Four Mercenaries - The Complete Collection
Page 45
“Sir, we’ve got a problem.”
“What now?” Apollo growled, and a short beep had to mean he’d turned off his phone.
“The boy, the albino, he’s gone.”
Clover swallowed a whimper. If they already knew, it could mean that Drake was being questioned. Clover needed to get out of here now.
“Fuck. What’s the other one saying?”
“Nothing yet.”
Apollo got up so abruptly his chair fell over. “I will talk to him myself.” It sounded simple enough, but in Clover’s ears, it was as ominous as if all the dead spiders in the vent had come alive and crawled under his skin.
Clover lay still, keeping his breathing to a minimum until his head got light from the lack of oxygen. He didn’t move an inch, as if his body had been covered with a thick layer of wax and stiffened. The grille kept him hidden, due to the slanted position of the blades, but the frantic movement inside the room was impossible to miss. Feet stormed across the small office, and each time they changed position was marked by the clang of desk drawers.
He swallowed a gasp when Apollo and his goon left, slamming the door behind them. Time was ticking, and none could be spared on hesitation or cowardice.
Clover fought the memory of the rapist fucker threatening him with punching his teeth out, of his thumb trailing between Clover’s buttocks in sick excitement. Clover shook it off by remembering the man who put that fucker down. Drake.
It would only take so long until someone realized Clover had left the impromptu cell through the ventilation duct. Would Apollo blow poisonous gas through the system?
Clover was ready to run, but despite the room being empty, he remained in the same position, thoughts of Drake flooding his mind the moment it had one less thing to worry about.
Was Drake still in the cell? All those people surely carried weapons, which meant that Clover could obtain one, if he were sneaky enough. His men taught him well, and he was positive that he could use surprise to his advantage.
But once he had a weapon, what then? There were only so many bullets in a handgun, he was outnumbered, and didn’t know the building. If he tried to get Drake out on his own, he’d be committing the same mistake they’d made earlier that night.
His heart bled when he thought of what might be happening to Drake at this very moment, but the truth, no matter how much it hurt him, was that he wasn’t capable of helping him now.
Drake’s earlier words came back to Clover like a smack on the head, and he pushed on the grille, to find that it wouldn’t budge beyond the tiniest bit of give offered by the plastic.
Shit.
Panic settled on his shoulders, like a monster about to crawl into his skull, when the metal system he’d crawled through echoed with thumps and knocks. The worst had happened. They were already searching for him.
But Clover needed to keep his cool. He needed to. For Drake. For Boar. Even for himself, so once he realized there was no screws he might try to loosen, he used the last weapon he had. Shifting closer toward the next spot of slightly brighter light, he managed to twist his legs, so his feet rested against the grille, and kicked.
The covering budged this time, and despite the very real possibility of drawing attention with the noise, Clover refused to let fear stop him and dislodged the stuck piece of plastic with another attempt.
Relief flooded his lungs with air, but he wasn’t out of the woods yet.
The edge of the wall opening scratched his battered skin, but he no longer cared about physical pain, and twisted his naked body in an attempt to slide out as efficiently as possible, only to still when the worst happened.
He was stuck.
For the longest moment he stayed still with the majority of his naked body out in the cool room while his head and arms remained inside the vent. It would have been easiest to just stay this way, with the metal digging into his flesh, but then he remembered the torture and the promise he’d made Drake, and a blockage inside his head unclogged.
Determined to leave at all cost, he pushed some of his upper body back in and maneuvered one of his arms out. It was still an extremely tight fit and pulling his flesh through the tiny opening felt like getting flayed, but he pushed until he didn’t have to anymore. The vent spat him out.
Drunk with relief, Clover rolled on the floor. His gaze briefly fixed on the lamp above, but he only had so much time, so he ran past a large desk, to the window.
He half-expected to find it locked, but once he turned the handle, it opened with no issue whatsoever, and the warm air blew at him from outside. For once, something went according to plan.
It was still dark outside, but when he popped his head out, he realized he wasn’t far above a tiled pavement surrounding the building. He couldn’t see any guards, no flashlights. As if nobody suspected he could have gotten outside.
Did they still think he was in the underground level?
Adrenaline burst into his veins, and he jumped out, completely naked except for the bandages that had loosened during the crawl and were obsolete at this point. But if he was to leave this place, he needed to do it fast, because the purple shade on the horizon meant that he would soon lose his best friend—the darkness.
He darted toward the outline of the fence without thinking, and the concrete tile was soon replaced by dirt under his feet. He tried not to think about sharp objects he might step on, focused only on his goal.
Clover wasn’t one to lose hope, but when he recognized the bright signs warning that the fence was attached to high voltage, his shoulders slouched even before he noticed coils of barbed wire on top. With the darkness diluted by the upcoming sunrise, he didn’t have time to think things through and dashed along the perimeter like a prehistoric man running from a wolf pack. Bushes and decorative trees were few and far between, which left him so exposed he decided to fuck it all and take his chance while it lasted.
