Dale was seated hard in a chair with legs bolted to the ground. Some of the slates had been removed from the back of the chair so that Dale’s zip-tied hands could remain bound behind his back. But if he had any thought of escape, it was quickly dashed by the thick leather straps which the driver used to bind his feet.
Apart from the other chair which sat facing him, there was one other piece of furniture in the room, a rectangular table along the far wall covered by a dark cloth. The driver flicked the light on, illuminating the single bulb which dangled over Dale’s head. At once, a metallic glimmer shone off the ends of the chrome instruments poking out from under that cloth. The Ventriloquist entered right as the driver left, shutting the heavy door behind him with a nerve-shattering clang.
Dale watched as he sauntered over to that table and peeled the cloth back like a cabaret dancer pulling up the hem of her skirt. For the Ventriloquist, the act had an almost erotic quality to it.
“That dog of yours has a powerful bite,” he said, pausing to inspect the dirty bandage around his hand.
“Hope you cleaned that,” Dale said, pretending to be helpful. “Or it might get infected.”
The man grinned. “What’s his name?”
“Duke,” Dale replied, not seeing the harm in revealing that.
“Yes, it’s too bad that both of you couldn’t be here together. How I’d love to show you what Duke looks like on the inside.”
Dale felt the anger creep up his neck and into his face.
The Ventriloquist eyed Dale as he peeled away the rest of the dark cloth. The reflection off the instruments lit the deranged look on his face.
“We’re about to play a game, Mr. Hardy. I ask you a question and you answer it truthfully. If you refuse to answer or if you attempt to lie to me, then a piece of you comes off. Do you understand?”
Dale didn’t answer him. His heart was thumping wildly in his chest. Beads of sweat coursed down his face and arms.
“Don’t be afraid,” the Ventriloquist said, crossing the room and dabbing the dark cloth against Dale’s forehead. “Tell us what we want to know and no one needs to get hurt.” He set the cloth down and plucked a scalpel from the metal tray, grinning as he approached.
Chapter 3
Brooke
While Dale faced the prospect of a slow, painful death, Brooke and Caleb were receiving a similar welcome. Both had been led by members of the Brigade into separate rooms, where they were bound to a chair. Their captors beat them and threatened to do so much worse unless they gave up everyone who was part of the resistance.
This went on for close to an hour before Brooke felt her resolve beginning to slip. The taste of blood in her mouth was strong. She wasn’t sure if it came from an earlier punch which had split her lip or a later one which had loosened one of her bottom teeth. What she did know was that she couldn’t take much more of this. Maybe worst of all, she didn’t have many names to give. She knew Nobel, which wasn’t her real name, and Caleb, who she could hear being beaten in the room next to her. She knew there were others, had seen them when she had gone with her father to Nobel’s headquarters, but in her current state, she probably couldn’t pick a single one out of a police lineup.
The room they were in was tight, almost claustrophobic. The windows had been boarded over with sheets of plywood. She was seated at a table, her hands cuffed to the metal rungs of a chair, so that whenever she tried to instinctively raise her arms to ward off an incoming blow, all she heard was a metallic clang. Her vision was starting to blur.
All she knew for certain was that the soldier standing over her had bad breath and a strange accent. He raised his hand to strike her again and she tensed.
“It’s simple, missy. You give us names and we’ll let you go,” he said. She struggled to focus on his features—his narrow lips, deep-set eyes and blond hair buzzed in a military-style brush cut. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear he was a Nazi.
In the beginning, his lie about letting her go had been laughable. The longer the questioning and sporadic beating went on, the more she began to believe him. Maybe if she tossed out a few names he would keep his word. Maybe he would stop hitting her. From the other room came the sound of a loud thud followed by Caleb crying out. The guard drew her attention back to him.
“You want to help your friend, no?”
“Help him?”
He nodded, and for a moment, his features softened. He almost looked kind. “You can make all the pain go away. All you need to do is give us names.”
It was starting to sound like a reasonable request. Hand over a few measly names and this nightmare would end.
But who could she give up they didn’t already know about? Her mind raced, the interrogator’s keen eyes following the look of defeat taking hold of her battered features.
“That’s right, go ahead.”
Her swollen lips quivered as they began to form a name. The blond torturer watched her intently, his narrow jackal face beaming with a look of triumph.
Just then a fist hammered against the door, breaking the spell.
Brooke’s eyes flicked over his shoulder.
The interrogator swore and spun around as the door peeled opened and in walked Sheriff Randy Gaines. He looked incredibly pleased with himself, as though someone else had done the hard work while he got to reap all the benefits.
“This is a closed session,” the interrogator said.
Randy didn’t seem bothered by the man’s annoyance. “The girl and I go way back, don’t we, Brooke?”
She peered up at him, but didn’t say anything. He hadn’t come to gloat. She knew that much. He was here to take over. Causing pain in others was something of a sport for Sheriff Gaines and getting his hands on the daughter of his main rival, well, that was about as close to the Super Bowl as it came.
“Brooke and I have made progress and now you’ve ruined it,” the interrogator snapped.
