Into the Shadows

by Carolyn Crane

  He looked into her beautiful eyes. She loved him. He had a family and they needed him. And in that moment, he felt like more than a pit bull and a thug and a loser.

  He felt like a man with everything.

  And everything to lose.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  The sound of the cars blasting by overhead created a hollow echo under the bridge. They’d switched the location, of course, to the 16th Street Bridge. Thorne scrambled up the incline all the way into the dark crevasse and located the box. He ripped open the envelope that was taped onto the outside and read the instructions. He was to strip naked and put on the jumpsuit and boots provided. He pulled off his clothes and put the stuff on. The boots weren’t just any boots; they were steel-bottomed boots with cleats—they had to weigh twenty pounds each. He did his best fighting in bare feet, so Jerrod arranged for him to wear the opposite—boots like anchors. And the jumpsuit prevented him from concealing weapons. Jerrod was stripping him of his advantages little by little. He’d known to expect this sort of thing, but he’d brought some of his favorite weapons anyway. He put them aside in full view of the cameras that he knew were there. Jerrod wouldn’t be taking any chances.

  Thorne was to climb to the street above to catch a cab to the warehouse. The same as the address Miguel had given.

  He scrambled up there and waited, heart pounding. Wondering if he’d made the right decision. Jerrod knows you don’t have people, Miguel had said.

  But he did. So he’d called Dax. He’d trust Dax for her. He’d trust the other Associates. He’d trust Miguel.

  Trust. It was a revelation and a free fall.

  A Yellow Cab slowed. This was it. He opened the door and slid in the backseat. Two large men were crouched on the backseat floor. He recognized the one with dark hair and dark glasses as Rio the assassin. Thorne had long known the Associates from afar through Dax, although he’d never met any of them. The fighter crouched in front with sandy hair and a feral grin was Cole. The cabbie was Riley.

  “Nice day for a takedown,” Riley said.

  Shivers went through Thorne. “Clears the mind,” he said. He gave the warehouse address as he would with a normal cabbie, just to keep it all looking right.

  “I’m Riley,” Riley said. “This is Cole up here and back there you have Rio and Fedor,” he said.

  Thorne simply nodded. So the other one was Fedor, the rogue Associate.

  “Check the pocket in front of you,” Fedor said. “We’ve put in a selection of pieces. I’d recommend the Smith & Wesson platinum as your go-to.”

  “Thanks, but—” Thorne gestured at the jumper. It gave him no good places to conceal a firearm.

  “Jesus,” Rio said, looking relaxed for a man squished onto the floor of a cab, “Jerrod needs to die just for putting you in that thing.”

  “I know,” Thorne said. “These boots weigh a ton. Steel soles. Maybe even a little concrete in here.”

  Rio cast his eyes grimly over the boots. Thorne had no choice but to wear them. He had to look like he was going for the deal. “Jerrod’s a psycho, but he’s never been stupid,” Rio said.

  It was strange hearing Rio talk about Jerrod like he knew him. Of course, they’d been watching the gangs for a long time.

  Rio shifted and pulled a compact silver Glock from his ankle holster. He handed it over. “This has been my go-to in many a battle. Might fit in there.”

  “You sure?”

  “I want you to have it,” Rio said.

  It was a big thing, a man handing over his weapon. Thorne took it. “Thank you. For all of this. You don’t even know me.”

  “Dax vouches for you. Macmillan vouches for you.”

  “Macmillan,” Thorne said. “How is he?”

  “Happy as a clam,” Rio said. “And if he were here, he’d put a poker in my eye for a cliché like that.”

  “We didn’t know you were one of us,” Riley said, looking into the rearview mirror.

  Thorne savored the weight of the Glock. The exquisite balance of it. He pulled the slide back a bit, concentrating on the mechanics of the piece so that the emotions rushing through him wouldn’t overwhelm him.

  One of us.

  He was part of a team. These men were going to help him rescue his kid. He had people. “What’s the plan?” he asked.

