Second Nature (When Seconds Count)

by D. L. Roan

  “You do not need to remind me,” she said, her tone dripping with venom and disdain. She held Grant’s stare in the rearview mirror a moment longer than he was comfortable with before she turned her head and stared silently out the passenger window into the surrounding darkness.

  As was customary through his earlier observations, she sat behind him in the back of the dark sedan. Normally he would have her sitting next to him where he could keep his eyes on her. That would have been too risky even considering her rebellious behavior. He needed everything to appear annoyingly normal for this to work, and that meant she sat behind him as he played the dutiful servant driver.

  Clearing her car of anything that could be used as a weapon and stripping her of all her clothes except for a scarlet red, silk robe he’d found lying across her bed only lowered his apprehension level a fraction of an inch. If she chose to try to escape or alert the guards he would have very little recourse to stop her. Other than her belief that he would kill the boy, he held very few other cards in this deadly game he was playing with her. It was the weakest part of his plan, and the sooner this phase was completed the better.

  Just as he had expected, two of the three security guards ran from the guard shack and disappeared into the darkness as he approached. The third man tried desperately to mask his irritation and disbelief that he’d been abandoned by his comrades. Grant had to work hard not to smirk at how predictable the whole scene was. Leaving the car in drive, he stopped and rolled down the rear window, silently praying to a God he wasn’t sure existed that he wasn’t about to make a huge mistake.

  The young security guard pasted on a fake smile and confidently approached the rear of the car. Grant held his breath, his face hidden from view by the dark tinted windows. “Miss Nadal. How nice to see you again this evening. What brings you here at such an unexpected hour?”

  “As usual it is none of your business, Nigel. Now please let me through.”

  “Miss Nadal, you cannot be here unannounced at this hour. Mr. Jauhar is not….”

  “Stuff it, Nigel.” She waved him off and casually pulled a mirrored compact from the small clutch he’d allowed her bring along, convincingly unconcerned as she checked her flawless lipstick. “Call him if you must, but it will ruin the surprise. And I am sure he will be completely unprepared to hear how you inappropriately ogled me after you ordered me to disrobe.”

  Grant nearly blew his own cover as he watched her from the rear view mirror. She reluctantly lowered her shoulder, her silk robe falling to her waist, exposing her more than ample, naked breasts for all to see. The Oscar moment came when she cast a pleading, embarrassed glance toward the security camera mounted above Nigel’s head. The idiot looked as if he was about to forfeit what little dinner he may have had as he tripped over himself to open the ten foot tall iron security gate.

  “Well played.” Grant smirked as he slowly passed through the entrance and navigated the narrow, dimly lit drive to the main house.

  “You do not get to be in my position with a man like Kafeel Jauhar without possessing some elevated level of acting ability.” She shrugged back into her robe and flicked the compact into her small clutch. “It does not matter. We are both dead the minute we walk through that door. I only hope my sister will forgive me.”

  Grant cut the lights as he approached the front of the main house and slowed to a stop under the architecturally overstated arched portico. He felt little pity for the woman. She knew what kind of man Kafeel Jauhar was, yet she still shared his bed for a small piece of his ill-gotten gains.

  “We are not walking through that door, Miss Nadal.” He turned in his seat and raised his silenced pistol, taking precise aim as he began the next phase of his lethal plan. “I am.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “What in bloody hell…?” The middle-aged butler met them at the top of the short flight of stairs that led up to the front door.

  “Help, she’s been shot.” Grant shoved the bleeding but conscious brunette into the confused doorman’s arms before knocking him out cold with the butt of his gun. Swiftly and silently he moved down the hall toward the security command post where he knew the other ill-prepared guards on duty would be scrambling to get their shit together.

  A group of shadows preceded the muffled sounds of scuffling feet moving in Grant’s direction from an adjacent room at the end of the long hall. He darted into the nearest open door just before they spilled into the hallway. The house had gone quiet, something that didn’t quite sit right in his gut.

