Jack Stone - Deadly Revenge

by Vivien Sparx

  Stone flicked the headlights onto bright and drove with the reckless urgency of a desperate man. Blind curves flashed up before him from out of the dark night and he wrenched the big car one way and then another as the tires slammed into pot holes and skidded on loose gravel.

  He saw flashing lights behind him, blinking and then disappearing again as the trail back to the main road rounded, kinked and then straightened again.

  Stone kept his foot down hard on the gas pedal. The Lexus went sideways around a bend as the car lost traction, then bit into the hard edge of the trail again at the last possible moment. He saw the hulking dark shape of a tree flash past the windshield. Felt branches gouge themselves across the paint work. Then he was free, and up ahead through the windshield was a patch of starry night sky.

  He drove on. Didn’t slow again until the road back into to Heston’s Cove suddenly leaped out across his field of vision. He glanced right. Saw headlights that were high and widely spaced, dipping and wallowing over humps in the blacktop. A truck, rumbling down the road on its way towards town. Stone slammed on the brakes, flung the wheel hard and bumped up onto the blacktop on the wrong side of the road. He heard the loud blare of the truck’s horn. Heard the hiss of air brakes compressing. Ignored it all and drove alongside the truck for almost a mile until he had built up speed again and was able to overtake.

  He wrenched the wheel over, then corrected quickly as the car fishtailed in front of the truck then raced ahead.

  The road back into town was dark and deserted. Stone pushed down on the pedal, crushing it against the floor. The Lexus seemed to hunch for an instant as though it was winding itself up – and then it raced into the night, and Stone’s eyes were wide and alert as he put the car into each twisting bend, using up every inch of the asphalt to maintain speed and momentum.

  Stone fumbled the phone from his pocket. Tried to beep through the menus and numbers on the screen while steering the car at high speed one-handed. Finally he found Celia’s number and stamped his thumb down on the button.

  The phone rang.

  And rang. Then finally went to message bank. Stone clicked off and redialed.

  No answer. Stone tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and his face was grim, his mouth drawn into a thin tight line, as he pushed the car to its limits.

  He glanced in his rearview mirror. He could see the cop car’s flashing lights well behind him. Saw the red flare of them bouncing off trees and lighting up the night. The truck had been left well behind.

  He drove on.

  The big billboard flashed past the side window, and a few minutes later he was turning hard once more, then blowing past the intersection where the Mexican restaurant sat dark and deserted in the night. Up ahead Stone saw the rise of the bridge into Heston’s Cove. He eased his foot off the pedal just enough to straighten the car and went over the bridge with a feeling like he was airborne. The car’s big engine whined, tires bit down in a cloud of blue smoke. Then he was past the waterfront complex and coming off the gas as the intersection to the police station went by in a blur.

  At the last possible moment, Stone wrenched the car into the corner, feeling the momentum push the Lexus sideways. He clamped the wheel tight. Jammed his foot down hard on the brakes. The front end of the car lurched. The tires bit and juddered, but couldn’t hold the car on the road. The Lexus went crashing up over the curb, churning grass and gravel, then bounced back level with a jolt.

  Another sharp turn, this one hurling the car in the opposite direction, and finally Stone was on the side street that ran parallel to The Cage. The street was quiet. There was an old crew cab parked up on the opposite side of the road, its windshield misted with salt spray off the ocean. It looked old and abandoned. Stone skidded the Lexus to a halt and killed the engine.

  The sudden silence was crushing. Stone got out of the car. He ran back to the front of the building and stared along the main street. He could see the sign for The Cage hanging out over the sidewalk. He could see a couple of cars parked further up the rise. He couldn’t see Celia.

  He ran back past the Lexus and into the dark narrow alley. It was filled with crates and black plastic trash bags overflowing from big commercial bins. The air was thick with the stench of rotting food and stale alcohol. There was broken glass and debris strewn across the pavement. Stone’s senses were instantly heightened. Every sound, every smell seemed amplified. He felt himself tensing as his training and instincts came back to him like long-forgotten memories. His mind was screaming for him to take caution – to be clinical and methodical. But his concern for Celia was like an over-ride switch as he ran headlong into the alleyway.

