Stevenson shook his head while the fisted grip forced him to answer.
“Yes, sir,” Noah said through swollen lips, still blinking water out of his eyes. He refused to respond in the language of his beloved mother.
“The sooner you know your place, the easier it will be for you. We’ve been going over this for years, Noah,” Manning said. “Trust is earned, and you have yet to earn my trust.”
“Yes, sir.” This time, the words clawed at his throat and came out raspy and raw.
Manning studied him, and then said, “Stevenson is my right hand. You, on the other hand, will become my second-in-command. I haven’t wasted all these years teaching you the business for nothing.”
Noah shuddered, holding back the need to puke. He ran one arm against his dripping nose and it came away red, blood mixed with water.
Manning stepped closer and Noah froze. Keeping his eyes cast downward, he tried to stop shaking. The man’s gaze burned into him and he dared not move an inch. Long fingers came and pinched his chin, lifting his face upward until he had no choice but to meet the man’s cruel gaze.
“Try leaving again and I will personally be forced to punish you, like last time,” Manning murmured silkily and trailed one finger over Noah’s bottom lip. “You don’t want that again, do you?”
“No, sir,” Noah whispered.
A quick glance at the clock had him hustling. Stepping from the room, he closed the door and smacked into a hard body. Noah jerked back from the man blocking his path. But his actions didn’t stop Belton Gibson from stepping forward and crowding him against the wall. The thug’s face was a mixture of lines and pockmarks. The clothes he wore stank of sweat and manure, and the man’s stale breath only added to the smell. His smile flashed tiny flecks of brown where tobacco had lodged in his teeth from his snuff habit.
“Remember this?” The gun Belton waved in Noah’s face was just as familiar as the day he had first seen it. His stomach churned.
“Get out of the way, Belton.”
“Oh, come on, boy,” the man cackled, crowding closer, using his bigger size to intimidate. “It’s the same one Manning used.”
“Move,” Noah hissed between clenched teeth.
Belton put a hand to Noah’s chest and shoved him back against the wall. Noah sucked in a quick breath. The familiar ache in his back told him the bruises from his last beating were still there.
“How about we have another performance and–” The man’s words stopped abruptly when another man stepped into the upstairs hallway.
Noah closed his eyes. Great, just fucking great.
“What the hell is going on here?” Stevenson asked, approaching with a heavy tread.
“Nothing, sir,” Belton replied, snapping to immediate attention.
Liar! Noah took advantage of the distraction to skirt around Belton, but he also paused and stood straight, his eyes forward.
“Good, then go about your duties,” Stevenson ordered, and Belton hurried away.
Noah turned and then froze when his stepfather’s cruel grip closed around his arm. He tensed but kept his gaze downward so Stevenson couldn’t see the hatred burning in his eyes.
“What did Manning tell you about fucking around with the men?”
Noah
“Get up.”
Noah jerked awake, his heart jumping at the growling voice near his ear.
“What’s wrong?” Flinging back the blanket, he scooted to the edge of the bed and swung his feet down to the carpet.
“Manning wants you out at building D,” his stepfather ordered before walking to the door.
Rubbing sleep from his eyes, Noah cocked his head, listening. The house was relatively quiet. After all, it was still dark outside.
Yanking his sneakers from beneath the bed, he shoved them on his feet. If the boss wanted him, he needed to move fast.
“Hurry up, Noah. Manning isn’t a patient man,” his stepfather yelled from somewhere down the hallway.
In the process of tying his shoes, Noah blinked. Building D? Oh fuck. The blood left his face, and he launched off the bed. Shaking hands yanked on a hoodie as he took the stairs two at a time before running out the back door. Sprinting across the wide expanse of grass toward the buildings to the left, he saw nothing until two large men stepped out and stopped his forward momentum with a cruel grip.
“Let me go! Please, nein, nein!” Noah cried in German as his knees buckled. He hung between the two men until they released him and he slid to the ground.