  “What we’re walking into looks like a typical Hangman formation,” Riley said. “Something you probably know inside out. Two guards are patrolling the outside of the warehouse, six scattered inside. Hangman One, Four, and Six through Nine are in there.”

  “You know all of them?”

  “We make it our business,” Riley said. “We’ve been watching you, too.”

  “Might’ve been helpful,” Cole growled, “if Dax would’ve seen fit to tell us about you. We’re all doing deep cover here.”

  Thorne fit the ultra-compact gun into the boot with Rio’s help, pulling his pant leg over. “I requested it. I don’t do teamwork. Or, didn’t do,” he added. “You see the boy and the woman?”

  “They’re in there. We got a lens through a high window. Barbarian, the blonde, and the boy are tied up together, but not to anything, it seems, though we’re not sure of that.”

  “They look okay?”

  “Barbarian, not so much,” Rio said. “He’s really fucked up.”

  “The kid?”

  “Looks fine. Just scared.”

  Rage crashed over Thorne. “He’s my kid.”

  A hush swept through the taxi. It was here when Thorne really got it. These men were his brothers. Not his virtual ones, like faces on baseball cards or something. His real ones.

  “Okay, then,” Riley said after a moment, tone grave.

  Rio caught Thorne’s eye and gave him a nod.

  Fedor said, “We didn’t have that piece of information.”

  “Yup. My son,” Thorne said.

  “We’ve got his back,” Rio said.

  “I owe you big time,” Thorne said.

  The way Rio looked at him it was as if Thorne had spoken Martian. “Like hell.”

  “Thanks,” Thorne whispered.

  These men were warriors, some of the most capable and lethal in the business. Still, Thorne was worried. More like terrified, because he himself wasn’t anywhere near his powerful best. He’d lost his non-attachment. It was perfect non-attachment that gave him the power to be wild and free, that’s what his family needed out of him now. “What’s the plan?”

  Rio said, “They’re scared of you, even naked under a jumpsuit and wearing those ridiculous boots. So that’s something—they’ll be hyper-focused on you.” He pulled out a map and set it on the seat where he’d be sitting if he weren’t on the floor. “We need you to go in and position yourself here,” he pointed to an x. “And then you do something fucked up to keep that attention on you,” Rio said. “I don’t need to tell you that they’re holding that space like pros. We need a serious diversion to focus them away from us when we come in. That’s the best chance to keep those three alive.”

  “Like what?”

  Rio seemed surprised at the question. “The shit you always do, okay?”

  The shit he always did. But that was the Thorne who didn’t care whether he lived or died, or whether the whole world exploded.

  Rio said, “We’ve got two openings on the roof here and here, and once you take their attention away, Cole and I are going to do some sharpshooting from up there and pick guys off, giving you cover. Riley and another shooter are coming in here, covering each other and grabbing the hostages.”

  “No, wait,” Thorne said. “I need all the firepower covering the kid and the girl and Barbarian. Getting them out of there.”

  “What about you?” Riley asked.

  “It all goes on protecting the kid and the other two,” he whispered.

  The guys looked at each other. They didn’t like the idea.

  “It doesn’t seem…sound,” Riley said. “Because tactically…”

  “Focus everyth
ing on the hostages,” Thorne growled.

  He could feel the dissent rolling off Riley.

  “Dax says to take your lead,” Riley said grudgingly. The but went unspoken. But I don’t think it’s a good idea.

  “It’s how I need it.”

  A voice from below. Rio. “It’s the man’s family.”

  That handful of words contained a world of understanding. And a world of pain. Thorne wondered what had happened to him.

  Thorne said, “I’ll handle my end; you handle the hostages.”

  “Okay, then,” Riley said.

  Rio said, “Still, it’s a simple takedown if it goes well.”

  “Which it never does,” Cole put in.

  “Never,” Thorne said, liking that the man said that. Liking that they knew to expect chaos, and that any plan was liable to fall apart. These were fighters he could trust.

  “We need noise and fury from you,” Rio said. “How well can you tell time?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Count. Synchronize. Not like we can send you in with a watch.”

