by Jack Parker
Kurt was not a telepath. "Which is exactly why I should stay. If the boy escapes, Sterling won't be much use in stopping him."
"You think I need two arms to stop this one?" Sterling scoffed, nodding towards Emery. "I don't even need five fingers to put that little twat down for the count."
"All the same, we're too close to completion to be taking chances."
"Well gee, Kurt, maybe you're right." Sheridan aimed the gun at Emery's calf. "I'll just pop one into his leg right now and it's a non-issue."
"Don't," Kurt said. "That's not wise."
"Yeah, spare me your wisdom."
"You might kill him."
"Ask me if I care."
"You should. It'll be trouble for you if he dies. For all of us."
Sheridan shook his head, looking at Kurt with annoyance. "Then explain to me again what the fuck was wrong with my first idea."
"…Sterling is occasionally less than vigilant."
It was a bad lie. Emery could sense Kurt's desperation.
Sheridan lowered his gun. "You know, if you could just fucking follow my plan for once and not bitch every five minutes about my decisions, we'd be a lot better off right about now. I'm serious, Kurt, I've had it with this."
"I'm only trying to be efficient."
"We're past efficient. Now move so I can shoot him, please."
"I can't let you do that."
"I didn't ask your permission!"
Kurt held up his hand slightly. "Sheridan—"
"Goddamnit, what is it with you lately? What do you fuckin' care? I put you in charge of the prick's safety because we needed him intact until this thing came to a close, but you're overdoing it! It's over! We don't need to worry about…his…"
Sheridan trailed off, his eyes sinking down to a sudden sound that had caught his attention. The drizzle of liquid hitting concrete. All eyes flicked down to Kurt's raised hand, where a steady stream of blood was pouring out of the back of his glove to the ground below.
Sheridan furrowed his brow.
Kurt drew fast, gun held up, his other arm shoving Emery behind him as he pointed his weapon at Sheridan's head.
CHAPTER 19
"Whoa, whoa, what the fuck!" Sheridan cried in surprise, both he and Sterling moving back. "What the hell are you doing?!"
"I'm changing the plan," Kurt said, voice unwavering. He reached into his coat and produced another gun, which he shoved into Emery's hands. Emery awkwardly grasped it, aiming it Sterling and trying not to shy away from the malevolent look this garnered.
"Jesus, man! Put the gun down, I mean what the fuck is this?" Sheridan held up his hands, eyes darting between them.
Kurt looked at him squarely but said nothing.
"Holy shit…Kurt. Just fucking relax."
"I advise the two of you to leave," he replied coolly.
Sheridan was shaking his head, eyes wide in disbelief. "He got to you, is that it?" He threw a head toss Emery's way. "You feel sorry for him? For this little lap of luxury blueblood with more money than god? Jesus Christ, Kurt, of all the fucking times in the world to learn empathy!"
"There isn't time for discussion. Turn around and walk out."
Sheridan was undeterred. "What did he say, huh? What did he do? Offer you a bigger cut? Give you some fucking sob story? Well how long have we known each other, Gabler? This is what that's worth to you—you're gonna stab me in the back?"
"You have your millions. You got exactly what you wanted. I'm not depriving you of a bloody thing."
"Yeah, except another fifty mil!"
"Which would have been my share with Scott out of the mix," Kurt pointed out.
"What? And he's worth that to you?" Sheridan gaped at Emery.
Kurt's silence was a resounding affirmation.
Sheridan's anger drained, too confused to ask questions. He stared down at the blood on the floor, at Kurt's arm, and then took another step back. "Holy fuckin' god, man, you…oh, for shit's sake! Don't tell me that was your—"
"This is my final warning. You know I mean it," Kurt said. "Leave."
"Like 'ell!" Sterling barked. "If you don' want your money then that's your business, Gabler, but you ain't gettin' us killed! I ain't gonna be 'unted down by Ludkov just so you can rescue the little damsel in distress!" He turned another evil look on Emery. "Get that gun offa me you 'alf-pint cunt!"
Emery held firm.