  And then stopped dead.

  Twenty-Eight.

  There was a man lying on the cold hard ground. Lying at the foot of the staircase that led up to the back door of The Cage. He was sprawled on his back, with one leg twisted beneath his body, and his arms flung out wide. He was lying in blood that was pooling from around his head.

  Stone recognized the man. It was the guy who had let him through the back door of the club – the guy who had so casually fondled the blonde submissive woman in the corridor.

  Stone knelt beside the man. Clutched at his wrist and felt a feathery irregular pulse. The man’s eyes were closed. He was barely breathing.

  Stone pulled back one of the man’s eyelids. The eye beneath was glazed and unfocussed. Then, suddenly, he saw the flashing red and blue lights of a police car bouncing off the narrow walls of the alley and a moment later he heard a car screeching to a ragged stop somewhere out of sight. He heard doors slamming, the sounds of running footsteps and he got to his feet and started up the stairs.

  The two cops came into the alley at a full run. They were carrying weapons. One of the policemen had a pistol thrust out in front of him as he came around the corner and cleared the area of risks. The second guy was close behind him, running with a shotgun held high across his chest.

  The cops saw the guy on the ground. Then saw movement and glanced up. Stone was half way up the stairs.

  “No visible wound,” Stone said. “I think he fell from the top of the staircase. He still has a pulse.”

  The cop holding the shotgun ducked his head to his shirt collar and spoke urgently into a small radio receiver. His partner holstered his pistol and went down onto his knee. He did the same thing Stone had done – snatched at the guy’s wrist and checked for a pulse.

  Stone kept climbing the stairs, taking them two-at-a-time, driving himself onward, pushing off the handrail, eyes on the door at the top of the landing.

  The door was open. Stone reached the top of the stairs and burst straight into the narrow corridor beyond. He started to run. Open doors flashed past. He didn’t check any of them. He ran on until he saw the concealed panel at the end of the passage. It was open too.

  Stone lunged into the room.

  He saw the card table, lit by the low chandelier. He saw the three submissive women cowering in a dark shadowed corner. He saw the Dom, sitting at the table, his palms laid flat on the green baize. The man’s face was pale, but his lips were curled back into a vicious snarl and the expression on his face was one of smoldering hatred and barely suppressed malevolence.

  And then he saw Celia, standing across the table. She was turned to face Stone. Her blouse had been ripped open. Stone could see the lace cups of her bra and the heaving soft flesh of her breasts. He could see the wild, dreadful look in her eyes. And he could see the barrel of the gun Celia was holding.

  It was pointed straight at him.

  Twenty-Nine.

  “Stone.”

  “Celia. Are you okay?”

  She nodded, but her hands were shaking like she was feverish. She wheeled around until the gun was pointed back at The Dom.

  “I thought you were him,” Celia said over her shoulder.

  “Him?”

  “The guy on the door.”

  Stone shook his head. He walked carefully around the wall of the ro
om until Celia could see him without taking the gun from The Dom. “He’s down in the alley,” Stone said. “He’s in a bad way. The police are with him.”

  Celia nodded. Her lips were quivering. “He thought I was you,” she said. “He opened the door when he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. But when he saw it wasn’t you, we struggled.” She looked down at where her blouse had been ripped. “We fought,” she said. “And he went over the railing. I didn’t know how badly he was hurt.”

  “He’ll live,” Stone said.

  Celia nodded. Swallowed nervously. Her hands were shaking and she couldn’t stop them. The gun felt heavy in her grip. She felt the sting of tears and her vision began to swim. She took one hand off the gun to cuff at her eyes, and the weapon wavered.

  She heard the Dom hiss. One of the girls in the corner began to sob.

  Stone took a step closer to Celia, his hands raised. He was against the wall opposite the card table, approaching Celia from her left. Her eyes darted to him, but the gun stayed on the Dom.

  “Celia, it’s over,” Stone said calmly. “Put the gun down. You don’t want to do this.”