  Crouched just out of sight, he could make out three distinct sets of movements as they approached. One man on point as the other two followed a few steps behind. They didn’t pause to check the darkened rooms they passed before they moved beyond the doorway where Grant was hidden and turned towards the front entrance. Clumsy bastards.

  He closed his eyes, letting everything else fall away and counted the seconds, listening to their heavy footfalls as they moved away. One. Two. Three. Four. His blood raced through his veins with explosive velocity, giving him a taste of the high he once craved. The power of a calculated kill. It wasn’t something he’d ever been proud of, but he understood it. He harnessed the energy and used it to his advantage, the ability to do so making him one of the best in his field. This was his true nature, coming back to him with lethal ease. He could so easily let it take him over and kill everything with a pulse, but he kept the leash tight. He was in complete control as he rose from his position and stepped soundlessly into the hall. Three calm breaths later, two of the guards lay dead at his feet. The third wordlessly pleaded for his life as Grant dragged him back into the control room, the razor-sharp and bloody blade in his hand resting against the man’s throat with just enough pressure to break the skin.

  “Enter the code.”

  The guard gave a quick shake of his head in protest. A desperate groan hissed through his clenched teeth, the blade slicing deeper into his skin. With his free hand, Grant reached into the man’s pocket and withdrew his wallet. Holding it up, he flipped it open to reveal the guard’s identification and address, along with some other useful pictures. “You’re going to die tonight. Whether or not they join you is completely up to you.” He stuffed the worn, leather wallet into his coat pocket and shoved the guard into the metal chair in front of the bank of computers. “You have three seconds to cut the surveillance and motion sensors.”

  The guard’s nervous fingers flew over the keyboard in front of him. Grant watched as monitor after monitor blipped to blank screens until nothing was visible from the central control room. “Ple-please.” The guard swallowed and Grant could smell the blood as it ran red down the man’s neck, mixing with the mingled scents of sweat and fear that permeated the air inside the small room. “Please don’t kill me. I won’t—”

  “The backup drive. Wipe it.” The guard wasted no time complying as Grant stood at his back, his hand steady at the guard’s throat. Within moments he’d disabled Jauhar’s entire security command. No one would be able to place him there.

  “How many are left?” The guard shrugged and Grant lunged at the man with viper speed. He didn’t have the time or the patience to deal with this kind of bullshit. The asswipe may not value his life, but he’d damn sure mourn the loss of his balls before he died. With a flick of his wrist the sharp point of the knife sliced through the crotch of the idiot’s pants. “How many fucking guards are left?”

  “Fo-four! There are four left!”

  “Four all together? Inside and out?”

  The guard nodded frantically, his body strained against the back of the chair watching in horror as a trickle of his own blood pooled in the seat beneath him.

  There were only four guards left. Counting this loser and the two he’d taken out, it was less than half the total number he’d counted on duty the three nights before. If three of them were the fuck-ups from the front gate, that meant there was only one other man on post inside the house. Sonofabitch! He’d been right. Jau
har had been tipped off.

  “If you live through the night you’re going to need a new job to feed those twins. Choose your next employer with caution.” Grant slammed his face into the top of the desk, breaking his nose and knocking him out cold. Satisfied the guard would no longer be a problem, he tossed the leather wallet onto the desk and left the room.

  Moving through the mammoth hallways, his footsteps silent against the plush carpet, he found his way to the servant’s staircase and swiftly moved through the second floor. His gut instinct screamed at him to pull back, every one of his senses set to maximum sensitivity levels. The whole thing reeked of a setup. Why else would Jauhar have cut his security forces by half? The other half was probably waiting for him behind one of the closed doors in front of him.

  “Mr. Jauhar is not here, I’m afraid.”

  Grant froze, his back glued to the wall outside what was supposed to be Jauhar’s office as the unfamiliar voice raced down his spine. Cold sweat peppered his forehead as dread and regret churned in his gut. A twisted chuckle echoed through the opened door from inside the room, confirming the worst possible outcome.

