Four Mercenaries - The Complete Collection

by K. A. Merikan

  Ren shrugged and patted Clover’s bicep. “Who cares about Jerry? Look at you! All buff and shit.”

  Clover just stared, dumbstruck. “Me? What? Hardly.” But regardless of his initial reaction, he’d definitely become stronger, fitter since Ren had last seen him, and even if he wasn’t trying to build Tank-like muscles, his body had become sturdier. There was no point comparing himself to older men who’d been professional mercenaries for years.

  Pyro laughed and prodded Clover with his index finger. “So modest. Does two hundred push-ups and doesn’t even break a sweat.”

  Ren’s mouth opened in awe. “Did you, like, win the lottery and bailed on us all?”

  Clover’s mouth dried, and it had nothing to do with the scorching sun that made him cover himself with a thin hoodie. “What did Jerry tell you?” he asked, aware of his men’s eyes drilling into his flesh, as if their attention could stop him from telling Ren too much.

  Ren shrugged. “He was angry that you just left without saying goodbye.”

  Drake scowled, shaking his head so rapidly it caught Ren’s attention. One could see the cogs turning in the guy’s skull.

  “This is some crowd, Clo. Any of you guys single?” Ren asked, winking at Drake.

  “No, they’re mine,” Clover said, realizing how that sounded a second too late. “I mean…” he didn’t know what he meant. Living in their comfortable arrangement was one thing. Explaining it to someone else, quite another.

  The heat was making the air tremble, but the tension wouldn’t evaporate. Pyro put an end to the awkward silence with a loud laugh. “You mean you wouldn’t want me to tap that pretty thing, Clo?” he asked, gravitating toward Ren with all his teeth on show.

  Clover squinted at Pyro. “He’s sixteen.”

  Pyro did a U-turn and stood in his original spot by the car.

  Ren pouted. “Going on seventeen…”

  “No, thanks. If I ever go to prison, it won’t be for fucking a minor,” Pyro said, leaning against Boar who’d gone red from the attempt to hold in a smile. An attempt he was spectacularly failing at, too.

  “Listen, Ren…” Clover took a deep breath, knowing that fun time was over. “The thing is, Jerry’s done some bad shit. To me, to other people. Not the kind of thing we all did together. Much, much worse. I can’t tell you anymore, because that could get you in trouble, but you can’t tell anyone you’ve seen me here, okay?”

  Ren’s eyes widened, and he held his breath, going stiff. “Are you secret agents?” he whispered, glancing at the guys with much more esteem.

  Clover swallowed. “Something like that. You’ll be safe, but you need to disappear.” He’d promised himself to stay cool, but this confrontation with his past was getting the best of him, and his head was like an empty bubble. “I-I I’ve got some money.” He held his hand out to Tank, who always had wads of bills on him. He only thought of how that might look like to Ren once he finished talking. “But you need to promise me you’ll go. To a different state, okay?”

  Ren was getting paler by the moment. “When?”

  “Now,” Drake said in a stern voice.

  “My things—” Ren’s voice died when Tank passed Clover a heavy wad of cash.

  “Take a cab. Go straight to the airport, and start fresh. You can have this money if you hand over the keys,” Tank said grimly from behind reflective shades.

  Ren squeezed the wad to his chest, his lips trembling. “Can I… take the food to him first?” he said in a tiny voice.

  Boar picked up the bag from the car. “We’ll hand deliver.”

  Clover knew they’d won when Ren’s shoulders dropped. It seemed he was about to leave without saying goodbye, but just as he made a step toward the street, he spun around and gave Clover a big hug. But that was it. Ren faced away from Clover and broke into a jog, heading toward Jack’s Burgers. And the bus station. A part of Clover longed to take his number or promise they’d see one another again, but there was no point in lying.

  His shoulders sagged when he thought that it could have been him accosted like this, but Ren could have been Jerry’s next victim, so it was for the better.

  Clover glared at Pyro, his mind clearing with Ren gone. “And for the record, I would fucking mind if you ‘tap that’, so keep your dick in your pants if you like it attached to your body.” Clover’s voice broke when he saw Pyro’s brows rising. Had he been too harsh? “I’m sorry, you know what I mean.”