  She sobbed. It was a painful choking sound wrenched from the back of her throat, filled with bitterness and frustration.

  “He killed Katrina,” Celia said. “I know he did. I told you I wanted deadly revenge, Stone. An eye for an eye. Well this is it.”

  Stone took another step closer. Celia’s expression became wary. Her eyes darted to him with hectic uncertainty.

  “Katrina is not dead,” Stone said. “She’s alive.”

  Celia froze. Her head turned. She stared at Stone, and for a moment the gun dipped down to her side.

  “You’re lying.”

  “No. I’m not,” Stone said. “Katrina is alive. I have just seen her. I’ve just spoken to her.”

  “Where?” Celia’s eyes were wide, confused.

  “The police have her,” Stone said. “She’s in a bad way. She’s been badly injured – but she is alive. And she will recover.” Stone took another step closer. He was just a few feet away.

  Celia’s head snapped back to the Dom. The gun came up again, this time straight and level. “I don’t believe you!”

  Stone lowered his hands. Lowered his voice. Took all the strain and tension from it and just stared at Celia for a long moment. “I’m not lying,” Stone said. “And if you kill this man it will be murder – and you’ll have to live with that for the rest of your life. Katrina has been badly hurt. Both her legs have been broken and she hand some internal injuries. She needs you now, Celia. Don’t make a mistake that will ruin both your lives.”

  Celia wavered. The gun came back down to her side. She half-turned to Stone and tried to read his eyes.

  “The police told you she was dead,” Celia said softly.

  Stone nodded. “To protect her,” Stone said. “Katrina is giving evidence against the Dom. She is testifying. The police let me think Katrina was dead to keep her safe.”

  Celia blinked. The gun came up, aimed at the Dom, and then wavered, as though she just didn’t have the energy or the will to hold it there. She felt her legs begin to tremble. She felt the breath catch in her throat and then release in a long weary exhalation of relief. She sagged. Stone lunged for her. Caught her before she fell. Took hold of her and the gun at the same time. Cradled Celia in his arms and pulled her close to him. She began to sob.

  “Take the girls downstairs,” Stone said. His voice was urgent now. “And take the gun. There are cops down in the alley. Maybe paramedics by now too. Give the cops your statement. Tell them everything. Take your time. I want you to keep them busy for me.”

  Celia looked up into Stone’s face. She was crying softly, and all the tension had gone from her body so that she was soft in his arms. “For how long?”

  Stone looked across the card table at the Dom’s hard tensed face. “Five minutes,” Stone said, and there was a dangerous edge to his voice. “That’s all I want.”

  Celia nodded. She drew away from Stone and turned to the three submissive women who were still clinging to each other in the corner of the room.

  They edged fearfully around the table towards where Celia and Stone stood. Stone peeled off the jacket he was wearing. “After I’m done with the Dom, I’ll take you to Katrina.”

  Thirty.

  It was quiet.

  Stone stared across the room at the Dom.

  “Get up,” Stone said, and his voice crackled like a bushfire.

  The Dom raised one brow in a pantomime of arrogant surprise, but his eyes were hard black little chips that glittered with malice. “And what if I don’t?”

  “I’m still going to hurt you,” Stone said. “I’m still going to tear you apart. Your only chance of escape is to get past me. You can’t go out the back way – it’s crawling with cops. Your last hope for freedom is to get out through the front door of the club.”

  The Dom stood. Stepped around the edge of the table.

  The two men faced each other. They were about the same age – both tall men, but different in every other way.

  Stone was big and muscled across the shoulders and chest, his body fined down narrow in the waist. The summer sun had browned his skin and the lines of his features were all sharp hard angles.

  The Dom’s body was heavier, paunchy from indulgence and a lifestyle of excess. The weight across his upper body lacked muscle and there was a soft plumpness that filled out the silk of his shirt so that his whole bodyline was vaguely blurred. There were limp little pouches of skin around his jaw and eyes. He stared at Stone and his fists were clenched, his body racked tight.

