“Lenny?” I pushed the door open, pale light streaming over the wood floor. “Lenny, I know you’re mad, but we really have to go.”
There’s a moment, I think, when you know. The moment you know comes before the moment you acknowledge it, which makes it that much more terrible. I felt it in my body, a hard lump in my gut. I knew it as I stood in the doorway, my lone shadow gaunt against the hardwood.
The sheets were wrinkled and flat against the mattress. The pillow stark white, noticeably lacking in red hair. It was empty. It was bereft. I felt it, I knew it, but I didn’t want to acknowledge it.
Those moments were only seconds, but those seconds stretched on and on, tearing away at every bit of me until I stepped forward to the bed. I pulled back the sheets, but in her place was only blood.
I stay calm while the house is burning down. I’m relaxed while the flame is licking at my heel. I’m known for this. I’m regarded for this. My serenity is infamous. But it was as if the droplets of her blood were acid thrown on my face.
I felt the sound of my scream rip my throat apart. I only realized I’d fallen to my knees by the pressure on the caps. I fisted the sheets until my knuckles were white. I allowed myself that brief moment of utter despair, gave in to the scream that ricocheted in my skull, and then I stood. I ripped the sheets off the bed and walked out of the room without a second glance back.
There were questions that needed answering—like, how the fuck did they get into my house without triggering the alarms? How the fuck did they get her without a scream? These questions did a deadly tango in my mind, almost distracting me from the biggest, most important questions.
I wouldn’t question how to get her back, because I knew I would.
The biggest questions on my mind were who was going to pay, and how much blood would be shed. How much pain could I make them feel before they passed out and died? How many bones would break? Would they count the bones as I counted their sins?
All very important questions, but first, I had to find them.
Still carrying the sheets, I entered my lair. The first thing I did was check her GPS. Nothing came up. I tried to get the signal to ping back. Nothing. Not even a fucking blip. It was as if I was conducting a séance with my fucking computer. Like trying to contact the dead.
The minute that thought popped into my head, I threw everything on my desk to the floor. Pencils and shit scattered everywhere—except the sheets; I still held those.
“God fucking dammit.” I rubbed my temple, thinking back to training. ABCs… Nothing. Fuck. It was no use, I couldn’t think straight. Flashes of Lenny, tied up or abused, kept slamming into my head. The things they could do to her…
Well, I knew very well what they could do to her, because I’d done them to others.
I screamed and grabbed my computer by the monitor, ready to throw that off the desk too. I’d never felt so undone. So utterly fucking helpless. I gripped the computer until the screen went blank and then the blackness stared back at me, but in that blackness I could see my face reflected back.
Taking a deep breath, I let go. As cathartic as it was to break my shit, it wouldn’t help Lenny. Not yet, anyway. I hadn’t had a chance to move on to the Bs of the ABCs. I picked up one of my phones and stared at the glass for a split second before punching in the number. When the line picked up, I didn’t give him a chance to say hello—or fuck off.
“I need a favor.”
“You don’t have any favors left,” Charlie replied. He sounded serene, almost lazy. I stood up again, crunching over pencils so I didn’t smash my computer.
“Well then I will owe you something, fucker,” I growled.
“Chill your shit before you say something you’ll regret, Vic,” Charlie growled right back. I looked again to the face of my computer, wondering when I’d transformed from the calm, stoic man everyone knew into this hulking, bear he-man.
“Lennox is missing,” I explained, turning away. “I don’t have shit to chill.”
There was a pause before Charlie asked, “What do you think I can do?”
“Give me his number.”
“Don’t fucking do it, man,” Charlie immediately replied. I expected him to tell me no. That was the way in our world. We didn’t say yes, not immediately. We demanded blood.
So, yeah, I expected Charlie to tell me to fuck off. I expected him to demand a favor, just as I had the day I’d saved his life. I expected that—fuck, I was ready for that. I didn’t expect a warning. Whatever game he was playing was new. I didn’t have time for new. Somewhere Lennox was playing the old game, the dirty game, the game I had spent my life mastering.
I ran a hand over my face, wondering if I could tear off the skin.
“What the fuck are you getting at Charlie?” I demanded.
“You don’t understand,” Charlie replied. “Seven is not a savior, he’s—”
“What would you do if you were in my place?” I cut off.
There was a long, heavy pause before Charlie responded. “I would do the exact same thing.”
“So just give me the goddamn number!”
“I wish I could help you. I wish there was some way I could help. You have no idea. I really wish I could offer some fucking service. You’re the reason I have Vera.”
“Well, do you have any contacts in GEM?”
“Fuck no! After what happened with my leg? You kidding me?”
“Does Seven?”
Another lingering, pressing pause followed and then Charlie responded, “If anyone does, it’s Seven. Crazy fuck.”
“That’s what I’m thinking.”
“You know what this means,” Charlie warned. “The type of favors he demands go beyond money. They transcend borders. You won’t be able to hide from him until you’re dead. Maybe even death won’t stop him.” The way Charlie spoke made me question—not my resolve, but Charlie. I’d always thought Charlie and Seven got along—well, as along as someone can get with a man like Seven.
