That’s another one down…
But I know my little resistance is just prolonging the inevitable. I know a shitty situation when I see one, and this couldn’t get much shittier.
I move to stand, intending to get another couple of shots off, but the sound of a shotgun blast makes me hesitate.
Crunch-crunch… BANG!
I chance a look over the bar as I see the guy now standing on the far left explode and go flying off to the right, knocking into the guy next to him.
What the...?
I wait a second longer before standing, and I fire off five more rounds, taking out three of the four remaining guys before clicking down on an empty chamber. The last guy stares at me through the smoke for a moment, then he quickly disappears off to the right in a red mist—the result of another shotgun blast.
Silence falls, and I step out from behind the bar and walk cautiously over to the door, holding my gun ready, despite being out of ammo. The smell of gunpowder in the air stings my nose; the smoke catches my throat, but I fight to suppress a cough. From the left, Sheriff John Raynor appears, shotgun in hand and his hat on a slight angle.
“Looked like you could use a hand,” he says.
“Yeah, thanks,” I reply, tucking the gun into my waistband behind me.
I step outside and stand next to him, turning to look at the front of my bar, which now resembles a war zone.
“Jesus…” I say to myself.
“So, you mind tellin’ me what all this is about?” asks Raynor.
“Would if I could, Sheriff. I have no idea.”
Raynor rests the shotgun on his shoulder, the barrel still smoking. “Adrian, you’re a good guy, and I consider us friends. But cut the crap and level with me, because I just helped you take down eight fellas emptying their machine guns at your bar. Somethin’s goin’ on here, and you know more than you’re tellin’ me.”
I sigh, knowing I’ve reached the point I guess I always knew would come one day. Where I can no longer outrun my past. I walk over to the nearest dead guy and pick up his gun. I feel its weight as I turn back to show it to Raynor.
“This is a Steyr AUG A3 SF assault rifle. Manufactured in Austria and fires nineteen mil’ cartridges at a rate of about seven hundred rounds per minute. It’s been used by the Austrian Special Forces for the last decade.”
Raynor takes off his hat, rubbing his hand across his head, before replacing it and stroking his mustache.
“Now how the hell d’you know that kinda shit about guns like that?” he asks, nodding at the weapon. “What exactly did you do in the military?”
“Sheriff, I’m being straight with you here, and I’d appreciate you keeping what I’m about to tell you between us.”
He nods.
“My full name is Adrian Hughes. I’m ex-military and used to head up a black ops unit for the CIA. I did a lot of things that no one kept any record of, and when I retired I became a professional assassin. I was the best there was, and I made a lot of money doing it. I had a global reputation for being the greatest. But I also made a lot of enemies. I lost a wife and daughter because of that job, and when I finally avenged their deaths, I found my passion for the business had gone. I was Adrian Hell, but I buried him alongside my family and hung up my guns.”
I pause so he can process what I’m saying. He just kind of nods along, like none of it is really that hard to believe… like it kind of explains a lot. But I continue.
“Those three guys the other night came here looking for me, trying to recruit me for something. I don’t know who sent them, or what they wanted me for, I just explained I’d retired, and they shouldn’t come back. Then when you said they’d been found dead, I started to worry that maybe there was more to it than just my old reputation coming back to haunt me. Next thing I know, I have seven guys in my bar holding Tori hostage, saying I shouldn’t have refused their offer, and now I was a liability of some kind. But they came with no weapons…”
“So you took out seven guys?” asks Raynor. “On your own?”
I shrug like it wasn’t a big deal, though I guess it probably was to the sheriff of a small town in Texas.
“Just as I was about to get Tori to safety, these boys turned up outside and started raisin’ hell. I appreciate the save there, sheriff.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Surprised you needed it, given your past. So why are you here, Adrian?”
