Drawpoint (Blake Brier Thrillers Book 4)

by L. T. Ryan

  “Look around. What do you think?”

  “Yeah, kinda figured. You don’t mind if I ask your friends, do ya?” Blake started to move around the counter toward the back room.

  “Halt. You can’t go back there.” The man punctuated his protest by holding up his hand. He even took enough initiative to get off his chair and stand in the doorway after Blake had passed through.

  “Gentlemen, sorry to bother you. I can see you’re busy.” Blake took a quick look around the room. To the right there was a desk with several monitors. Each showed a grid of four images. Video feeds from surveillance cameras around the property, he assumed.

  It was nothing one wouldn’t expect to find. Except for one thing. There, on one quarter of one screen, was an image of Haeli, sitting in a chair in the middle of the room with several other people around her. By her posture, it looked as though she was bound.

  Blake’s heart sank. Rage filled the void in his chest.

  He turned his anger toward the Russians, just in time to see one of the two men lifting his shirt and reaching for the handle of a pistol, tucked in his waistband.

  Blake lashed out, striking him in the face with an elbow.

  As the second man drew his weapon, Blake came down with a hammer fist, swiping the gun from his hand before he could fully raise it. It went flying across the room and landed near the corner.

  The first man recovered and again tried to reach for his waist. Blake drove his heel into the man’s ankle. Without waiting for him to register the pain, Blake hooked his right arm under the man’s right armpit and moved as if he were going to circle around him. Blake’s momentum forced the arm back and upward, allowing him to reach in with his left and pluck the pistol out of the man’s pants.

  Before the second man could even think about intervening, Blake had already fired two shots into the first man’s side, just under his armpit. The placement would ensure that the projectile would penetrate the lungs and heart. A sure-fire way to take the fight out of him.

  As the dying man slumped to the ground, Blake fired twice more, dropping the second man where he stood.

  Then he swung the sights toward the doorway. The tattooed man stood frozen. His arms flew up like they were spring loaded.

  “Walk over here and get on the ground.”

  He complied.

  “Lay on your stomach and interlace your fingers behind your head. If you move, I will shoot you, understand?”

  “Ja. Ja, Ja,” he stammered.

  “What’s your name.”

  “Reiner.”

  “Okay Reiner. Don’t do anything stupid and you’ll be fine.”

  Blake held the pistol toward Reiner but directed his attention to the screens. He tried to make sense of what he was looking at. Two men stood together. They didn’t appear to be talking. Two other men were on the floor in front of Haeli. One was sitting, slumped over his knees, and one was lying on his side. It appeared that these men were unconscious, but Haeli’s mouth was moving as if she were talking to them.

  “Is there audio?”

  Forehead pressed to the floor, Reiner answered with no hesitation. “Ja. You have to click it. Just click the one you want to hear.”

  Blake grabbed the mouse and clicked the image of Haeli. The audio blared.

  “—and now you're stuck in here with me,” Haeli said. “I should’ve done more. Why didn’t you run? You told me you were going to run.”

  What the hell?

  It was Haeli, but it hardly sounded like her. It was as if she were possessed. Blake searched the screen for more controls. There were none. He right clicked Haeli’s image. A pop-up menu appeared.

  Full screen.

  With the larger view, it was clear that the two men on the floor were not moving at all. The one on his side had his arm raised slightly off the ground. It would be almost impossible to keep perfectly still under such prolonged strain. Unless he was a yoga master, Blake was pretty sure the guy was in rigor mortis. It led to a lot of questions. Three major ones, off the top of his head. Why was Haeli there? Who were the men? And why was she talking to a couple of corpses?

  “Where is this video from?” When he didn’t get an answer, he realized why. “Sit up. Sit up and look at the screens.”

  With his hands locked behind his head, Reiner rolled and then bent at the waist, straining to get a look.

  Blake pointed. “This one. Where’s it from?”