Randy removed his sheriff’s hat and ran a finger over the few sparse hairs stubbornly clinging to his scalp. “I’m not here to ruin the party. I’m here to help.”
In the other room, Brooke heard another loud thump, but no scream from Caleb. Had he been knocked unconscious or worse?
“If you really want to help, then stand over there and keep quiet.” The interrogator returned his attention to Brooke. The edges of his mouth rose into a smile, but his eyes were cold and deadly. “Now, where were we?”
Brooke was startled by a whacking sound as a spray of warm liquid struck her face. She flinched in time to see the interrogator’s head slump forward, a spurt of blood rushing out from a narrow hole. She looked up at Randy in disbelief. At the end of his extended arm was a silenced pistol, a thin wisp of smoke rising from the barrel. He searched the dead man’s pockets and produced a set of keys, undoing the cuffs around her wrists.
Brooke remained rigid with shock.
“You coming or not?” Randy asked impatiently. He swung open the door right as Keith and Caleb ran by. She stood on wobbly legs and Randy came back to help her.
“I don’t understand. I thought you were here to kill me,” she said.
“Let’s just say that the enemy of my enemy is my friend.”
Randy and Keith ushered them past two more dead Brigade soldiers in the living room and out the front door. A pair of idling cruisers awaited in the driveway.
Brooke and Caleb were loaded into Keith’s car while Randy returned and set fire to the house.
“Why on earth is he doing that?” Caleb asked, his right cheekbone looking like he had swallowed a golf ball.
“Better that the Brigade never find out what happened here,” Keith explained, setting his deputy’s hat squarely on his head.
He started the engine and pulled out of the driveway.
“Far as the cartel is aware, the authorities on their side and we don’t wanna do anything to screw that up.”
“Where are you bringing us?” Brooke asked, suddenly aware of the throbbing pain
in her face.
Keith eyed them both through the rearview mirror. “Hopefully, someplace safe.”
Chapter 4
Zach
Zach paced back and forth, the muscles in his forearms rippling with tension. Dale had been gone without a word for the better part of three hours. This was no time to go missing. They were on the verge of launching an assault which might finally rid Encendido of the cartel and any of their sympathizers. The radio operator had told them he’d heard Dale’s daughter say the military had arrived, but Nobel had suggested everyone stay calm until they could confirm the information.
Zach didn’t believe in waiting for confirmation. He didn’t believe in waiting, period. He believed in acting and as he saw it, the narrow window that had opened up was closing and fast.
There were plenty of cartel men he was eager to kill as payback for the murder of his son. His Rangers had joined forces with the men and women under Nobel’s command, as well as the bikers Dannyboy had managed to round up. If they played their cards right and hit the enemy hard, they might just be able to drive them back across the border, with or without the military’s help.
The problem was here, they were, waiting for Dale to get back. Nobel had insisted on it, leaving Zach to wonder what he had been thinking consolidating his men under her command. The guilt over his son Colton’s death must have clouded his judgment worse than he’d thought. Now that the initial fog was beginning to lift, he couldn’t help wondering if he’d made a mistake.
Dannyboy appeared, holding an open can of beans, the end of a spoon poking out the top. “You gotta eat something, you’re wasting away.”
Zach glanced down at his wiry frame, acknowledging the way the flesh on his arms looked saran-wrapped over a length of taut muscle. There was a pounding at his temples, probably a product of dehydration. “I need water, not food.”
Dannyboy produced a discolored water bottle, the kind that must have been filled and emptied hundreds of times in the past few months.
Zach snatched it and twisted the lid off, downing three-quarters of the precious liquid in one long draft. He sighed contentedly. “Where would I be without you, Dannyboy? Now if only you could convince Nobel to deploy the strike force.”
Dannyboy shrugged, admitting that he was powerless in that domain. “Nobel’s made up her mind, chief. She wants to see if the military really has arrived.”
“You and I both know that’s about as likely as a flock of unicorns flying overhead.”
“Forget a flock,” the burly leader of the Bandidos said as he approached. “I’ll take a single unicorn.”
He had introduced himself earlier as Caesar Cullen and right away, Zach had decided he wasn’t interested in knowing more. The chances of him getting along with anyone named Caesar were slim to none. Dannyboy, on the other hand, didn’t seem to share his view.
“Caesar here’s got military experience,” the young man said, clearly impressed.
“That right?” Zach replied, trying not to let his jealousy show. “What unit you serve with?”
Caesar ran a hand down the thick brown beard covering his face. His chest and belly were generously round and so were his arms, as thick as stove pipes and covered in tattoos. In spite of his receding hairline, the back end of his hair ran down to his shoulders. “Enduring Freedom, Afghanistan. 79th Rescue Squadron.”
Zach nodded, impressed. “You a flyer or a grounder?”
Caesar bellowed laughter. “I couldn’t fly a kite on a windy day,” he admitted. “No, I was a grunt. We provided a security cordon around the Black Hawks when they touched down in enemy territory. Needless to say we saw our fair share of combat.”
“How does a man go from being a biker to enrolling in the forces?” Zach asked, genuinely perplexed.
