Rampant Destruction (CERBERUS Book 10)

by Andy Peloquin

  “Anyone between us and them?” Nolan asked.

  “Negative,” she said. “You’ve got a straight shot down.”

  Nolan nodded and gave Bex the “all clear” signal—unnecessary, as she’d heard everything over comms, but old habits died hard. Balefire held at the ready, he advanced down the stairs. With his anti-grav thrusters set on five percent output, he maintained solid but silent footing on the ornate tiles.

  At the bottom of the stairs, a long hallway ran north for thirty meters before branching off to the east and west. Open doors gave Nolan a quick glimpse into the mansion’s interior, and it was even more lavishly decorated than Nolan expected. Centuries-old oil paintings hung on the walls in gold and platinum frames, watching over marble statues that had doubtless once stood in a museum. The floor and roof were both covered in diamond-and-ethernium-inlaid floor tiles, and every decorative accoutrement and piece of furniture visible in the place dripped affluence.

  Nolan’s dislike for his target grew. The bastard didn’t hesitate to show off his wealth—wealth he’d acquired by turning underage boys and girls into prostitutes for his elite clientele, who he had then proceeded to blackmail or extort to add to his influence in the Empire. His terrible taste in décor was just the rotten cherry atop the shit sundae that was Fineas Derring.

  The first door to Nolan’s left led not into a room, but a small staircase that the mansion’s blueprints showed descending directly into Derring’s suite. It gave the man easy access to the sunroom and pool deck should he want to swim, bypassing the primary staircase used for guests and visitors.

  Any self-respecting security force would have this access point secured, stationing at least one guard there to keep watch. The Black Crows, however, had failed to lock down the staircase, giving Nolan and Bex clear access to Derring’s rooms.

  The staircase opened into what appeared to be a massive walk-in closet and en suite bathroom. Nolan and Bex moved past shelves filled with costly shoes, a fortune in watches and jewelry, and row after row of expensive, well-tailored outfits cut in the latest fashion. The closet door was closed, but through his helmet’s thermal imaging, Nolan had a clear view of the two heat signatures in the room beyond.

  One, a woman, lay stretched out on an enormous circular bed, either asleep or unconscious. The second figure—Derring—sat hunched over a table in the corner of the room, with his back to the closet.

  Deactivating his thermal imaging, Nolan slid the double doors open just a few centimeters, enough that he could see his targets. The woman sprawled on the bed looked more drugged out of her mind than asleep. Her breathing was shallow, her complexion sickly pale in the dim light of the bedside lamp. She wasn’t the same woman Nolan had seen at Derring’s side in the Leaping Guest, either. To his relief, she appeared to be in her thirties or forties—so not one of the underage girls from Derring’s prostitute ring.

  A loud, prolonged, sucking snort echoed from the table, and Derring let out a gasping “Aahh!” of delight. As the man straightened, Nolan saw a straw sticking out of his nose, followed by five neat lines of bright orange powder on the tabletop.

  “Hah!” Derring leaped to his feet and spun toward his companion. The drug—Nolan recognized the color of the amphetamine-laced Hero Dust anywhere—set him talking at a million kilometers per hour. “I feel like a swim! Nothing better than a swim after dark. Especially in a heated pool. I’ve got a heated pool. Ooh, it should be nice and warm in the cool air. Do you want to swim, Carnelia? I think you’d like it. Especially because it’s heated. Did I tell you the pool was heated? You’ll find it so warm and inviting, and I’ve got a bikini with your name on it. So let’s go!”

  The woman didn’t stir at his words. She was too far gone to even hear him, Nolan guessed. Hero Dust was a cruel horse to ride. The initial high made you feel like you could do the impossible—hence its moniker—but if you didn’t take more bumps to keep the high going, the inevitable crash would leave you as insensate and weak as Derring’s companion.

  “Hah, more swimming room for me, then!” Derring shook his head, setting his wispy, combed-over hair flying about. His lean face shone with a bright, manic smile—and a hint of orange dust around his nostrils—as he stripped down to his leopard-print underwear and reached for a plush bathrobe draped over the back of his chair.