  “Building five. It’s at the back of the lot. It’s the old sorting center. But they built a new one. That building’s empty. I think they’re planning to knock it down.”

  “And who are these men?” Blake motioned to the closest Russian. The pool of blood had creeped from under him and across the floor, almost reaching Reiner’s feet.

  “They work for the owner. That’s all I know.”

  “What’s the owner’s name.”

  “I don’t know. He’s a Russian guy.”

  “You don’t know who you work for?”

  “I work for Wolf. He runs the place. The Russians? When they’re here, I just stay out of their way. Everyone does.”

  Blake considered pushing, but he didn’t have time to keep going around in circles with the guy. Instead, he pointed at the floor.

  Reiner got the message and laid back down on his belly.

  “How do I get to building five?”

  “Straight down, last one on the left.”

  If he were going to get her out of there, he’d need to know what he’d be up against. He clicked for the menu and returned to grid mode.

  Assuming all four feeds on Haeli’s monitor were from the same building, it looked like there were only four men in total, not including the dead ones. Two with Haeli and two others in a different room. This second space looked like an office. There were two bare desks and a few filing cabinets. Unlike the large, garage-like area Haeli was in, this one was small, had carpet, and the walls were made of wood paneling.

  Blake clicked on the image to bring up the audio. The two men were speaking in Russian. They talked fast, but Blake was able to translate most of it.

  Both had similar features. Scarred faces, crooked noses, angular jaws, buzz cut hair. They were stereotypical Russian mobster types, for sure. One of them did most of the talking while the other simply nodded, his lips pursed like he had just smelled something awful.

  “If we leave now, we can be back in two hours. Three at the most. If she hasn’t changed her mind by then and Victor hasn’t found Brier, you can start cutting pieces off of her.”

  Found Brier? Cut pieces off her?

  He could have put his fist through the screen.

  Blake waited a moment to see if the two were leaving. The two exterior cameras, arranged on the same monitor, showed two vehicles. One black, one white, both Mercedes. As the two men left the frame on camera two, they appeared on camera three, walking to the black Mercedes and getting in.

  “Reiner, do you have any handcuffs or flex cuffs? Zip ties maybe? Something I can secure you with?” Blake walked toward the corner, picked up the second pistol and stuck it in his belt line, opposite the other.

  “No, nothing,” Reiner said.

  “That’s too bad. If I can’t secure you, I’m gonna have to shoot you.”

  “Top drawer. There’s zip ties in the top drawer.”

  Blake chuckled.

  He pulled zip ties from the drawer and fastened Reiner’s hands and feet. When he was done, he checked the monitor. The black Mercedes was gone.

  Blake smiled.

  Two guns. Two bad guys.

  He liked those odds.

  28

  Haeli bit her lip. Inside, she was crying. Sobbing. Weeping. Screaming.

  Outside, she was still.

  It had been several minutes since she regained her capacity to think clearly. Or at least since she became aware of it on an analytical level.

  She mourned for the two men laying lifeless at her feet. Two of the kindest and strongest people she
had ever known.

  Now, the curtain was drawn back on their fragility. Flesh and bone, impervious to nothing.

  And she was no different. All the genetic enhancement in the world couldn’t change that fact.

  A lifetime of training. Of service. Of struggle. Could all be wiped away on a whim. A trailer hitched to a misguided and unnecessary crusade.

  Alas, her sweet, brutal friends. They were there with her, but not because they were physically present. Their mottled, bloating shells retained no relation to the men who once inhabited them. It was because of their bond. A bond that had been forged, not in fire, but in the simmering pan. Not in death, but on the very precipice of it. They had lived on that ledge for as long as she had known them.

  Michael, Ricky, Chet. They were all there. Infusing her with a new vigor, as if donating the memory of their vitality to the cause. She, the hand. The instrument of their collective wrath. She stored it. Fostered it.

