Manhattan looked at them both in the eye, then turned to Tarantina and regarded his wounded lieutenant for a moment before answering.
“Yes.”
The bodyguards looked at each other and shrugged.
“What do you need from us, Boss?” asked Duncan.
Manhattan smiled, happy with his own progress. But his small celebration was short-lived, as the sound of a helicopter overhead grew gradually louder.
“Ah, speak of the devil…” he said.
35.
ADRIAN HELL
21:27
As the door swings open, Josh steps inside and expertly checks the angles—his gun aimed forward, the barrel following his line of sight.
“Clear,” he says, after a moment.
Frank follows him, swinging his shotgun around with a technique he’s probably learned more from watching movies than he has from any actual combat experience. I move in last, both Berettas drawn and thirsty for blood.
Immediately inside the door is a metal staircase. I lean over the handrail and look down. It appears to lead to a maintenance area a couple of flights below us. We head down the stairs, but pause after just one flight. We hear a lot of commotion from underneath us.
“The helicopter maybe wasn’t the stealthiest approach,” observes Josh, his trademark sarcasm like a shield on his arm as he enters battle.
“I’m done being discreet,” I reply, matter-of-factly.
Frank turns to me. “When did you start?”
Josh laughs. “Oh, the new boy shoots and he scores! You just got served, Boss!”
“You’re both aware I have currently two guns and a real short temper, right?” I say.
They both fall silent again, re-focusing on infiltrating the top floor. I do enjoy our banter, especially during these types of situations. I’ve always said it’s far easier to get through a tough spot if you act on instinct and relax into the moment.
We reach the bottom of the staircase and approach the fire exit, which must lead us out onto the floor. Once again, Josh takes point and quietly pushes the door open, letting in a crack of light from the corridor beyond it.
“Looks clear,” whispers Josh. “I can see a closed door, unguarded, off to the left. I’ve no idea if it’s Trent’s office, or if that’s at the opposite end.”
I nod. “All the action will be near the elevators and outside Trent’s door,” I say, “so that room there is something else. We’ll do things properly and clear it before moving on.”
I look at Frank, who seems more agitated as the seconds ticked by.
“You alright?” I ask him.
He looks down at his Mossberg, then at the floor, almost as if he feels ashamed. “I can’t do this, Adrian,” he says.
I holster one of my guns and put my hand on his shoulder.
“I know, Frank. It’s alright. We couldn’t have got here if it weren’t for you, but this quest for revenge is mine, not yours. You’ve only spent your years being pissed at me, and I’d like to think we’ve moved past that now. But I’ve fixated on Trent since the day I found my girls dead, and I need this.”
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I’ve spent my years blaming you, but my hatred has always been for Trent, same as you. But now he’s dead, this all feels like overkill to me.”
“Maybe it is,” I say with a shrug. “But I killed Trent with my own hands, and I felt nothing. After all this time, there was no closure, no sense of freedom or happiness. There was nothing. This is my way of making sure I can move on. It’s not enough to kill him. I need to bury him so deep it’s like he never existed. And burning this place to the ground is the only way I can do that.”
He nods, understanding if not agreeing. “Okay,” he says after a moment. “I’m with you—let’s finish this.”
On cue, Josh pushes the door open slowly and sticks his head out, looking down the corridor.
“It doglegs slightly to the right,” he says. “I’ve got no visibility of the far end, but at the same time, neither would anyone who might be down there, so we’re clear for now.”
“Move out,” I say.
We walk quietly out into the corridor and look around. Frank and Josh move into position either side of the door nearest to us, and I stand in front of it. We listen for a moment, but I can’t hear anything from inside. Time is a factor here, so I simply open it and walk in.
It’s a large room that appears to have been used for storage. Cardboard boxes line the walls all around, and there are some shelving units, with a metal frame, positioned in the center of the room. What I didn’t expect to find, however, is a young girl, possibly a teenager, gagged and tied to a chair in the middle of the room, to the left of the shelving. There are two men standing watching her—their backs to the door.