  “Come in, Mr. Kendal. There’s no use in prolonging the inevitable.”

  Fuck-fuck-fuck. He’d been made. His eyes closed on a steadying breath. Dammit! Shit! He’d had called him by his alias. Only a hand full of people knew him as Grant Kendal, and this dickwad, whoever he was, shouldn’t be one of them unless he’d seriously screwed up somewhere along the line. Dammit!

  He was right. There was no sense dicking around with this guy. If they knew he was coming, Jauhar would be long gone. He might as well get as much intel as he could before he killed this fucker, because no way in hell was he giving up. He’d dog Jauhar to the ends of the earth if that’s what it took to make sure Thalia was safe.

  With a grunt, he pushed away from the wall and stepped through the darkened doorway, his pistol aimed at the looming shadow before him when a blinding light suddenly flooded the room. Squinting through the glare, he found himself surrounded by nothing but unoccupied office furniture and old books as he faced the still unfamiliar threat.

  “Please, have a seat.”

  Grant sized the man up. Six-two, one-ninety, maybe two hundred pounds. It was difficult to tell with the traditional, white sarong he was wearing covering most of his features. He looked like a native Indian, but spoke English with a cultured British accent. His stance and tone screamed basic asshole with a god complex, but something in his cold, black eyes told him not to underestimate this man.

  “No thanks.” Gun in hand, he inched his way to the right side of the room. If he was about to be ambushed by a team of guards he was going to have the wall at his back and go down shooting. He’d be damned if he wasn’t going to take at least a few down with him. “Who are you? Where’s Jauhar?”

  “I would like to thank you for taking care of a few…personnel problems I’ve been putting off for far too long. You cannot just fire people in this business. They see too much.” An incredulous chuckle bubbled past the man’s lips and he ruefully shook his head. “I venture to say Mr. Jauhar will not be as pleased to hear the news of Nadal’s accident. She may have been a pain in my arse, but he seemed to be quite fond of her specific talents.”

  So this loser was Jauhar’s head of security. Grant tensed as the man reached for a box sitting atop the obnoxiously oversized executive desk. When he raised his gun the man paused, his steady hand hovering over the box’s varnished lid. “Cigar?”

  “Stop fucking with me and tell me what you were left here to tell me.” The man casually shrugged and began to sink into the plush oversized chair behind the desk. “I don’t think so.” Grant motioned for him to move from behind the desk. “Over there. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

  “I am unarmed,” the man chuckled and held out his hands, palms up for Grant to see. “I believe we can dispense with the threats and discuss our business like civilized humans, can we not?”

  “I said move!” Grant was one second away from making dog food out of this guy’s frontal lobe.

  The man leaned forward, resting his palms on top of the desk, his fingers splayed wide. “It is not I who you should be concerned with, Mr. Kendal.” He pinned Grant with a deadly stare. Ice filled his veins as the corner of the man’s mouth pulled into a wicked, knowing grin. “Over your left shoulder is a television monitor. If you want answers, Mr. Kendal, I would advise you to turn it on. I believe you will find the answers to everything you wish to know.”

  Keeping the gun trained on his target, Grant backed away until he could easily reach the giant monitor. Sliding his finger along the bottom edge, he pushed the button and the screen blipped to life. He studied the crude, greenish image on the screen, an eerie feeling churning to life in the pit of his stomach as the night vision camera zoomed out. He could see the outline of a woman’s body lying on a table in the dark room; her arms stretched high above her head, the top half of her face covered by some sort of cloth or blindfold. Her mouth parted on a silent cry, her head turning frantically back and forth as a bulky, male figure moved into the picture, partially blocking the woman from view as the sound of ripping fabric filled his ears. A familiar whimper of fear leaked through the speakers as the woman twisted away, trying desperately to free her arms. Jesus Christ! No!

  “Hand over the thumb drive and you can walk out of this house and disappear back into whatever cave you live in. No questions asked.” Grant watched in horror as the sick fuck on the screen touched Thalia, rubbing his slimy hands over her beautiful skin. “Or we can watch together as he takes her apart, inch by inch.”