He felt each and every injury he’d sustained tonight. His ass burned from the rough fuck, his back ached with every stretch, and his feet kept hitting sharp stones, but he wouldn’t stop. Despite the vulnerability of not wearing any clothes, the sense of air flowing against his bare skin made him feel like there was still hope for as long as he breathed. So he ran along the perimeter until his muscles stung from the speed.
At one point he managed to hide behind a trash can when a car drove past him, but in a way, the vehicle was his salvation, because it helped him figure out where a gate was. Clover’s heart thudded when he spotted one groggy-looking guard who yawned as soon as he closed the gate behind the car and lit himself a cigarette moments later.
Clover scanned his surroundings in the light of the rising sun, then turned to the guard again when he spotted no one by the building. The man’s belt holster held a knife and a gun. Clover knew what to do.
Keeping noise to a minimum took priority over the deadliness and range of a firearm, so Clover went for the blade.
The guard went stiff when he felt the pull, but there was no room for hesitation. Clover didn’t know who this guy was or if he even realized what was going on in the building he was guarding, but he was an obstruction to the safety of people who mattered. A single slice across the throat was enough to put him down.
Clover’s knees weakened at the low gurgle followed by blood spraying the asphalt. He stepped back, stiffening when the guard reached for his gun, but he didn’t get to grab it and dropped like a log in a pool of his own blood.
Clover wasn’t sure if some had gotten on him too, but it didn’t matter, and he frantically dug his hands into the pockets of the still-warm corpse. He grabbed both the keys and the gun. He wished there was time to steal the man’s T-shirt, but reaching Tank was his priority.
Once he thought that, he also grabbed the man’s phone, but it wouldn’t open without a password. His hands shook when he slipped the key into the padlock, but determination won out, and he opened the gate just enough to leave.
His soles ached from covering such dist
ance barefoot, but as soon as he was out, he broke into a run again. The landscape was stark, and his heart hammered at the risk of getting caught after going through so much, but none of that mattered when he thought about Drake being tortured and Boar—sold.
This was some kind of industrial area, full of warehouses and car shops that weren’t yet open, so he made use of the lingering darkness, which already had a reddish shade, and maneuvered between the buildings, for once glad Tank had made him run half-marathons and put so much emphasis on endurance exercise. Despite the pain all over, the effort itself was negligible, so he sped up in hope of not being stopped by police.
His chest expanded with anticipation when he spotted low roofs of residential homes beyond a large, blocky building, and he ran into the empty street dividing the two zones.
He could’ve cried with joy at the lazy bastard who’d left his clothes hanging outside throughout the night, because as soon as he stole a pair of shorts and an oversized T-shirt from someone’s backyard, Clover moved a few houses down. He spotted his reflection in a window, and the bruises on his face would worry any ordinary citizen, but at least he wasn’t naked, and his wounds were hidden under fabric.
The town would soon come back to life, so if he wanted to sneak into someone’s house to use their phone, he needed to do so quickly.
The clothes gave him a sense of anonymity, but he still felt uneasy creeping into properties. If confronted, at least he was armed.
But all thoughts died when he jumped through the next fence, only to see a back door open.
Could this be real?
Clover was stiff with worry, but one glance at the rising sun was enough to remind him of the passing time, and he peeked inside.
A long-haired guy looked at him from above a large bong. Clover’s brain dimmed at the edged as he searched for things to say when the stranger smiled. “Hey there!”
Encouraged by the lack of pushback, Clover entered the weed-infused den, only now noticing two other guys sleeping curled up on a huge gray sofa. “Hi. C-can I use your phone?”
The guy squinted at Clover. “Only if you don’t eat all our pizza.”
Clover glanced at the three boxes with barely five slices left between them. “Err… okay. Phone?”
The man laughed and pointed at Clover. “You drive a hard bargain.”
Clover could scream in frustration but walked up to the stoner when the guy held out his phone. He looked at the keypad, and his brain slowed down in panic. Did he even know Tank’s numbed by heart? He was almost sure he did, but how could he be certain if he always used speed dial to contact him anyway?
So he stood there, in the middle of a stoner party and chose the numbers he thought were correct before breathlessly listening to the signal on the other side of the line.
His entire body was a bundle of pain and worry, but when he heard Tank’s voice, the relief his him so hard he had to lean against the wall for support.
“T-Tank? I need you.”
Chapter 15 – Tank
The loud ringing of a phone tore Tank out of sleep, but he didn’t hesitate and patted the nightstand until he found the phone and picked up the call. “Yeah?”
“Tank? I need you.”
Tank frowned, his eyes still closed. Was this Clover’s idea of making up? Calling at five in the morning? Because Tank naturally woke up around six, so it had to be earlier than that.
“Tank? Are you there?” Clover’s voice shook and broke by the end of the question, making Tank’s alertness go from zero to a hundred within a split second.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, sitting up to take in the first signs of daylight at the edges of the curtains. He didn’t know what was wrong yet, but he rolled out of bed and went straight for the clothes he’d laid out last night.
“I… I’m so sorry. We-we did something stupid. You need to come here right now. Drake is in danger, and they’re taking Boar somewhere.”