Across the distance in the floodlight surrounding building D stood Terrance Manning. Manning held his gaze. In his hands, the man was holding a handgun and running a small, white cloth over it, polishing the metal.
“It’s come to my attention that you’ve been… keeping company with the men,” Manning accused, his lips drawing into a tight line. Next to Manning stood Belton Gibson with a satisfied smirk on his face. It was the smirk that galvanized Noah into action.
“You fucking liar, I wouldn’t touch you to save my own life!” Noah yelled, exploding up from the ground. Gibson’s nostrils flared at his words, but Noah didn’t care. He took the men standing next to him by surprise and moved quickly.
Charging into Belton, Noah planted his fist in the guy’s face and felt a satisfying crunch of bone. Belton yelled and stumbled. Noah’s fist hurt like a motherfucker, but his momentum took the guy to the ground. Belton punched at his ribs and Noah’s fist connected to the side of the guy’s head.
“That’s enough!” Manning yelled at his men, “Break them apart!”
Noah spat blood as he was jerked upward. Belton’s nose dripped with blood and his gaze promised payback.
Belton was suddenly blocked from his view by Manning. The man smelled like old sweat and cheap cologne, and he swallowed back bile. Rage at being held welled up, and he clawed at the hands holding him. He glared at the fucking psychopath that took extreme pleasure in inflicting pain.
Manning brutally pinched his chin. “Now look what you’ve done.” The man ran a finger over the scrape on his cheek and smeared the blood along his lip.
Noah shuddered, jerking his head away, but Manning’s men held him tight. Having neither the strength nor the bulk, they held him easily. The kingpin’s mouth tightened and cruel fingers again grabbed onto his chin.
“I thought we were past this, Noah,” Manning scolded in perfect German.
With his heart slamming against his ribs, he stopped struggling and stood ramrod straight. Manning in a rage was something Noah never wanted to see again. A fine tremor started in his legs, but he stiffened his knees and fisted his hands.
“You know I expect more of you,” Manning continued in German. The man’s breath wafted near his nose, the smell thick with garlic and cigarettes.
“Yes, sir.” Noah clenched his teeth, refusing to show weakness. He spoke in English.
The man stepped closer, his lips almost touching Noah’s cheek, and it took everything in Noah not to flinch. “I know you don’t believe me, but you’re my most prized possession,” Manning finished hoarsely.
“Yes, sir,” Noah replied woodenly.
Manning stepped back, and Noah walked on wobbling legs through the building’s wide door.
Strong arms came around Noah, only this time, they were kinder.
“Trust me, boy, you don’t want to see this. Just go back in the house and let me take care of it.” Carl’s voice was filled with sadness.
“I have to,” Noah choked out. Carl’s face swam before his watery gaze. He pulled away, and with shaking hands, yanked open the door that separated the stalls from the front of the building. The air was immediately assaulted by snarls, growls, and loud, aggressive barking as Manning’s guard dogs lunged against their metal cages. Noah braced himself, walking past the rattling chain-link structures, hoping, not for the first time, that the gates held against the savage onslaught.
When he reached the last stall, his knees finally gave out and he dropped down bes
ide the still body of the yellow-colored dog.
“Baby…” Noah whispered brokenly.
She lay in a mangled heap. He drew in a ragged breath and placed his hand on her side. She remained still beneath his palm. Reaching for her despite the blood matting her golden fur, Noah lifted her halfway into his arms and clutched her to his chest.
“Oh, Baby, I’m so sorry,” he whispered, regret clinging to his words. He shouldn’t have kept her. He shouldn’t have given them leverage.
Mac
Strapping on his tactical vest and checking over his weapon, Mac stowed extra clips in the vest. Once he was fully geared up, he moved over to where the SWAT commander stood at the center of a group of men from several different agencies. He didn’t personally know the commander, but the man appeared to be respected by the way the large group of men followed his orders.
