Deadly Intent: An Action Thriller (Adrian Hell Series Book 4)

by Sumner, James P.

  DEADLY INTENT

  BOOK 4 IN THE ADRIAN HELL SERIES

  by

  JAMES P. SUMNER

  DEADLY INTENT

  First published in Great Britain in 2015.

  First edition.

  Copyright © James P. Sumner 2015

  The right of James P. Sumner to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior permission of the copyright owner.

  This novel is a work of fiction. All characters, locations, situations and events are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any person, place or event is purely coincidental.

  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Please visit the author’s website:

  http://www.jamespsumner.com

  Editing by:

  http://www.onlinebookservices.com

  Pick up a FREE copy of Hunter’s Games today!

  Click HERE for more information.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Deadly Intent (An Adrian Hell Thriller, Book 4)

  About the Author

  More Books by the Author

  DEADLY INTENT

  1.

  APRIL 7TH, 2017

  05:57 CDT

  I’m lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. Outside, the morning light is gradually getting brighter, shining through the thin curtains at my bedroom window. I glance over at the clock on my bedside table. It’s almost six a.m.

  I rub my eyes, clearing them of any grit, and look to my right. The woman next to me is lying on her back. The thin bed sheet at her waist; her exposed breasts slowly rising and falling with each breath as she sleeps. I look farther down the bed, following the sheet as it rests gently over her naked body.

  I smile to myself and look back at the ceiling, thinking how lucky I am. My mind flicks to the checklist of things I need to do this morning and, after a few minutes of thinking, I come to the conclusion that I’m not going to get any more sleep, so I may as well make a start. I throw the cover back and swing my legs over the side of the bed, sitting there momentarily before standing and padding across the carpet, over to the bathroom.

  A few minutes later, I come back out, feeling more refreshed and wide-awake. I walk over to the nightstand and put my jeans on. As I move to the dresser to get a new T-shirt out of the drawer, a voice disturbs me.

  “Hey, sexy,” says Tori. “Where d’you think you’re going?”

  I smile at her. “Sorry,” I reply. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  She smiles back. “You didn’t. What time is it?”

  “Just after six.”

  “You’re up early…?”

  “Couldn’t sleep,” I shrug.

  “You have the nightmare again?”

  I take a deep breath and nod silently.

  For the past couple of years, I’ve rarely slept more than a couple of hours a night. I keep having the same recurring nightmare. The nightmare itself is different each time, in terms of where I am and who’s with me. But what happens is always the same. Whoever’s with me is in trouble, and they’re screaming for me to help them. I reach out, with every intention of rescuing them, but all of a sudden, a gun appears in my hand, and I shoot them instead of saving them. As they die, their skin falls off their body, and the skeleton falls to the floor. I look down and see that I’m walking through a graveyard, and as far as the eye can see in every direction is a field of bones, with a river of blood flowing through it. I want to escape it, but I sink into the ground as I try to run. As my body disappears completely, that’s when I wake up, covered in sweat.

  The same dream, every night.

  “Come here,” she says.

  I walk back over to the bed and sit down on the edge. She moves over to me and puts her arms around my waist, pressing herself against my back and squeezing gently. I put my hand on her arm and smile.

  Tori Watson is beautiful. She’s thirty-five years old, but could easily pass for ten years younger. She has an incredible body, and I know every man in town has a crush on her. She has these captivating brown eyes, and a smile that can light up the room. Her long, curly hair is flame red and rests on her shoulders. She’s absolutely flawless, and I have no idea how I’ve managed to get a woman like her. But I’m sure as hell not complaining.

  She kisses my back. “It’s okay, they’re just dreams, Adrian,” she says.

  I turn to look at her, gazing into her eyes, before smiling and leaning in to kiss her soft lips. It feels like kissing heaven itself, each and every time. After a moment’s embrace, she pulls away, a mischievous look on her pretty face.

  “You don’t gotta rush away just yet, do you?” she asks.

  “I can spare a few minutes for you, I’m sure,” I reply, smiling.

  She pulls me on top of her, and we kiss and laugh like people in love ought to, as we do what people in love do best.

  06:31 CDT

  A few minutes turn into twenty, but I eventually get dressed and head downstairs while Tori takes a shower.

  I live in the apartment above the bar that I own, which I’ve named The Ferryman. I love running the place, and it’s the most popular drinking establishment in town. The locals are great, and the out-of-towners we get passing through are nearly always friendly. I’ve made the place look exactly the way I think the perfect bar should look like. After all, it’s not like I’m short of capital to invest in it. It’s the kind of place I’d go and drink in. Pool tables, good beer, a jukebox full of classic rock music, and saloon style doors, like in the Old West.

  I suppose at this point, you’re probably wondering what the hell I’ve been up to since you last saw me, so let me fill in some of the gaps for you as best I can…

  It’s been two-and-a-half years since I killed Wilson Trent and Jimmy Manhattan. I spent a week or so afterward trying to go about my business as I always used to—working with Josh and killing people for money—but it didn’t last. By finally putting my family to rest, I managed to bury my demons at the same time. I had no reason, and more importantly, no desire, to keep killing people after that. I had a quarter of a billion dollars in my bank account and absolutely nothing to do. I talked things over with Josh, and he was genuinely happy for me that I’d reached this place in my life.