And just like that, Tank knew exactly what had happened while he’d been asleep, unaware that his friends had broken last night’s agreement and had gone off to deal with Apollo. His heart rattled so hard thinking was close to impossible, but he started putting on his jeans.
“Where are you?
Clover gave him an address in that same shaky tone. Tank knew the area well. Clover’s location was only ten minutes away by car—at least some good news to lessen the bitterness of this morning. “Stay put. We’re coming,” he said before putting on his T-shirt and switching off the phone. He had no idea what Boar had to do with all this, since he wasn’t the type of guy to go rogue on Tank, but he supposed Clover’s pretty lips might have had something to do with his involvement.
But there was no time to think about any of this. During a recovery mission, it was best to act first and ask questions later.
He stepped out of his room and flinched at the sight of a shadow at the end of the corridor. His gun was in his hand before he even thought about it.
“It’s me!” Pyro raised his hands, his gaze still groggy. “What are you doing? Have you seen Boar?”
Tank’s chest hollowed, but he was glad to see Pyro already dressed. “They’ve gone after Apollo. Get your gear, now,” he whispered, wary of his grandmother sleeping nearby.
“Shit,” was the last thing he heard before he dove back into the guest room. Most necessities were in the car, but the guns? He always kept them close.
“Where are we going?” Pyro asked as soon as he emerged out of the other guestroom. He seemed calm enough on the surface, but his face was getting a flush as they rushed down the stairs.
Tank tried to make little noise in his combat boots, but as he turned toward the front of the house, his gaze met his grandmother’s. She stood in his way in her silk nightgown, watering a large potted plant. She looked her age without makeup and coiffed hair, and he hesitated for the briefest moment.
“Where are you going? I was about to make breakfast,” she said, slowing her speech down when she settled her gaze on the rifle hung over Tank’s shoulder.
Tank exhaled, but as much as he didn’t want to hurt her feelings, he could not tell her what was going on, or stay until she made her breakfast casserole for that matter. “We’ll be back,” he said, walking past her, straight outside, where the bright rays of sun assaulted his eyes.
Pyro beat him to the car and went for the driver’s side. He drove off with a screech of tyres before Tank even got to shut the door.
Tank hardly blamed him. Thoughts were a tangle in his head--a throbbing mass of anger and worry, like a tumor growing in his brain and poisoning his thoughts.
“What the fuck were they thinking?” Pyro broke the silence bubble, dashing through the sleepy streets as soon a he backed out of Grandmother’s driveway.
“Doesn’t matter. You can kill Boar once we have them back,” Tank snarled, leaning into the seat and slowing his breathing. The last thing he needed was stress. There was no plan, and what they were about to do was personal, both of which significantly decreased their chances of success. That was his fucking life. Always picking up the pieces.
“What else do we know?”
Tank squinted at the phone, barely seeing the screen when they turned into a street where sun shone straight at his eyes. “I’ll call him.”
Pyro glanced at the sat-nav. “Doesn’t matter. We’re almost there, he can tell us in person. Can’t afford the chance the connection’s compromised.”
Tank’s heart beat faster when the device led them into a shabby suburb bordering an industrial area, but he didn’t care where he found Clover as long as he held the boy in his arms soon. Yelling at Clover for his actions could wait. Despite anger bubbling in his head, Tank wanted to first gain information on where the two other idiots had gone.
He parked the rental car in a cul-de sac and headed for a small bungalow with a living room set up in the front yard. He went past the sofa with ripped cushions, and a couple of sun chairs, and knocked on the door.
Pyro led the way without a word, his shoulders rigid. Despite the itch to act and go after the people who captured Drake and Boar, he couldn’t help the sense of betrayal that grew tighter around his neck with each step he took. The path between broken pieces of furniture and trash was only a blur, but when Tank reached the back of the house and met Clover’s gaze, anger became a distant memory.
Clover wore an oversized tie-dye T-shirt with a Native American chief and a wolf howling at the moon, paired with denim shorts that reached his knees. His bare feet were as dirty as his hands and bore traces of blood. When he looked up at Tank, the haunted, empty expression on his face was like a stab in the stomach.
Tank sped up, the pulsing in his throat about to choke him by the time he pulled the boy into his arms.
Clover whimpered, but clenched his arms around Tank as if he never wanted to let go. “I’m so sorry.”
Blood seeped through the back of his T-shirt, creating dark blots on the pastel-hued pattern. Tank wanted nothing more than to assess Clover’s abused flesh, but the boy was here, safe, while their two friends were not. Comfort and anger both, could come later.
“Where are they? Is there anything we need to know?” he asked, sensing Pyro’s daunting presence behind his back. So far, not a single word had come from him.
“I-I… It’s this abandoned factory? Research facility? Something like that. I’ll lead you back there. I climbed out through the vent, but Drake was too big, and I heard they were s-selling Boar. We need to go.”
Pyro charged forward as if Clover had waved a red cloth in front of him. He grabbed Clover’s arm so hard the force pulled him out of Tank’s hug.
“Selling Boar? What the fuck? You just left him there?” Pyro shook Clover, and the boy didn’t resist it, as if all the strength he’d gained in the past year had gone.