I don’t know what’s going on here, but it’s not right. She’s just a kid… what would Trent want with her?
I need to stay quiet, so I can’t shoot these assholes.
The men turn and stare at me, momentarily frozen in shock. Without hesitating, I charge at them, kicking the guy on the left in the balls as I approach them. As he doubles over in pain, I kick him again in the face, like I’m kicking a field goal from the forty yard line. He flies backward to the floor and I turn quickly, lashing out with my right hand and catching the remaining guy on the side of his face with one of my guns. I hit him on the temple and he drops like a stone.
I put my guns away and look at the girl, whose eyes have gone wide. I put a finger to my lips.
“Shhh… it’s okay, kid,” I say, quietly. “I’m not here to hurt you, I promise. I’ll get you out of here.”
She nods slowly, and I pulled the gag from her mouth.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
She nods again without speaking.
I untie her hands and help her up, pointing to the door where Josh and Frank are standing.
“These are my friends,” I say. “Don’t be afraid, okay?” We walk over, and I turn to Frank. “Get her out of here to safety. Josh and I can handle this.”
Without a word, Frank nods and holds out his shotgun to me.
“Give ‘em Hell, Adrian.”
“I didn’t get my name by doing anything less.”
“I’ll head back to the roof and call Oscar, see if he can come and get us,” he says.
“Thanks for everything, Frank,” Josh says. “I’ll see you when this is all over.”
“Take care, the both of you.” He turns to the girl. “You come with me, okay? I’m gonna get you outta here.”
She takes his hand and they walk back to the fire exit. As they open the door, she turns and looks back at me. “Thank you,” she says, quietly.
I smile and nod; unsure what else I can say to her. They head back up the stairs and out into the storm. Josh and I press ourselves against the wall and make our way around the dogleg, likely walking into a storm of our own. Except right now, I’m the thunder, the lightning, the wind and the rain… I’m a walking tornado of devastation, and God help all those who don’t run.
“Stay behind me,” I say to Josh as I crunch the shotgun.
I step around and come to a small lobby with two elevators on the right. Beyond that is a large double door made from expensive wood, with the left hand side open, revealing the room beyond.
The wall opposite the elevators has a large piece of art mounted on it, but from this angle, I can’t make out much more than the edge of the frame. Plus, I’m far too distracted by the ten heavily-armed men that are standing staring at me, like rabbits in the headlights, completely unprepared for my arrival. Either that or they knew I was coming but for some reason thought I’d take the elevator…
I level the shotgun, tucking the stock underneath my right arm and holding the barrel steady with my left. In the split second of confusion, I charge at them, firing off two rounds from the Mossberg. I aim just off-center of the group, to the left first, then the right. The spray of the shots hits them like two cones, causing m
aximum damage. The front row, consisting of four men, is taken out instantly, launching them backward into the rest of the group; blood pouring out of the gaping wounds in their chests and stomachs.
I let out a visceral scream as adrenaline surges through me. I know that in this reasonably narrow corridor, I have no cover, and all it’ll take is one bullet to put me down, and I can’t afford to start hesitating and thinking about what might happen here.
I chamber another round and fire, catching two more men who are unlucky enough to get to their feet first. I aim low, catching the one on the left just below the hip, right in the center of his thigh. The guy on the right had taken a step back, and the blast caught him on the knee, taking the bottom part of his leg clean off.
The four remaining men scramble to their feet and head for the sanctuary of the room behind them. But one man slips on the blood and as he loses his footing, I hear a three-round burst of gunfire from behind me. The bullets hit his sternum, killing him instantly. Josh appears next to me, his M-16 primed for another assault.
“Didn’t think I’d let you have all the fun, did you, you crazy bastard?” he says.
The door slams shut in front of us as the three men make it inside. I’m not sure what good they think that door’s going to do, given they know I have a shotgun, and Josh has an assault rifle. They must be desperate and not thinking straight.
