Hard Play (Delta Force Brotherhood)

by Sheryl Nantus

  He spotted the two men cornering Finn, a few aisles away. The pair held pistols trained on Finn, who was crouched behind an overturned table. They hadn’t noticed Dylan, or if they had, they’d written him off as one of the casino players eager to get away.

  Their mistake.

  He charged in and tackled the first one, sending him to the ground and kicking his weapon away.

  The thug’s partner, surprised at the attack, spun to face him. Finn stepped in and kicked the back of the man’s leg, sending him to the ground. Another sharp punch knocked him out.

  Dylan stared down at the coins littering the floor. Most of them were quarters and pennies, liberated from the fallen machines around them

  But some weren’t. They looked suspiciously like…

  “Finn, where did you get those coins?” Dylan stepped around a pair of men on their knees, too busy collecting the shiny circles to deal with the demands of the fire alarm.

  “Your secret stash. You can thank me later.” A crash accompanied the words as another bank of machines tilted and fell to the floor, revealing a large man wearing the standard attire of Molodavi’s men.

  “Lisa’s safe,” Ace said over the comms link. “We’re at the club. She’s a little shaky, but she’s good.” The tone of approval in his voice had Dylan smiling despite the circumstances. “Your lady picks strong friends.”

  “Where’s Molodavi?” Dylan turned around, surveying the chaos. “Where’s Jessie?”

  Silence.

  “Does anyone have eyes on Jessie?” Dylan repeated, his heart sinking with every second.

  “I have her on the surveillance cameras.” Trey’s voice was low and sharp. “Molodavi’s got her cornered.”

  …

  All hell was breaking loose.

  Firemen were at the emergency exits, herding people out, as uniformed policemen moved in, taking up strategic positions behind pillars and banks of slot machines. Molodavi’s men, reacting automatically, were doing the same. Sporadic shots rang out from all directions, shattering low-hanging chandeliers and assassinating various slot machines.

  The chattering women she’d hoped to use as camouflage to make it out of the casino had dissolved into a crying mess when one of them fell and twisted her ankle, keeping her friends from continuing their exodus. Jessie herded them into a safe position in the food court, where they huddled around the tables as they waited for help. Now it was too late to get to the exit doors, the ones within sight but blocked by the mobster’s gunmen who pretended to be helping the casino customers leave while they watched for her.

  She spotted Andrew and Simon crouching behind an overturned roulette table, both clutching automatics. One at a time they would raise their heads and lay down fire at the gangsters, moving in perfect sequence as they kept the enemy at bay.

  SWAT couldn’t be far behind. In their eyes, it could be a terrorist attack or a random shooting, an attempted theft gone bad or all-out gang warfare.

  Dylan’s plan had gone off the rails. She’d expected a few bumps, but this was off the cliff in a burning car.

  One white-haired woman sat on the ground, eyes wide as she clutched her purse to her chest in sheer panic. Her cane lay on the ground beside her.

  One of Molodavi’s men, easily identified by his suit, moved toward her. From the look on his face she suspected he was about to take her hostage, giving himself a human shield.

  Not going to happen.

  Jessie stepped forward and snatched up a barstool.

  “Hey,” she shouted over the noise. “Pick on someone your own size.”

  The man turned in time to catch the padded seat square in the face. He fell to his knees.

  She followed up with another blow to his back, the metal legs giving her an excellent grip on the chair.

  He pushed himself to his knees and scrambled away, seeking easier prey.

  She couldn’t leave the woman sitting in the middle of the carpet, a prime target to be trampled or injured in some other way in the frenzy.

  A few feet away sat an overturned metal cart, the waitress long gone. Jessie pulled the cart over, placing it in front of the dazed woman.

  “You hold on to this,” she said. “Don’t let go until these men come to get you.” She caught Andrew’s eye and pointed at the senior.

  He nodded and tugged on his mate’s arm.

  “Listen to me”—she continued to speak to the woman—“those two men will help you. Do what they say. Promise me.”