The task tonight would be difficult, but the raid team was ready. Their task was to apprehend drug lord Terrance Manning and his right-hand man, Ricky Stevenson. The pair was wanted on drug distribution charges. Using minors as drug mules to transport heroin across borders, they were also wanted for endangering children in connection with a sex-trafficking ring that smuggled children out of the country. They were wanted in connection to the recent deaths of two teenagers. The FBI was also in the process of investigating a district judge in the area who might be on Manning’s payroll. They had plenty of charges, but both men had eluded them for years.
Tonight, Mac and the rest of the task force assembled hoped to take several eyewitnesses into custody. Each person willing to take the stand against Manning and Stevenson in court would be put into the witness protection program known as WITSEC after they testified.
All this had been made possible by one brave girl. A contact by the name of Jenny Myers had approached the FBI about a week ago. Jenny told them she could get out under the pretense of buying smokes for the guards, giving law enforcement enough time to get through one of the main gates. Before giving the FBI the unknown location of Manning’s compound, Jenny had one condition. When they came for her, they needed to save Noah.
Mac wasn’t sure who Noah was, but he was going to make damned sure he saved Jenny, Noah, and as many innocents as possible.
After they’d moved into position, the men stood eerily quiet in the late night darkness. Fifteen three-man teams stood ready with a lead man equipped with tranquilizer guns for the dogs that roamed the compound. FBI and US Marshals stood behind the fully-loaded SWAT and police.
The house had too many exits for Mac’s liking. There was a lot of exposure between the gate towers and the main house. The property stood in almost total darkness except for the occasional swing of a floodlight across the wide expanse of yard. The massive compound-style home that sat on land located just east of Bend, Oregon, had four main entry points and several side door exits. That wasn’t counting the balconies or the upstairs.
In the distance, the low hum of cattle drifted through the still night. The compound stood under the guise of a working ranch. Hell, they even sold meat and produce to the local stores. The scent of pine trees and pungent undergrowth, where the ground grew soft beneath thick ferns, drifted on the wind. The earth beneath Mac’s boots was dirt and gravel, having left paved roads twenty or so miles behind them.
“On my go,” the SWAT commander clipped out through Mac’s earpiece.
A small woman appeared and approached the tower. The guard unlocked the gate and then stood there, flirting with the girl. Silently and unseen, a SWAT member moved in from behind him and knocked the guy out.
Mac held Jake’s gaze, and his partner nodded. There were approximately seventy plus people living on the property. They were to get in and get out with as many victims as possible, keeping casualties to a minimum. They’d done this too many times to remember, but that familiar rush of adrenaline always kicked in, heightening his senses.
The SWAT leader gave the signal to move. Snipers took out the guard towers. The team designated to dart the dogs moved in, and the rest of the raiding team followed. They ran, all dark figures, crouching low through the darkness and across the grass.
Officers swarmed the exterior of the house, going up and over the balconies using rope and through the doors below with battering rams.
Mac sprinted with Jake and a cop to the side of the house. A door gave way easily beneath the officer’s hand and the man cleared the entry. Mac kept his gun aimed in front of himself as he moved into the house.
Screams from one of the main rooms sounded muffled through the walls, and the sound of gunfire and shouting drifted down hallways. One by one, the police cleared rooms as they came upon them and apprehended perpetrators. Jake took two victims back out the way they had come in.
“They’ve almost got the lower level cleared. Supposed to be some back stairs,” Kane whispered.
From the plans they’d managed to get of the compound, there were three sets of stairs leading to the second level. Mac was headed toward the set at the far rear.
“It’s this way,” Mac said, keeping his voice low.
He moved quickly around the next corner with Kane right behind him. A perp came out of a doorway ahead of them, his gun aimed at them. The bullet hit the wood near Mac’s head and splintered pieces flew everywhere.
“Police! Drop your weapon!” Mac shouted, dropping into a crouch next to Kane. The frantic perp shot again, the bullet going wide. Mac brought up his own gun and fired. The bullet hit the man’s knee and he screamed and wobbled. Turning, the guy tried to hobble away, running headlong into a small group of officers coming out of a hallway. SWAT knocked the guy out and cuffed him.
