Go! - Hold On! Season 2

by Peter Darley

  Table of Contents

  Previously

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  Forty

  Forty-One

  Forty-Two

  Forty-Three

  Forty-Four

  Forty-Five

  Forty-Six

  Forty-Seven

  Forty-Eight

  Epilogue

  Run!

  Other Titles in this Series:

  Hold On! – Season 1

  http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00VXTI2FM

  Run! – Hold On! Season 3

  http://www.amazon.com/Run-Hold-Season-Peter-Darley-ebook/dp/B011YZ9KLO

  Go!

  ________________________________________

  Hold On! Season 2

  PETER DARLEY

  GO!––HOLD ON! SEASON 2

  Copyright©2015

  PETER DARLEY

  www.peterdarley.com

  Cover Design by Peter Darley and Christy Caughie.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, incidents, and works are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, works, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (including electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or by any other duplicative means) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner. Exception applies to reasonably brief quotations in printed or electronic reviews.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the copyright owner is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions. The participation in or encouraging of electronic piracy of copyrighted materials is strictly prohibited.

  Author contact:

  http://www.peterdarley.com/contact.html

  https://www.facebook.com/PDAuthor

  For my early readers, whose eager desires to know ‘what happened next’ enabled the completion of Go!

  Previously, on Hold On!

  Brandon Drake was led in shackles along the corridor outside the Fort Bragg courtroom, his expression vacant. The complex sequence of events that had led him to this point flashed before his eyes.

  He was a soldier: a sergeant with the Eighty-Second Airborne Division. After receiving a head injury in Helmand Province, he’d been relocated by corrupt Senator Garrison Treadwell to a weapons-testing facility in Washington. There, he unwittingly uncovered a plot within his own government to attack their own facilities. It had been an attempt to create excuses for profitable wars against innocent nations. One such target was Carringby Industries in Denver, Colorado.

  Making use of advanced intervention equipment stolen from the facility he’d been assigned to, he rescued Belinda Reese, the secretary of Carringby Industries’ CEO, from certain death at the hands of the senator’s operatives.

  Using the Turbo Swan, a small experimental test aircraft, he took Belinda to his safe haven, a cabin near Aspen, Colorado. Brandon believed the cabin had belonged to his late grandfather, and that nobody else knew of its existence.

  After a race across America in an attempt to evade and expose Treadwell’s corrupt faction, Brandon discovered his life was a lie. The cabin wasn’t his grandfather’s, and Brandon himself wasn’t the person he thought he was. He’d been the victim of a mind control experiment, which had altered his memories.

  His true persona was that of a psychopath—a trait which now only surfaced in times of anxiety. The prime trigger for its characteristics was whenever the love of his life, Belinda, was placed in jeopardy.

  He was finally arrested by the FBI and court-marshaled. During the trial, the remnants of his inherent personality came to the fore as Belinda was brought into the courtroom. The rampage that ensued concluded as he was subdued with a Taser.

  Ultimately, he was found not guilty of desertion on the grounds of necessity. However, the verdict was contingent on him surrendering the location of the Turbo Swan, which was military property.

  That decision gave Brandon an impossible problem. To reveal the location of the Turbo Swan would be to reveal the existence of the cabin—his only chance for total freedom. As such, he refused to comply, and chanced incarceration at the United States Disciplinary Barracks, confident he would escape.

  Two somber-looking men, standing several feet away from the courtroom door, watched as Brandon passed them. One was a handsome young man, a little younger than Brandon. The other was much older with a snow-white beard.

  “So, this is where it has led,” the younger man said sadly.

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Isn’t there something you can do, Dad? I mean, for Christ’s sake he’s—”

  “Gone, Son. He made his choice. If you ask me, you’re better off without him after that little scene in there.”

  The young man turned to his father, outraged. “Don’t say that to me. I’ve been searching for him for most of my life, and now you’re telling me to abandon him?”

  “I just don’t want to see you get hurt, that’s all.”

  “I can take care of myself. And if you can’t do anything, maybe I can.”

  “What difference does it make? You’ve got everything you’ll ever need. Don’t do anything to jeopardize that.”

  The young man exhaled as he watched Brandon disappear around the end of the corridor. “He’s my brother.”

  One

  Journey into Peril

  Denver, Colorado, two years later

  February 13th, 2016

  Belinda Reese ran around her apartment frantically in search of basic essentials—toothbrush, toothpaste, shoes, clothes, and underwear.

  She had begun to believe it was never going to happen. So much time had passed. But that evening, she’d heard an announcement that had been the sum total of all of her life’s dreams fulfilled. Brandon Drake, her lover, was free.