  She looked at Wan’s puffy face with loving eyes. Once upon a time, they had been inseparable. She had loved him. Still did. Her connection with Blake didn’t change that, only put it in perspective. She and Michael didn’t belong together, not in that way. But it didn’t diminish her feelings for him.

  With Blake there was passion and longing and volatility. It was selfish, like she needed him more than he needed her. She craved him and at times, hated him for it. She cared for Michael in a different way. A selfless, unconditional love unencumbered by passion.

  “I’m sorry Michael,” she said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be who you wanted me to be. This isn’t your fault. It’s mine. It’s all mine. Please, Ricky, Michael, please forgive me.”

  She spoke to them now, not out of drug induced psychosis, but out of necessity. The men who watched over her would expect it. And if she didn’t deliver, there would no doubt be another dose of—whatever they had given her.

  What had they given her? LSD, Peyote, Psilocybin? She was no expert, but it was her understanding that the effects of these chemicals lasted many hours after exposure. But she had started coming down quickly. Then again, her sense of time at this point could hardly be considered reliable.

  Before she had blasted off to another planet, she considered making up a story. A wild goose chase, attached to a trail of conditions that would buy her time. But that was before. Before she had slipped herself free of her restraints. Now she had the upper hand. They just didn’t know it yet.

  Sokolov’s level of depravity was astonishing. He had brought the corpses to unnerve her. Guilt her. Break her. But it had the opposite effect. Without them, she might have felt beaten and alone. Instead, she was empowered.

  But if she was going to succeed, she needed the men to be distracted. Separated. She was weak, and so, so tired. It was the reason she had been biding her time, waiting for her moment. A shift change. A bathroom break. Something. But these men were firmly rooted to their posts and likely would be for some time.

  She looked to Bender and Wan. She spoke to them again, but this time, only in her thoughts.

  Any ideas?

  And just like that, with the question, came her answer. She would speak to them. Speak through them.

  “Come on Rick, I can do this, I can hold out.”

  She scoffed. Rolled her eyes.

  “If I tell him where they are, he’ll kill you. He’ll know we stole them. I don’t want you to die, Ricky.”

  Her voice wobbled. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the two guards reacting. Their full attention, now hanging on every word.

  “I’ll do it Rick, I will. I never wanted the diamonds in the first place. I told you they were nothing but trouble.”

  She bowed her head as if listening. Nodded.

  “Yes. I’m ready. I can’t do this anymore. I’ll tell him. I’ll tell him, now.”

  Haeli straightened her back and stared out into the distance.

  The men conferred with muted excitement. Like schoolgirls gossiping while the teacher’s back was turned. One of them hurried through the door, leaving the other with his proud smile.

  However long it would take the absent man to fetch Sokolov, it wouldn’t be long enough.

  Haeli slid her hand from the restraint and used it to free the other. She grasped the back of the chair and stood, bringing it a few inches off the ground. She stared the remaining man down.

  “I’m invisible!”

  “Sit down.” He charged toward her.

  Haeli stood her ground.

  “Sit down, or I’ll sit you down.” He put one hand on each of her shoulders and pushed. The legs of the chair clicked back to the floor. Haeli was seated.

  The man stood facing her. His body a few inches from Haeli’s face. The holstered pistol a few inches more.

  “You can see me?” Haeli asked. “Are you invisible, too?”

  The man blew air through his teeth and shook his head. He turned to return to his position.

  It was the perfect sequence of events. Exactly as she had planned. He had given up his distance. Given her his back. And now she would capitalize on it.

  Haeli leapt forward, throwing her arms around his neck, and clamping her legs around his waist.

  The man flailed, trying to shed her. She squeezed tighter.

  He clawed at her thigh. She could feel the bulge of the pistol digging into her flesh. Crossing her feet, she drew her knees in, locking him out from any access to the weapon.

  On her forearm, she could feel the pulsing of his carotid artery. It hammered away, increasing in speed and intensity. His muscles tensed. Panic was setting in.