  “You want to know about your sister?”

  Stone nodded. “Last time I asked you and showed you her photo, you said you couldn’t help me,” Stone said. “You lied.” His voice was pitched low but it shook with fury.

  The Dom said nothing, but his eyes narrowed.

  “Katrina Walker said you had her captive in one of your rooms. She said you kept her for a couple of weeks. She said it was last year sometime. She said you sent her back to the Animal Trainer.”

  The Dom stared, his expression blank, but Stone could see turmoil and a flurry of cunning calculations going on behind the man’s eyes. He glanced away and then back at Stone, and in that flicker of a moment, his expression somehow became reptilian. Snake-like.

  “Let me go,” The Dom said. “And I’ll tell you everything.”

  Stone shook his head. “The only way you are leaving this room is on a stretcher,” he said. “The only question left is whether the stretcher you are on goes to a hospital or a morgue.”

  The Dom’s tone suddenly became conciliatory. “Look, Stone. I didn’t harm your sister. I barely remember her. I took care of her for a couple of weeks…”

  Stone held up his hand. “Not yet,” he said. “Don’t tell me yet. Because I want to beat it out of you. I want you to understand just a small fraction of the pain you have put every woman through. You’re filth. You have traded in the lives and bodies of young women like my sister, and you have become rich off their misery and humiliation. Now you’re going to get a taste of their pain.”

  The Dom raised his hands in a defensive gesture. His eyes were wild with panic. He could see the dangerous glare in Stone’s eyes and the rock-steady menace in his voice. He got his hands as high as his shoulder before Stone’s first punch smashed into the man’s jaw, hurling the Dom backwards. He was thrown back over the table. One of the timber legs shattered under the weight of his body. The table splintered to the ground and the Dom fell with it. He lay sprawled on his back for a moment, stunned and dazed.

  Then Stone went after him.

  He reached down and grabbed the Dom’s shirtfront. The man scrabbled for a weapon. His hand found the heavy glass ashtray and he swung it round-armed at the side of Stone’s head. The glass shattered and Stone lurched sideways. His ears were ringing, and there was a flash of white-hot pain. He felt blood trickling down from
his ear and from a gash in his scalp. He reached out for the back of a chair to steady himself.

  The Dom scrabbled to his feet. He stumbled over the broken pieces of the table. Picked up one of the thick table legs and swung it at Stone’s hunched back like a baseball bat.

  Stone saw the blow coming at the very last instant. He rolled his shoulders, ducked his head, and lunged toward the Dom. The table leg came down in a vicious arc, but Stone’s sudden move had brought him inside the circle of the heavy timber. It smashed against the back of the chair – and then the full weight of Stone’s body was crashing into him, like a heavy hit from a linebacker.

  The two men went to the ground together, Stone’s weight crushing the air from the Dom’s lungs in an explosive gasp. Blood from Stone’s head spattered the Dom’s face and shirt and flung droplets into the carpet. Stone bunched his fist and cocked it like a hammer beside his bleeding ear. His fist was red and slick with his own blood. He drove a punch into the Dom’s face but his weight was badly distributed and the Dom was writhing beneath him. The blow glanced off the Dom’s forehead.

  The Dom grunted. Stone punched him again – and this time the full force of his fist and the weight of his body was behind the blow. The punch split the man’s lips open; mashed bone and flesh and teeth all together into a pulp. The Dom howled – a sound of pure pain. His head snapped sideways and there was a gush of bright red blood across the floor.

  Stone heaved the man to his feet.

  The Dom was limp – like a life-sized rag doll. His neck and shirt were awash with his blood. Stone took a double-fist of the man’s shirt and heaved him bodily against the nearest wall. The Dom slumped. His body sagged. He began to slide down, buckling at the knees and folding forward. Stone had just enough time to line himself up. He kicked out hard, lifting his foot into the man’s face as he was slumping towards the ground. Stone’s boot caught him under the chin and the Dom’s head smacked back against the wall with the sound of a vicious crack. His eyes rolled up and his head lolled heavily on his shoulders.