's me. And Bert wasn't lying to you. He's not going to kill you." He paused, cocking his head to the side and meeting Carson's gaze with his own icy glare. "I am."

  Thirteen

  Miami

  Carson stared at his former friend with a mixture of loathing and disbelief. The last time he'd seen him was just before Bo ordered the cave exit sealed, and they'd left Dak inside to die.

  Of course, Carson knew about Dak's return to base in Hamrin after his inexplicable escape.

  "How did you get out of that cave?" Carson asked, stretching his neck muscles with a twitch of the head to each side.

  Bert and his men shifted backward, keeping their weapons at their sides, but ready to whip them into action if necessary. As the men moved, they formed a wide circle around the two opponents.

  Dak cocked his head to one side and flipped his hands up like a magician showing there were no tricks up his sleeves. "Does it matter?"

  Carson took a suspicious glance at Bert and the others. "So, what? You're going to fight me? Is that it? These guys aren't going to interfere?"

  Dak's head turned dramatically back and forth. "Nope. In fact, I told them that if you beat me, they're to let you go free. I'll have to trust Bert's word on that one."

  Carson snorted at the notion.

  "But that's not going to happen," Dak added. "You left me to die in that cave, Carson. You and the others. You were my brother. All of you were my brothers. And you stabbed me in the back. For what? Thirty pieces of silver?"

  A warm breeze flowed through the yard, rustling the bushes and tossing the palm leaves overhead. The long tree trunks bent and swayed. A few of them creaked under the strain, though they'd certainly seen much worse in tropical storms and hurricanes.

  "That what you think, Dak?" Carson spat. He shifted his feet, moving slightly to the right. "You think you're some kind of martyr for turning down that money? No one knows about it, Dak. No one will. It was free money, and you turned it down for what? Huh? Some ridiculous, ill-placed morals?"

  "It's not about the money now, Carson. No price is worth killing a brother."

  "Oh, yeah?" Carson inclined his head. "But you're not dead, are you? You're alive and well, free to live your life."

  "Hardly," Dak corrected. "I'm a wanted man, in case you forgot. The colonel won't stop until he finds me or I clear my name. I don't see much chance for the latter, so I'm going to have to take you all down one at a time."

  Carson snuffed at that one. "You think you can get to all of us?"

  Dak put his hands out wide. The gesture gave his answer.

  "Well, I don't know where the rest of them are, but you're welcome to go after the colonel if you want to. You'll have to get through an entire base, though, so good luck with that. Then again, you're not going to leave this lawn alive today."

  "That may be," Dak conceded. "Maybe you do beat me. You're stronger than me. No doubt about that. I guess that's a risk I'm willing to take."

  "You should have had Bert and his goons shoot me when you had the chance."

  "Maybe I should have stayed in that cave too, huh? But here I am. So, if you're done talking, I've been wanting to hit you for six months now. I'm curious if it will feel as good as I imagined."

  In his mind, the dance had already begun and the longer he could draw things out, the better he could plan his attack. Not that he had to do much planning. He'd served with Carson for years, fought alongside him in firefights, and hand-to-hand combat. He knew Carson's moves. Maybe Carson knew his too. He had to assume that was the case.

  Bert and his guards took additional steps back to give the two fighters plenty of room to operate.

  Carson shook his head like a horse, tossing it back and forth to try to reinforce what a mistake Dak was making.

  Dak didn't show a blink of emotion. His vapid eyes glowered at his opponent like only the eyes of a man who'd already seen death could.

  Carson stepped in closer, shifting his feet as he twisted to the side. His preferred style was boxing. Dak had seen his skills in the ring during training sessions and in the gym when the team worked out together. He knew exactly how Carson would attack and what signs to look for. That wasn't to say he couldn't use his feet. Guys who leaned on boxing skills often did so to conceal a disabling strike from a kick when an enemy least expected it.

  Dak considered letting his ex-teammate take the lead in the dance, but he knew that's what Carson expected. So he stepped in, closing the gap between them. He let anger streak across his face to allow Carson to believe he'd lost all sense of strategy and tactics, replacing them with fury.

  He charged ahead and turned to throw a powerful cross punch. Carson dipped and raised his hands to protect his face, then let his back foot drop laterally to counter. He ducked the strike from Dak and jabbed hard, but Dak knew it was coming. He jumped and snapped his foot straight up into Carson's chin, flipping over backward in one motion. Dak landed on his feet with a bended knee, bracing the landing with one fist on the ground.

  Carson staggered backward, his vision blurred. The world tilted to one side, and try as he did, he couldn't get it to steady.

  Deno swore at the abrupt and powerful martial arts move. Bert said something in Spanish that Dak was certain to be profanity.