  But, he explained that while he felt the same way about our old job as I did, he needed a new challenge. He wasn’t ready to give up and retire just yet. We’d shaken hands and parted company and, while we still speak occasionally over the phone, I haven’t seen him since that day. I think of him often, but at the moment, we simply live in different worlds. I don’t know what he’s doing, and I suspect he not only doesn’t know what I’ve been up to, but he wouldn’t believe me if I told him, either.

  I came here, to Devil’s Spring, Texas and bought this property, turning it into The Ferryman. It took me six months, but the unlimited budget helped, and it didn’t take long to start doing really well.

  It’s where I’d met Tori. She applied for a waitressing job a couple of weeks after I opened. She was just great, and she made me laugh. I loved the fact that I was starting over, y’know… she didn’t know me—she didn’t know Adrian Hell. She only knew the guy who was new in town and had recently opened the bar, and I liked that. We got on really well and soon became friends.

  One night, after she’d been worki
ng for me a few weeks, a couple of guys came into the bar. They were loud and drunk, and one of them used to date Tori. It had ended months before, but the guy seemingly had trouble letting go. And don’t get me wrong, I could understand why a guy would find it hard moving on from a woman like Tori, but causing trouble in my bar was something I couldn’t tolerate. I gave them a warning to calm down when they got a bit rowdy with some of my locals, but then Tori went to collect their glasses and one of them grabbed her, started hurting her and shouting at her, calling her names.

  For a brief moment, the old me came back. I walked over to them, dropped the guy who had hold of her with a couple of well-placed punches, then threw him and his friend out on the street, with the clear warning never to set foot in my bar again, unless they had an overwhelming urge to vacate this mortal coil.

  I’d taken Tori into the back to see if she was alright. She’d slapped me across the face, angry that I’d stood up for her, and insistent that she could handle herself. I’d told her I had no doubt that she could, but the gentleman and proprietor in me felt compelled to step in, and if she had a problem with that, it was tough. She’d smiled, then we’d kissed, and two years later, we’re living together above the bar.

  As I walk into the bar, I hear the yawn, stretch, and scratching of claws on wood as Styx stands and walks over to me.

  Styx is my dog. He’s a big, white-gray husky wolf. He was a stray who had randomly wandered into my bar one night as I was closing up. I remember looking at him, watching as he stood his ground and bared his teeth, snarling at me. But I did nothing. I just stared back at him. I let him see the animal that once lived beneath the surface, and he’d soon backed down. He’d lay motionless and let me approach him and stroke his head. I then gave him a bowl of water, and he’d licked my hand as a thank you. And he’d never left.

  I’d spent some time trying to train him, but it hadn’t been necessary. I don’t know how old he is or where he came from, but he’s a helluva good dog, and intensely loyal to me. It was like we’re kindred spirits, or something. He sleeps in the bar at night, and sits in the corner by the door when we’re open for business. The locals were scared of him at first, but soon learned to love him. They know he’s placid and friendly, as long as they’re respectful. Any trouble in the bar, and he’ll chase you out in a heartbeat.

  He strolls over, rubbing his head against my leg and looking up at me with his tongue hanging out of his mouth. I lean down and pat his head.

  “Hey boy,” I say. “Quiet night?”

  He barks once and walks off into the back, where his water bowl is. I need to remember to buy him some more food later…

  I stand near the bar, looking out at the room. The doors are over to the left. The open expanse of the bar area is quiet, with chairs stacked upside down on tables. The lights above the pool tables are off, as is the jukebox against the right wall, just before the restrooms.

  I reach behind me and feel for the light switch just inside the door to the back room. I flick it on and the bar lights up. I smile to myself, like a proud father as I walk over to the doors to unlock the shutter and raise it, ready for the day ahead.

  2.

  07:49 CDT

  In a small town like Devil’s Spring, businesses open up early. I’m running low on a few things for the bar, so I get an early start on my shopping.

  I walk out to the street, the early morning sun still pale and harmless. Directly across from me is The Fire Pit, a small, family-owned restaurant, that’s easily the best place I’ve ever eaten. I take Tori there on the odd occasion neither of us has to work. Two brothers from Argentina run it—I can’t pronounce their names, but they’re real friendly, and they always save a table for us by the window whenever we go. They have a large, open fire pit in the center of the restaurant where they cook the food. Their steak is the best around, and the way they marinade their chicken is exceptional. Tori’s a big fan of their wine as well. I see one of the brothers in the window, mopping the floor, and he turns and waves. I wave back as I walk left toward the end of the street.

  The crossroads at the main junction isn’t busy at this time, but a few cars and trucks pass by. My first stop is the grocery store, as I need to stock up on snacks for behind the bar. I’ve got a delivery coming in a few days, but the last couple of nights have been extra busy, and I’m running low.

