Brink of Extinction | Book 1 | Sudden Impact

by Shupert, Derek

  I didn’t have to see his eyes to know I’d hit a nerve. But I didn’t care. I wasn’t here to make friends. I was here to complete a job. My job.

  His aviators remained locked on me a hot moment before he nodded.

  “Sure thing.” Brawny took a step forward and stopped. He leaned in close. His lips pursed, assaulting me with the worst breath imaginable. Here came his tough-guy ultimatum. “Talk to me like that again, and I’ll kill you.”

  “Sounds fun.” I let my smirk shine. Yep, I wasn’t a people person. Never had been. Probably never would be.

  Brawny stepped away and whistled at his men. He twirled a finger in the air, and they held their positions on either side of the entrance to the hotel.

  I was glad they listened. Didn’t want to have to kill any of Rhys’s men. It wasn’t good for business.

  A cluster of birds squawked high and unseen in the swollen clouds. My gaze flitted toward the menacing gloom. A dull gray painted the sky in an ominous hue. The quicker we were done, the quicker I could get out of this place.

  “Any movement yet?” I said into the mic.

  “Not yet. Power’s out. He won’t be taking the elevator up,” Jackal replied.

  I made for the entrance of the hotel. The mercs held fast, and kept to the exterior of the building, offering me a dirty look as I passed by.

  I threw a smirk at each of them, just to stir the pot. “I’m coming in. I’ll join you in a moment.”

  “Copy that.”

  It was a shit-storm inside the hotel lobby. Water dripped from the ceiling. Windows were blown in. Shards of glass lay everywhere. Nothing was in one piece. But there was no sign of Lawson. Or anyone else for that matter.

  I zigzagged around the obstacle course of debris on my way toward the hotel’s dim interior and its bank of elevators. None of them would work without power, but the stairs would be nearby. A quick glance back confirmed Brawny and his men remained outside, still looking as conspicuous as ever. At least they had heeded my demand.

  A door hung open, revealing the stairwell. The red glare of the emergency lights welcomed me inside.

  I withdrew my United Cutlery Push Dagger—the perfect weapon for up close and personal jobs. Jobs with Lawson’s name tattooed on them.

  Quick.

  Silent.

  Deadly.

  Never jammed.

  Never ran out of ammo.

  I made for the first flight of stairs. My feet pounded each step as my left hand glided up the railing. I hit the landing and twisted to the next. The remaining two were taken just as fast. My exit onto the third floor was almost silent.

  Light from outside flooded in through the few windows that ran the length of the dim corridor. It broke up the patches of shadows.

  The long stretch of hallway was empty. Devoid of people. And my mark.

  A plaque on the wall announced rooms 351 to 400 on the right and 300 to 350 on the left. I turned left.

  Room 312 was Lawson’s room, or so Mr. Coleman had said.

  A single gunshot rang out on my left just loud enough to grab my attention. Jackal had completed the job.

  I needed to collect Lawson’s head, then we could get paid.

  Before I could make it to Lawson’s room, he stumbled out into the hallway, unharmed. He had a clear exit opposite from me, but instead, he attempted to run in my direction, tripping over the black duffle he carried.

  Lawson bounded off the floor and continued my way in a dead sprint, with his head twisted back over his left shoulder, no doubt watching for my partner. He hadn’t noticed me yet.

  Jackal stumbled out of the room, cupping the back of his head with his hand. His free hand extended out with a pistol in his grip. He nodded at me, confirming we had our mark cornered.

  Lawson stopped before me and locked onto my eyes. He had that trapped animal look.

  He glanced back to Jackal, then to me.

  I couldn’t help but smile.

  Time to finish this. And get paid.

  CHAPTER SIX

  CORY

  They had me dead to rights, but I wasn’t going to give up without a fight. That wasn’t an option.

  My heart pounded so hard, I thought it might fracture my ribs. I shuddered… or rather the world shuddered.

  The floor vibrated. The pictures on the walls rattled.

  Then, it stopped.

