by J. A. Dennam
Footsteps. Soft. Muted by the lack of traditional footwear. They still thought they could sneak up on him, but not only could he hear them breathing, he knew exactly who they were.
Simons. Caucasian. Five-five, lazy eye, wiry ponytail. Left testicle removed due to angry girlfriend’s foot in jewels. Angry girlfriend now deceased.
Tam. Vietnamese. Five-six, nursing a hate-on for Buddhists. Burned down a monastery, probably with a match and that freak-ass blank stare of his.
“It’s the midget patrol,” Derek whispered. When Melanie’s cautious gaze narrowed in confusion beneath him, he brushed his lips against hers oh-so lightly.
Her eyes closed.
And he was gone. The grass was no cover against these particular ghosts. They were day specialists, trained to use their enhanced peripheral sight and speed as well as stealth. Since black offered him no protection whatsoever, he shed his wet, cloying hoodie, thankful for the excuse.
“Derek.”
Shit. She was whispering for him. Little did she know he was a mere three feet away, crouching as he watched the building. The ghosts were there, flanking the north and south sides, hoping to catch him by surprise. The back door still hung open; its rusty hinges an invitation for them to circle around toward it.
Do it. C’mon, do it. His hand gripped the knife at his ankle, but they refused to show themselves. Perhaps it was too obvious. Derek could only hope Rena was doing her part to keep the crew inside quiet. No unexpected surprises to throw him off so he could remain focused on the impending threat outside. But Melanie was out here with him.
Hell.
A horrendous, guttural moan sounded from the front of the building as Chewie let out a signature yawn. Derek heard both men scramble in that direction.
Thank you, buddy!
He broke cover and sprinted toward the graffiti-riddled service station. With great impetus, he spring-boarded off the wall and sailed backward to grab the overhang. His arms did the rest, hoisting him silently onto the roof. Now he held the advantage of higher ground. A quick check confirmed Melanie was where he left her, watching him from the grassy divide with wide, terrified eyes. He put a finger to his lips.
The morning sun beat down on his bare back. The heat awakened a burning desire to rid these men of their lives. He didn’t mind the killing. Most ghosts were killers themselves. But IGP had sent their deadliest to bring him and Rena in.
Tam, his former training partner, was the biggest threat of all since the man knew his abilities better than anyone.
It was IGP’s procedure to pair a day and night specialist during the training process. They could learn from each other, spar with each other and possibly work together when they were turned out into the public. Derek could understand this, but the little guy’s blank stare was a bit much. A poker face designed to rattle the cage of his opponent.
Since they wore only white athletic pants, the contrasts between them were clear as day. The man was so thin a hefty sneeze could knock him down and Derek found it difficult to hide his amusement as they squared off in the greenhouse that served as their training ground.
Rule number one: don’t disturb the flora. Rule number two: don’t break the glass. Rule number three: no weapons.
Maintaining his own poker face, Derek waited for the signal as their handler observed on the sidelines. Vietnamese creampuff -vs- Captain America. Hardly fair, but whatever. The cocky little shit must’ve earned a punishment of some kind.
“Proceed, gentlemen.”
Deciding to take it easy on the guy, Derek moved in with a halfhearted front-kick to the chest. The man stumbled back, held on to the stare as he reached behind his waistband and flicked his wrist.
Warm liquid trickled from Derek’s shoulder, around the side of his pectoral and down his ribcage. He blinked at the hilt of the knife protruding from his flesh. “What happened to rule number three?” he asked calmly.
Tam dusted the footprint from his chest. “Too many rule.”
Below him was the open garage entrance. Since the men were back in position having lost interest in the black dog, someone would eventually attempt to move inside. To hurry them along, he found a small pebble and put it in his mouth. He positioned himself on the edge of the roof, lifted into a silent handstand and released the pebble from between his teeth. It fell to the ground, bounced and smacked into the door.
