My Brother's Protection: A Dark Romantic Thriller

by L. C White

“Fuck you,” I reply, imagining my hands around his neck.

  He sniggers. “Monroe,” he calls to a young deputy, who’s in charge of holding. “Open the cell, it’s time to take this scumbag to his new home.”

  Four officers wait by the open cell door, baring arms like I’m a fuckin mass murderer. They stand there laughing and joking about some night out they had. Monroe crouches down to lock the ankle chains around my legs, then he nervously peers up to me. I frown, keeping my eyes on Finley Smith, as Monroe places a tiny screwed up piece of paper into my cuffed hands. I quickly open and read, as Monroe shields my actions. It’s a cipher. A message from James Scott. I study the numbers and letters, thinking back to my time in the Marines.

  “Come on Monroe,” Finley calls out, tapping his shotgun on the bars. “The Giants are playing tonight.”

  “Just checking this asshole is real secure, Fin,” Monroe replies, trying to snatch the paper back off me.

  I clench my teeth, keeping hold of the note, trying my fuckin best to crack the message. Then it happens. The cracked code says, Bridge-Twenty-Bang. What the hell.

  A bead of sweat drops from Monroe’s brow as I release the note, so he can hide it quickly in his trouser pocket. He swiftly stands up as Finley enters to take my arm with another officer. I’m dragged up to my feet, and walked out of the holding cell.

  I offer Monroe a discreet nod, looking at the clock behind the booking desk, as I’m walked to the prisoner van outside. It’s nineteen-zero hundred hours, and I’m beginning to unravel James Scott’s message in my mind. There’ll be a bridge at some point of the journey, and at twenty-zero hundred hours, I have to be prepared for the bang. I am prepared. I may still be injured, battered and bruised, but I’ve been waiting for this moment. James Scott is no fool, and neither is Jimmy. We’re military men, and know how to plan a solid operation. We know a friendly from a foe. And we know how to be tactical.

  ***

  We’ve been on the road for thirty minutes. I’m cuffed and chained to a metal bench in the back, with Finley’s eyes on me. He’s holding the shotgun in his shoulder holster, thinking he’s some big man, and that he’s mentally getting to me. But he isn’t. He’s nothing but a tiny bug in all this, and eventually my boot is going to come down and squish the fuck out of him.

  “You haven’t even asked,” he says, adjusting his position in the seat opposite me. “How the girl is.” I ignore him, my ass bouncing up as the van goes over a road bump. “Not even a tiny bit interested?”

  I clench my jaw, my eyes finding his. I fuckin hate this guy. Big tough man, who has probably been corrupt from the first day of his duty. Some men can be bought easily. I’m not one of them.

  He smirks out a puff of air. “Yeah, that’s right. Don’t want to be plagued by nasty thoughts while you’re stuck rotting in jail. You never know, after the trial, you might get the death penalty. Be put out of your misery.”

  I eyeball him, then subtly look at his wrist watch. Ten more minutes until twenty-zero hundred hours. Ten more minutes of breathing the same air as this asshole.

  I plant the canvass prisoner shoes I’m wearing down firmly. I don’t know what to expect, but any second now there’s going to be some kind of impact.

  “You need to take a dump or something,” Finley asks with a confused eye on me.

  I ignore him as his radio begins to crackle loud with static. He looks down at his belt, moving the shotgun aside to fiddle with the knobs.

  “What the fuck is up with this?” he utters, trying to call through to the guys at the front.

  This is stage one. Loss of communications. That’s what this is, you fuckin dick.

  I clench my fingers around the chain tight, as the van is shunted with a thunderous substantial force. I use the chain as leverage for my body weight, as Finley crashes into the steel mesh wall. The van swerves and spins. I growl out, cringing at the noise of the skid, and the metal against concrete. The deafening scraping sound suddenly stops, as the van tumbles onto its side. The base of my back hits the bench, and I’m tossed around like a ragdoll.

  All sound dies out fast, other than the ringing in my ears. Finley’s face is cut up bad, and he’s trying to get up. I have to pull myself together faster, if I don’t, he’ll have his shotgun on me in seconds. I turn my battered body over onto my front, listening to the doors at the back being prized open.

