by KD Robichaux
“Talk about Saw vibes,” I mumble to myself, looking around at all the chain-link cages along the walls. I glance up and see a catwalk, several office areas on both the bottom and top floors, while the tall two-story center area remains completely open. “Imma just get this over with.”
I pull my camera out of the bag, flip it on, and start snapping. I walk quickly, making sure to get different angles of all the cages, carefully climbing the metal stairs and taking photos all the way to the top until I reach the catwalk. I hold the railing to get to the center and try to keep my vertigo under control as I aim my lens up toward the ceiling and then down to get shots of the floor and the cages from above. The offices are next, and then finally I make it to a smaller set of stairs and a door that leads out onto the roof of the building. It’s locked, but luckily the same key for the main door opens this one as well.
I step into the evening air, gazing out at all the warehouses around me. Up here, it’s not so unnerving. It’s actually quiet and peaceful, no city noises, since we’re completely surrounded by woods. I walk slower up on the flat roof, enjoying the silence interrupted only by the sound of my shutter going off when I take a picture. I spend several minutes overlooking the buildings around me, knowing I’m going to have to be cooped up in my car for another hour to get back to Brian.
A smile pulls at my lips thinking about him. Tonight will be a big night for us. I’ve always wanted to see his club but never had the balls to invite myself. And I’m sure Brian never asked me to come before because he knew what it would take for me to gain entrance. I’m almost certain that if I’d gone to Doc before the last three missions I went on with Brian, I wouldn’t have returned for the second session, much less completed all four while telling them about the boys and men of my past. And now that it’s over with, everything out in the open, finally being able to admit the way I feel to Brian, I can’t wait to submit to him in his club. Not only because it’ll be my first time there, but because it’ll be his first time actually being able to use his own facility.
After a few more minutes up on the roof, I head toward the doorway, ready to make my way home. I’m just about to dissect the fact that I’m already thinking of Brian’s house as home, when a loud bang catches my attention. I turn in the direction it came from, curiosity getting the best of me. Another bang sounds from the warehouse next to the one I’m on top of, and I tiptoe to that side. Edging closer as quietly as I can, I peek over the side and see the sound must’ve been two of the garage doors opening.
Standing in front of two black SUVs are three men. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but one of the men seems to be telling the other two to load up whatever is inside the warehouse. Just then, a delivery truck pulls in, the wrap displaying fruits and vegetables with the company’s name, so I assume they’ve got to load the back full of produce to drop off at some stores and restaurants.
Oh, how very wrong my assumption is.
The man giving the orders stands by the back of the delivery truck, and as the others bring out the crates, he has them open each one to count what’s inside. And what’s inside is definitely not apples and bananas. No. The crates are full of rifles, handguns, and what I’m guessing are hand grenades if my vast recollection of war movies and time overseas is anything to go by.
“What the fuck?” I whisper to myself. Could this be the supply warehouse for a gun store? Or maybe they’re actually toys and they’re getting ready for a reenactment? No. No way. Not if they’re loading everything up into a fucking turnip truck. There has to be something very illegal going on, and with that amount and type of weaponry, something really bad could be going down. I’d be stupid not to say anything.
But being who I am, I can’t just run and tattle. I need photographic evidence. And without thinking, I lift my viewfinder to my eye and snap photos in rapid succession just as one of the men opens one of the crates for the leader to see inside.
The loud click of the shutter going off sounds like a scream in the otherwise dead silence, and that, along with my hissed “Shit!” draws the attention of the men below. As fast as I can, I jerk away from the edge, praying with all my might that they didn’t see me. But as I hear the crunch of the gravel moving closer to my warehouse, I know they’re coming to check out what they heard.
“Fuck my life,” I murmur, and hurry to the opposite side of the roof. I glance down, seeing my car two stories below. I’d hurt myself for sure if I tried to jump down, but there’s absolutely nowhere to hide up here or even inside the warehouse, since it’s completely empty. I look around, my heart pounding in my ears as I try to figure out what to do, and that’s when I spot it. A metal set of stairs, a fire escape.
Not wanting to alert the men of my escape route, I hook my camera around my neck so I can grasp onto both sides of the handrail, lifting most of my weight in order to keep my footfalls quiet as I make my way down the steps. And just because that’s who I am as a person and I don’t want my friend to get into trouble, as fast as I can, I put the key back into the lockbox, hustling to my car, and push the button to start it. I throw it into reverse and stomp on the gas just as two men round the building. When they see me speeding away, my own eyes widen in fear as they draw handguns out from around their backs.
“Oh, fuck!” I scream, flooring the gas pedal.
As the first shots ring out, I swing my car around the end of the warehouse, stomp on the brake long enough to switch into drive, and take off as fast as my wheels will take me.
My adrenaline is rushing so badly I don’t think to call for help, not the police, not Brian, no one. All I can think about is, what if they’ve jumped into their SUVs and are now in pursuit?
Brian
MY FRONT DOOR slams open almost a full hour before I expect Clarice to be back, and automatically, my hand draws the pistol from the top drawer of my desk, aiming directly at the doorway as my woman flies through it.