"Sterling's right, man," Sheridan said. "We're all dead if Eaton doesn't get that kid back. You, me, Sterling, Scott. He's screwing with you—he's just trying to save his own ass. You are dead at the end of this, Kurt, and if you think there's any other outcome then you're fucking kidding yourself. Think about what you're fucking doing! I-I mean this is ridiculous!" Sheridan huffed, holding out his hands between Sterling and Kurt. "We're friends. We've known each other for years. You've always had my back and I've always had yours—I'd've taken a goddamn bullet for you!"
Kurt's features remained impassive. "You're about to."
Sterling reacted suddenly to this threat, pulling out his gun on Kurt.
Emery wasn't sure if he even meant to fire when his gun went off. The shot hit high, striking Sterling in the neck. His gun ended up firing into the wall as opposed to Kurt's chest. The man lurched and hit the ground on his back like a ton of bricks with a fountain of blood following him in an arc, clutching futilely at his throat.
Sheridan leapt back. "Fuck!" he cried. "What the f—Kurt, what the fuck! You two-faced son of a bitch!"
Emery stared in shock at the man on the ground. He gurgled, jittered, making sickening, drowning gasps. Sterling was going to die. He'd just killed someone. Not a very nice someone, but it was still an incredible realization.
Sheridan was still reeling, staring at Sterling's dying body with mounting rage. "You fucking traitor! After everything I did for you! After I brought you in on this! I made you richer than your goddamn wettest dreams and you're going to fucking kill me for it?!" He turned to look at Kurt with psychotic indignation.
Kurt regarded Sterling's now still form briefly. "I don't need to kill you, Casey. Take your money and run."
Sheridan's snarl slowly faded, but the loathing in his eyes only intensified. He tucked his gun into his pants and took a few steps back. "…I've known Al for ten fucking years, and unlike you I have a sense of loyalty. A little bit of fucking respect for the people I work with. Do you think I'm gonna let you get away with having your little bitch here kill him? Do you think I'm not gonna come after you? You just made a very fucking rich, very fucking ruthless enemy, Gabler."
Kurt didn't falter. "That's two by my count."
Some sort of ruckus from outside suddenly drew all of their attention. Tires on pavement. Doors opening and shutting. Footsteps and muffled voices.
"Shit," Sheridan hissed. "You've really fuckin' done it now. You held us up for too goddamn long, they're already here!"
"Get out the door. Quickly now," Kurt ordered, gesturing the gun at Sheridan.
Sheridan gave him one last murderous look before complying, disappearing out the door from which they'd come.
Emery could hear the voices getting closer, yammering in Russian, and he felt a little sick. Kurt beckoned him out the door as well and Emery followed blindly, tearing the bandage off his hand in frustration and holding his gun aloft as he stepped outside. "Kurt, get out of here. I can distract them. It's me they want."
This statement was punctuated by the sharp screech of a ricocheting bullet near his arm against the hangar's siding. Kurt snatched him back, taking cover on the inside of the door as three more shots rang out in their general direction.
"Bloody fuck!" Emery yelled in surprise. He flattened himself against the inner wall and felt his arm for injury. "They are being paid to bring me in alive, aren't they?"
"Have to make a run for it," Kurt said, leaning to look out the door. "We're sitting ducks here."
"Where?"
"Next hangar over."
That was at best
a highly temporary solution but it wasn't as thought Emery had any better ideas. He nodded to Kurt, who took one last look over his shoulder before grabbing Emery's shirt and pulling him out the door. Emery couldn't see their assailants. Judging by their voices they were probably on the other side of the hangar, but he wasn't about to turn around and look. A few wayward shots scattered around them but quickly tapered off—either they had stopped shooting to give chase or they finally recognized him. Kurt skidded to a halt by the next hangar's door and offered cover fire as Emery joined him, who thrust it open with his shoulder and dragged Kurt inside.
This hangar wasn't empty. Instead it had been filled with supplies. Kurt looked around briefly before kicking the door shut and rounding a stack of crates nearby. He threw his weight into them as hard as he could and sent it toppling in front of the door, blocking it off at about waist level. "Move away," he ordered.
Emery did so, backing up to the side as a loud thud sounded against the door. The crates blocking it gave a little.
"How many do you think there are?" Emery asked, looking around the hangar for anything useful.