  The woman nodded, her hands shaking with fright.

  “You’re going to be fine. Just stay here and keep this in front of you for protection until they get here.” Jessie spotted the familiar figure of Edward Molodavi a few aisles over, searching for her.

  She didn’t need to hand him a possible hostage.

  Andrew reloaded his pistol and laid down covering fire as Simon ran over to where they were lying.

  “Hey there.” He smiled at the woman. “Didn’t I see you at the nightclub last week, rocking it out on the dance floor?”

  The senior managed a nervous smile.

  Andrew came over. “Let’s get out of here.” He nodded at the advancing men. “These fellows aren’t messing around.”

  “They’re not going to shoot an unarmed civilian.” Jessie forced confidence into her voice, hoping it was true. “Get her to safety. I’m going to lead Molodavi away. He’s after me, no one else.”

  Before either man could object, she turned and left.

  Jessie ran along a row of penny slot machines, the garish displays still flashing and demanding attention and money. A glance back showed the two Brotherhood members helping the woman behind another overturned table, the gangsters no longer focused on them, but on Molodavi’s screamed instructions.

  He didn’t care about a few paid gunmen slowing down his hunt.

  He wanted Jessie Lyon.

  A burning flared up in her right arm, spinning her around. She slammed into the slot machine hard enough to see stars.

  Her right hand went numb, and she dropped her weapon, the PPK bouncing away on the drab carpet.

  As she struggled to stay standing, a grinning Molodavi advanced on her, his own pistol held high.

  I’m not yours. Not today or any day.

  Go to hell.

  She charged at him.

  Molodavi skidded to a halt, his smile vanishing as the distance between them grew shorter.

  She launched herself, putting all of her strength behind one mighty punch.

  It landed true, slamming into his jaw. The impact had her seeing stars, the pain in her arm multiplying tenfold, but it was worth it.

  “Screw you,” she snarled.

  Molodavi flew backward, shocked at the surprise attack.

  He didn’t lose hold of his weapon, the pistol still tight in his hand. He slammed onto the carpet, eyes wide as he stared at her.

  Jessie advanced on him, holding her right arm.

  A shot rang out, whistling as it flew past her head.

  Still on his back, Edward laughed and raised his pistol, lining it up with her chest.

  Damn it.

  She turned away and ran, zigzagging between the blackjack tables. She was familiar with the territory, giving her a slight advantage over the thugs rushing around to cut off her exit.

  She finally landed behind a tipped over roulette table, scanning around her as the burning in her arm increased, lightning bolts racing down to cramp her hand.

  A man scampered by on his hands and knees, scooping up abandoned casino chips. She glared at him as he headed for the exit, a glazed look in his eyes.

  She reached around and touched the back of her arm, finding it wet with blood.

  “Jessie?” Dylan’s voice crackled in her ear. “Where are you?”

  “Pinned down in No Man’s Zone. Roulette area, not far from the women’s restroom.” She forced out a laugh. “I’m also sort of shot.”

  “What?”

  “Right shoulder. Dropped
my damned gun.” She grunted with pain. “Should have gone for the AR-15.” She looked around, trying to focus. “The police are at the front door, getting ready to move in as soon as SWAT arrives. Molodavi’s men are over by the sports bar getting their act together.”

  “And Molodavi himself?”

  Jessie ventured a look over the top of the table. “He’s about twenty feet from me, behind a display case. I think he’s coming for me as soon as he’s finished talking to his men. Probably arranging a rush because he’s too much of a damned coward to take me on by himself.”

  “Don’t blame him. You’re a handful. I’m on my way.”

  “No.” She snapped out the words through clenched teeth. “They’ve got me pinned down. You and Finn have to go—surrender yourself at the door and get clear. Simon and Andrew are busy caring for a hurt woman; they can’t leave her. If I can hold on long enough, the cops can get to me and I’ll be okay.”

  It was a lie. Between Molodavi’s own men and the officers on his payroll, there was little chance she’d make it to lock-up, never mind see the inside of a courtroom.