  “What the hell was that?” asked the gun-toting man.

  I glanced back at Scarface, and was shocked to find him looming over me. His outstretched palm was only an inch from my shoulder.

  Scarface had his head tilted upward. He shook it, and then dropped it back down to me. His expression changed in a flash, and I sensed a slight movement, like a tiger about to pounce on his prey.

  I moved my duffle in between us, took a lightning-quick step back, and braced for what was about to come.

  Fortune intervened.

  What was a subtle grumbling noise turned into a loud roar that rattled the hotel to its metal skeleton. I was knocked back against the wall. Dust rained from the ceilings. The drywall split.

  The floor beneath my feet cracked and popped until a large gaping fissure branched out in either direction of the long corridor.

  Earthquake.

  I stumbled.

  Both hit men lost their balance and covered their heads as portions of the ceiling broke apart. Large chunks of the white sheet rock fell to the floor and busted apart on impact.

  I held tight to my duffle bag and took off in the direction of the stairwell.

  Gunfire rang out behind me. My sights remained fixed on my destination, but I chanced a glance at Scarface. The hit man was busy shielding himself from the falling debris. He kept his back planted to the wall, eyeballing the growing opening in the floor beneath us.

  We were on opposite sides of the hall. The gaping crevice was all that separated me from this killer. He inched forward and held at the opening.

  The entrance to the stairwell was on his side of the hallway. He waited for me to make my move.

  I struggled to keep upright. My feet shuffled along the baseboards. I tried not to look at the widening gap that kept us out of reach of one another. With every second that ticked by, the earthquake threatened to topple the building on top of us. I wasn’t sure if I would make it to the stairwell, but I stayed the course.

  Scarface lost his footing and almost tumbled. His arms flung out, and he clung to an overturned chest.

  A portion of the floor in front of the stairwell had vanished. It was nothing more now than a hollow pit.

  Two quick breaths, a single step forward, and I jumped over the crevice. But I overshot and body-slammed the exit door, banging it open.

  The impact rattled me. I let go of my duffle. As the world around me shook, I searched for anything solid to grab hold of.

  My fingers clutched the edge of the door jamb, and I pulled myself into the stairwell. The earthquake squashed any notion of making it down the hallway to my belongings. There wasn’t time.

  I flew down the stairs two at a time, holding up each time the flickering emergency lights threw the stairwell into darkness.

  The rumbling ceased.

  Shit.

  My feet intertwined, and sent me tumbling down the remainder of the steps.

  I went end over end until I crashed into the landing wall. The air ripped from my lungs. My broken and battered ribs ached. I struggled to get to my feet.

  Scarface approached with knife in hand. I watched his every move from the flat of my back.

  Panted breaths reached out from behind Scarface and nabbed his attention. A volunteer tore down the flight of stairs and smashed into him. Scarface reeled from the impact, but did not fall.

  The frantic woman gathered herself. She looked to Scarface, then to me.

  “Come on, we need to–” Her eyes went wide as she noticed the knife clutched in Scarface’s hands. “Help. Somebody, help.”

  The chatter from other voices filled the we
ll from above us. More witnesses were close at hand.

  Scarface’s free hand covered her mouth while the tip of the blade plunged into her chest. Muffled screams of panic escaped her lips as he held her close.

  He flicked her around and leaned in close. Scarface looked me dead in my eyes as he spoke to her.

  “You’ve been freed of this life.”

  Christ.

  Scarface discarded the woman like unwanted trash. Her body crumbled to the stairs. His gaze remained fixed on me as he offered a devilish smirk.

  He was crazy. Insane. The worst sort of hit man Rhys could’ve sent.

  A chunk of concrete fell from high above and crashed into the staircase, putting a barrier between us. He stepped forward, reaching his arm through the gap as he tried to maneuver his body through the rubble.

  He was blocked at the moment.

  And I was safe, for now.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CORY

  Scarface would never stop hunting me. That was certain.