There was dirt between them now. Soil dug up from a graveyard. I didn’t have time to dig into it, though; I had my own shit to shovel.
“I know.”
“I’ll send you what I have.” We ended the call without another word. We both knew it was best to stop talking. Like Voldemort or some shit, speaking of Seven was best done quietly and quickly.
The ringing had ended, signaling he’d picked up my call almost five minutes ago. He hadn’t said hello, he hadn’t said anything, but I’d said my peace, so he knew. The hush of dead air, a bit of a crackle, and unease followed. I waited for him to hang up, or demand blood, not sure what to expect. I was prepared to throw all my cards on the table before we’d even started playing poker.
I’d only worked with Seven once before, and then I’d watched him behind a scope. I’d heard him miles away on a radio. It was all with some degree of separation, not like this, with only the crackle of the connection between us.
Crackle.
Hush.
ROAR.
“I’m sorry, did I miss some fucking memo? Is there somebody out there lighting my name up in the sky like fucking Batman? First Charlie, now you. Why the fuck is everyone calling me for help now?”
“I don’t need help, just your contacts.”
“That sounds like help to me. Actually, that sounds exactly like help.”
“What do you want? Name it. I’ll do it.”
Laugh.
Crackle.
Hush.
“I want people to stop bothering me on my nights off. I was about to sit down and watch that new TV show, you know, the one with the chicks. Everyone is talking about it; they say it’s really fucking good. They say it’s genre bending. I was gonna see what the fucking hype is about. Now I have Vic fucking Wall on my ass wanting a favor. My popcorn is getting cold.”
“I just need to know where GEM has their nodes at in Santa Barbara.”
“That’s some high class intel you want.” Pause. “I’ll make some big en
emies giving you that shit.”
“I know.”
“You prepared to pay for that?”
“Whatever it takes.”
Laugh.
Crackle.
Hush.
“I’m like the Lannisters, you know, except I always collect my debts.”
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. Are you going to give me the information or not?”
“Wait.” Pause. “Are you fucking with me right now?”
“Are you fucking with me right now?”
“You’ve never watched Game of Thrones? One of the biggest crossover hits of our time?”
“This is time sensitive!”
Rustle.
Crunch.
Sigh.
“So was my popcorn…”
“Are you going to help me or not?”
“So it is help.”
Laugh.
Crackle.
Crackle.
Crackle.
Crackle.
Crackle.
Crackle.
Hush.
“I’ll send you your information. In the meantime, maybe you should get a subscription to Netflix.”
“Yeah, I’ll do that.”
“And Vic?”
“What?”
Hush.
Crackle.
Laugh.
“Blood for blood. I hope she’s worth it.”
Click.
The neon T was burned out and the L hung limply to the side. Other than that, the exterior looked okay. With wooden molding and white stucco, it reminded me of the bohemian hotels I’d frequented on my trips to Amsterdam. Like those trips, though, I knew better than to take what I saw at face value.
According to Seven, GEM only had two outfits in California; one in San Francisco and one in Los Angeles. That was official though, and according to Seven, “The last time GEM did anything official, Gorbachev was getting fucked in the ass by Reagan.” He went on to say there was an unofficial GEM outfit on the outskirts of Santa Barbara. It had popped up a week before and was masquerading as END, but after some minimal digging was clearly GEM.
He didn’t give me any more than that. He ended the email by saying, “I could tell you who is pulling the strings on this one…but that’s never as fun.” I didn’t need more. I was sure now that Alice was the puppet master of the whole goddamn thing.
Four floors besides the bottom one. A roof. A shitty fire escape. Two balconied floors. Possibly a basement. I quickly scanned the building, trying to learn as much as I could in what little time I had. It was anyone’s guess as to where they were keeping Lenny.
A doorman sat outside an arched, heavy wooden door, his face in a crooked scowl. I didn’t need to bet money to know he was more than a doorman. He was the first line of defense, but still probably just a brute with no other training than punch-hit-lights-out. If this was as low key and unofficial as Seven said, Alice couldn’t spare many men and would have likely had to outsource i.e. pay random street thugs.
I could take him down easily, but that runs the complication of letting my presence be known. It would be better to wait, scope out the building’s weak points, and discover the rituals of those inside. It would take time, but results in less bloodshed.
Fuck it.
“Hey you!” I yelled out. A short smile played on my lips when his head spun around, looking for me. Calling out like that wasn’t smart. It sure as shit wasn’t how I was trained. Maybe it was testosterone, or maybe it was just a side effect of living with Lenny, but I was sick of playing it smart.
I wanted blood.
Coming out of the shadows like water seeping from stone, I made myself known and advanced toward him.
“Wh—what are you doing?” The doorman faltered a bit when he saw me. Maybe it was the crazy grin on my face.
I shrugged. “Going for a walk.”
“Well fuck off.” He puffed up his chest and raised his chin. “You can’t be here.” I studied the man, taking slow, careful strides in a circle around his body. Though he had thick muscles and wore his weapon strapped obnoxiously beneath the front of his waistband and jocks, his cheeks were still full and there were no lines marring his face. The boy couldn’t have been more than nineteen.