  Shit. “I’ve always worked alone, and Hangman doesn’t synchronize.”

  “They don’t?” Riley was incredulous. “Ever?”

  “They’re into chaos,” Thorne said, eyeing Riley. The man had some military in him.

  “We thought they were synchronizing underneath it. That’s some serious fucking dedication,” Riley said.

  “We’ll do a crow call when we’re in position,” Rio said. “It’ll be about five minutes after we drop you.”

  Thorne understood the need for precision. A diversion was only good for a few seconds. A diversion diverted attention—few diversions actually held attention. A lot could happen in five minutes, but it would have to do. “You know Miguel?” Thorne asked. “Hangman Four?”

  “Jerrod’s executioner,” Riley said.

  “He’s on our side,” Thorne said.

  “How sure are you?”

  “As sure as I can be of anybody,” Thorne said, feeling as though he was seeing clearly for the first time. He’d never really looked beyond his pain. He’d never seen the tap dancers.

  Rio searched his face. “But when we come out of this,” Rio said, “if Miguel is left alive he’s going to see you’re an Associate. If you take over Hangman, Miguel owns you with that information.”

  “He went out on a limb for me. Twice.”

  “Okay, then,” Riley said.

  They headed into an industrial park, turning this way and that. A decrepit yet contemporary two-story office with mirrored windows loomed ahead, entrance flanked by anemic palm trees.

  “Look sharp,” Riley said, turning up the drive. The guys all made themselves small, except Riley, of course.

  Thorne handed up a $20 bill, because they’d be watching now. “Keep the change,” he said.

  Riley smiled. “Thank you.”

  Thorne got out and shut the door, and the cab took off. Sucking in a deep breath, he walked around to the side door of the warehouse without so much as a backward glance. A camera mounted midway up the corner of the building tracked his movements. He put his hands up for the benefit of whoever was on the other side.

  The door swung open and Hangman Six pulled him in.

  Five Hangman soldiers stood around him, guns out, ready for anything. His old compadres, nerves off the charts. They’d seen how he could explode into action. He took a deep breath and scanned the place, which was more of a shell than anything.

  In the middle of the barren concrete floor were three figures, cuffed and chained together. Kara shot him a terrified glance as Benny whimpered and snuggled his head into her lap. She laid one cuffed hand protectively over the boy’s head; the other was linked to Richard, who was slumped on the floor, maybe even dead. Jerrod had done that before, cuffing the living to the dead. Thorne could barely resist the urge to go to Benny, to grab him and shield his little body with his.

  A small boneyard of machines occupied the far end; it would make good cover if it came to that. A network of girders and pipes lined the ceiling. There were high windows and skylights.

  “I’m here,” he said. “You said you’d let them go.”

  He felt the business end of a rifle poke his back. “Hands on your head.”

  He complied. The soldiers at his side walked him toward the corner, where Jerrod sat in an upholstered chair, in a kind of impromptu living room area. Miguel had the other chair. He’d been right to trust him.

  “I’m here. Let them go free. That’s our deal,” he growled, playing his part. He glanced at Miguel, whose stony gaze revealed nothing. He could feel the guns trained on him. All that firepower, all that nervousness. It was very nearly a physical sensation.

  He took a deep breath, trying to block out the image of Benny’s vulnerable little form nestled in Kara’s lap. If his mind stayed on Benny, it wouldn’t be in the fight. Fear made a fighter tentative; it even reduced his peripheral vision.

  He shook the fear from his head. Not knowing—that was a start. Only the empty mind could respond with the speed of the image in a mirror—that’s the sort of thing Bruce Lee would say.

  Jerrod stood. “You’ve been a busy man,” he said. “Did I, or did I not, charge you with finding the co-op pirates?”

  “I came,” Thorne said again. “Let them go.”

  Jerrod smiled. “You knew who the co-op pirates were this whole time. You fed them the information. You lined your pockets while you destroyed this organization from inside out.” Jerrod stood. “You’re the worst kind of traitor.”

  “The kid’s not involved. Or the girl.”