  It wasn’t ideal. It wouldn’t have been how she’d have wished for it, but knowing him as she had, she’d expected it. He’d even hinted at it with the last words he’d said to her at his trial. ‘Wait for me.’ He was amazing. Who else but Brandon could have possibly escaped from Leavenworth?

  Her last communication with him had been devastating. He’d given her specific instructions not to visit him at Leavenworth, despite the barracks’ policy of allowing visitors. She’d assumed it was because of his masculine pride. Perhaps he didn’t want her to see him caged like an animal. Now she realized he didn’t want her anywhere near him because he didn’t want her to be implicated in what he was planning.

  His escape had been announced on the news b
y anchorwoman, Tara Willoughby. Belinda remembered with strained fondness the time Tara had interviewed her on live television. She recalled how nervous she’d been, only for her anxiety to become absolute terror as trained killers burst into the studio with guns waving.

  Brandon had incapacitated them, and they’d managed to flee. They’d found themselves lost in the backstreets of Los Angeles evading the police, an assassin, and a street gang. It had been a nightmare beyond belief, and Brandon had to fight for their survival. She’d been forced to hide in the shadows, and they’d had to race to find a place to disguise themselves and escape from the city.

  As harrowing as that part of her life had been, it all came back to her with a certain ambivalence, the passage of time adding a touch of nostalgia to the horror. The fact that it had been Tara Willoughby’s voice giving her the information Brandon had escaped warmed her heart. It seemed to bring everything full circle.

  She dropped the last item into her case and sealed the clasps.

  With a pounding heart, she looked around the room she’d lived in for two years. Her stomach turned over with guilt. Her employer at Stark, Rogers, and Blake Insurance, along with all of her colleagues, would never know what became of her. But as was her way, she hadn’t been close to any of them. She’d discovered at the time she’d been taken on as the boss’s secretary that she could no longer relate to the banality of normalcy since Brandon. Everyday life seemed boring and uneventful.

  However, her colleagues were people with feelings and she was walking out on all of them without a word. They deserved better. But Brandon was her heart, her love, and her life.

  She picked up her case from the bed and made her way toward the door. After turning the handle, she paused for a moment and looked behind her to see her living room one last time. “I’m coming, Brandon. Hold on.”

  Hold On!—The words he had said to her as he’d rescued her for the first time, gliding her off the roof of a burning skyscraper after it had been taken over by terrorists. Or at least, whom she’d believed at the time, were terrorists. Those two words had come to mean so much to her—a verbal exclamation mark with a very specific meaning: hope in a hopeless situation.

  After taking a deep breath, she stepped out of her apartment, and closed the door behind her.

  Anxiety filled Belinda’s mind. She walked out onto the street, all the time fearing they would be looking for her in an attempt to locate Brandon. If they caught her before she reached him, they would interrogate her, even torture her to learn his location. Simply stepping outside immediately after his escape placed her in serious jeopardy.

  She wondered if the young man in the business suit who’d just walked past her was one of them. He’d glanced at her momentarily. It may have been simply because he found her attractive.

  She braved the pathway and made her way toward the Amtrak train station. There were several blocks to go and the thought of the distance chilled her. So much could happen in the time it would take to get there. Persistently looking over her shoulder, paranoia consumed her.

  A police car sped past her, its sirens blaring. She froze. Her heart raced with fear, but the car didn’t stop. It wasn’t about her. She exhaled with relief and continued on.

  She realized there was no fun in her life. There hadn’t been for a very long time. There’d been the briefest of laughs with Brandon—chuckles that had always been cut short by attacks from cruel officials, being kidnapped, tortured, and running. Always running. She asked herself, why, oh, why, did she want to go back to him?

  It was because none of that was about him. He was incredible. They had been attacking him and he’d done nothing to deserve it. They had attacked her, and he’d saved her from them, just as he’d risked himself in his attempts to save so many innocents. All of his noble efforts had only earned him an indefinite term in a military detention facility. What did he have to laugh about?

  Perhaps this was their new beginning. A time when they could both, finally, be happy together. She loved him and wanted the chance to be with him more than anything. If only she could reach the cabin.

  She turned another corner. There were so many alleyways and streets to navigate before she reached her destination. She felt so vulnerable.

  Another corner. Another alleyway. Any route to avoid being seen on the main thoroughfare. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as she moved onward. Gooseflesh formed all across her body. They were always there, at least in her mind, like phantom shadows coming out of the brickwork between the walkways. They wouldn’t leave her alone.

  Determined, she walked on with her case in a white-knuckled grip.