  “You fuck… you… you.”

  Finley goes to grab the handle of his gun. I swing up my legs, part my ankles as far as I can, and flick the chain around his neck to squeeze. He chokes, with one hand yanking at the chain, and the other fighting to take the gun out of the holster.

  I roar out in anger as the doors are pulled off the hinges at the back. Three guys in black masks quickly disarm Finley, as I continue to crush the life out of him.

  “Dwayne,” James Scott’s muffled voice says, as he uses a set of bolt cutters to free my wrists. “Let’s go. We don’t have time for this.”

  “Then I’ll make fuckin time!”

  I watch as Finley’s body twitches and strains. I can feel the life leaving his body. With one final growl and flick of my ankles, the snap of his neck silences him. Panting, I watch his lifeless body.

  “Happy now,” James says, cutting through the chains around my ankles. “Come on. Let’s get the fuck out of here.” He drags me up to my feet.

  I jog toward a black Audi SUV, looking back at the carnage. James opens the back door and goes to push me inside, but I stall, watching one of the guys who helped me escape, stay behind.

  James pulls off his mask, gasping. “It’s Jimmy. He’s going to clean all this up.”

  I turn to him, wondering who the other guy is who’s about to jump into the driver’s seat. He pulls off his mask, and my eyes widen. It’s Commander Weathers.

  “Get in the car Dwayne, that’s a goddamn order,” he says, out of breath.

  I shake my head, and jump into the backseat.

  ***

  We’ve been on the road for ten minutes, and I’m fuckin paranoid we’re being followed.

  “Give me a gun,” I say, leaning near the passenger seat.

  James pulls a Glock 19 out of his belt, and hands it to me.

  “How did you find me?” I ask.

  “The Commander here, activated the tracking device on the satellite case.”

  “I didn’t think that was possible,” I say, pulling out the clip of the gun to see it’s full.

  “It isn’t,” the Commander says. “I had to get special permission from the pentagon.”

  “You know you’ve been followed?” I ask.

  “Yep. Russian’s with the Cobra mark.” James shuffles in his seat to look out of the back window. “My dad shot one, and I had to take care of the other.”

  “Your parents are safe?”

  “Yes. Gone on a long vacation to South Africa.”

  “Where we heading?” I ask, watching the Commander’s face in the rearview mirror.

  “A safe house, an hour’s drive from here,” James says.

  “You do know I have to go back,” I say.

  “For the girl. That’s a no, Dwayne.” The Commander glares at me. “I don’t know how the hell you got involved in this mess. But you’re still a wanted man. Even the strings I can pull won’t change that. This organization has ties to the Senate, the Russian mafia, and it wouldn’t fuckin surprise me if they had tea with the Queen of England. So right now, until you have a solid plan that will not get everyone fuckin shot dead, you’ll follow my orders. Retired or fuckin not.”

  Wow. I’ve not heard the Commander bark like that since I was in training. I should be jumping out of this car, racing back to the city to find Amber, the love of my life. But he is right. There has to be a tactical plan, not for just getting her away from Trent, but for before, and after.

  “Besides,” James says, looking over the headrest. “She’s still alive.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Jimmy will fill yo
u in when he returns.”

  I slam my body against the seat, angling my head back in frustration.

  ***

  Commander Weathers pulls open the solid steel shutter door of some warehouse on the outskirts of Richmond Valley. I walk behind the Commander as the lights come on to illuminate the huge cool space. It’s not a fuckin house, that’s for sure. Looks like a local haunt for the homeless. There’s a torn brown sofa. A table full of guns, maps, and building plans. There’s a fridge James is currently pulling out a beer from. And before the sofa, there’s a rusty trashcan, full of burnt paper and wood.

  “Here.” James holds out a beer to me, but I shake my head to refuse. “Take the fuckin beer. Through there.” He points to a door. “Is a sink and some clean clothing. You look worse than shit.”

  I grab the beer from him and head to the door. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want them involved because they’ve done enough. Looking for Amber is my priority, not going along with this waiting game.