  He turned to the unconscious woman and patted her bottom. “I’ll be back, sweet cheeks!” For a moment, the pat turned into a grope, but when Carnelia didn’t stir, Derring seemed to lose interest. He swaggered toward the closet, carried on the high of the Hero Dust running through his veins. Seizing both door handles, he flung them open and stalked into the closet.

  Right past Bex and Nolan. Even without the Hero Dust clouding his mind, he’d never have seen through their digital camouflage in the closet’s darkness.

  Nolan rolled his eyes. It would be so easy to put an end to Derring here and now. A quick thrust of his Echoblade into the base of the man’s skull, or a vicious wrench of his neck. No mess, no fuss, in and out without anyone knowing.

  But he hadn’t come here just for Detective Locke. This wasn’t only about eliminating a scumbag, even one as truly deplorable as Fineas Derring. He’d come for intel that only this man could provide.

  So instead of putting a Balefire bolt into the back of his target’s skull, Nolan slung the rifle onto his back and leaped up to seize Derring by the collar. Before the man could protest, Nolan dragged him the five steps into the bathroom and shoved his face into the toilet. Only after he’d fully submerged the man’s head did he realize that the last person to use it had forgotten to flush. That brought a savage grin to his face.

  Nolan didn’t bother looking back—without his thermal imaging, he wouldn’t see through Bex’s digital cloaking, and he had full confidence that she’d watch their backs while he dealt with Derring.

  He gave the man a full thirty seconds before pulling him out of the water—just long enough for Derring to drag in a spluttering breath. Then Nolan shoved his face back in. This time, he kept Derring under until the man’s struggles grew more frantic and frenzied.

  Can’t let him drown until after he gives us what we need, Nolan thought.

  Releasing the man, he stepped back and deactivated his digital cloaking. He wanted Derring to see the armed and armored man in his bathroom—after its short-lived high, Hero Dust had a way of distorting and amplifying fear, paranoia, and anxiety.

  Derring managed to drag himself out of the toilet, coughing and gasping. He lay on the bathroom floor, retching onto the diamond-encrusted tiles beneath him.

  “Mister Derring,” Nolan growled in his best Cerberus voice, distorted by Taia’s voice modulator, “you and I need to have a chat.”

  Derring spun toward him, eyes going wide at the sight of Nolan. His surprised shout was cut off by another wave of retching, and vomit sprayed over his plush robe and hideous underwear.

  Nolan waited patiently until the man had finished spewing. The moment Derring’s attention was once again fixed on the armored figure standing over him, Nolan drew out his Echoblade and turned it so the blade caught the moonlight shining through the bathroom window.

  “Don’t bother offering me money,” Nolan said, toying with the blade. “You’ve got only one thing I want. Give me that, and you’ve got a chance of getting through tonight with everything still attached.”

  He moved so fast Derring had no time to react before the tip of Nolan’s dagger was pressed against the tiny bulge in his underwear and Nolan’s helmeted face was mere centimeters away from his.

  “I trust we understand each other?” Nolan growled. He was glad Taia had shut off the helmet’s olfactory sensors—the last thing he wanted was to smell the man’s vomit-soaked breath and the fresh stench of urine emanating from Derring’s underwear.

  Derring gibbered incoherently in the grips of fear and Hero Dust.

  “Shut up,” Nolan snapped. He took hold of Derring’s lean face and gripped the joints of his ja
w hard enough to silence the man. “The only words I want coming out of your mouth are the answer to my question. Got that?”

  Derring gave a hasty nod. Nolan slackened his grip slightly, and the man snapped his mouth shut with a clack of teeth.

  “Good.” Nolan nodded and released Derring’s face, but kept his Echoblade pressed against the man’s groin. “Now, tell me—“

  “Nolan!” Taia said in Nolan’s earpiece. “A silent alarm just went off in the house, and you’ve got three heat signatures converging on this location. They’ll be here in thirty seconds!”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Nolan’s heart leaped into his throat as he spotted Derring’s left hand pressed against something beneath the toilet: a button.

  The sneaky fuck!

  “Kali—“ he began.

  “Already on my way,” Bex said. There was no sound of her leaving, but Nolan knew she had left the bathroom door and was now headed into the master bedroom.