  She came to the end of another alleyway and was beginning to feel confident. The railway station was in sight.

  As she stepped onto a darkened back road, an unkempt young man appeared, as though his impatience had brought him out in the dusk rather than waiting for the night. His limp brown hair and sunken eyes indicated he was an addict.

  “Gimme what you’ve got!” he said.

  She shivered. “I-I don’t have anything.”

  “You’ve got the case. Give it to me!”

  “Go to hell!” she bellowed, defiant even through her fear.

  “What’re you gonna do, bitch? Stop me? I can take anything I want from you.”

  Belinda’s heart raced in a way she hadn’t known for two years: Payne.

  But Payne was dead. Brandon killed him before her eyes. Payne had electrocuted her, placed sharpened wooden sticks under her fingernails, and waterboarded her. He’d been preparing to rape her when Brandon returned from the dead to save her. He’d come back after she’d seen him blown to smithereens.

  The recollection comforted her for a moment. What if she couldn’t die either? “Get away from me, you animal!” she shrieked.

  The young punk pulled out a switchblade. She remembered the street gang in Los Angeles. There had been six of them, all armed with knives. Brandon had disarmed them all by kicking inwardly in a crescent movement, knocking the blades out of their hands in one strike.

  She kicked inwardly, her foot connecting with the thug’s wrist, knocking the knife out of his hand. Frantically, she seized the moment, lunged forward, and rapidly plunged her fists into his jaw.

  Her assailant’s face became bloodied and he held his right hand out in an attempt to quell the onslaught. “Stop!”

  “Don’t ever come near me, you son of a bitch!” She remembered the switchblade on the ground and suspected as soon as her back was turned, the thug would grab it and stab her. Kneeling, she picked it up, and held it tightly.

  Stepping back, she collected her case before resuming her journey, her hands shaking. What am I becoming? was her immediate thought. And then, in a moment of exhilaration—Hell, yeah! Clenching her fists again, she savored the moment. She’d been attacked and she’d beaten her attacker. Why shouldn’t she be proud of that? It was time, she realized, for her to start taking her own personal power back. She wasn’t anybody’s victim, and she’d had the best of teachers to show her how it was done.

  Trembling but strengthened, she made her way forward, glancing back to check all was clear.

  She ran through the maze of alleyways, desperate to avoid visibility on the highway. Her prior experience of interrogation procedures caused her anger to rise, and her lips curled with resentment.

  She became uncomfortable holding onto the mugger’s switchblade and decided to discard it in a garbage can just ahead of her. A pungent odor arose as she opened it. Holding her breath, she disposed of the knife.

  As she exited the alleyway, she had no choice but to step onto a main thoroughfare again. The station wasn’t far, but through the crowded street, the paranoia gripped her once again. More than ever, she was aware she was alone.

  Her eyes darted around in every direction. Several more police cars passed her, and she froze each time. The fear wouldn’t go away. It was a seemingly endless series of jumps, starts, and palpitations.


  As the station came into view she became a little more relaxed. A slight smile formed at the corners of her mouth. She was going to make it. She’d be reunited with Brandon by tomorrow.

  The toughest part was going to be the exhausting trek into the snow-covered mountains. Forty miles of brutal, freezing ice and snow. She quickly realized she’d have to spend the night in Aspen, and try to find a type of transportation that would take her as near to the cabin as possible. She’d need to rent a snowmobile at the very least.

  She approached the station and there seemed to be no cause for alarm. She entered the ticket court, relieved she’d made it. It was crowded and easy for her to lose herself among the commuters. Excitedly, she joined a line to one of the ticket vendors. Immediately, another commuter stepped in behind her. She glanced around trying to spot anything alarming, but there was nothing. Everything was perfectly normal.

  As she reached the halfway point in the line, she noticed a man in a suit talking on his cell phone close to the station’s entrance. There was nothing unusual about that. But it was the way in which he just glanced at her as he spoke into the phone. She looked away.

  And then she slowly looked back. Their eyes locked. In an instant, she knew and could see he did too.

  Her breathing became shallow, her palms were damp, and there was a heaviness in the pit of her stomach.

  She gently eased her way out of the line and looked back again for a fleeting instant. The man was talking into his cell phone with a sudden urgency in his eyes, and he was persistently looking back at her.

  She darted forward only to be halted by a hand on her shoulder. She looked around to see it was the man who’d been standing behind her.

  “Belinda Reese?” he said.

  That was enough. Without hesitation, she drove her fist into the man’s nose and he recoiled with blood trickling onto his lip. He was stunned by her unhesitant assault, which gave her the moment necessary to run.