by Michael Todd
“I’m way ahead of you, Savage,” the sniper replied. “I have one more position, but that’ll be the last.” The man would make a final stand and do what he could, but his locations hadn’t been great to start with and two were already compromised. If this took any longer, more cars would join the first group, and he would be even more vulnerable. He needed to get back to the warehouse immediately.
He had been in the business long enough to know when his particular skills became his point of weakness.
Savage narrowed his eyes when the sound of screeching tires shrieked over the now sporadic gunfire. For the worst of seconds, he believed it could be their attackers’ reinforcements coming in. They wouldn’t have the firepower to handle another wave force, not with Mixon relocating.
But as the vehicle hurtled towards the warehouse at breakneck speed, another thought came to mind. He’d watched videos of Sam’s driving, both in courses and in the field. Nobody would be able to emulate the kind of controlled crazy she brought into play when she had a car in her hands. He grinned as she brought it in with no apparent attempt to slow and executed a handbrake turn to yank the vehicle around in a cloud of smoke. For a moment, her ploy provided a welcome screen to protect them from the enemy that now scrambled to regroup. Fortunately, no one seemed to have any real idea who she was. For all they knew, she was one of them.
She shoved the door open. “Anderson, get inside,” she snapped.
“Just me?” he asked with a glance Savage.
“Yeah, just you,” he snarled. “Get inside.”
“I won’t leave you here to deal with all these attackers alone,” he roared in protest.
“What part of ‘they’re here to kill you, not me’ do you still have a hard time understanding?” he asked. “Get in the fucking car, dumbass. Besides, I still have Terry to cover my ass. You need to go.”
He nodded. The man clearly didn’t like being the first out. He was a soldier, through and through, and if there was fighting to be had, he preferred to be in the middle of it instead of running away from it.
Tough luck. He would get out of there alive. Savage reacted to his boss’ hesitation by grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and heaving him into the passenger seat. Anderson voiced little complaint as the operative slammed the car door shut and patted the top of the vehicle to indicate that they were all good to go.
Someone in the ranks gathered beyond the vehicle must have seen something because a single short volley shattered the calm. Sam didn’t need to be told twice and she pressed down on the gas. The tires churned another cloud of impressive—and useful—dust as they hightailed it out of the lot, narrowly missing a few of the attackers who tried to bring their weapons to bear and had to fling themselves aside to avoid injury.
Savage ducked behind the door and his eyes scanned the area around him. Some of the attackers had clearly not received the memo that their quarry was currently in flight. These milled around in apparent confusion and a few arguments ensued between some of the groups. The pros knew it, though, and were the first to sprint to their cars to give chase.
He managed to pick a couple of them off before they escaped, then turned his attention to those remaining. They gradually realized what had happened and decided it was time to flee, while Terry’s rifle barked with deadly intent from his final position to hurry them along.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Savage eased back into the warehouse and checked how many needles he still had in his gun. There would be enough and he hadn’t even used half of the strip yet. Still, he felt thrifty. They didn’t have that many reloads, and he really had no idea where he would find more once those he had were used.
The silence hanging in the air after all the shooting felt ominous, like there was something missing. He didn’t like the feeling.
With the slow ebb of his adrenaline, he realized he was tired. He’d been up all day and night with no rest. He’d caught a nap or two here and there but not enough to make him feel rested.
He sucked in a deep breath and made a quick assessment. It was possible that some stragglers had stayed behind to take care of him, seeing him as an easier target.
Footsteps alerted him and he spun, his weapon ready, but immediately relaxed when Terry stepped into the moonlight that slivered into the warehouse, the only source of light around.
“They’re all gone,” the sniper said and hefted the rifle from his shoulder and into to his hands. “All the cars have gone after Sam and Anderson, which means he’s still the sole target. Lucky us, right?”
“Do you think Sam is able to keep these guys off her tail until Anja is done with…whatever the fuck she plans on doing?” he asked.
“I’ve seen her drive carefully,” the other man said, placed his rifle on the table next to their shooting range, and stretched to ease his back. “I’ve seen vids of her driving like she has a hellhound on her tail. I’ve talked with her and spent time with her. From the information I’ve been able to gather, I’d say her pursuers will have to be very talented indeed if they feel they can catch up with her.”
He nodded. “I agree.”
“Let them have the little fish,” a voice boomed from inside the warehouse. “I’d rather have the two of you to myself anyway.”
Savage only had the barest glimpse of a massive shadow moving in the darkness. It was closer to Terry, who didn’t have time to draw his pistol before something pounded into him and hurled him over the table and into the small brick wall they used as a barrier to the shooting range.
The operative raised his gun and flicked the safety off. He pulled the trigger a couple of times. Whatever it was, the shape moved with alarming speed and was big enough that he knew he had caught it a couple of times before it finished its charge.
He felt his wrist tweak as the massive human grabbed the gun’s barrel roughly and yanked it away. The weapon clattered noisily to the ground, too far away to retrieve easily.