  Dak moved in to end the fight with a second blow, but in his daze, Carson managed to sidestep a snap kick to the chest. He jabbed again as Dak lunged by and his fist caught the attacker on the jaw.

  Dak's head whipped to the side. He felt a dull pain course through the bone. It was a good punch, but not good enough to knock him out or give him a concussion. He spun around in a circle, anticipating another cross punch to follow.

  His guess proved correct. Carson launched his right fist forward, but he missed badly, still dazed from the kick to the chin. Dak jabbed back after the wild miss, his fist smacking into Carson's right cheek. He jabbed again and again, throttling the man with his fists until they were rubbed raw.

  With each punch, Carson stumbled backward toward the hedgerow, like a boxer in a ring.

  When he felt his back hit the brush, he knew there was nowhere left to go. Carson put up his hands and desperately blocked. Then Dak made a mistake.

  In his fervor to end the fight quickly, he'd expelled tremendous energy throwing punch after punch, most of which landed with devastating accuracy.

  But none of them had felled Carson, and now the big man fought back.

  He wr
apped his arms around Dak's neck as the punches grew weaker and pulled him close. Then came a surprise attack. Carson raised his knee hard into Dak's midsection.

  Dak felt the air sucked out of his lungs in an instant. He doubled over, but that only made him more vulnerable.

  Carson chopped down on the back of his neck with the side of his hand. If he hadn't been so beat up, the strike would have likely ended things then and there. As it was, Dak dropped to all fours and nearly blacked out. He crawled forward to grab at Carson's ankles, desperately hoping to trip him up and spill him onto his back.

  Still, in a slight haze, face swollen and one eye shut, Carson saw the feeble attempt and brought his foot up fast, sending the bone crashing into the side of Dak's face.

  Dak flopped over onto his side. Pain screamed at him from several points in his body, and he still couldn't find air for his lungs.

  He tried to cough to clear a passage, but it didn't come.

  Bert and his men merely watched.

  "You think you can just track me down like I'm some animal?" Carson groused. "Huh?" He kicked Dak in the ribs. "You think I'm a chump you can pick a fight with? Is that it, Dak?"

  No response came from Dak's lips. His lungs burned for lack of air, and he couldn't force a single word out of his throat.

  "I don't hear you," Carson taunted. He reached down and grabbed Dak by the hair, raising his head so their eyes met. "You were stupid not to come with us, bro. You were stupid to come here. And you were stupid to leave that cave. Now you're going to die, just like you should have six months ago." He threw his head down and kicked Dak in the gut for good measure.

  The blow unexpectedly reversed whatever damage the initial one had done. Dak felt air flood his lungs, and he gasped deeply, repeatedly, relief filling his entire body.

  Carson stepped around behind Dak, who clawed at the ground to get some kind of distance.

  "Nah, Dak," Carson said. "Where do you think you're going?"

  He bent down to grab Dak's head. It was a move Dak had seen his teammate use on enemies in close quarters combat before. He recalled the first time he saw Carson snap someone's neck, and he knew that was what the man intended now.

  Carson's thick fingers grabbed Dak's jaw on one side and the top of his head with the other. In two seconds, Dak would be dead.

  He mustered every ounce of strength and wit he could as the muscular man pulled him up to his knees.

  "Bye-bye, Dak. I think you've seen this one before."

  Dak abruptly let his legs give out and his head slipped through Carson's sweaty fingers. While he fell forward, Dak kicked his right leg out hard and struck his opponent in the gut.

  The blow drove Carson backward. It was his turn to feel the air leave his lungs. He hunched over, hoping gravity would help him, but Dak wasted no time.

  He clambered to his feet and staggered over to the enemy. He raised his fist over his shoulder and whipped his hips around like a pro golfer, using every bit of strength he could muster. The hammer fist smashed into Carson's cheek, shattering the bone within. His head snapped hard to one side, and he staggered like a heavyweight fighter in the last round, barely able to stand.

  Dak reached out and raised his old friend's chin, then threw another cross, then a hook, a jab, another hook. Each blow sent Carson reeling, the garden swirling in his vision and the man before him blurred more with each shot.

  Carson tried to defend himself, tried to throw a punch, but they may as well have been thrown by the blades of grass at their feet.

  When Carson was near to the opposite hedgerow, Dak reared back and threw a devastating uppercut.

  Carson's head whipped back for a second, his eyes staring blankly into the sky. Then he toppled over onto the grass. His chest raised and lowered, the air finally flowing into the man's lungs.

  The breaths would be his last.

  Dak stepped over him and looked down into his ex-teammate's eyes. "You were my brother," he said with infinite sadness in his voice. "And you left me to die."