  I close the door behind me. I’m in a small storeroom with a stainless steel sink. I lift up the clothing James has left for me: black ops wear. I guess wearing this is better than going on the warpath in a fuckin blue paper suit, and cloth pumps.

  I tear off the suit in one grab and swipe movement, flinching as I yank it against my bruised broken rib.

  “Argh… fuck,” I hiss, leaning to look in the small square mirror, hung above the sink.

  James was right. I have a weeks’ worth of stubble on my face which is mattered with dry blood. My right eye is a shade of black and yellow. My cheekbone is swollen, and there’s a bump on my head from the boot I received the night they took Amber.

  I turn on the tap, glugging the beer down in one go. It doesn’t do a thing to make me any less tense. I’m so fuckin mad and frustrated. I hit the sink and growl, leaning over to swill my face with the lukewarm water.

  I stamp the boots on my feet, pulling the t-shirt over my head, when there’s a knock on the door.

  “Dwayne,” James calls out. “You done?”

  “Yeah, be out in a minute,” I reply, fastening the combat belt tight.

  “I’ll be outside.”

  I make my way by the sofa, noticing the Commander pacing and listening intently on his cell phone, as I make my way through the shutter door into the still warm night.

  James is standing with a beer in his hand, leaning over a metal railing. He peers over his shoulder and gestures his head at a six pack. I pull out a beer and join his side.

  “What’s up with the Commander; isn’t he supposed to be in Cyprus?” I ask.

  “He’s flying out when all this shit is over.”

  “He’s here because of me,” I say, shaking my head down at my boots.

  “Fuck yeah,” James says, clearly pissed at me. “We’re a team. Never leave a man to fight alone, even on the Homefront. But you’ve fucked up Dwayne. This is the kind of war that never lets you go. And all for some girl.”

  “She’s not just some girl.” I swig down a mouthful of beer and turn my back for a second.

  “Well who is she? Why have we all been implicated in this gangland shit? I’ve had Russian fuckin mafia watching my apartment. Following my fuckin parents, Dwayne. Jimmy has had to send his daughter up State to keep her out of this. So forgive me if I’m being a fuckin dick right now, but I want to know why my goddamn life is on the line!”

  He’s right. For once he sounds more of an officer than I.

  I swallow as I place the bottle on an upturn crate, and lean over the metal rail, willing the words to come out.

  “I never intended for anyone to get hurt. I didn’t fuckin know what was going on myself,” I say, honestly. “Amber Jefferson was one of the reasons I joined the Marines. My dad and her mom married.” I release a groan, finding it difficult to talk about the things I’ve never talked about. “My dad was a drunk. Beat on me just for the hell of it.”

  “Fuck man,” James utters.

  I smirk in anger. “But he found someone easier to beat on. Amber.” I shake my head, clamping my fingers together. “I tried to look out for her.” I hesitate as James straightens up to look at me.

  “Jeez, eight years we’ve served together, and I’m realizing I know nothing about your life. Why did you never tell me all this?”

  “It’s not something I’m proud of. It’s something I wanted to forget,” I say, my chest feeling tight. “My asshole Dad and shitty childhood. Leaving Amber.” I glance down at my boots.

  “You fell for her didn’t you?” he says in a breath.

  My jaw pulses. “Yeah. So I fuckin left her there because I couldn’t handle it. I failed her, big time.”

  James pats my back and says, “So you think because of all that shit you both went through, all this is your fault?”

  “It is,” I state. “I should have been there, regardless. The reason she ran away, the reason she’s in this mess, is me.”

  “Dwayne, you fuckin fool. No one is responsible. Damage is damage. You both ran away, just in different ways. You still love her?” I nod a yes, not wanting to sound soppy. “Well, we’ll figure it out.”

  I expel a long painful breath. “Not if you want to die. I’ve met these bastards and they’re on the top of the dirt-chain. They can do anything. I made a deal. I take the rap for the girl, and Amber lives. Now I’m here. If I don’t find her soon then… then.” My voice seizes up.

  “We’ll find her. Look, Jimmy’s back.”

  I look ahead to see headlights approaching.

  Jimmy strolls around the hood of his Ford pickup truck, and opens the passenger door. Both James and I straighten up, watching as a pair of six inch black heels step out onto the tarmac.