Something hammered into his skull. He literally saw stars as a second painful blow drove into his solar plexus to knock the breath out of him. His body crumpled, but two huge hands grasped him and swung him off his feet like he weighed nothing. His assailant flipped him up and over and he crashed with enough force to collapse the table beneath him. Terry’s rifle spun, an odd, distant sight before the pain exploded to suck him into a breathless place of paralysis.
“Fuck me.” He groaned when he finally managed to breathe and turned to push slowly to his feet. Everything hurt, but he wouldn’t simply lie there. He coughed with the effort and his diaphragm struggled to suck in air, but he was determined stand and to remain standing.
The fact that Mixon hadn’t tried to correct him on his foul language was worrying. He peered around in the darkness and his gaze settled on his comrade, who lay still and unmoving. Savage dropped to his knees and quickly checked the man’s pulse. It was still ticking, weak but steady. He was unconscious, although he couldn’t tell if there was any other damage. But at least he was still alive, he reassured himself.
He located the pistol Terry had tried to draw when he’d been attacked. His hands curled around it and he attempted to identify the model by touch alone. The fucking darkness was a real handicap, and his eyes were still adjusting.
It was a Sig, he realized. Most of those models had a four-point safety system, which meant it would be good to shoot as soon as he had his finger on the trigger. He didn’t like them, generally. They were too bulky and their weight awkward, and the trigger was a little heavier than he liked. They were safe and reliable, though, which explained why Mixon used one.
That said, he didn’t really have anything to shoot. The massive bear of a man who had attacked them had faded into the shadows again, annoyingly enough.
“What did you think would happen?” the booming voice asked. Savage could already guess who it was. There couldn’t be that many people that size on the planet. The voice held the same nuances as the soft tones Kelly had used before, but they were lou
der now and carried easily through the warehouse. They echoed in the open space to the point where it was hard to actually pinpoint the origin.
“You’ll have to be more specific,” Savage called in response. His eyes had started to adjust to the darkness, but even then, all he could really see were shadows on shadows, only slightly illuminated by the moonlight that filtered in through the windows.
“You kicked the hornet’s nest,” Kelly declared boldly. “You thought you could get away with that?”
“Wait, why are you here after me?” he asked in an effort to buy himself time as he eased toward the office. He’d prefer to have something at his back to avoid an attack from behind. “Isn’t your boss’ hit on Anderson?”
“There are more than enough guns on Anderson,” Kelly pointed out. “I don’t really care about him. What I care about…is you.”
“I’m…flattered, I guess?” A moment of intuition made him spin suddenly, but a ham-sized hand gripped him by the wrist and prevented his gun from moving. He pulled the trigger a couple of times and the loud blast did his ringing ears no favors. Kelly twisted his arm viciously until he screamed in frustration and was forced to drop the weapon.
He turned but his assailant stepped in to deliver a powerful backhand across his jaw. The metallic taste of blood seeped into his mouth from where the inside of his cheek had been cut by his teeth with the force of the strike. The giant followed through immediately and hammered his fist into his opponent’s lower back.
It wasn’t the first time he’d been struck there, although never quite as hard, and he knew what to expect. But even experience couldn’t have prepared him for the mind-numbing agony that blossomed directly after. Savage could do nothing but release a low moan of pain as he dropped, clutched at his side, and curled instinctively.
“Oh, kidney shot.” Kelly chuckled, stepped over his victim’s body, and dropped into a crouch beside him. “That has to hurt. I’ve punched men in the kidneys before, and those who survived pissed blood for a month.”
He couldn’t come up with anything to say beyond another groan and tried to roll away, but the man caught his shoulder and yanked him back sharply.
“See, normally, I respect men like you,” he explained. He pinched the bottom of Savage’s jaw and forced his head up to look at the man who towered over him. “In fact, I do this time too. You’re a real fighter. The kind of man with the will and the skills to defeat almost anyone. But I’m not almost anyone, see. Your actions—and those of your boss, Anderson—called my effectiveness into question, so I hope you know that it’s nothing personal when I say I’ll tear you apart limb from limb. After that, I’ll find everyone you ever loved or cared about and act out all the fucked-up shit in my fucked-up brain on them. It’s purely business. I need my reputation to remain intact.”
Savage looked up from where he writhed on the ground and gritted his teeth. There would be problems tracking his family down, but if the man had his fingerprints, his face, and his DNA? A good tracker with a quarter of Anja’s computer skills could piece his original identity together. They could find his family—Jules, Abigail, and even Andy.
It was like something snapped in the back of his mind. He’d spent so much time trying to keep himself under control that he’d started to think it was his natural state, how he was meant to be. Until that moment. He’d run the length of his life in a long, continuous state of half-assedness. Until right about now.
Nobody threatens my girls.
Pain seared through his body, but he no longer cared. He shifted and thrust his hand between Kelly’s legs, and his fingers found what was between on the first attempt. Driven by the innate need to wound, he squeezed and twisted and the surprise in the big man’s face suddenly turned to agony. His adversary screamed and fought to free himself from the vice-like grip until he fell on his back.