  I cross the street and head into the store. It’s the closest thing to a franchise we have in Devil’s Spring. It’s no Wal-Mart, but they have everything you could ask for at a decent price, so that’ll do for me. I pick up a basket and head for the snack aisle. I’m thinking of getting some nuts, and maybe some small bags of chips.

  “Hey, Adrian,” says a voice behind me, interrupting my train of thought as I study the shelves.

  I turn and see Bob standing before me—a friendly guy who runs an auto shop a few streets over. He’s a big guy, massive beard… always wears dungarees over a different checked shirt. He couldn’t be more Texan if he tried, bless him. He’s a regular in The Ferryman and was actually in last night with a few of his friends.

  “Hey Bob,” I say. “How you feelin’ today?”

  He sighs heavily. “Man, lemme tell ya, I’m feelin’ a little delicate today, Adrian.”

  He chuckles to himself, and I smile along with him.

  I say, “Glad I could help.”

  He laughs some more. “Yeah, you kept servin’, so I kept drinkin’, God love ya. Listen, I’m glad I bumped into you—me and some of the boys were wonderin’ if you’d reconsider your stance on legal substances in your bar?”

  I take a breath and let it out, trying to come across as sympathetic. But I shake my head. “Sorry, Bob, no can do. You know how I feel about it, and I don’t want that going on in my bar.”

  “Oh, c’mon, man, get with the times. It’s not like it’s illegal to take a little coke anymore.”

  “Honestly, Bob, I don’t care if the president himself walks into my bar and gives me his blessing. I don’t agree with it, and it’s not against the law for the owner of a drinking establishment to reserve his right to prohibit the consumption of narcotics on their premises.”

  He’s silent for a moment then simply shrugs. “Hey, no problem, Ady—your house, your rules. Ain’t gonna stop me from drinkin’ in there!”

  He pats me on my shoulder and walks off laughing to himself. I watch him go before resuming my shopping.

  Okay, so I understand there may still be a few blanks you need me to fill in here…

  A couple of years back, not long after I moved down here to Texas, the presidential elections took place, and a new guy was sworn in—Charles Tobias Cunningham the sixth. He’s a real media darling, this one. Ivy League educated, handsome guy—bred for politics and destined for the Oval Office. He got himself elected by the largest majority since FDR.

  The weird thing was his campaign. He spoke at a Republican conference one day and addressed the state of the economy, where he basically asked the question why no one has ever thought to legalize drugs and prostitution. Pretty bold, I’m sure you’ll agree. But then he produced the figures... Cocaine was a trillion dollar industry. He said, if we made it legal, imposed tax on it, and then used the revenue to provide better healthcare and education, not only would we climb out of the recession, we’d nearly double the GDP within five years. Suddenly, people weren’t so skeptical. It’s amazing the difference the almighty dollar can make.

  He had the same argument for prostitution—another multi-billion dollar industry. He said if we take away the taboo factor, legalize it, unionize it, offer a safe working environment for the people who are in the business, provide good healthcare and so on, but add tax to the charges for companionship—as they now call it—the money the country could make is mind-boggling.

  His winning personality and, frankly, brilliant marketing campaign meant that he soon won over his peers and his public. And, surprisingly, he was right. Within his first three months in office, we saw the crim
e rate drop by sixty percent. We saw unemployment drop by eighty percent. We saw international relations with South America strengthen. We publicly gave all the cartels that monopolized the illegal drug trade a choice—either agree to work alongside the U.S., legitimately, or face a prison sentence longer than Route 66.

  I tell you, I’ve never seen such an era of peace and prosperity in this country. In any country. Ever. President Cunningham made the world sit up and take notice. But he was smart. At the same time, he said he’s not forcing anyone to participate in any of these now-legal activities. He just wants the people who do, to feel like they’re still contributing to a better America.

  That’s why I exercise my right to stop any drug use in my bar. While I appreciate everything the guy’s done for the country, I’m still pretty old school about certain things. Drugs are never going to be good for you, and I don’t care what anyone says… I want no part of them. If you don’t like it, you don’t drink in my bar—simple as that.

  And I’m not the only one to think that way. But while people exercised the First Amendment, there was never any trouble. No rioting or protesting. People just discussed it and decided as communities what they wanted to do and believe in, and Cunningham’s White House encouraged it.

  The guy is a genius.

  And that’s the world we live in now. It’s certainly made it easier for me to start over. Everybody is, to some extent, so it doesn’t feel strange for me to leave my old life in the past and begin a new one.

  08:06 CDT

  In the time it took me to catch you up, I’ve managed to do my shopping, so I’m walking back down the street toward my bar. A few doors before The Ferryman is a companion club. The place looks amazing, to be fair. The facilities are clean, there’s healthcare advice at the front desk, and a few of the guys and girls who work there often come in for a drink after their shifts are over. They’re nice people. One of the girls, Laura, is a good friend of Tori’s, and always fusses over Styx when she comes in.