  Pyro stepped closer and pulled him hard against his chest. His giant, warm fist rubbed a hot circle at the top of Clover’s head. “Awww, jealous, are we? Wanna keep all that dick to yourself?”

  “Hey,” Boar complained with his mouth full of Jerry’s food.

  “Boar can have some.” Clover struggled out of Pyro’s grip, but when he managed to break free, he bumped into Tank’s chest and swallowed, looking up to see Tank help himself to the burger, which he’d taken out of the bun. “Thank you, I’ll find a way to pay you back.”

  Tank shook his head, but with the reflective shades, Clover couldn’t even be sure if they were watching at one another. “It’s fine.”

  “We should go. Just in case the boy has the stupid idea of texting Jerry before he goes,” Drake said, glancing down the street, toward Jerry’s house.

  It was time.

  Clover fought a crippling sense of déjà vu when he led the guys to the back alley. Jerry’s car was always parked on the bare ground in front of the house, but their guests would leave their vehicles along the tall beige wall that surrounded the building. It felt surreal when he realized that the broken lock on the back gate was still faulty, and he lifted the metal door so it would open.

  The yard beyond the fence was as barren as it had always been, though he supposed the bicycle resting against the wall was new. Must have been Ren’s.

  When Tank whispered to Clover to stay where he was, Clover didn’t protest. This wasn’t an argument in Jolene’s guestroom anymore. Here, a mistake could mean life or death. Clover needed the experience, but he hardly expected he’d start out by going in guns blazing. For now, he was happy to observe and get involved in whatever capacity the guys allowed.

  Drake gestured for them to stay quiet and took the key from Clover. In the bright sun the single dried-out palm tree above couldn’t protect them from, he looked like a messenger of death who’d lost his way, but he didn’t hesitate and opened the door without much care for noise.

  “Ren? Christ, how long can a man wait for his fucking breakfast? Where have you been?”

  Jerry’s voice sank its claws into Clover right away, sending him back, straight into Tank’s waiting arms. He didn’t expect the onslaught of emotion that hit him so suddenly, but was glad for the silent support. Maybe by the end of this day, he’d forgive Tank for what he’d tried to do in the morning.

  Jerry spoke again. “The f—”

  What followed was swift. A short onslaught of thuds, something breaking, a grunt, a scream cut off mid-way. Clover flinched, even though there was no love lost between him and Jerry.

  “Done!” Drake announced.

  Boar and Pyro marched right in, but Tank didn’t let go of Clover, and gently kissed the top of his head. “You don’t have to go inside.”

  For once, his protectiveness didn’t anger Clover. He appreciated it and stood on his toes to kiss Tank’s lips. “Thank you.”

  But despite the unease boiling inside his chest, Clover followed the others, ready to confront Jerry, the man who’d sold him as if he were less than human.

  Chapter 8 – Clover

  Jerry wasn’t the type of guy who’d ever seemed vulnerable. While not the tallest or muscular man around, he had the kind of charisma that gave him contacts and drew people in. Most of those people didn’t exit whatever relationship they had with Jerry at an advantage. But not Clover.

  Clover had come back for Jerry with four walls of muscle, but it was still surreal to see him strapped to his favorite IKEA chair and with blood running from
his nose. The house itself was eerily normal. The old sofa was where it had always been, in front of the same TV, which just moments ago had been showing a baseball game. Even the scent hadn’t changed, and its source, the cold remains of yesterday’s Hawaiian pizza, lay on the coffee table surrounded by Coke Zero cans. Even the white sheets hung in windows instead of curtains were still there.

  It was as if Clover had never left.

  “You know why we’re here,” Drake said, because despite knowing Jerry for years, Clover somehow couldn’t find his voice.

  Jerry growled. “Stop talking like a TV villain and tell me what you want.”

  Drake looked back, a smirk pulling at his lips. “He called me a TV villain. Can you believe this shit? This guy really doesn’t like his shlong where it is.”

  Jerry must have re-evaluated his attitude because he shut up, his gaze darting between all of them, as if he were searching for the weak link.

  He chose Clover. Of course.