“For a while I worked for a gold mine in Peru and let’s just say my fingers got a little sticky. Two broken kneecaps convinced my boss not to press charges. From there I enrolled in the military, hoping to make a clean break. Came stateside three years later more messed up than before I left. Was having a beer at a biker bar one night when a lean fella, about your size, asked if I wanted a job as a bouncer. I needed the money, so I said sure and the rest is history.”
“So why they’d call you Caesar?” Dannyboy asked.
Caesar straightened his back. “Probably ’cause I always got my way.”
“That’s good to know,” Zach said, now even more unnerved. That old saying about too many cooks spoiling the broth came to mind at once. With any luck, Caesar’s time in the military hadn’t completely faded away. As long as ‘Big Caesar’ still knew how to take orders, there wouldn’t be any problems.
A few feet away, Sandy was busy speaking with Walter and Ann. She was worried about Dale, wondering like everyone else why they had not heard back. She’d thought about heading to the house to check that everything was okay, but had been ordered to stay put and help move the wounded to the sports complex. With a sensitive operation underway, Nobel didn’t want anyone leaving the college.
Unlike Sandy, Walter and Ann had the utmost faith that Dale was safe and sound. If only she could share their optimism. How they had found the will to get out of bed in the morning after losing their son-in-law Shane and then their only daughter was admirable. More than that, there was something of a newfound determination in the old man’s eyes. He had said as much not long after Dale left, that he was eager to put right his daughter’s misguided actions and the harm she had caused everyone. Shane had been given that chance when he’d taken out Edwardo Ortega. But not Nicole. It was a comment that made Ann wince, no doubt since she’d been the one who pulled the trigger, ending their daughter’s life.
For her own part, Sandy was torn over the impending military operation. As a former deputy, she was eager to do whatever it took to expel the cartel from Encendido and restore law and order. As a human being, she was worried about the battle which lay ahead and the toll it would take on the hundreds of innocent civilians caught in the crossfire. If there was a surefire way to loosen Fernando’s stranglehold over the town without bloodshed, she’d be the first to stand behind it. As much as she valued human life, however, Sandy also lived in the real world. The cartel had sensed weakness and desperation in Mayor Reid, maybe even weakness in the town itself, making them vulnerable to parasites like the Ortegas. Although Fernando’s master plan for Encendido still wasn’t clear, what remained beyond doubt was that the town would continue to bleed until they burned off the leech for good.
Just then Nobel emerged. Middle-aged, but fit, she was dressed in black leather pants and a matching jacket. Wrapped around her neck was a white scarf and on her head a biker’s cap. If Marlon Brando from The Wild Ones had a sister, Nobel was it. When she appeared, the room grew quiet. Outside, the late afternoon sky was streaked with oranges and yellows, cutting deep grooves into her already troubled face.
“I’ve just gotten word that several of our safehouses in town are under attack.”
Zach came forward, furious.
“The cartel?” asked Travis, Zach’s second-in-command.
Nobel shook her head. “It’s not clear yet. Initial reports say they appear to be military. But we’re not sure whose.”
“Then we launch the attack now,” Zach said, raising his voice.
“I don’t think that’s such a great idea,” Walter shot back, steadying himself on his crutches. “Especially if we don’t know what we’re up against.”
“Our outposts are under attack,” Zach reasoned. “Surely they’re not on our side.”
“That may be so, but we’re not out to pick a fight with the military as well as the cartel.”
“Maybe they don’t belong to us at all,” Sandy suggested. “We heard reports that the Brigade had arrived, but no one has actually seen them. What if this is them?” Speaking the words suddenly filled those around her with dread. “Maybe that’s why we haven’t heard back from Dale. Maybe that wasn’t the army at all at his house, but a deta
chment from the Brigade.”
The sharp crack of gunfire outside drew everyone’s attention.
“Oh, no,” Ann whispered. “They found us.”
Even Nobel looked concerned. Outside, the sounds of battle grew louder. “Quick, everyone, get to your positions. We must defend the college at all costs.”
Chapter 5
Dale
A thin trail of blood ran down Dale’s right cheek. The incision the Ventriloquist had made was superficial, although it stung like hell. The real purpose of such nicks, Dale understood, was to weaken his resolve. For some, pain was somehow easier to take than the feeling of hot blood running down their face.
His torturer was circling for another angle of attack when the jailer’s slit opened and a pair of eyes peered in. Then came a loud metal clang as the door opened and in walked Captain Lee.
Dale locked eyes with the man, feeling his captor’s cold gaze as the two men regarded one another.
“I expected you to be further along by now,” Lee said to Dale’s interrogator.
The Ventriloquist looked annoyed. “You wouldn’t rush Picasso or Rembrandt, would you? Especially if their hand had been mutilated by a wild mongrel.”
He was talking about Duke and for a moment, Dale’s mind wandered over to his loyal companion. Over the shortwave radio, Brooke had said she’d muzzled the German Shepherd and put him inside. Now, with the Brigade in control of his compound, there was no telling what they’d already done to Duke. His fists clenched behind his back with concern. The temperature in here was searing and he felt the sweat running down his forearms and into his palms, much like the blood from his cheek was running down his face.
Defiance: Judgment Day (The Defending Home Series Book 3) Page 2