The Killing Game

by Anderson, Toni

  Dempsey was fine with that. Absolutely fucking fine. He’d do whatever it took to stop the violence using as much force as necessary on whoever got in his way.

  He stopped exercising as heat started to bloom and he braced his hand against the wall. Bottom line—it was the least he could do to even the score for his shitty relatives.

  He shook himself out of the past. Thinking about it didn’t get the job done. He was here for Dmitri Volkov who had taken a woman Dempsey could care about, from right under his nose.

  The Russian had fallen off the terrorist map after 9/11 but that didn’t mean he didn’t have friends in low places. The next cave over could be milling with Al Qaeda and Taliban fighters. Dempsey checked the chamber of his carbine. Decided it was time for a little reconnaissance work.

  ***

  She opened her eyes slowly, her lids crusted and sore. Her tongue swept the inside of her mouth, searching for moisture, instead finding fur. She made out the cavernous roof above her head and the huge dome of rock, and her bones shook and sweat drenched every inch of her skin. Memories filtered back. The roar of the explosion, the massive force of the blast, shaking walls as the building started to collapse. There’d been no chance of escape.

  She squeezed her eyes closed and wished she’d never woken. Except then she’d be dead and the evil old man would have won. She forced her eyes open again and searched for him. There—a shadow in the corner, hunched over a small fire.

  A sharp ache scored a line between her shoulders, and a shallow pounding settled deep inside her skull. She swallowed her fear. She wasn’t going to lose it in front of this mean sonofabitch. She shoved the terror and immobilizing panic to a small corner of her brain and concentrated on how the hell to get out of there. Her wrists and ankles were bound. Her fingers burned with cold, and she kept the blood flowing by flexing her fingers and toes every few seconds.

  He glanced over, then stood.

  A fierce gust of wind blew a swathe of snow inside the cave and she realized they’d been hit by a blizzard. They might be stuck here for days. The thought grew talons which latched onto her insides like retractable claws.

  From what she’d overheard when she’d woken briefly from her drugged stupor, the man was trying to blackmail someone, presumably her father. But the chance of her being released before she was abused and her body dumped was as remote as this wilderness. She couldn’t hope for rescue from Dempsey’s soldiers because who knew when they’d returned to camp—and in this blizzard, they wouldn’t find any trace of where she’d been taken.

  She was on her own.

  The ache of despair solidified into determination. She tensed as he came toward her carrying a tin mug and a handful of jerky, which he tossed on the ground beside her.

  “I can’t eat unless you untie me.” She hid the anger by keeping her eyes downcast.

  He laughed. “You don’t have to eat.” He held the mug to her lips and forced her to take a swallow of salted green tea. Then, with his dirty fingers, he held a piece of jerky to her lips.

  His eyes met hers in challenge and his brows lifted. Did she want to live? What would she do to survive? The thump of her heart sounded overloud in her ears. This sonofabitch had killed her leopards and kidnapped her.

  Hatred stirred as she held his gaze. His eyes were bleak. Not just cold—empty. She opened her mouth and he fed her, slowly, patiently. Like she was livestock.

  She chewed and swallowed and inside she smiled. This wasn’t his victory, it was hers. She needed sustenance to escape. Giving up wasn’t an option. Don’t think about the thousands of tons of rock suspended over her head or the disgusting, despicable old man. Think about getting away.

  After he fed her two pieces of dried meat, he gave a satisfied nod and walked away.

  She glanced around, still mechanically chewing the tough jerky. The cave entrance cut through the mountain as if it had been slashed by a knife. At least there was light. She didn’t think she could sit here without screaming if there hadn’t been some light.

  The man started feeding the pack animals. Steam came off their backs, which helped warm the dank cave. Her body was conflicted by panic on the inside and frigid temperatures on the outside. Fear opened her pores and sweat heated her back, but still she shivered from the icy blast of the blizzard. She was being torn apart. She watched the man from beneath her lids, flexing her hands to try to keep the blood circulating. The sat phone was near the entrance. How could she get it? He caught the direction of her gaze and strode across the cavern and grabbed it and plunked it down beside the yak. Hostility bled into her gaze.

  The man stretched to his full height and smiled. “Now you begin to understand.”

  Bitterness wrapped itself around her bones. She understood all right.

  “Who are you?” she rasped.

  He chewed his meat and spat gristle on the floor. “My name is Dmitri Volkov.”

  “You’re Russian?”

  He nodded.

  “Why did you shoot the snow leopards?” Her grief over the leopards had gained another dimension. They’d died because of her.

  “I already tell you.”

  “Tell me again,” she yelled. “Because I’d have been back in the summer anyway. You didn’t have to kill them.”

  “I couldn’t wait that long.”

  “Why not—”

  “Quiet.”

  She’d never been a big fan of being told what to do and figured she was dead anyway. “Fuck you.” The incentive to cooperate evaporated. She pushed back against the wall and climbed unsteadily to her feet. Pins and needles attacked her and she ignored the pain.

  The Russian glared at her. “Sit down.”

  “Why? Are you afraid I’m going to run off into the storm?” she said in disgust. “I’m not an idiot.”

  “All Americans are crazy.”