Simons was the first to respond. His black clothing concealed his identity, but nobody could mistake the awkward gait. When the man reached the spot directly beneath him, Derek tipped, flipped and captured Simons’ throat between his legs as he hung from the roof. He heard an audible gasp from within the garage and silently cursed himself. Danny was watching the show behind him, but he had no time to acknowledge her. As he choked the life out of One-Nut, Tam appeared to his left.
He let go of the overhang and dropped just in time. Following a “thunk,” Tam’s knife vibrated in the doorjamb above him. He reached for it. Just as Simons twisted and sank his teeth into Derek’s thigh, he swallowed his roar of pain and jammed the four-inch blade deep into Simons’ groin.
The man screamed. Derek rolled, shielding himself from the next projectile with Simons’ body. Another blade imbedded in the man’s throat, rendering him silent and strangling in his own blood beneath the hood. Derek removed the knife and the blood flowed freely onto the asphalt. He knew Tam only had two knives. So far Simons, poor bastard, was the unfortunate pincushion who was first to go down.
He got to his feet, ignoring the fresh wound on his thigh as he squared off with his remaining hooded opponent. “You know you can’t take me in a fair fight,” Derek said cautiously, keeping his solid stance as they circled each other. Since Danny could still be in the garage, he was careful to keep Tam’s focus away from it.
“You know she want you alive,” Tam answered in broken English. “Why dint you come back?”
Derek positioned the bloody blade between his thumb and fingers. “The food really sucked, man.”
Tam stopped circling, uncloaked his head and acknowledged him through narrow, vacant eyes. “Where’s woman?”
“She’s safe.”
Before the last word left his mouth, Tam slipped through the open door. The slick little fucker could always move faster than any of them and Derek’s carefully aimed knife-throw fell just short of the mark. He retrieved his borrowed weapon as he entered the darkened, cramped confines of the building. Danny’s yelp of surprise echoed along the walls. They stood in the very spot where he’d just had his way with Melanie a few moments ago, but the Challenger’s driver’s side door was open for some reason.
Tam cradled Danny’s neck between his forearms, ready to act if Derek moved another inch. “Dis not her,” he said with blinking calm.
It was enough to send a chill through the air. His sister’s chest rose and fell. “But she’s the one with all the answers,” he replied smoothly, giving no hint of the turmoil raging inside his gut.
“Not all of them,” Rena broke in. They heard footsteps, then saw her shadow emerge from the darkened corner of the garage. “I still have a few.”
Tam nodded once. “Miss Howberg.”
Rena laughed, shook her head at the ground as she weaved through the vehicles. “It’s Hell-berg.” All amusement was gone when she reached Derek’s side and crossed her arms. “You know. H. E. Double-hockey-sticks.”
“Howberg.”
Rena tsked, rolled her eyes.
Derek noticed another shadow in his peripheral vision. Tam noticed it, too, and turned just slightly toward it. Derek released the knife. It sliced through the air and lodged in the man’s bicep.
Austin popped into full view and lunged for Danny just as the Vietnamese loosened his grip. Bodies twisted. Those who went to the ground sought cover while Tam launched himself onto the roof of the Challenger. Derek didn’t remain below him for long and took up position on the Jeep’s hood. He waited, equipped with his own knife this time as Tam slowly pulled the bl
ade out of his arm, unpinning the hoodie’s sleeve from his flesh.
“Do you really want to do this, Tam? You can’t kill me.”
The man flexed his blood-soaked arm, tested it before moving the knife to his other hand. “She only say alive. Not how many pieces.”
As Tam twirled on the balls of his feet, Derek ducked the thrown knife and back flipped onto the hood of Austin’s truck. By then, Tam had already retrieved his weapon and was circling around him for another go. With knife held firmly between his teeth, Derek hopped back over to the Jeep, sprung from the roll bar and clamped onto the garage door tracks above. His feet arced upward and he felt the air churn around his soles as Tam sailed below him.
Missed.
He swung from one track to the other, dropped into the truck bed and bounced over the tailgate. As he elbowed his way beneath the tightly packed vehicles, he could see that Danny and Rena were no longer on the floor. But Austin and Ty were, standing by the Challenger, probably waiting for an opportunity to jump in. Waiting to get themselves killed.