“Why?” I responded. “It’s a free country.” Now I was just fucking with him.
“It’s not free here.” He was taller than me, but unsure on his feet. He had uneven whiskers on his face and a beanie about to fall off his head. I started to wonder if this was his first night out. Maybe Alice had promised him money and women if he worked for her. Maybe he believed her. Maybe he thought he’d never meet someone like me.
Too bad.
Before the guy could react I threw a right hook, hitting him square in the jaw. He fell like a tree. That’s the worst thing about throwing a knockout: when someone passes out, all their body weight lands on you. I could’ve let him fall, but his body hitting the cement might’ve attracted unwanted attention. So, I was stuck dragging a hundred and ninety around the corner—a hundred and ninety plus whatever gravity decided to throw in.
After I’d thrown the poor rookie among the refuse, I returned to the heavy wooden door. It would be a bitch to knock down, but I was never one to shy away from a challenge.
You know that moment in movies and books when someone says, “It’s too quiet?” Yeah, well, it was too fucking quiet. I blasted the goddamn door down expecting bullets and bodies, but instead received a graveyard at midnight. Not even the sound of a footstep was heard.
That is, until I heard her.
Lenny.
I heard her scream. The sound ricocheted in my ribcage, bouncing around until I felt sick to my stomach. It sounded like it was coming over some kind of speakers. It was incessant and consistent, never ending, and mind bending. It was like her scream was inside my own head.
They were fucking with me. I knew they were. It was the easiest game in the book. They were trying to rile me up and get me to break form, get me to show my hand early.
Well it worked.
I sprinted down the hallway, not paying mind to corners or open doors. There was only one thought on my mind: Lenny.
I skipped the elevator and ran up the stairs. Her screaming grew louder. It was like a headache I couldn’t shake.
I hadn’t fought much since the war. It was the reason I’d gone into recon instead of becoming a mercenary. I didn’t like to kill. The sounds of the dying weren’t my lullabies.
If I had to kill, though, I would. If I had to use the skills that were forced upon me, I would.
And that night, I did.
The first wave was easy to take out. They didn’t stop to ask if I was in the wrong location. I didn’t stop to question if they wanted to leave first. Unfortunately I lived in a world where we communicated with fists and bullets.
Just like in war, they used the green boys as cannon fodder. It was almost unfair the way it was done. Two boys rushed to where I stood, guns shaking in their hands as they shot bullets at me. I put one in each of their hearts and another in their heads. They fell to the ground without complaint.
I stepped over their bodies and followed the sounds of Lennox’s screams. I climbed the staircase, following the wails like a Siren’s call. The staircase curved and I plastered myself against the wall when I heard footsteps coming.
I threw an elbow, hitting the first guy in the nose. Blood spurted and he yelped. The next guy tripped over the one with the broken nose. They tumbled down the staircase and landed in a heap on the floor, unmoving. A third man came. I shot him in the knee and he screamed in pain, following his forebears as he tumbled to the ground.
Still Lenny screamed, the sound like a screwdriver to my skull. I knew then, as the sound burrowed farther inside me, that I would do anything to get to her. It didn’t matter how many men or women I had to bloody. It didn’t matter the body count. It didn’t matter the blood bath.
The dangerous and perhaps unsound unde
rstanding reckoning at my core was that it didn’t matter how many innocents got in my way. My goal was Lennox safe and at home, and nothing else mattered.
When I reached the top, my legs nearly froze. Alice was at the end of the hallway holding Lenny as a shield against her body. Lenny’s eyes were glassed over. She was listless. Blood crusted beneath her eye and stained the clothes she wore. She’d been beaten. She’d been bloodied. My nightmare had come to pass and the brunt of it had fallen on her.
I thought I’d stymied the part of me that had broken upon seeing the sheets. I thought I’d gotten my shit together. Seeing her like that, though, I nearly collapsed. I summoned every ounce of training I had as if it were my own Hail Mary. I had to keep it together. Despite the fact that I felt as if I were coming unglued, a jigsaw puzzle quickly tumbling away, I had to stay pieced.
“Vic…” Lenny looked up, but then her head fell as if too heavy for her body.
“Are you happy here?”
I didn’t look up from my ministrations. Keeping your shit shiny, even in the goddamn desert, was just something you did. We kept our shoes clean, we kept our things folded, and when we went out and got bloody, we came back and washed it like it was dirt on our clothes, not the life blood of another.
“Are you happy here, soldier?”
I looked up, stopped my rubbing, and paused at her question. It was just me under the tent—the other guys were playing soccer with their down time—so she was definitely talking to me. She had long blonde hair, but it was pulled tight behind her head. With her in her suit, I felt underdressed in my tank and fatigues. Her face was done perfectly, somehow not sweating even in the heat.
I should have recognized her for what she was all those years ago. When Alice asked me if I was happy in the war, I didn’t realize my answer would shape my life forever.
I aimed my SIG at her head.
“Vic,” Alice said, her smile blood red. A brief thought flashed through my head: I wondered if she was wearing lipstick or the blood of her victims.
Come To Me (Owned Book 3) Page 6