“Starting over, somewhere small and anonymous. I’ve got plenty of money and no ties anywhere else. And I’ve been real happy here. But you have my word, Sheriff. When all this is over, I’ll move on. I don’t wanna put the people of this town in any danger. I guess there’s never any escaping a past like mine…”
He scoffs. “Cut the shit, you self-righteous son’bitch,” he says. “I could give a rat’s ass about your past, and if you think this is your fault, you’re dumber than you look.”
“Thanks, John.”
“Where’s that girl of yours?”
“Shit, Tori! I’ll be right back.” I turn and run through the bar, into the back and up the stairs. “Tori!” I shout. “It’s me. Are you alright?”
There’s silence for a moment, and then a muffled voice says, “Wh-what’s the password?”
I smile to myself. She’s a smart girl. “It’s hellbound,” I say. “Now get your ass out here, baby—it’s all over.”
As I enter the bedroom, the bathroom door flies open, and she jumps into my arms, wrapping her legs around my waist and burying her head into my shoulder, tears flowing down her cheeks, wetting my T-shirt.
“It’s okay,” I say, to reassure her. “It’s over now.”
“And you’re alright?” she sobs.
“Baby, I’m fine, just like I promised I would be.”
We spend a few minutes hugging, and then head back downstairs to the bar. The sheriff’s sitting on a bar stool, looking at the damage to the interior, which is extensive to say the very least. He stands when we enter, his hat resting on the bar next to his shotgun.
“Tori, how you holdin’ up?” he asks, genuinely concerned.
She nods and smiles weakly.
We stand for a minute, looking at the devastation around us. In the silence, I hear a low, muffled cry… not a cry, actually. More of a… yelp.
My eyes go wide.
“Styx!”
I rush over to the far side of the bar, where tables and chairs have splintered and broken, covering the floor in debris. I follow the noise and come to a small heap of wood in the corner by the window. I throw piece after piece away to the side, uncovering Styx, lying on his side, his breathing shallow and fast.
I see the bullet hole straight away. It’s underneath him, on the fleshy part between his two front legs. It’s a bad wound. I feel my heart sink as he whines, looking up at me with his tongue lolling out of his mouth. I place my hand on the side of his face, and he just about manages to raise his paw enough to place it on top of my wrist.
“Jesus… Styx, hang in there, boy—you’re gonna be fine.” I shout back without looking round. “John, ring an ambulance… or a vet… or someone—just get somebody! Hurry!”
I hear him leave and, a moment later, Tori appears at my side. I’m kneeling down next to my wounded friend, an animal who walked into my bar one night and stayed by my side without question ever since. She stands next to me, placing a hand on my shoulder.
“Adrian…” she says.
“He’s gonna be fine, aren’t you, boy? Yeah? You’re gonna be just fine.”
I stroke his head. His breathing is fast and shallow, and he lets out a low whine with every exhalation. He moves his front paw, as if holding my hand against him.
“Come on, Styx. Hang in there—the sheriff’s getting you help, okay?”
His breathing starts to slow. Tori crouches down next to me, stroking his back as she rests her head on my shoulder. He looks up at me. I swear to God he’s trying to say sorry…
“Styx, come on! Stay strong boy.”
/>
His breathing slows even more. The low whines are less frequent and quieter now. I know there’s no hope. Not anymore. But I refuse to accept it.
“Styx…”
Raynor comes back in. “All kinds of folk are on their way, so I’ve got them to rush a vet here as well, Adrian.”
Styx lets out another long, low whine. I stroke his head.
Then, silence…
I frown, holding back the emotion fighting to spread across my face. I feel Tori kiss my arm before standing and walking off. I hear her start to cry again.
“Styx…?” I say.
But he’s gone.
8.
08:46 CDT
I’m sitting in my pick-up truck, staring at my phone. There’s a number typed in on the screen, but I’ve not pressed the call button yet. And I probably won’t either. But I’m thinking about it.