  Nolan’s mind raced. Their plan had hinged on not having to shoot their way out of Derring’s mansion. Not that he expected the Black Crows to be any trouble—they’d have a hard time finding their own asses with both hands, a fully detailed map, GPS coordinates, and an intel package on the expected terrain. No, what worried him was Agent Styver finding out.

  The Protection Bureau had just issued an Empire-wide BOLO on him, which led Nolan to suspect they hadn’t been able to track his departure from the Vault. But a shootout at the mansion of the man who owned the Protection Bureau’s current base of operations would send up red flags bright and large enough for even a half-wit to see. Agent Styver would put two and two together and the Protection Bureau would pull a Houdini.

  Which left Nolan in a damned pickle.

  “That was stupid,” he growled. He slammed the pommel of his Echoblade into the man’s testicles, and clapped a hand over Derring’s mouth to muffle his cries of pain. “Backup won’t arrive in time to stop me from killing you!”

  Derring’s eyes went wide, and confusion mingled with the panic and pain in his expression. Nolan knew what the man was thinking—there should have been no way for this armored assailant to know about the silent alarm he’d triggered. But Nolan’s words and the dagger he now pressed to Derring’s throat banished all hopes of salvation.

  “Mmpht!” His words were muffled beneath Nolan’s gauntlet.

  “Choose your next words carefully,” Nolan snarled. “They could very well end up engraved on your tombstone.”

  A snort echoed over comms. “Nice touch, Cerbie, if a tad overdramatic.”

  Nolan ignored Bex’s gibe. His words had the desired effect on Derring.

  “Mmpht!” the man protested again.

  Nolan removed his hand.

  “Wait!” Derring gasped. “That alarm…not guards…calling for medical assistance!”

  Nolan frowned. Then he remembered the bright orange powder on the table and the nose straw now floating in the toilet.

  “In case you overdose?” Nolan asked.

  “Yes!” Derring nodded. “J-Just let me talk to them, let them know i-it was an accident! I-It’s not the first time I’ve h-hit the button.”

  Nolan contemplated that. There existed a very real chance Derring would try to call for help, and the situation would become very noisy and messy for all involved. Even killing all the Black Crows on-site wouldn’t stop news of the attack from reaching Agent Styver. But he preferred to avoid a battle altogether, as their plan had initially intended,

  “Kali, hold what you’ve got!” Nolan said.

  “Whiskey Tango Foxtrot?” Bex asked.

  “Lock it down so no one can get in, but don’t start shooting until I give you the green light.”

  A moment of silence, then Bex said, “Kali copies. Locking shit down.”

  “Five seconds out,” Taia said in his ear. “They’re on the fourth floor and closing fast.”

  Nolan returned his attention to Derring. “One word I don’t like, I start cutting.” He lowered his Echoblade and pressed the tip against the man’s groin. “And I won’t stop until there’s nothing left to cut. Understood?”

  “Yes!” Derring tried to shift away from the blade, but the toilet at his back blocked his escape. “I-I’ll get rid of them. No trouble, I swear.”

  “Good.” Nolan stood, seized Derring by the neck, and hauled him upright. “Move.” He shoved Derring roughly toward the bathroom door, but didn’t release his grip on the man. That alone saved Derring from falling flat on his face. Nolan knew the Hero Dust would be wearing off soon—when that happened, if the man didn’t get another bump, he’d go comatose like his companion on the bed. And Nolan couldn’t have that happening until after he got the intel he needed.

  Before Nolan reached the bedroom, a hammering sounded at the door. “Mister Derring?” came a man’s shout. “Can you hear me? Is everything okay in there, Mister Derring?”

  “Two armed, one with a medical bag,” Bex said over comms.

  “In case of OD,” Nolan explained. He shoved Derring into the bedroom and dragged the man toward the door. Placing his helmet close to Derring’s ear, he whispered in the roughest voice Taia could generate, “One. Wrong. Word.” He pressed the tip of his Echoblade between the man’s legs from behind for added emphasis.