  “And you’re not?”

  He grunted and turned his back on her, fiddling with the packs.

  “You’re going to sell the pelts, aren’t you?” This wasn’t just about her. It was about money and this man’s greed. The realization lessened some of the guilt. But the cats were still dead.

  She picked at her bonds, loosening the knots as she strove for warmth and constant motion. She lost her balance and landed on her chin. The Russian smirked.

  Bastard. She curled onto her side, started rubbing her arms up and down her legs, surreptitiously working on the rope that tied her ankles, loosening the knot with each small movement.

  “Are you going to tell me what you’re after?” she asked.

  His eyes flashed from benign to remorseless. Then the light died. He sagged. “I am trying to get my grandson out of Russia because he is seriously ill.”

  Yeah, right. “Most people try charity before they resort to kidnapping.”

  “Not the people I know.” His laugh was like a cold lash of air. His gaze like an icicle through her heart. She didn’t think she’d ever defrost.

  “What’s wrong with him?” It was important to form a relationship with your captors. She’d learned that in Lessons for Children-of-Diplomats 101.

  “His liver doesn’t work.” His fingers stopped their work. “No one would help my kin, not after what I’ve done.” He sounded disgusted with himself. “My family is innocent but I am not.”

  “Didn’t you think of them when you started all this?” She didn’t even know what his crimes were. She’d assumed he was a terrorist because the soldiers were after him, but he could be a serial killer for all she knew. That thought brought fresh chills crawling over her skin.

  “You are too young to know how one simple decision can shape your life.”

  “You mistake age for experience.” She tilted her chin and forced back the tears that suddenly threatened. She knew exactly how small decisions could change your life. Her husband was dead. Her mother was dead. Her father estranged. Her life’s work rolled up on the back of his fucking yak. She knew exactly how one decision could impact every aspe
ct of your life.

  He studied her expression. “Perhaps you do know.” He turned away, fiddling with something on the floor. “I was naive enough to think I was helping people liberate themselves from their oppressors. It turns out I was only teaching people better ways to kill.”

  “Why did you do it?” She craned her neck to see what he was doing.

  His eyes crinkled in a cross between pain and amusement. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me.”

  “I was angry. Angry men make mistakes.”

  “I think you’ve made another one by kidnapping me.”

  “Some things cannot be changed, others…” He shrugged. With the movement of his shoulder she finally got a look at what he was doing and terror raced up her body and grabbed her by the esophagus. Packs of plastic explosives were laid out neatly and he was carefully sliding them into the pockets of some sort of vest. She started to shake so hard her teeth clacked. No.

  Her knees grazed the dirt as she crawled. Rock took skin from flesh but she didn’t stop wriggling across the barren cavern floor.

  He put the barrel of her own Glock next to her forehead.

  “Believe it or not, I do not want to kill you.” His breath moved her hair. “But if anyone is going to die, it is only fitting that it is you.”

  Why? Axelle wanted to slap the gun away. But she knew he would kill her. One more evil act wouldn’t burden his conscience too greatly.

  Primal fear washed down her back and she fought hard to keep the tears at bay. “You’re a monster.”

  The light in his eyes was flat as a sheet of ice, his regret as ancient as a glacier. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

  ***

  Soviet Union, September 1979

  Dmitri rolled over and stared at the ceiling of their farmhouse bedroom. His wife ran her hand up the warm muscles of his stomach, over the smooth planes of his chest.

  “Don’t go back, Dmitri.”

  He laughed and kissed the back of her hand. “And be shot for deserting? You wouldn’t want that, would you, moya golubushka?” His eyes danced as she lifted her head from the bedcovers.

  “I would if it meant you staying here, with me,” she mumbled. She burrowed closer, pressed her cheek to his heart, her long legs twining with his in silent plea. “We might have made another baby.” She nipped his earlobe and he felt himself wanting her again. Needing her again.

  He tipped her onto her back and entered her in one smooth thrust. He rested on his elbows as he swept the hair back from her face. Saw burning passion edged with worry in the depths of her eyes. He thrust deeper and watched her eyes change. He didn’t want her to worry. He wanted her to feel cherished and safe. He rolled them so she was on top, her dark hair falling like strands of silk across her shoulders, curling over the pink tips of her breasts.

  “You are so beautiful,” he whispered, cupping her cheek in his calloused palm.

  “Stay with me,” she pleaded.

  Tears blurred his vision. His voice trembled. “I can’t.” He splayed his hands across her tummy. “I pray you are pregnant and that this time—”

  “Shush.” She pressed her finger to his lips. “This time it will be okay. This time we will have a fine son to raise, who will be handsome and brave like his papa.” She slipped her finger between his teeth and rubbed it over his tongue. He groaned.

  Fire and passion burned through his veins. Dark eyes, almost black, held his as she took him up and over the edge. His wife. His lover. His heart. Still he waited for her to cry out before he let himself join her. Magdalena. His personal star. His reason for breathing.

  How had he ever got to be so lucky?

  “You are my heart, my blood, the reason I breathe.”

  “Don’t forget to come home to me.” Her eyes grew sad again.