She skids to a stop, raising her hands in surrender. “Whoa, big guy. I’ve already been shot at once today. Can we not have a repeat please?"
I immediately lower the weapon back into the drawer, striding over to where she’s shaking like a leaf. “What are you talking about? What happened?”
She spends the next few minutes animatedly giving me a play-by-play of what went on at the warehouse, her voice rising in hysteria as she nears the end of her story. “And then the fuckers shot at me! I hightailed it the hell out of there, racing down the highway like a bat out of hell, so I pray to all that’s holy they weren’t able to follow me.”
I grab her hand, spinning her around and pulling her through the doorway. “Let’s go. We gotta take those photos to Seth and figure out what the fuck is going on.” Turning on the security system, I lock the door behind us, opening the passenger door of Clarice’s car for her since she’s parked behind my truck. I hop in the driver seat, and in fifteen minutes, we’re at the club. “Not exactly how I dreamed about you seeing Alias for the first time, but it’s not open yet, so at least you won’t get the full effect and ruin it.”
“If I don’t get killed by arms dealers before I ever get to enjoy it,” she murmurs, taking hold of my hand as I unlock the blacked-out glass door and pull it open.
“I’m not going to let anything happen to you, lover,” I promise, hurrying her through the entryway that usually has someone checking IDs and membership cards, but it’s too early for that. We run up the stairs, through the quiet, empty main room of the club, past the booths and bars, and over to the far right wall to a set of stairs that lead up to the hall of offices.
The place is a ghost town, but I know Seth’s hermit ass is most likely at home, which happens to be the loft at the end of the hallway—for now. I’m sure now that Twyla is pregnant, she might be able to pull him out of his nerd cave and into a bigger place.
I push the button, standing in front of the camera. Sure enough, Seth’s face appears on the screen. “Well, hey there, you sexy beast. To what do I owe this surprise
visit?” he asks, his smile wide.
“Need you and your spaceship, man. Let us in,” I tell him, my voice serious.
He unlocks the door right away and welcomes us inside with a gesture of his hand. “What’s the matter? Hey, Clarice.”
“Hey.” She gives him a wavering smile, still clearly shaken up. She goes to sit at the kitchen counter, where Twyla is perched on a barstool, looking concerned.
“You all right?” I hear her ask my girl, but I don’t hear her response as I stride over to the far wall of the loft, where Seth’s huge computer setup is arranged.
He takes a seat in the futuristic looking chair, swinging it around to face the multiple monitors, wiggling his mouse to wake everything up. “Okay, hit me,” he says, looking up to meet my eyes.
I pull Clarice’s camera out of its bag, removing the memory card out of its slot and handing it over. “The last few pictures will be an arms deal going down at a warehouse next door to where my woman was taking photos for her real estate friend. They saw her, probably also have her license plate number now. I need to find out what I’m dealing with before they have a chance to even think about fucking with her.”
He nods, loading the card and pulling up the pictures, displaying them across the screens.
I stumble back a step.
My mouth gapes open before my jaw slams shut.
Disbelief and fury fills every crevice of my mind and stomach.
I blink just to be sure my eyes aren’t deceiving me, but sure enough, the image is perfect and clear, especially as Seth zooms in closer.
There, standing beside a produce truck, bending over a crate and inspecting its contents, is a man with a tattoo of a bow and arrow on his temple.
The man whose face still haunts my dreams over a decade after I first saw him in that godforsaken mud hut.
The very man who had killed and maimed my team in Afghanistan.
“Motherfucker.”
THIRTY MINUTES LATER, everyone is piled into Seth and Twyla’s loft, Clarice’s photos printed out and lining the kitchen island.
“The angle she took these pics from, we can’t see the license plate of the produce truck, but we can make out most of the letters on the two SUVs. I’m running a check on those to see what I can find. Shouldn’t take long,” Seth tells the group.
“What’s important is finding that truck before it makes its delivery. God only knows what they’ve got planned for all that weaponry. It could be another overseas deal, or heaven forbid, it could be to supply an attack planned right here in the States,” Doc says.
“Are there any security cameras on the property?” Corbin asks in Seth’s direction.
“Surprise, surprise. All systems are a go except around building 7422. I was immediately able to tap into the security feed. Even rewound it back and saw our little FBI agent on top of the roof—which is funny, since her name’s… yeah. Not the time,” Seth replies, stopping his line of thought at my glare.
“The truck didn’t pass by any active cameras on the way in?” Astrid asks, stepping between Twyla and Doc and checking out the photos.
“The truck itself must have an EMP or an electromagnetic pulse device. The cameras flickered off as soon as it got near them and then turned back on when it was out of range. So unless you were actually watching the feed, you’d never even notice the system was interrupted, and the truck is like a ghost,” Seth explains, causing a collective grumble to spread across our group.
I run my hand through my hair in frustration. “Well, it looks like the only option is to just go back to the warehouse and see if they’ve left any breadcrumbs.” I turn to the guys. “Guard her as if she were yours,” I tell them, my face a mask of dead-seriousness.
“Whoa, hold on a second, big guy,” Clarice inserts. “You’re not doing this alone. I’m going with you.”