  I kept going. Two flights down and I flew over the last set of stairs until I hit the landing. I lost my footing, and crashed against the door that led out of the stairwell.

  The lobby floor looked like a war zone. More so now than it did earlier. Portions of the ceiling had given way, revealing the floors above. Slabs of concrete and rebar littered the soggy carpets.

  The exit was directly in front of me. It wasn’t too far away, but given the dire state of the building, it might as well have been on the far side of the moon.

  I took off in a mad dash. I bobbed and weaved around the mounds of rubble that laid scattered about on the ground floor.

  I exited the hotel, and took in a breath of the salty air. I was ecstatic. I’d made it out alive, even though professional hit men had me by the short hairs. Twice. And even though I knew Scarface would be on my tail soon, I wanted just a microsecond to appreciate the fact that I was still breathing. Then I saw him.

  Black tactical garb and–a rifle?

  No.

  Wait.

  There’s another man dressed in similar garb.

  Shit.

  Are those Rhys’s men?

  There was no else around, so I stuck out like a bright-orange target. I spun on a heel, and dashed back into the hotel, acting as if I was unconcerned by these men.

  They opened fire. I kept running.

  Bullets zipped past me. I felt a tug at my right shoulder. It stung, but I pushed on. Up ahead was a large-oval window. The glass spiderwebbed out from the center, and made peering through it difficult. It didn’t matter what was on the other side. I was going through it.

  I ran faster, feet pounding the mushy carpet like a drum. The gunfire ebbed as I steamrolled toward the window. I didn’t let up. My legs moved as fast as I could make them. I jumped with my head positioned down at an angle and arms crossed above me.

  My elbows led the way as I drove through the glass, shattering it into a million fine pieces. I exploded out onto a grassy lawn, sending a wave of shards, like a water balloon had burst, everywhere.

  I hit the ground with a dull thud, and rolled end over end. I scrambled to my feet, and continued running along the far side of the hotel.

  Pinpricks from tiny shards dug into my arms, face, and legs. Wetness trailed along my skin from each prick, but I didn’t dare slow down to look.

  I listened for the gunfire, but there was nothing.

  I wasn’t sure where the gunmen were. I just needed to put distance between us. So, I ran as hard as I could away from the hotel. It didn’t matter where I fled to right then.

  The vibrations in the ground had all but ceased. The blaring of car alarms filled the air like a symphony of chaos. Some of the buildings that lined the main street were in ruins. Massive piles of rubble canvassed the once bustling city landscape as far as I could see.

  What the hell is happening?

  I didn’t know, but something apocalyptic was occurring all around.

  The odds were stacked against me. What else was new?

  I could take a punch, though. Whether it was from a brawny guy’s fist or life itself. It may knock me flat on my ass, but I’d get right back up.

  Shoes pounded the pavement over the cracks in the asphalt that ran the length of the street in both directions.

  The orange glow of flames burned bright within the decimated buildings. The devastation was a blur. My mind struggled to process it all at once.

  The sirens of police and emergency vehicles filled the air. I wasn’t concerned with the authorities. They had their hands full.

  It was the hit men and my family who caused me to worry. I was beat up and on the run with nowhere to go. Not being able to reach Janet added to the mound of stress I was already fighting.

  A twinge of pain stabbed at my shoulder. I slowed my pace and inspected the wound. Portions of the vest and scrubs were painted with blood, hinting at its severity, but I couldn’t gauge how bad it was through the clothing. I tugged at the clothes and vest to get a better look, spotting the blood around the aching part of my shoulder.

  It wasn’t safe to stand idle for too long. Scarface and the other hit men wouldn’t be far behind.

  I pulled the clothing back up, then hooked a right, stepping up on the sidewalk. I ran away from the hotel as best I could, battling the discomfort swarming my body.

  My lungs were starved of air. The pain in my side grew with every step I made. I kept moving, running as far as I could before I couldn’t any longer.

  An alley was close by. There didn’t seem to be much rubble or garbage residing within the narrowed space.