  “I’m always with you, Magdalena.” He pressed his hand to the beat of her heart. “Always.”

  CHAPTER 10

  The satellite phone crackled.

  “Alpha Alpha One Nine, come in.”

  He snatched up the handset “Alpha Alpha One Nine, over.”

  “You need to make your way to a safe zone, over.”

  Dempsey frowned. “There is a civilian hostage in the area—”

  “Your orders are for immediate evac of the area, Alpha Alpha One Nine. Over.”

  He grabbed his pack, saddled the horse and led the animal to the entrance of the cave. The snow was lighter but still coming down in a hoary veil. He had to get the hell out because those orders meant certain death was winging its way north. He looked in the direction of the cave.

  Axelle was going to die.

  She might already be dead.

  He swallowed the image. Get on the horse and ride away. He wasn’t paid to make the big decisions. Men with his genetic heritage couldn’t afford to disobey orders without the risk of serious consequences. Men like him did as they were told or they got RTU’d. He put his foot in the stirrup. Looked into the gray overcast sky as the first hint of an engine throbbed in the distance.

  Fuck that.

  Letting the horse go, he jogged through the waist-high drifts. Heat surged through his muscles as he struggled through the incapacitating powder. He scrambled and slid over the uneven surfaces, throwing himself over boulders and praying he didn’t set off an avalanche in his rush. No time to check snow conditions, the drone of the engines had grown louder.

  He turned the corner and saw the narrow slit of the cave entrance. So much for stealth and guile. He approached from the side but had to slog through the snow with the subtlety of a four-year-old discovering snow angels. His breath puffed out in white clouds and his lungs hurt. He pulled out two flash-bangs, pulled the lever and tossed them in. He gripped his Diemaco and went through the entrance of the cave in a low crouch, eyes watering from the acrid smoke. Horses danced around the cave and one bolted, almost flattening him. The yak circled in confusion. There was no crowd of militant fighters. Just one lone enemy fighter. The Russian brought his rifle around but Dempsey shot his hand and put two more into the man’s torso.

  One of the world’s most wanted terrorists fell unmoving to the floor.

  No time to check if he was dead but he grabbed the Russian’s rifle as he ran over to where Axelle was propped against the cave wall, gagged, and covered in a blanket. Her eyes were so wide with fear he could see white all around her irises. Her usually pretty hair was slick with sweat. He pulled away the blanket.

  His jaw dropped.

  This he didn’t need.

  He undid her wrist and ankle bindings as he visually checked the explosive vest. Normally he’d call in the bomb squad to deal with this shit but this wasn’t normal. He dragged her to her feet where she wobbled unsteadily. He checked the duct tape on her lips for booby-trap wires before ripping it away.

  “You okay?” Stupid question but she nodded anyway. He turned her around to check out the vest.

  She trembled like an earthquake beneath his fingers.

  “Did he booby-trap this?” Dempsey asked.

  “He told me it would explode if I tried to take it off.”

  That was what he’d have told her to control her without having to watch her every single instant. There was no way of knowing if it was true without examining the wiring in detail and he did not have fecking time.

  “We’ve got to go.” He grabbed her arm to pull her with him but she dug in her heels.

  “Get this thing off me!”

  “There’s no time.”

  But she wouldn’t budge even though she hated caves. Dempsey ran his eyes quickly around the simple setup. Okay. He took a settling breath. Shit, he’d grown up knowing this stuff—it wasn’t that complicated. Were there anti-tampering measures? He didn’t see any and it didn’t make sense for the old guy to bother when he, presumably, still had to move her through the mountains to whatever destination he’d planned out.

  Dempsey pulled his multi-tool and was about to snip the wire when she grabbed his hand with sha
king fingers.

  “Do you know what you’re doing?”

  She still thought he was an idiot. Now would be a fantastic time to prove her wrong.

  “I guess we’re about to find out.” He leaned forward, watched her eyes flash with something other than terror as he kissed her on the lips—just in case this was his last moment on earth. Her lips were rough and dry from cold, and oh so sweet. After a moment of surprise they softened under his. He held her gaze and a connection passed between them that had nothing to do with the situation they faced. It was a connection filled with possibility and wonder and the blinding knowledge that if they were about to die—it wouldn’t be such a bad way to go.

  He snipped the wire. Nothing happened and they both blew out a sigh of relief as he quickly helped her out of the vest. Then the ground shook and rest of the animals bolted out the front of the entrance.

  Axelle shrieked as the first bomb missed the target but brought down a rain of stone on their heads. Her fingers grabbed a handful of his shirt. “What the hell is that?”

  “My guess is a Spectre gunship.”

  “Oh, my God.” Her skin bleached chalk-white as more bombs started to strike closer. There was no way they were getting out the front of this cave. It had never really been an option.

  “Come on.” He dragged her toward the back of the cave and they started running through the dust-choked air. The Russian was gone, along with his pack.

  Not as dead as he’d hoped then. Old bastard must be wearing a bulletproof vest.

  “No, no, no!” She pulled against his grip every step of the way, but he didn’t let go. This was her greatest fear—being buried alive—and it was about to come true. And he was propelling her toward her destiny as fast as he could whether she liked it or not.