  Haeli could feel her own strength waning. She took rapid, shallow breaths.

  The man staggered and spun, twisting and contouring like a bucking bronco. He skittered backward, smashing Haeli into the unforgiving wall. Stumbling forward, he set up for a second run. She braced herself.

  Smash.

  The blow knocked the wind out of her. The pain so intense, she feared he may have fractured her spine.

  Still, she squeezed. Summoning every last morsel of energy in her tired and broken body, she clamped down as if her life depended on it. Because it did.

  He slowed. Stumbled. Buckled.

  Haeli rode him to the ground. Using her legs as leverage, she arched her back and grunted through clenched teeth.

  Outside her own body, she wouldn’t have recognized herself. A rabid animal, panting and foaming. Blinded by rage.

  The stone-hard mass of muscle between her legs began to soften.

  He convulsed.

  And then, he was out. Limp and useless.

  With barely enough strength to roll the man over, she scooched herself out from under him. She worked her way to her feet and in a near delirious haze, stumbled toward the rear door.

  Please be open.

  She turned the handle. Sunlight streamed through the gap.

  It felt like freedom. But it wasn’t. Not yet. She would have to run. She would have to endure whatever came next. And they wouldn’t be far behind her.

  A throbbing sensation still lingering on her inner thigh.

  Her mind was slow. Each thought a deliberate culling of her remaining faculties.

  The gun. Take the gun.

  As she turned back, the door behind the sleeping man opened, revealing his stunned partner.

  They locked eyes. Both frozen in an action-reaction gambit. Once again, it came down to the familiar fight or flight. Such was the story of her life.

  He blinked. She bolted.

  Into the open air she sprinted. Over gravel and unkempt grass. Ahead, there was a road. Pitted and potholed. It led somewhere. Somewhere away from there.

  She looked over her shoulder. The man was gaining on her.

  Legs burning, breath failing, she knew she wasn’t going to make it. She had given everything she had. For Michael. For Ricky. For Chet and for Blake. Nothing left on the table. But it wasn’t enough.

  As she reached the edge of the roadway and stepp
ed onto the aging asphalt, her legs slowed. Like a car that had run out of gas, she coasted toward the inevitable.

  29

  Blake placed one of the pistols on the passenger seat for ease of access. He threw the car in reverse, cut the wheel, and punched the gas. While still moving backwards, he slammed it back in drive.

  The little motor jolted and grabbed the gears. Blake mashed the pedal, sending the bucket of bolts around the corner and onto the access road.

  A garbage truck, coming from the interior of the complex, squealed. Its driver broke hard and laid on the horn. Blake fish-tailed clear of the truck’s front bumper and took off like a toy car that had been wound up and released.

  Building five. Last one on the left.

  As the first building whizzed by, Blake looked ahead. On the right was an open area, lined with dumpsters. Behind it, a building with disproportionate garage doors. To the left, two more smaller structures.

  But it was what was in the middle that caught his eye and lured him into action. The petite frame of a woman, half-naked, running like she had fallen but had yet to hit the ground.

  Behind her, a muscular man gave chase. He was close. There was no time for contemplation.

  Blake almost lifted off his seat as he stood on the accelerator. He bore down on them.

  Three… Two… One…

  The moment he hit the point of no return, when no amount of braking would prevent a crash, he laid on the horn.

  Haeli’s head snapped around as she dove into the tall grass at the edge of the road.

  Her pursuer didn’t.

  It was a fatal mistake.

  The bumper made contact with his legs, crushing them into floppy ropes that dangled below him as he lifted off toward the windshield. The spidered glass a parting gift on his way over the roof and back to the roadway.

  Blake skidded to a stop and jumped out to assess the threat. The bloody pile didn’t present one. And never would.

  “Are you all right?” Blake darted to Haeli’s side and touched her, gingerly.

  “Mick. You made it.” She smiled and giggled. The way she did when she had one too many cocktails.