"At least five," Kurt replied. "We'll have to separate. Take them by surprise. Pick them off. Can you do that?"
The door rattled again. Emery nodded confidently. "I can."
Kurt nodded back in satisfaction and indicated where Emery was to station himself with a hand. "I'll draw their fire first. Follow my lead."
Emery went behind a long wall of haphazardly stacked wooden crates and pushed his back flush against them, listening carefully for the door to give way. He could see Kurt position himself behind two adjacent forklifts a good distance away with his shoulder pressed against the side. The door cracked a few more times before the hinges shrieked and the debris Kurt had scattered scraped across the floor. Emery could just see through a spacing in the crates as six armed men pushed their way in, guns aimed, looking around hastily for their lost targets. One of them Emery recognized. He was a man in Hunter's personal service, and one he'd seen multiple times out in the world whenever he happened to throw glances over his shoulder. An angular faced man by the name of Philip Barnum. Anger swelled up in his chest.
Emery held his breath. Footfalls echoed around him, drawing nearer and migrating off. He felt strangely hyper aware. Focused. Ready. Two men were nearer to him, one was closer to the door, and the last three were moving towards the hangar's other end. The two by him were close together. He could kill one of them, maybe both, before being located. He was contemplating this when the first shot rang out. Feet scuffled around him, voices shouting, mostly in Russian. He needed to react before they all converged on Kurt's position. Emery leaned out and fired three rounds. Two shots hit the closest man in the gut and shoulder, the third went astray.
Emery mentally cursed, scrambling back for cover as a retaliatory bullet sent up a jet of splinters near his head. More shots echoed, followed by screams. He could hear the man he'd failed to kill rushing to his location. He moved as quickly as he could in the opposite direction, ducking down and trying to keep covered as he went. There was no way of telling how many of them were left alive. Assuming Kurt had killed on his first shot, there were two down that he could be certain of and a possible third judging by the cries.
With quiet steps he managed to out maneuver the man pursuing him, lost in the maze of supply crates. He crept around a corner and crouched down to try and get an idea of where Kurt was when he spotted him out in the open. Two men had found him out, both with guns trained on him. Emery clenched his teeth. There was no way he could get a clear enough shot. Not without hitting Kurt. Unless he could issue a warning…He scanned the ground for a moment before looking up suddenly. "Kurt!" Emery yelled out. "In Deckung!"
The two men turned their heads towards the distraction and Kurt immediately hit the ground. Emery stood and emptied his remaining bullets at the two targets. His aim from such a distance was atrocious, but it did the job. Enough shots hit and they both fell.
In doing this, he'd given himself away. An arm reached from behind and wrapped around his neck hard, jerking him back into the firm body of someone who smelled heavily of tobacco and who slurred profanity into his ear. He panicked, kicking both legs out. It was no use. His gun clattered to the pavement.
"For pity's sake, Emery, stop!" the voice hissed behind him furiously. He recognized it as Barnum's. "We were sent here by your father to bloody save you! Why the hell are you firing on us?"
"Because I couldn't think of a quicker way to kill you," Emery snipped. He continued to struggle defiantly and the arm suddenly tightened with brutal force, closing off his windpipe.
"You little bastard…this is all a ploy, isn't it? All this time…"
Emery tried in vain to pry the arm away from his throat. Damn his smart mouth.
"Do you have any idea how much money he's spent? How much trouble he's gone to? You conniving—"
Emery wasn't able to properly register what had cut Barnum off, because the next thing he knew he was sprawled on the ground, gasping for air and grabbing his throat. On all fours he looked up to see Kurt grappling Barnum against a wall, hitting him repeatedly in the face. Barnum shoved him back, getting one good shot in with a fist before Kurt slammed him into the wall again. This time Barnum's head bounced with a crack into the hangar, followed by a spurt of blood. He slid down the wall limply and onto the floor.
Kurt stumbled back, quickly regaining composure and coming to Emery's side. He crouched down and took his shoulder worriedly. "Are you alright?"
Emery was coughing loudly, but nodded as best he could. "That…smarmy wanker…" he choked. "He always had…it in for me."