  Carson didn't respond. His head lolled back and forth on the grass, only half-controlled.

  "I could ask you where the others are, but I doubt you know. It doesn't matter. I'm going to find them. I'm going to find them all. And I'm going to kill them. Starting with you."

  Dak bent his knees and leaped into the air. Time slowed as his body descended. Carson may have only been half-aware of what was said or what was happening. Then Dak's knee plowed into the man's throat, crushing it through to the spine.

  Dak stood up and took a step back, watching the body twitch for several seconds as the lungs tried to fill in vain. Arms and legs flopped around. Then the movement slowed. Then there was none.

  Birds squawked in the distance. Bert and his men stared with wide, dread-filled eyes at the grisly scene.

  Dak breathed heavily for a moment. He stared down at the body of his former friend. His knuckles hurt and he was certain he’d cracked a rib, but he would live.

  He staggered toward the door into the house after a moment of silent contemplation.

  "Hey," Bert said.

  Dak stopped and slowly turned. "Yeah?"

  Bert still held the hand cannon loosely in one fist. "What do you want us to do with him?"

  Dak rolled his shoulders. "I don't care. Take him out in your boat. Tie some weights to him. Let the fish have him."

  The Puerto Rican pouted his lips and nodded. "Old school. I like it. But what about the money? You said he has money."

  "Take his keys. You can figure out where he lives. I'm sure there's a safe there or something. Nothing a drill can't fix for someone who knows how to use it."

  Dak stepped over the threshold into the house.

  "What about you? Where are you going?"

  Dak paused, then looked over his shoulder. "To find the others."

  Thank You

  Thank you for taking the time to read this story. We can always make more money, but time is a finite resource for all of us, so the fact you took the time to read my work means the world to me and I truly appreciate it. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed sharing it, and I look forward to bringing you more fun adventures in the future. If you this story kept you up late, on the edge of your seat, or burning your fingers as you swiped or turned the pages, swing by Amazon and leave a review. I’d appreciate it and so would other readers.

  See you in the next one,

  Ernest

  Other Books By Ernest Dempsey

  Dak Harper Origin Stories:

  Out of the Fire

  You Only Die Once

  Tequila Sunset

  Purgatory

  Scorched Earth

  The Heart of Vengeance

  Sean Wyatt Adventures:

  The Secret of the Stones

  The Cleric's Vault

  The Last Chamber

  The Grecian Manifesto

  The Norse Directive

  Game of Shadows

  The Jerusalem Creed

  The Samurai Cipher

  The Cairo Vendetta

  The Uluru Code

  The Excalibur Key

  The Denali Deception

  The Sahara Legacy

  The Fourth Prophecy

  The Templar Curse

  The Forbidden Temple

  The Omega Project

  The Napoleon Affair

  The Second Sign

  Adriana Villa Adventures:

  War of Thieves Box Set

  When Shadows Call

  Shadows Rising

  Shadow Hour

  The Adventure Guild:

  The Caesar Secret: Books 1-3

  The Carolina Caper

  Beta Force:

  Operation Zulu

  London Calling

  Paranormal Archaeology Division:

  Hell’s Gate

  For the other Ernie

  Acknowledgments

  Special thanks go out to my super fans. We ride together. I appreciate and love you all. And a
huge thank you to Anne Storer, Ray Braun, Denyse Léonard, and James Slater for your extra effort in helping make this story a better reading experience.

  Copyright © 2020 by Ernest Dempsey

  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.

  Tequila Sunset

  A Dak Harper Thriller

  Ernest Dempsey

  One

  Sequatchie County, Tennessee

  Dak sensed the movement before he heard a twig snap and leaves rustle. He turned his head, slowly, cautiously, peering through the forest with piercing jade eyes. Covered head-to-toe in forest camouflage, he blended perfectly against the tree trunk to his back. Twenty feet up in his tree stand, he had a clear 180-degree view of the forest below and anything that might approach.

  His ears pricked when he heard the sound of more leaves rustling. The abstruse noise came from his right. He kept his eyes locked on the area while he covertly raised his hunting bow and drew back the string. He pulled only halfway, keeping three fingers on the tightly wound cord.

  The deer emerged from a thicket of privet and stepped into the open. Dak had seen the buck before, an eight pointer with a healthy, light brown coat. He knew the animal would return to this spot as he'd seen it, as well as several does in the last month since hunkering down in his mountain cabin.

  Dak waited until the buck fully exposed his flank before drawing the bowstring back, his fingers brushing lightly against his cheek. He breathed slowly, half through his nostrils and half through his mouth to remain utterly silent. The razor-sharp point on the arrow aligned perfectly with the target.