  “Mister Derring!?” The man’s voice sounded more insistent, echoing with panic. “Mister Derring, if you don’t answer, I’m going to have to break down the door and—“

  “No, no!” Derring almost shrieked. “I-I’m fine. Just another false alarm, Manny.”

  A moment of silence. Nolan activated his penetrative thermal imaging and studied the three figures on the other side of the door. Two were clearly Black Crows, complete with paramilitary outfits and heavy assault rifles, but the third looked more like an orderly or nurse, down to the scrubs and the medical bag he carried.

  “So you’re fine, Mister Derring?” Manny asked. “Your…companion, she’s okay?”

  “Yes, Manny, sh-she’s fine!” Derring stiffened as Nolan kept the back edge of his Echoblade pressed against the man’s anus and testicles. “Just sleeping it off.”

  “Are you sure, Mister Derring?” Manny seemed reluctant to let it go. “I’d feel better if you let me come in there and check on her. Just to make sure she doesn’t…you know…well, you remember what happened with the last one.”

  “No one enters,” Nolan hissed Derring’s ear.

  “She’s perfectly all right, Manny!” the man snapped. “She’s only had two lines!”

  Silence again, and Nolan saw Manny looking between the two guards. He tensed in expectation of what would happen if the orderly pressed the issue. Judging by the presence of the Black Crows, he’d come fully prepared to break down the door if his master proved unresponsive or used some secret distress code word.

  Nolan activated his digital cloaking and slid to the right, putting Derring between him and the door. Bex, too, shifted her position so she’d have a clear shot at whoever entered the room. Even concealed by their suits’ camouflage, neither of them would take a risk. The two Black Crows would drop first, and Manny a moment later.

  To his relief, Manny relented.

  “Okay, Mister Derring,” the orderly said. “If you’re sure.”

  “Of course I’m sure!” Derring snapped. He’d regained a semblance of his self-control, though Nolan’s dagger was a dangerously sharp reminder of who was truly in charge of the situation.

  “I’ll just leave a shot of opioid blocker out here,” Manny said. Thermal imaging showed him pulling something out of his medical bag and leaving it on the floor outside the bedroom door. “Anything happens—“

  “Yes, yes!” Impatience echoed in Derring’s voice. “Now fuck off and leave us to our little party.”

  “Of course, sir. Good night, sir.”

  Nolan breathed a sigh of relief as Manny and the two Black Crows backed away from the bedroom door, then turned to retreat down the hall.

  He
replayed the conversation in his mind; nothing stood out as odd, but he wouldn’t take chances. “Kali, watch the hall. A mental command to Taia deactivated his cloaking. They come back, you let me know.”

  A single click of the comms acknowledged his order.

  “There!” Derring said. “I did what you asked. Now—“

  “Now you shut up again.” Nolan pulled the Echoblade away from the man’s sensitive bits and, with one hand, spun Derring to face him. He looked in the man’s eyes, searching for the signs that Derring was coming down from the Hero Dust high. Sure enough, his pupils had begun to dilate even wider and his eyes were glazing over.

  “Go.” He shoved Derring toward the table, where five lines of Hero Dust remained. “Take another bump, but don’t try anything stupid. It’s fucking hard to snort lines with a shattered nose.”

  Derring seemed both surprised and relieved by Nolan’s command. He didn’t protest as he turned to stoop over the table. With one long, sucking snort, he filled his nostrils with the Hero Dust.

  Nolan prepared for the man to try something dumb. Hero Dust had a way of making its user feel invulnerable, and Derring might be just idiotic enough to think he could go for a gun in a hidden drawer or tackle his assailant. Nolan would rip the man to pieces in a straight fight, but it would prove more difficult to take the man down without bloodying him up or leaving marks.

  Fortunately, Derring was coward and dirtbag in equal measures. After finishing his line of Hero Dust, he turned to Nolan with a look halfway between pleading and demanding.

  “What do you want from me?” he asked. “Whatever it is, I promise I can make it worth your while to—“

  Nolan resisted the urge to drive a fist into the man’s face or gut. Instead, he stepped closer and jabbed a finger in the man’s face. “I told you, there’s only one thing I want.”

  That shut Derring up, and sent him cowering back against the table. His scrabbling hands sent the orange powder flying in all directions.