I had to leave before all the sirens arrived, as I wasn’t in the mood for answering questions. Tori had said she would make a start tidying up the bar. I said I needed a bit of time, so I got in my truck and drove for a good half hour. I’ve pulled up on the side of the road, heading toward San Antonio. I probably won’t actually go there, but I like the drive and need to clear my head.
I have absolutely no idea how my entire life got turned upside down so quickly. It started with three men walking into my bar and culminated in my dog being shot and killed. It sounds like a sick joke.
What the hell am I going to do? I’ve no idea who these people are, or why they first wanted me to work for them, before deciding they wanted me dead. So far, they’ve sent a total of eighteen men after me. I’ve killed fifteen, with Raynor’s help, and someone else took out the other three. The FBI told me they think the first three men had ties to some guy called Yalafi Hussein, so a good bet would be that the other fifteen did as well. I could do with finding out who this guy is, and why he would want me to work for him…
But I was never too great at the fact-finding side of things. That’s why I’m sitting, looking at Josh’s number on the screen of my phone.
We lead different lives now, Josh and I. There are no ill feelings between us or anything. I still regard him as family. I just don’t want to call him up unexpected and interrupt his new life, purely to drag him back into mine.
No, I’ll leave it. I’m sure I can figure this out on my own.
My phone rings, breaking my concentration.
“Hello?” I say as I answer, not recognizing the number.
“Adrian?” asks the voice, which sounds very familiar…
“Who’s askin’?”
“Son, it’s Ryan Schultz.”
His name hangs in the silence for a moment while I compose myself. I’ve not heard from him since… Jesus—since San Francisco! I remember reading in the news that the new president had appointed his own secretary of defense when he got sworn into office, but there was nothing about what Schultz intended doing instead.
“Something else from my past coming back to haunt me…” I say, absently. “How’ve you been, Ryan?”
“Better than you, I believe.”
“News travels fast.”
“Not as fast as we’d like, sometimes.”
I frown. “What can I do for you, Ryan? I’m a little busy.”
“Can we talk?”
“We are doing…”
“In person?”
I sigh. “Where are you?”
“I’m standing in what’s left of your bar, son.”
I take another minute to process. Something definitely isn’t right.
“I’ll be there in thirty minutes,” I say.
I hang up, spin the truck around, and head back to Devil’s Spring.
09:21 CDT
I pull up across the street and walk over to my bar, where a whole host of people are busying themselves out front. I see Tori standing off to the side, a blanket draped over her shoulders, with an EMT fussing over her.
“How you holdin’ up, babe?” I ask her as I approach.
She looks up and smiles weakly, and then bursts into tears without a word.
I feel awful for having exposed her to all this. I walk behind and put my arms around her, kissing the top of her head as she buries herself in my shoulder.
“It’s okay, Tori. I’ll keep you safe, I promise.”
I look around as someone behind me clears their throat to get my attention. It’s Sheriff Raynor.
“Adrian, you got a minute?” he asks, apologetically.
“Sure,” I say as I hold Tori away from me and look at her. “I’ll be right back, okay? Head around back and get yourself upstairs to bed while all this is going on down here. Get some rest.”
She nods and walks off vacantly, aided by the EMT. Shock was definitely setting in, but she’s a tough woman—she’ll be fine. I turn to the sheriff.
“How’s it going, John?” I ask.
He strokes his mustache and takes a long, deep breath. “Bit of a circus, but necessary I’m afraid,” he replies. “Got my deputies workin’ crowd control—stop the locals from seein’ too much… Look, I know this ain’t the best time an’ all, but there’s a guy here askin’ after you. After what you told me earlier, I didn’t know if he knew you from, y’know… way back or whatever…”
I smile, appreciating his tactfulness. “I know, it’s okay. He called me to say he was here, that’s why I’m back so soon. Where is he?”
“He’s inside,” he says. “Follow me.”