We take up position either side of the doorway.
“How many inside, do we know?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Didn’t get a chance to see,” I reply. “But it doesn’t matter. They’re all dead.”
He nods. “Got your back, Boss.”
“I’ll go low, you go high, yeah?”
He nods again and moves in front of the doors. I raise my boot and kick them both open with enough force to almost take them off their hinges. I step inside and drop to a crouch.
Oh, shit…
In front of me are the three men who survived the massacre in the hallway, standing in a line in front of a desk, facing me. The room spreads out to the left and right, and looks empty, apart from two leather sofas in front of the desk and some pieces of art dotted around. All around, the windows run floor to ceiling, displaying the impressive landscape of the city below, as well as the equally impressive storm that’s battering down on it.
On either side of the doors is one of the two men we’d seen in the street earlier. What were their names…? Duncan and Bennett, was it? They’re both tall and look even more physically impressive in person. They both have guns in their hands and they’re both aiming them at my head.
“Drop it, asshole,” says Duncan, on the right.
“Fuck…” I mutter.
I shouldn’t have been so reckless. The adrenaline was clouding my judgment, and not for the first time. I toss the shotgun to the floor. He reaches behind me, taking my Berettas and throwing them down as well.
“You too,” Bennett says, looking at Josh. “Nothing funny, or I blow his fucking brains out.”
Josh hesitates, not wanting to lower his weapon.
“Do as he says,” I say to him. “He has me dead to rights.”
He sighs heavily, unhappy that we’ve been caught before we can do anything and steps through, tossing his gun to the floor next to mine and raising his hands.
Duncan presses his gun to the side of my head. “Make a move and I’ll shoot you,” he says. “Now take a seat on the sofa.”
I take a deep breath, stand back up and walk forward. As I do, the line of three men in front of the desk step to one side revealing Jimmy Manhattan, who’s sitting in what, I presume, used to be Wilson Trent’s chair.
“Fuck…” hisses Josh, seeing Manhattan’s arrogant smile, already celebrating his victory over us. I can’t say anything, I just feel numb at having hit a roadblock I never expected to come up against.
“Adrian, glad you could join us,” he says. “Welcome to my empire.”
My jaw muscles clench as I stare at him, my anger rising to boiling point. “You sneaky, rat bastard sonofabitch!” I yell.
He smiles at me, full of arrogance. “Did you honestly think I’d write off our history, forgive and forget, then strike up a partnership with you? I’ll admit, your involvement has made things easier for me, but this outcome was inevitable. And now, I have all the manpower and the resources to finally bury Adrian Hell. How does it feel? Being so beaten?”
“Actually,” interrupts Josh. “You don’t have the resources. I stole all of Trent’s money, so you’re in charge of a building you can’t afford the rent for, and a small gang of inbred steroid abusers who you can’t afford to pay. Well done!”
Manhattan nods to Bennett, who steps over to Josh and slams his pistol into the side of his head, right on the temple. Josh grunts as he falls to the floor, not quite unconscious but incapacitated for the time being.
“A minor technicality,” says Manhattan, without skipping a beat. “Which you will resolve for me. Hand over the money.”
I shake my head. “Couldn’t if I wanted to. Didn’t understand half the shit he said to me when he told me how he’d done it, but I know the only way to trace the money is with him in front of a computer. Given you just knocked him out, you’ll have to wait…”
“Defiant to the very—”
“I haven’t finished,” I interrupt, “I was just pausing for breath… Like I was saying, I couldn’t if I wanted to… but I don’t want to. What I want to do is kill everyone in this room. And you’re going last, so you can watch what I do to everyone else.”
I look at Duncan, who, to his credit, remains next to me with his gun still on my temple.
“You want to know what I did to your boss?” I ask him. “I beat him half to death with my bare hands and then made him bite the curb. I killed him by putting my boot through the back of his head. I heard the crunch as the top of his spine snapped, and his jaw damn-near fell off.”