Moving was pain, and breathing too, but it no longer mattered. It was like the engine-warning light that people ignored. There would be complications later, he knew that. He simply didn’t care.
His screams of rage echoed in his own ears as he climbed over Kelly and allowed his fists to pummel his body as he crawled higher. Kidneys, liver, ribs, solar plexus…he didn’t bother to count. The pent-up fury erupted and vocalized itself in the desire to wound and kill. On some vague level, removed from the all-encompassing flood, he supposed a professional might say it was therapeutic.
He continued the violent battering as Kelly curled in the fetal position and tried to protect himself from the ceaseless barrage. Ignoring the futile resistance, he hauled the man back and straddled his chest so his knees locked his shoulders in place to prevent him from even raising his hands to defend himself.
“Here’s the thing, asshole,” Savage growled through a manic grin lightly splattered with his adversary’s blood. “Between your fucked-up brain and my fucked-up brain, mine wins every time. So next time, when you have someone on the ground, kill them. Don’t gloat.”
Not that there would be a next time, he thought as he pressed his thumbs into Kelly’s eye sockets. The larger man screamed and bucked in an effort to dislodge him, but he continued the relentless pressure. Warm blood mingled with the jelly-like vitreous humor and he continued to push until Kelly stopped moving except for the occasional twitch.
Savage pulled away and sucked in oxygen as he fell back. His rage was spent, and the pain flooded back as he clutched his side and stared at the darkness above him.
Terry came to a few seconds later and scuffled in the darkness as he scrambled to his feet and spun awkwardly to find their threat.
“Over here,” he called through clenched teeth, and the sniper hurried over to him. He winced when he saw the massive corpse that had once been Kelly.
“Are you all right, boss?” he asked and extended a hand to help him up.
“Never better,” he lied. He tried to laugh but it came out as a cough instead. “I think I’ll lay here for a minute if you don’t mind.”
Mixon nodded. “I’ll get the medical kit.”
He pressed into the ground and held his side, a part of him still stuck on the thought that he wouldn’t survive. Aside from anything else, he would need to see a doctor about the damage to his kidneys. And yes, he would piss blood for at least another week.
“God fucking damn it,” he groaned and tried to roll onto his side.
“Watch your language,” Terry said when he returned.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Something buzzed and vibrated nearby.
Charles reached out to turn his alarm clock off. He wouldn’t go into work today. Honestly, he’d been around long enough that he didn’t need to make excuses when he wanted to take a couple of days off. He needed to get himself together, find a way to relax, and let off some steam. Maybe, he thought groggily, he could even get laid. That usually helped him back into the mood.
His hand fumbled for the alarm clock but found nothing but air. The sensation of almost falling was enough to wake him abruptly, barely in time to stop himself from falling over.
Blearily, he studied his surroundings and finally remembered that he hadn’t actually gone home the night before. He’d fallen asleep in his chair in his office. It was surprisingly comfortable, although at his age, he knew his back would ache for the rest of the day.
Maybe a visit to his masseuse was in order before anything else. He pushed heavily from his seat and stretched, groaning as he did so. A few annoying and painful clicks in his back left him sore but awake as he relaxed again, although he was also more than a little hungover. He sucked in a deep breath before he straightened his shirt and wandered to the sink in his office. He didn’t bother with a glass but sucked water straight from the tap before he shuffled to the toilet to take a piss.
He left the bathroom, feeling a little better, but something nagged at the back of his head. Something had vibrated, something that had woken him up at—holy shit, was it already ten in the morning?
Charles moved through
his office and tried to decide what he was looking for. Another buzz from his desk answered the question and he dragged his attention to the phone. He repressed a massive yawn behind his hand as he picked it up and activated it.
He’d received a notification from the Foundation. He felt his blood run cold for a moment as he worked through the password protection to see what it was. Had the account been paid out? Had someone finally killed Anderson?
Excitement made his fingers jittery as he moved through the various encryptions to access the notifications. If the account had been paid out, proof would be offered to show that Anderson had been killed. That was something he wanted to see.
Request to change account name. Confirm? was the first notification.
“What?” He leaned in closer to the screen. There were three other notifications, and he swiped to see the next one.
Request to change account name confirmed. Specify account name change, said the second, and the cold feeling in his stomach turned icy. Any change in account names needed to go through him. The fact that it had already been confirmed without him even having access to it told him that something had gone terribly, terribly wrong.
Account name changed from ‘James Anderson’ to ‘Charles Stafford’ confirmed. Account locked until contract completion. Charles stared at the final notification in horror before he let his phone fall from his numb fingers. The account name had been changed to his name. All the criminals with access to the Foundation would see a contract for five million dollars payable on the death of one Charles Stafford.
“Shit,” he said and retrieved his device hastily. It hadn’t broken, thank God. The new polymer screens were the best at preventing phones from breaking, which meant there was no way for him to think any of this was only his imagination. He checked it again. When nothing had changed, he checked it again to make sure.