  “Clo, I know we didn’t part on good terms, but we can get past it.”

  Clover frowned and stepped forward, propelled by insatiable anger. He’d imagined this kind of situation many times in his revenge fantasies. Coming to Jerry’s house guns blazing, and then setting it on fire, walking off in slo-mo with it burning behind him. Reality was much less glamorous. It was cold fast food, stains on the carpet, and Jerry still intent on using him.

  “Get past you selling me so that I disappeared into nothingness? Do you even know who you were selling me to?”

  “Of course not! There were middle men, and the ones I knew are dead now anyway. Let’s work something out and let bygones be bygones, huh?”

  “You recently got a message from a man named Pete,” Tank said, and Jerry might as well have turned into a statue. Completely motionless, he stared at him with his mouth agape. He’d caught himself after a second, but the proof was in his reaction.

  “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

  “Let me jog your memory,” Pyro said and tapped the screen of his phone before showing it to Jerry. Clover didn’t want to know how gory Pyro’s picture of Pete was, but it made Jerry paler.

  Clover could see Jerry’s brain working overtime to slip out of this one, and he was shocked at how much he enjoyed the power trip it gave him. For once, Clover wasn’t under his thumb. He was here, with strong, proficient men who cared for him. He wasn’t a no one Jerry could disappear.

  “Maybe he remembered the contract from last year,” Jerry said. “You are a rare beauty, Clover.”

  The sneaky compliment triggered so much fury in Clover that he rushed up to him and punched him straight in the face, surprised at his own strength when Jerry’s head bounced back, and blood drizzled from his nose.

  The punch also hurt Clover’s knuckles, but no one needed to know that.

  “Seriously?” he yelled. “You think you’re gonna flatter your way out of this? I worked hard for you. I thought we were friends, and you literally sold me. Did it not matter to you if I’d be raped or eaten by some perv?”

  The sweat on Jerry’s face was now obvious.

  “They told me you’d be fine.”

  “Shut up,” hissed Drake, and something about the hollow, cold quality of his voice had ants crawling up Clover’s back.

  “You literally asked me a question!”

  “Who is looking for him?” Drake asked, clutching at Jerry’s longish hair with a gloved hand.

  “I told you that guy’s dead. I don’t have any more leads. If you saw Pete’s message, then you must know I never answered him, okay?”

  Clover clenched his fists, seething on the inside. He knew Jerry. The fucker always had cards up his sleeve, and right now, he hadn’t even reached for them. He was bluffing.

  “No. You know something,” Drake said, leaning over Jerry like Death himself, about to strike his victim down with a scythe.

  “We only have so much patience,” Tank added in a somber tone, but he stayed behind and let Drake do his job.

  “Clover. Please. I was there for you all those years ago. I made a mistake getting in with those people, okay?” Jerry looked past Drake, still thinking that he could sink his hooks into Clover to save himself. Made sense. A drowning man would even grab a straight razor to pull himself out.

  Clover watched Drake’s body language, wishing to mimic it himself. “No, it’s not okay. You are an opportunist, and I don’t believe it was your first time selling someone.”

  Jerry lost his cool and growled. “So that’s what we’re going on here? The kid’s intuition about me?”

  Boar shrugged from a far-off spot on the sofa. “He’s not a kid, he’s twenty.”

  Drake slapped Jerry’s head. “I think we’re done playing nice. What do you think, Clover?” he asked and dove his hand into his pocket, producing a ball gag.

  Jerry’s eyes almost popped out of his head, but Drake stuffed the rubber ball into his mouth the moment the bastard tried to scream. It seemed so effortless for him that Clover wanted to clap despite the discomfort this whole situation caused him.

  “I think he knows far more than he’s telling us.” Clover glanced at Tank, but the man just watched with his arms crossed, so Clover turned back to Jerry. “I also think he’s a piece of shit who doesn’t understand loyalty, so with enough push, he will talk.”

  Drake nodded and pulled out a medium-sized knife. The thing wasn’t big, but Clover knew it was sharp enough to easily cut through skin. “So, Jerry… Yes, we will go with Clover’s intuition, which is too bad for you. And since he’s only an inexperienced kid, things might get out of hand, because, you see, he’s only learning the trade.”