  Jerrod gazed over at them. “Looks like a family affair to me. You nearly brought down Hangman with this. But I’m in a generous mood. I’ve called your woman. She’s coming to get them. She’ll be coming right through that door.” He pointed to the main door, which was taped up and wired up—rigged with enough explosives to take down the building, no doubt.

  Thorne knew to expect it, but still he felt sick.

  “You’ll be able to see them reunited forever,” Jerrod said.

  One of the guards approached. “Hands.”

  Thorne put out his hands and let it happen. He could fight cuffed, and they knew it, though the heavy boots would slow him. They cuffed only one hand—his good hand.

  Even better.

  One of the guys gave him a cursory pat-down, even though they’d probably all watched him change under the bridge. Thorne stiffened as the man grazed over his boots, but he didn’t locate the weapon. Rio had done an expert job of nestling it in.

  “Come on.” They started leading him across the empty floor, heading toward one of the structural pillars, a massive metal girder as fat as a tree trunk. His arms would just fit around it. Shit. They’d cuff him to it, and it would be like being cuffed to a tree trunk.

  He’d be helpless. Even if he got to the gun, his ability to aim would be shit.

  And it wasn’t where the diversion needed to be, anyway. The guys needed his diversion at the right time and the right place. It was the only thing they’d asked of him.

  The Hangman soldiers were alert, their attention on every corner of the place. Yeah, Hangman knew how to hold a building.

  Thorne felt his focus fraying as he trudged across the floor, steps unnaturally loud and heavy. He looked over at Benny, who hid his little head under Kara’s hand, but he could see the boy’s eyes, see the fear there. His whole world collapsed into his son’s eyes.

  Save him.

  He slowed. He couldn’t let them lock him to that post. The whole plan would be wrecked.

  “Go on,” Jerrod called, standing up. He pulled out his phone and hit a button, turning on the Hypnodeath.

  It was just loud enough that he wouldn’t hear the crow call.

  Benny began to cry as the discordant sound filled the space. Thorne’s heart beat like crazy.

  The plan was starting to fall apart.

  “Get over to that pilla
r,” Jerrod said.

  Thorne stayed, mind whirling. It hadn’t even been close to five minutes. Could he run down the clock? The guys needed his diversion.

  “Move it!” Jerrod called.

  When Thorne didn’t move, Jerrod turned to a guard. “Shoot the boy in the kneecap!”

  The guard started over.

  “I’m going.” Thorne walked.

  “All the way to the post.” Jerrod strolled over.

  “I’m going.” Thorne sped up, mind whirling. He had an idea; there was another post some yards away. That one was near the diversion site. If he could get them to immobilize him there instead of where he was heading, he’d at least be near the right place. Maybe he could even get out his gun and get a few shots off.

  “Hey, wait…” Hangman Six said as Thorne passed the post where they wanted him.

  “Huh?” Thorne kept on. He needed to do this right—not seem too eager, just confused. “You said the post.” He kept going, like he didn’t understand. Taking a chance.

  How long had it been? He strained to hear the crow. Anything that sounded like a crow.

  Times when he was fighting at his best, he was aware of a pin dropping miles away. Perfect clarity, total flow with the universe. He’d reached those peaks only once or twice in his life, and they were always fleeting. Now he heard Hypnodeath.

  “Hey,” somebody behind him called.

  “You said this post.” He kept going, counting on their taking the path of least resistance. It was working. The soldiers were frightened enough of him to yield. They just wanted him locked down.

  “It’s fine,” Jerrod said. “He can see from there.”

  When he reached it, the soldiers made him circle his arms around the massive girder with its ends and angles. His arms barely reached around. A metal corner bit into his wrist as they clasped the cuff bracelet tightly to his bad hand. He had to crane his neck to get Benny, Kara, and Richard back in sight.

  Something flashed in Jerrod’s hand. The roulette revolver. Jerrod grinned. “A funny thing happened when I ran DNA on you and your kid. Can you guess what?” His cold-blooded gaze cut right to Thorne’s gut. “I’ll tell you. It matched DNA left at a certain crime scene some years ago.”