“Stay back!” he yelled. The warning incited laughter from above.
“You cower like woman,” Tam taunted. “What happen to Captain America?”
Instead of rising to the bait, Derek noiselessly rolled toward the front bumper.
“You see what Vietnamese cock taste like, yes?”
Fucking asshole. At least he was talking to the wrong end of the truck. Since time was of the essence, Derek reappeared with a vengeance from an unexpected direction. Tam moved with lightning speed as Derek flew by head-over-heels. Tam’s knife found its mark, opening a three-inch gash across Derek’s midsection, which instantly grew moist. But when his feet hit the floor of the truck bed, the little ghost was the one struggling to stay upright as blood oozed from the deep laceration across his throat.
“What was that?” Derek asked, knife coated with gore. “Something about cock?” The pitiful noise that followed was exactly the answer he expected as his former training partner sank against the truck’s rear window.
Austin blinked. “Did that just happen?”
Chewie barked wildly outside and they all heard a muffled scream in the distance.
“That’s not good!” Ty yelled, making a break for the outdoors.
Derek’s heart collided with the bottom of his stomach. No. Please, no! He left the bleeding corpse, jumped cars and hurdled over Simons’ body only to hear an SUV pull away from the lot. He didn’t have to check the grass to know Melanie was gone.
And he’d just left her there. Alone. The most vulnerable target.
Why hadn’t he sensed the other ghost nearby? Because he’d been so preoccupied with the other two. Distraction. It was the simplest strategy and he’d fallen for it as easily as his own victims.
“He’ll kill her,” Derek murmured, feeling that rush of anxiety build once again.
Her screams echoed through the courtyard. Derek awoke with a start, blinked up at the narrow ceiling above him. Having no sense of time, he shook the sleep from his brain and sat up. The tight boxer-briefs he’d been given offered little protection against the course wool covering the two-foot wide cot he slept on. Red splotches covered his torso and he immediately began to scratch as usual when waking from a restless night of sleep.
But it wasn’t yet morning.
Another scream rent the silence before it was replaced with muffled gargling and a fit of frantic coughs.
“Yeah, that’s it,” he heard while the coughing continued. “God that feels good.”
Derek knew that voice. His eyes darted to the window at the end of his cell. There was a time when he considered the view from it a luxury, but that time had long past. He stood and slowly approached it. The epoxy-coated floor was cold beneath his feet. Luckily he only occupied this empty closet seven hours a day during lights out. Every other waking moment was spent under the watchful eye of the sadistic prick below his window.
Rafferty.
Though the Plexiglas was somewhat clouded, Derek could easily make out the elaborate compilation of cherubs and angels that centered the gardens. The ring of blue water around it was brightly illuminated and choppy, outlining the disturbing scene at its rim.
A red skirt lay among the pile of discarded clothing on the bench by the base of the fountain. He’d seen her wear it that morning when she brought him his own clothes. The slender blond had hair much like Melanie’s and she’d caught him staring through the square of bars at his cell door. Her eyes had lit with reluctant appreciation until Rafferty noticed and ordered her back to work.
She was obviously new, her fresh young face full of hopeful expectation her first day on the job. Now she was naked, bent over the concrete rim as Rafferty sodomized her from behind. With pants bunched around meaty ankles, he held her by the hair as she whimpered, caught her breath. Then he forced her head below the surface again, waited as she struggled and clawed at his well-muscled arms. When the time was right, he let her up just enough for her to suck down a mixture of air and water.
“Come on, cough for me, baby.”
As the woman choked and coughed violently, Rafferty turned in the direction of Derek’s window, locked eyes with him, and gave a crooked, sensual smile. “God, yesss!” And rammed into her mercilessly.
“Derek!”