  “Wyatt’s stuck outside. They’ve locked down the perimeter, and he’s got no chance of getting in,” Trey broke in. “He’s trying to find our contact man on the force, make sure they know we’ve got some friendlies in here.”

  Jessie risked another glance over the table.

  There.

  Dylan crouched by the bank of slot machines nearest the stairwell, surveying the battlefield.

  She spotted the alarmed exit door not far from him. It lay in a recessed area of the room, almost hidden behind a row of coin-changing machines. “There’s a door to your left, behind you. Get out and take Molodavi down with what we’ve got on the files.” Tears filled her eyes as he glanced at the door. “I’ll figure some way out.”

  Dylan sprinted toward the exit…

  …then bolted toward her with fury and speed.

  Stray bullets shattered the near-silence around them, everyone reacting to the sudden movement. Molodavi shouted as he unleashed a flurry of shots at Dylan, firing over top of the display case.

  Dylan dropped to the ground and skidded behind her table, colliding with her as she pulled him under cover.

  “You idiot,” she said before kissing him. “Now we’re both going to die.”

  “Maybe.” He returned the kiss with more passion, cupping her face with both hands. “But no one deserves to die alone.”

  …

  Not all Brotherhood missions went according to plan.

  It happened.

  He peered over the table and fired a few shots in Edward Molodavi’s direction, hoping to keep the mobster pinned down.

  “How bad is it?” It was hard to keep his voice steady at the sight of her bloodied shirt.

  “Through the muscle, I think. Not fatal.” She shook her head. “You should have gone.”

  “There’s no way in hell I’d ever leave you.”

  “Damn it.” Her eyes were glassy with unshed tears. “We were good together.”

  “We’re not dead yet.” He looked around them, scrambling to put something together.

  Overhead, the red lights flashed in sync with the fire alarm bell that still rung.

  “How many bullets do you have left?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Not enough.”

  The exit doors nearby burst open and armored cops swarmed in, screaming behind metal shields.

  One or more of them would be on Molodavi’s payroll, paid to make sure Dylan and Jessie never made it out of the casino alive. It’d be covered up with the pretext of a stray bullet, one of the criminals sending the final shot into their heads.

  He put one hand around her waist and pulled her close, keeping his pistol raised as he scanned the area.

  Molodavi grinned from across the barricades and threw him a salute before blowing Jessie a kiss.

  “Finn, where are you?” Dylan asked.

  “About three aisles away. Pinned down.” The breathing was strained. “I’m about out of ammo.”

  “Drop your pistol. Don’t fight the cops. Stay alive. Simon, Andrew, Luke. Sound off.”

  “We’re good.” Andrew’s voice was steady. “Got a wounded bird under our wing.”

  “Understood,” Dylan said. “Top priority, keep the civilians safe.”

  Luke’s hoarse chuckle came over the line. “Got me a bit of a wrestling match here.”

  “Don’t fight the police. I say again, don’t fight the police.” Dylan shook his head. “Don’t be stupid, Luke.”

  “Not a chance. Excuse me, gotta go.”

  A bullet drilled into the hard wood to their right. Dylan looked over to see one of Molodavi’s men advancing, ignoring the police behind them.

  “Damn it,” Jessie murmured. “I hoped we’d have more time together.”

  “I know. Me, too.” He dropped a kiss onto her hair.

  They watched the two lines of men advance, the police yelling at the top of their lungs while the thugs stayed silent.

  “Trey, you’re in charge.” Dylan growled as Edward Molodavi stared at them again, a thin smile twisting his lips into a sneer.

  “Good. Now hold onto your socks.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  All of the screens in sight flickered to life with the black and white images of Alfred Brenner being shot to death. But this wasn’t the manufactured, faked footage Jessie had seen on the small set in the mobile home not so long ago. This was the original, with Edward Molodavi holding the pistol.

  The fire alarm went silent.