  I fled to the safety of the alley. There was a dumpster in the middle of the passage. I splashed through the deep puddles of water, and raced past the rusted green dumpster to the other side. I took a knee and gasped.

  My chest hurt, among other parts of my body. It hurt to breathe. The broken ribs ached nonstop.

  I poked my head out from around the corner of the stench-filled dump in search of the hit men. None were in sight.

  I pulled the orange vest free from my body, and lifted the scrub top up to assess the damage.

  Red splotches covered my sides and the lower half of my chest. Blood raced out from the hole in my shoulder and down the length of my body. My arms were shredded by the shards of glass. The salt from my sweat probed each wound on my face.

  I grimaced. My hand pressed against my side. It was tender and sore.

  I lowered the shirt and thought of Janet and Peter. Were they okay? I tried to remain positive, but it was hard to do so. Being able to speak with her, just to know they were safe and okay, would’ve eased my mind.

  My hand slipped inside the trouser pocket, and fished out the hit man’s phone. The screen powered on, but had no signal.

  Shit.

  Communications were null, and so were my chances of reaching them anytime soon.

  The phone went back into my pocket as I leaned against the rusted surface of the steel dumpster.

  I needed cash and a weapon, and knew the place to get both. An old acquaintance from years back owed me a favor for saving his ass.

  He was a con man by trade who got in way over his head with some ruthless types. Last I heard, he was still in the area.

  I backpedaled away from the dumpster and turned about. The trash-cluttered alleyway confronted me. I took off in a dead sprint.

  Scarface and the other hit men would be on my trail soon.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  SCARFACE

  I should’ve asked for more money. It seemed as though this job had become more involved than I had imagined.

  “You all right?” Jackal asked from the third floor of the ramshackle hotel. “I hope you’re not dead. I haven’t gotten paid yet. Women don’t buy themselves.”

  The strawberry gum had lost its flavor, and I had lost my patience for Lawson. I loomed over the volunteer’s dead body in the ether of blackness that was the stairwell.

  My ha
nd wiped the dust that gathered on top of my bald head. The voices above retreated back up the stairs.

  I looked up to the third-floor exit, and spotted Jackal peering down at me.

  “I’m fine.”

  Fortunately, I avoided being crushed by the slab of concrete.

  I pulled the flavorless gum from my mouth, and fixed it to the wall near me before pulling another piece from my trousers, and popping it into my mouth. It was a ritual of sorts that I had grown accustomed to when on the job. It reminded me of my daughter, and kept me on task.

  I secured my blade as Jackal limped out onto the landing. He had something clutched in his grasp.

  “Where’s our mark?” Jackal asked. The silhouette of his head shifted from side to side. “I can’t see him. Mr. Coleman just wants his head, right?”

  I brushed off the dust that caked my clothing. The crimson lights that were mounted on the walls had ceased glowing.

  It was dark except for the light that bled in through the doorway behind Jackal and the portions of the hotel that had fallen apart. My shirt had tears in the fabric. The air nipped at my exposed flesh.

  “He slipped away. Perhaps our backup below got him.” I turned, and glanced down the last couple remaining flights of stairs. The darkness hindered me from being able to spot a body, much less anything else.

  Jackal lifted the dark object into the air.

  “He left his duffle in the hallway.”

  “Come on. Let’s check the ground floor real quick before anyone else shows up.”

  Lawson had gotten the better of me and escaped. That never happened. Perhaps it was dumb luck, or I was off my game. Either way, he’d better savor the victory as it wouldn’t happen a second time.

  A bright light illuminated the stairwell from up above. Jackal had his phone in hand with the flashlight turned on. He stayed close to the cracked concrete wall and made his way down to me.

  “What are the odds that a massive tsunami and an earthquake hit California within days of each other?” he asked.

  “Rare,” I answered.

  I wasn’t as concerned with the volatile weather patterns as I was with completing our job. We had a reputation of not failing. For completing any given job quickly and as the client wanted. So far, we were not on point, and Mr. Coleman would remind me of that soon.