  Jerry froze, his gaze pointing straight at Clover. He shook his head and thrashed in the chair without much effect.

  “Are you sure?” Boar whispered, but Clover already stepped closer, accepting the knife with his latex-clad hand, mesmerized by Drake’s aura.

  Clover nodded without looking back at Boar. His world was shrinking down to Jerry and Drake. Blood throbbed even in his eyelids as he held the sharp tool in his hand. Jerry would regret what he’d done.

  “I’m not the same boy you sold, asshole,” he said, surprised himself by the raspiness in his voice. And yet, talking meant hesitation. Or was he just waiting for Drake to guide him? He wasn’t sure anymore.

  Drake’s elegant hands held Jerry’s forearm down, pressing it to the armrest and focusing Clover’s attention on that bit of skin. It made things easier, even if he wasn’t sure what was asked of him. When he glanced at Drake, his man offered him a soft smile of encouragement. “Can you push just the tip through skin?”

  Clover found himself nodding despite Jerry’s thrashing. The forearm remained immobile, and Clover leaned down, placing the sharp edge against skin covered by graying hair. How old was Jerry anyway? He seemed like the kind of guy who looked forty since his early adulthood up until his seventies, but he yelped in pain like any other man once Clover fought through his initial queasiness and drove the knife into flesh.

  “Good. Now pull it across the forearm without pushing the blade any deeper,” Drake instructed. His calm, warm voice was a torch for Clover to follow as he made longer cuts along the arm next to create an incomplete rectangle.

  He refused to look at Jerry’s face, haunted by the fear that if he saw the terror in the betraying bastard’s eyes, he wouldn’t go through with anything more. So he went on, gently trying to separate the skin from flesh, as if it was just that—flesh, not a living man’s arm. Boar had taught Clover how to skin a chicken after they’d gotten one from a farmer’s market, yet it didn’t feel the same.

  Clover now regretted eating two sandwiches, because food was rising in his throat. He didn’t feel a drop of compassion for Jerry, though. Even if the physicality of blood from cut skin resonated with Clover, Jerry’s peril didn’t. He was in this chair, suffering for what he’d done, and what he’d been ready to do again.

  As Clover cut the skin u
nder Drake’s instruction, it didn’t give him pleasure like the punch had, but a degree of satisfaction was there. He’d break Jerry and get what they wanted.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Drake looking up, not shaken in the slightest, as if this was a job like any other. “We can now cut the skin off completely and start on the next patch, or you can keep it and talk to us.”

  Jerry’s knees shook, and when he clutched the armrest with his fingers, Clover saw his bare flesh move. The food he’d eaten earlier once again pushed at his throat, but he kept it down and studied the tear-stained face. The whites of Jerry’s eyes were so very pink, and his skin ashen, as if someone had dialed up the sharpness on him in Photoshop. Not attractive but extremely real. More real than reality.

  Drake loosened the strap holding the ball gag in place and took it out of Jerry’s mouth.

  “Ready to talk, or should we continue?”

  “I will talk, okay?” Jerry said in a shaky voice.

  Clover was surprised to realize that a part of him was disappointed at how fast Jerry broke. The man was an opportunist, not a hardened soldier keeping national secrets. He had most likely already calculated leaving the state or even the country if the people he worked with were vicious enough to go after him. He didn’t want pain.

  Clover stood, filled with contained violence. “Who do you pass people to? Who is looking for me?” His own voice sounded alien to him.

  Jerry’s throat worked as fat tears rolled down his cheeks. “I don’t know much, all right? I’m supposed to meet him tonight, just past midnight in this new zoo near Vegas. It’s called Raw Ranch.”

  Drake exhaled and moved behind Jerry, resting his hands on his shoulders, face serene. “Who are we looking for?”

  Jerry sobbed and had trouble talking for a couple of seconds, but he eventually looked at his bleeding arm and spoke. “I’ve only met him three times. This tall older guy with a beard. Looks like a nice old-timey sea captain. H-he… he goes by Apollo, but I’m sure it’s not his real name. I don’t know anything else. He didn’t tell me why he wants Clover.”