Moving quickly, he merged with another team coming from a kitchen entry. They moved fast and efficiently, clearing rooms along the long hallway. Mac paused just outside of a small room. With his back to the wall, he gave the small laundry room a quick glance; it was clear. As Mac moved on, SWAT spilled past him, scattering in all directions.
Sweat dripped from beneath his helmet and he wiped it away. Adrenaline kept his heart rate up and his pulse thrumming. He felt Kane at his back as he moved down yet another hallway, checking each room they came to.
Gunfire broke out in another part of the house. The smell drifted, caught up by the slight breeze coming through broken doors. Around a shallow corner, they came to a set of stairs.
Mac motioned to Kane that he was going up.
Noah
Toward the front of the house, the party grew louder. The noise wasn’t unexpected since tonight’s meeting had been packed. An argument started somewhere down the hall from his room. It was late and the people talking in the hallway were probably looking for a room to screw in. There wasn’t a night that went by when the house wasn’t filled with some type of partying or drama.
When the noise continued, he opened the door and shouted in Spanish, “Cállate!” which meant shut up.
“Idioten!” Noah muttered in German before shutting the door.
Manning had had a field day when he discovered Noah learned languages like other kids learned their ABCs. The man had exploited his skills for the good of the business and ordered Noah to be present when he conducted business with men who only spoke Spanish.
Gingerly, he turned toward his laptop and studied the words on the school assignment due tomorrow, as if by sheer will he could block out the noise. The letters swam on the page and by closing his eyes, he gave them a much-needed rest. Even twisting the leather band couldn’t take away the pain in his body and head. Breathing through his nose, he swallowed several times before making his way slowly into the bathroom. He had pissed blood for two days after the beating last week and the fight with Belton hadn’t helped. This time, he wasn’t recovering as quickly.
“Nothing’s going to go wrong,” Noah whispered to his reflection. “Just don’t do anything stupid.” He rubbed a hand lightly over his stomach as if that could quell the desire to puke.
In the mirror, the reflection of the emp
ty curtain rings mocked him; he had never replaced the torn curtain. He needed to be able to see if anyone came for him through the bathroom door when he showered. Terrance Manning had been right about one thing, trust was certainly earned.
Queasiness churned in his stomach, threatening to bubble up, and he pressed his fingers to his lips. He couldn’t get sick now!
Pop, pop, pop!
The gunfire sounded muffled, yet loud enough to send Noah jerking back against the wall. He strained to hear, then muffled shouting reached his ears along with more gun fire. It was either the cops or Manning’s rivals shooting up the place. He slipped out of the bathroom and hurried to his closet. There was a protocol to follow. With shaking hands, he shrugged on a hoodie over his T-shirt. At his desk, he slipped his laptop into his backpack.
He killed the lights with trembling fingers. His nerves were telling him to hide, but he didn’t have far to go to escape. Fuck. Maybe this was his chance to get the hell out of here. His room was located at the back of the house, and there were thousands of square feet separating him from the front door. There were also several secret exits, and Noah knew every single one of them. That could be his ticket to freedom. He just needed to keep it together long enough to get out.
Slipping out his bedroom door, nausea warred with fear and the former won. He bolted down the hall and slammed into the guest bathroom, hurling the contents of his stomach into the toilet. With his pulse thundering in his ears, he watched through painful tears as a few small drug bullets dropped into the murky water along with a foaming mess of bile.
“Stupid fuck.” A hand cruelly fisted in his hair and numbly, he watched his stepfather snatch the bullets of tar heroin from the bowl. Stevenson held a gun and used two fingers to snatch up the bundles before shoving them into his jeans.
“Sorry,” Noah whispered, blinking swollen lids and swallowing again when nausea threatened. He knew if Stevenson thought he could get away with it, he’d put a bullet in Noah’s head. The guy’s eyes were darting around the hallway. Sweat poured down his face profusely, wetting his shirt and staining his armpits. Everything about the man was repulsive.
Ricochet (Out for Justice Book 1) Page 2