But he was beyond hearing, beyond rational thought as he sprinted back toward the garage. The driver door was still open and the keys were in the ignition, thank God, ready for a speedy evacuation in case the need arose. Unfortunately, the garage door was still closed, but it proved a poor barrier against the Challenger once Derek revved the engine, built the RPM’s and released the clutch. Screaming tires and a cloud of burnt rubber heralded the explosion of wooden debris as he crashed through it.
As daylight spilled through the windows, Derek immediately caught sight of the disappearing SUV and gave chase, fishtailing onto the highway. They were headed north, approaching the end of the county road blacktop. The driver guided the SUV toward a series of dead-ends. Only one road offered a way out. Did he know enough about the terrain to choose it?
The Hemi roared beneath the scooped hood as Derek handled 425 horsepower for the first time in years. She ran just as strong as he remembered, which was testament to how well Danny had maintained her. His hands gripped the wheel and the chase was on.
A trail of dust snaked left of the road ahead. The SUV would handle rough terrain better than his muscle car, so if Derek had any hope of closing the distance from this point forward, he’d need to cut some corners. He punched the clutch, downshifted and leaned into the turn that would allow him to carve his own path through the lush, blue-green rows of soybeans that flanked the side of the highway. For the most part, the land was flat and predictable, but only when he was too close did he notice the gleaming body of water ahead.
“Sssshit!”
It was either brake and drown or go balls to the wall and hope for the best. Derek picked option number two. The tachometer pulsed deep into the red zone. Engine noise dominated the cockpit drowning out the violent rush of water that sprayed from each side as he sailed over the flooded marsh. Just as the car began to slow, the tires found purchase on the opposite bank and he was back in business once again. Only then did he realize he’d missed the last few opportunities to breathe. He loudly released the spent air in his lungs as the car bounced over a rough patch.
His brain barely registered a foreign noise behind him, but he was operating on autopilot, hyper-focused on the chase. Just a few yards ahead were the dirt road and the SUV that threatened to take Melanie away from him for good.
He took the ditch at an angle and the tires briefly left the ground as he flew back onto the road. Gravel spun against the undercarriage as he swerved, found a place just behind the speeding SUV. Both vehicles danced from side to side as they attempted to block the other. Derek found a break and punched the accelerator, moved in line with the rear bumper. If he could just give it a little nudge in the right
direction, it would be enough to run it off the road without flipping over.
“Dada!”
Derek jumped out of his skin and rammed heavily into the SUV’s rear quarter panel. The Challenger spun out of control and its rear-end circled around until he impacted sidelong with the other swerving vehicle. While the SUV sped away in the right direction, Derek flew backwards into the ditch and stalled.
“FUCK!”
A turn of the key and the engine roared back to life, but when he hit the gas, the rear tires spun deeper into the ground. He hit reverse and tried again, then forward, turning the wheel, over and over.
But it was futile. The Challenger was stuck. The SUV’s dust cloud moved farther into the distance, up a hill, then over... and it was gone.
With a pounding heart, Derek threw open the door and stormed out to pace the weeded roadside, hands on hips. Two breaths. Three. Then he turned back and braced himself against the doorsill.
There was a toddler seat in his pony car. What. The. Hell.
How had he missed that? What in God’s name was wrong with him? Things were falling apart and, when he needed them most, his so-called super skills were failing him.
In the back, little DJ maintained his own what-the-hell-just-happened look for a few seconds more before his face completely crumpled. The pitiful cry that followed drilled a hole through Derek’s anger. What if the kid was hurt? It certainly hadn’t been a smooth ride.
While he drew more steadying breaths, Derek folded the seat forward and leaned in. The five-point harness was a challenge and by the time he mastered it, DJ was wailing full-throttle.
The miniature body in his hands was warm and fragile as he lifted it out of the car. Arms and legs. Ten fingers, ten toes. Perfect little ears pinkened with fury. Gaping mouth. With the downy hair and blue eyes, he was a reflection of his mother, only rounder. Derek set him on the roof and burrowed his head into the baby’s stout middle. Pudgy arms wrapped around him as DJ sought comfort from the only adult within reach. Such a forgiving little thing...