Raynor leads me inside, signaling to a deputy that it’s okay for me to be there. There’s an FBI crime scene investigation team over where Styx is still lying. I try not to look over as I gaze around the room. The place looks like a goddamn warzone. I feel genuine sadness that my bar—the thing that’s symbolized my new life since I moved here—is in tatters.
Raynor points over to where what remains of the jukebox is standing. I follow his finger and look across the room, seeing Ryan Schultz standing around, looking like he’s in charge.
“Thanks, John,” I say and walk off.
Schultz looks well. He’s dressed casually, wearing a business shirt tucked into dark blue jeans and some brown shoes. He’s got slightly less gray hair than I remember him having, and he’s definitely put on a few pounds since he left the White House, but it suits him. Being a Texan himself, he probably feels right at home here.
“Adrian,” he says as I walk over. “Been a long time.”
I nod. “Indeed. Been keeping yourself busy since getting sacked by our commander-in-chief?”
Okay, so I still think the guy’s a dick, despite him reluctantly being on my side the last couple of times I’ve had dealings with him. I don’t like him or trust him.
He smiles humorlessly. “Like you wouldn’t believe…” he says.
“So what brings you to my recently demolished part of the world?”
“There someplace we can talk?” he asks, looking around at all the FBI agents walking around.
“What’s wrong with right here?”
“Too many people. What we need to talk about is of a… delicate nature.”
I sigh, tiring of things happening that I don’t understand and have no control over.
“Come on,” I say to him.
I walk outside and get in my truck. He follows and climbs in the passenger side. I drive off without saying a word, turning left at the end of the street and driving up the hill I’d jogged up with Styx earlier this morning.
Styx…
I’m sad that he's gone, despite doing my best not to think about it, so I can focus on figuring out what the hell’s going on around here. He was a big part of my new life, and things won’t ever be the same without him.
I turn into the police station parking lot and pull up, turning slightly in my seat to face Schultz.
“Talk.”
He’s silent for a moment, I’m guessing to try to figure out where to start. “Are you still—?” he begins.
“No, I’m retired,” I s
ay, interrupting him before he can finish his sentence. “Talk.”
“Okay… okay, son. So, you had a few visitors in the last couple of days?”
“I’ve had one or two, yeah. No idea why though.”
“The first three guys that came here were the recruitment team,” he starts to explain. “They send them in to coerce you into joining their cause.”
“Who’s cause? Who sends them? Yalafi Hussein?”
“Nah, Hussein’s just a middle man, though as best we can tell he’s very connected to the people we’re interested in.”
I regard him silently, listening with a professional ear to what he’s telling me.
“Next would’ve been the retrieval team, sent in to take you by force. Not surprising they failed, truth be told. Hell, even they must’ve doubted their success, because they sent in the death squads to take you out at pretty much the same time! That’s when we knew we had to step in.”
“Could’ve stepped in a bit earlier, asshole, I might still have a bar and my dog.”
“You had a dog?” he asks with a smirk, somewhat sarcastically.
“Yeah, I did, and I loved that little guy, and he got shot. I can’t say I care for your tone, Ryan, and I’d advise you going forward to remember that while I’m retired, I’m no less capable of ripping your throat out. We clear?”
He smiles nervously. “Hell, I meant no offense, son. I’m here to help—our past be damned.”
I take a few deep breaths to pacify my anger. “And who’s we?”
“I’m sorry?”
“You keep saying ‘as best we can tell’, and ‘we knew we had to step in’… Who’s we?”
He clears his throat but remains sheepishly quiet.
“Ryan, how did you know what was happening here? Who do you work for?”
He hesitates, clearly thrown off whatever game plan he had when he came to meet me. “Adrian, what’s important is what’s happening, not who I represent. Let me just—”
He stops talking as we see another car appear behind us in the rearview. It’s a nice sedan, black with tinted windows. It pulls up behind us in the parking lot and sits there, its engine still idling.
Deadly Intent: An Action Thriller (Adrian Hell Series Book 4) Page 5