Kurt pulled him to his feet and dusted him off. "Come on. We've got to get out of here."
"Wait," Emery held up a hand and fell back to his knees next to Barnum, snagging his gun for himself and digging hastily through his pants pockets until he found a set of keys. "Do you think we can make it to his car?"
Kurt stared at the keys dangling from Emery's fingers. "Let's find out."
They rushed back to the door. Kurt leaned out cautiously and motioned that the coast was clear. Emery moved slowly with him along the backside of the hangar, constantly checking behind him for signs of others. When they made it to the end, Kurt looked out, lowering his gun. "Do you see anyone?" Emery asked quietly.
"No."
"Then shouldn't we be on our way?"
Kurt stepped back slightly into him, looking behind them again with agitation. "Six men pursued us and there are six vehicles."
"...Maybe they all drove…?"
"Unlikely." Kurt took a moment to reload his gun, struggling with his injured hand. Emery reached out to help him. "When we were in the first hangar I only heard two cars pull up."
Emery tried not to look at his hands as he released Kurt's now loaded weapon. He could feel that they were wet. "You're bleeding badly."
"Can't bleed to death from that," Kurt said dismissively. He must've caught Emery's guilt stricken expression because he then added, "Can't even feel it right now," before ushering Emery back the way they came. They would have to try and slip away around the back.
Just as they turned around, however, they were met with the sight of three men holding guns on them. Kurt pulled Emery back and tried to aim his gun but Emery snatched his arm and shoved it back down. "Don't! They'll kill you!" Footsteps closed in from the other side and they were suddenly surrounded.
Emery wrenched his arm out of Kurt's bad hand, sliding in front of him with his arms up. They closed in from all sides slowly. He didn't recognize any of these men. A tattooed arm of the nearest man jutted out and grabbed Emery by the front of his shirt while two men from the other side latched onto Kurt, pinning his arms behind his back and kicking him hard in the leg to send him down to his knees.
"Don't hurt him!" Emery demanded, but he got the distinct feeling that they didn't understand him.
"Do not worry about him," said the man holding him wi
th a thick accent.
"He—he's with me! He saved my life, let him go!"
"You are the wrong Eaton to be giving to me orders," the man replied. He gave a head toss towards Kurt and said something in Russian, after which they nodded.
Emery stumbled as he was yanked back, his captor moving him away from the scene. His eyes met Kurt's in fear and he saw him struggle slightly. "Kurt!"
Kurt was breathing heavily, his face stoic but his eyes full of fury.
"You come now." Emery was forced to walk as the man dragged him away, shoving him towards the runway.
"Where are you taking me?"
The man pointed with a finger into the distance at the control tower past the third hangar. "Your father. He is very anxious to see you."
Emery looked up towards the building ahead, his stomach dropping into an icy pit.
CHAPTER 20
Kurt didn't struggle as his hands were cuffed behind him and he was led back into the first empty hangar on the lot. A half circle of men stood near Sterling's corpse in the center awaiting his arrival. His leg was once again kicked out from under him and he caught himself on his knees in front of a blonde man in his forties with terribly scarred hands laced together in front of him and a steely azure gaze. This was Aleksei Ludkov. A grim reputation had made his face rather famous.
He regarded Kurt with a stony sort of curiosity, canting his head slightly as he studied him. "What is your name?" he asked.
Kurt said nothing. A hand struck him in the back of the head.
"No," Ludkov made a gesture to his attacker. "I think he is not the sort of man who will be swayed that way." He paced around the dead body for a moment before shaking his head and looking back to Kurt. "This is one of your men, yes? This is what we assume…I am very curious to know why he is dead."
Kurt remained staring at the opposite wall.
Ludkov nodded slowly. "You do not want to talk. This is fine. We do not need you to talk. I already know everything I need to know. I know that you are working with Casey Sheridan. I know that this dead man is his associate. I have seen them both. You I have not seen. But I think you know who I am." He paused, scratching his neck before pointing back at Sterling. "Is very unfortunate that he is dead. Eaton has made it very clear he wanted to deal with the men who have taken his son on his own terms. But since this one was dead when we got here…and since Sheridan has already forced us to shoot him…"