  “Who the hell is that?” James says under his breath.

  James slams his beer on the upturned crate, as I watch a leggy brunette in a miniskirt, walking arm in arm with Jimmy.

  “Dwayne,” Jimmy says, sliding his arm out from the girl, to pat and grip my shoulder. “You look like shit.”

  “Who’s the girl Jimmy?” James asks, suspiciously.

  “A friend of mine. Come on,” he says, walking through the shutter door. “There’s been a few developments you might be interested in.”

  Commander Weathers tosses his cell phone onto the table, and gawps as Jimmy releases the girl so she can sit on the sofa.

  “This is Dina,” Jimmy says.

  We all stand around in silence, unsure what the fuck is going on.

  “Okay,” Jimmy grumbles. “Dina, works for the Russians.”

  My hand works around my combat belt to reach for my gun. But I don’t have a damn gun. He’s brought the enemy here. Why the hell would he do that?

  “Calm down,” Jimmy says. “She’s here with information.”

  “What kind of information?” James asks.

  “The guy in the CCTV image meeting with Trent, was Dina’s Brother, Gustave. A high ranking member in the Cobra. She’s been staying at the hotel where they’ve been keeping Amber,” Jimmy explains as I stride toward her.

  “You’ve seen her?” I ask.

  “Yes,” she answers in a Russian accent. “It was tricky. Trent keeps her away from the other girls. But yes, I’ve seen her.” She lowers her head so her long curled hair covers her expression.

  “What?” I snap at her. “Why are you fuckin stalling? Speak,” I demand.

  “She’s being moved,” she utters. “She’s causing a lot of problems for my brother. Trent has backed out on an agreement, and Gustave is not happy.”

  “Who cares,” James pipes up.

  “Hold on a fuckin minute,” I growl, frowning at the guys who are supposed to have my back. “You all knew her location, and you just fuckin left her there!”

  “Dwayne,” the Commander calls out in fury. “I’m not going to send my men into a situation they will get killed, without knowing every detail. I have busted my balls trying to clear your name, and get you out of this mess. Instead of thinking with yo
ur heart, use your goddamn brain!”

  I bite my cheek, trying to keep my cool. But I can’t. How can I be cool with the fact they’ve left her with that nasty dick. It’s no better than what I did at seventeen years old.

  “My brother wants to make a deal with you,” Dina says.

  “The answer is no,” the Commander barks in a huff.

  “Hear her out,” Jimmy growls, pacing to the kitchen. “It wasn’t easy arranging all this.”

  “What kind of deal?” I ask, watching as she stands up, brushing her hands down her skirt.

  “We need Trent gone,” she says.

  “Don’t we all,” James smirks.

  “You killed two of our men.” Her hazel eyes fixate on James. “So you owe my brother. Life for life.”

  “Why doesn’t your brother just do it then?” James asks in a snarky tone.

  “For our network to thrive, we need to keep the diplomatic ties Trent has. He still has all the influence and connections, alive, or dead. He needs to be taken out, and whoever does it needs to be seen. You.” She looks directly at me. “Are the perfect candidate.”

  Commander Weathers slams his hands down on the table, leaning over.

  “Well, this is great,” he grumbles in a deep tone. “Two murder charges. Helping the fuckin Russian mafia take the city. Jeez Dwayne, I thought you were a good guy. Tell me you are not considering this.”

  I blank out his concern. I am considering it. I don’t give a shit anymore. I’m obviously not going to shake off the false charges for the murder of Zoe Harrington. The evidence fixed is damning. To save Amber, I don’t mind adding one more death to my belt. I see it as a worthy fuckin crime, to put a bullet in Trent’s head. It will be an honor.

  “There has to be a catch,” James says. “What about when it’s done. I for one don’t want to see anymore assholes on my doorstep.”

  “When it’s done, you can go back to your normal lives. Everyone wins. You get what you want, and we get what Trent failed to provide.” She goes into her small black bag and pulls out a piece of paper.

  “What about the other girls?” I ask.

  “We have no interest in Trent’s little hobby. The girls will be given the choice, either work with us, or leave,” she replies.