I can feel the gun start to quiver slightly against my head. I don’t know if it’s down to anger or fear, or both—I don’t care, either. It doesn’t matter. The point is that he’s emotional, and he’s going to make a mistake. And when he does, I’ll kill him.
“Nice speech,” says Manhattan. “But, I’m afraid, very much un-necessary.”
The door opens and another fifteen well-armed men dash in and form a wide semi-circle between the door and me.
Ignoring the gun, I do a slow three-sixty of the room, turning clockwise and looking around to buy myself some time while I figure out my next play. I have fifteen men between the door and me. Next is a mostly empty space with a goldfish bowl on a stand in front of the large windows. Then there’s the desk with Manhattan behind it and three men in front of him. The other guy, brought in with Manhattan, was sitting on the sofa, bleeding from a bullet wound and looking faint. And finally, the far wall on the right is, again, mostly empty, save for some artwork on the walls and a display cabinet containing two identical samurai swords that are probably worth more than I can imagine.
I clench my jaw muscles tightly in silent frustration as my number of viable options for survival decreases by the minute.
“As you can see, Adrian,” he continues. “Any threat you make is futile. You’re done. I’ve waited a long time to see you die, and I intend enjoying every second of it.”
With Josh down for the count still, Bennett walks over to the desk and places his gun down in front of Manhattan. “Can I have the pleasure of beating him to death for you?” he asks.
Manhattan couldn’t smile any wider if he tried. “Be my guest,” he replies, before turning to Duncan. “Both of you can have a little fun, if you’d like.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I look at Duncan, whose emotions are slowly being replaced by a wicked, confident smile. I let out a heavy sigh and brace for the inevitable. And sure enough, before Duncan put his gun down, he whips it into the side of my head, forcing me to one knee while the throbbing subsides.
I know they’re both train
ed fighters, and I know not to underestimate their abilities. But I also know that, quite simply, I’m better.
Bennett is in front of me, with Duncan to my right. I’m still down on one knee, holding the side of my head. Waiting…
Bennett comes at me first. He throws a kick with his left leg, executed perfectly—he swings it round in a wide arc, his leg stiff. He’s thrown his hip over, putting every ounce of momentum behind the kick. He’s aiming for the side of my head, and if it connects, that one blow will end things right here, right now.
But I knew it was coming. I’ve been watching him. Out of the two of them, he clearly thinks of himself as the more senior, which means he was going to want to go first. And I’ve been watching his stance.
After speaking to Manhattan, he turns and puts his right foot forward, with his back leg on the ball of his foot. I’m on one knee, which practically begs for a head kick. As it swings around, I jump up and hook my right arm around his leg, grabbing hold and absorbing some of the blow in my side.
But I’d met his leg, instead of waiting for it to come to me, so it hadn’t quite gained full momentum and consequently doesn’t have the stopping power it would have otherwise. With his left leg held out straight, and a look of complete shock on his face, I step through and thrust my left foot through his right kneecap, snapping his leg in half. I let go of his left leg, and he collapses on the floor, writhing and screaming in agony.
One down…
I turn to Duncan, who is also standing frozen in shock at how swift and brutal my defense is.
One to go…
We face each other and I wait for his move. His stance is loose, and his guard high; his years of training making him a very effective fighter. Patience is the key to beating him. Let him come to me, then defend and counter…
His eyes never leave mine, and they’re burning bright with rage. I know what story my eyes are telling. After years and years of fighting and killing, I know what my Inner Satan looks like. It sometimes even frightens me, so God knows what this guy’s thinking right now.
He snaps a jab forward, falling short of the mark, then follows it with a huge straight right. Knowing the jab wouldn’t come near me, I position myself for the obvious follow-up.
One Last Bullet: An Action Thriller (Adrian Hell Series Book 3) Page 24