  Fuck, no. No! No! No! This was not happening. It had to be a trick. She was supposed to be on a plane with Daniel for fuck’s sake. Two days ago! Before he could convince himself it was a lie, Thalia’s voice rang unmistakably clear through the speakers. The sound of defeat in her tone nearly brought him to his knees as she pleaded with her captor.

  Fire raced through his veins, his lungs tightening in his chest as they filled over and over with panicked breath after panicked breath. A thick hand clamped over his shoulder and he flinched, barely able to contain the raging fire inside that pushed him to the edge of his sanity. “Don’t think your Thalia gave you up without a fight, my friend. Jauhar can be quite persuasive with the women.”

  His well-defined and tightly leashed control snapped. He shrugged the man off and pushed him away, a wildly thrown punch finding nothing but air as Jauhar’s henchman calmly stepped away untouched. The gun in his hand felt larger than life and every ounce of his focus was drawn to it. One bullet and this piece of shit would never utter her name again. His normally calm hand shook almost violently as his finger tightened against the trigger. Panic fueled his rage; a deadly cocktail of emotions he knew could be his end if he didn’t rein it in. And fast. He wanted to kill this mother fucker. Rip him apart limb by limb and put a bullet between his eyes for even thinking of touching her, but it would solve nothing. He fought every ounce of training and instinct he’d ever possessed not to pull the trigger. Don’t do it. Just fucking breathe! He needed to think goddammit!

  Time. He needed time and information. Most of all, he needed to make that bastard touching Thalia pay! Forcing himself to keep his eyes on his target and not on the screen, his mind raced to come up with a plan. Fear paralyzed his instincts. He couldn’t fucking function like this!

  “I don’t have it,” he spat, fighting like mad to tune out the desperate cries for help blaring from the screen behind him.

  The parasite laughed. Actually laughed! He was wrong. Grant made a silent promise right then and there. If he got out of there alive, this man would never see the mercy of a bullet. If it was with his last dying breath he would see this man die screaming.

  “Mr. Jauhar thought you would say that.” The man turned and paced back to the desk. He took an expensive looking cigar from the box and lit it. The acrid stench filled the air as he took his time to savor the taste befo
re he exhaled the putrid smoke and continued. “I’m sure Jauhar will be able to find a brothel somewhere in Cambodia that could make a profit from her flesh. While light skinned girls such as your girl can be very lucrative, I’m not sure how attractive she will look once Hamisi is finished with her.”

  His insides twisted as images of those evil, filthy places littered his thoughts, threatening the limited amount of control he’d been able to gather. They were nothing but slaughter houses for the young and innocent where children and women were drugged, beaten, used and discarded over and over by sick, rich men who thought they were entitled. Fuck! Bile rose in his throat and he swallowed it back. Turn it off. His teeth ground together, his jaw aching with the force of his efforts to close that door. The harder he tried to tune it out the closer the unfamiliar terror came to completely consuming him. He couldn’t afford to lose it now. If she was still alive...no! She was alive. He had to believe that. She needed him. He was no good to her like this. He. Would. Not. Fail. Her.

  Digging in, he channeled his training, something he hadn’t had to do in a decade. From a dark place deep inside, a violent tempest of anger and resentment was born. Severing any ties to the useless, crippling feelings of love and sympathy he’d only recently discovered, he shut down every other emotion he possessed one by one. He embraced the rage that tore its way to freedom and locked on to the trained killer he’d spent the last year and a half trying to destroy. Every nerve ending, every cell hummed to life in perfect unison. He felt the moment it happened, the moment when everything else fell away and nothing else mattered but the mission; the moment when the beast inside him surfaced from a deep sleep and took its first breath in over a year. He welcomed it, giving it full rein and control. It was like an alcoholic tasting a fine whiskey after years of abstention. A warm calm fell around him, bringing with it a lethal clarity he was shocked to discover that he’d missed.