  The surveillance camera footage continued, the soundtrack booming out through the speakers to deafen her and Dylan. On the screen, the giant-size mobster advanced on the henchman, his face contorted with rage. He pointed a shaking hand at the scapegoat employee.

  “You fucking let her go. What did she offer you?” Molodavi yelled. “How much did she give you to let her escape? How much?”

  “Nothing. Nothing.” Al raised his hands, pushing back an invisible wall. “I told you, someone knocked me out.” He gave a wan smile. “We all got taken out, Eddie. You know that.”

  “I know you were the one I put in charge,” Edward yelled. “And you’re telling me someone took you all down, opened the cage, and walked her the hell out…and no one noticed anything? How much of a fool do you think I am?” He stabbed the air with a finger. “How much did she pay you to turn on me? How much did they offer you to flip sides?”

  Al shook his head. “No, that’s not how it happened. I saw nothing. We all saw nothing. They were professionals, Eddie, the guys who came for her. You know we wouldn’t let her go easy. We would have put up a fight if we could’ve.” He drew a staggered breath. “You know I’m good for you, Eddie. I’m good.”

  “No.” Edward shook his head. “You’re not good. And now I gotta hunt the bitch down. Start on her all over again until I find out what she knows, who she’s working for.” He gritted his teeth, the perfect white choppers shining in the black and white film. “I can’t let her walk away from this. No one walks away from Molodavi.” His eyes narrowed. “She can’t buy her way out of this, and neither can you.”

  “I told you, she didn’t pay anyone off. Those guys, I don’t know who they are or where they came from. Ask the rest of the fellows—they know I’m loyal to you. Look, let me make it up to you,” Al said, beads of sweat dotting his forehead. “Let me get out there, work our contacts. Someone knows something, and they’ll talk if we put pressure on them, push them to speak up. I’ll help you take her down.”

  “Yep.” Edward turned away from the shaken man. He pulled a pistol from his waistband before turning back. “You sure as hell will.” He raised the weapon and fired a single shot.

  Al collapsed on the floor. One hand twitched, the other went to the fresh hole in his chest, clutching at the crimson stain.

  Edward looked up at the camera. He sneered into the lens before tossing the pistol down by the dying man and
walking away.

  The screen split into two. One showed the original footage, what they’d all just seen. The second showed the doctored tape of Jessie supposedly killing Al.

  It was painfully obvious the image had been manipulated to blame Jessie.

  But in both shots, Al Brenner was still dead, lying on the warehouse floor with a bullet in his chest.

  The truth was out.

  The police froze behind their heavy metal shields, their helmeted faces turning to watch the screen closest to them.

  The manufactured image flickered out like a blown bulb, Jessie’s fake footage replaced now with scrolling figures and emails. They ran by too fast to read, but it obviously wasn’t material meant to be seen by the public eye.

  The original film of Brenner’s execution continued to cycle at the lower left corner of the screen. Jessie winced, seeing Al fall over and over again, Molodavi grinning at the surveillance camera.

  “Trey,” Dylan murmured. “You did this.”

  He didn’t phrase it as a question.

  “Going live to all the news stations. Oh, and dropping the entire database online. Anonymous loves things like this. No way anyone can lock this up, no way to take it down off the internet, no way anyone can sweep any of this under the carpet any longer. It’s out there now in all its shining glory.” There was a note of pride in his voice. “Amazing what you can do with remote access.”

  Molodavi stood up to glare at one monitor, his hands at his sides. His mouth opened and closed, no sound coming out. He turned in a slow orbit, attention racing from one set to the other.

  His men followed suit, watching as the various sins of their boss were displayed in black and white, shooting out into the universe.

  There was no pulling this back now. There was no way to bribe someone into silence, or quiet them with threats of torture and death. With the immortality of the internet, this information would always be out there, stalking Molodavi for the rest of his life.

  However long that might be, depending on what skeletons tumbled out of that closet. He might be able to avoid legal prosecution because of the way the evidence was received, but there were bound to be other crime families, other enemies who would find the data dump quite interesting.