I shake my head. “Like hell you are. What have I told you over and over during my missions? You stay where you’re safe so I can concentrate and get the job done. If not, all I’ll be able to worry about is you.”
“Fuck that, Brian! No way. You can’t go by yourself. Especially after I just told you—” Her throat clogs, and she visibly swallows, tears filling her chocolate eyes.
My fierce expression softens instantly, and I walk around the island to wrap her in my arms. “How many times do I have to tell you, lover? I’m invincible,” I murmur against the top of her head.
“You’re not though. No one is. Especially any man I love. Please, Bri. Don’t go alone,” she pleads, her tears soaking through my shirt, breaking my heart.
“He won’t be going alone,” Corbin says, and I look up to meet his stony face. “Those were my brothers this fucker blew up too. If I hadn’t been on another assignment, I would’ve been in that alley that day.” Vi gasps from the stool she’s sitting on, holding baby Vincent. Corbin wraps his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “The two of us will follow the trail and get everything taken care of. Together. We will have each other’s back. Everyone else, stay in this loft in case they’re able to track Clarice’s car.”
When he says that, I feel like a complete idiot for driving us here in her vehicle. But I wasn’t thinking straight after she’d just told me she’d been shot at.
“Not a problem. No one is getting into this bad boy,” Seth says, gesturing toward the steel-plated door. “We’ll lock the club down as well and send out a text to members letting them know we’re closed for the night.”
“And Clarice’s car is in the underground garage. No one will see it,” Doc reminds me, making me feel a little better about my blunder.
Seth’s computer makes a noise, drawing everyone’s attention as he jogs across the loft. “We have a hit. The first SUV’s plates were matched, and the vehicle is currently two miles from the warehouse on a private airfield.”
“But they weren’t loading the weapons into the SUV. They were putting them in the delivery truck,” Clarice states, looking up at me.
“We won’t know anything until we get there. But we need to go now if we stand any chance of stopping them,” I reply. “Seth, keep us updated.”
“Always, bro,” he calls.
I see Corbin leaning in to whisper something to Vi, kissing her goodbye, and I look down into Clarice’s shimmering eyes. “I promise nothing is going to happen to me, baby. There’s no way in hell I’ll let anyone take me away from you, not after we finally just got each other the way I’ve always dreamed.”
Her breath comes out stuttered before she blinks back her tears and nods, wiping her cheeks. She sniffs, clearing her throat and putting on a brave face. She gives me her beautiful smile, reaching up to cup my cheek in her tiny hand. “I believe you, big guy.” Her voice tells me she’s trying to make herself believe the statement as much as me. “Now kiss me. And when you get back, I’ll give you a reward.”
There’s my girl. I pull her up to press my lips to hers, putting every ounce of devotion inside me into that kiss. When I finally pull away, I tell her I love her, and Corbin and I leave the loft, making our way to our offices and stock up on what we need to bring.
Brian
“THERE’S NO RECORD of this guy anywhere. Facial recognition didn’t pull up a fucking thing,” Corbin says from the passenger seat as we near the warehouse.
“So the operation must have their own Seth. You can’t find a single thing about any of us on the Internet anywhere. I mean, if he can wipe us from every military record, getting rid of every damn sign of our existence except for hard copies of that article Clarice wrote about me more than a decade ago, then it’s not surprising this fucker has his own computer genius,” I reply.
“True, and if this guy’s been able to stay afloat for this long, then he’s not dumb. He’d definitely have someone like that on the payroll.” Corbin leans forward to look out the windshield as we slowly approach a warehouse two over from the one in question. If anyone is there, we don’t want to alert them to our presence. We get out of Corbin’s truc
k, which I drove so he could communicate with Seth on the way here, knowing if I tried to sit idly by it would make me insane.
We round the corner of one building and then another, using hand signals engrained in our brains from our military training. There are no vehicles outside the warehouse, but that doesn’t mean someone isn’t inside. Circling the building, Corbin gestures to the fire escape, and we make our way quietly up the metal steps to the second level. Instead of going to the roof, which would probably make way more noise going through the metal door there, we stop at the wide window that leads into an office space.
Corbin lifts up on the bottom of the window and finds it locked. But this isn’t our first rodeo. He pulls a glasscutter out of one of the cargo pockets of his pants along with a tiny spray bottle of kerosene. Dousing the tip of the tool with the liquid, he cuts a space just large enough for one finger to reach through and flip the lock open. Within minutes, we’re inside the office, and we can see the warehouse is completely dark.
Instead of flipping on the lights, we use small LED flashlights that fill the space with a bright glow so we can see where we’re going, and as we exit the office and point the lights down toward the first floor from the walkway leading to the stairs, what we find makes us breathe a “Holy fuck” in unison.
Rows upon rows of weapons, from pistols to machine guns. Hand grenades, rifles of all makes and models. It looks like every gun show in the United States has chosen this particular warehouse to store their inventory. If I weren’t on a mission to kill the fucker who murdered my friends and shot at my woman, I would have a massive boner in the presence of all this artillery.
“Well, no one is here. Should we move on to the airport?” I ask Corbin.
He nods, practically drooling over the sniper rifle he just spotted. He trails his finger over the stock and down the barrel.