Four Mercenaries - The Complete Collection

by K. A. Merikan

  Tank pushed Pyro away. “There’ll be time for that. Stay calm, or we lose,” he said into Pyro’s face, which had a layer of dampness over red skin now. His eyes burned as if he were a devil in disguise about to unleash his fury on the world. And this fury wanted to tear Clover apart.

  Tank swallowed. “Pyro. For fuck’s sake, you have to stay focused now. Boar needs you alert, so don’t lose your shit, all right?”

  Pyro took a deep breath and clenched his fingers on the sides of his head. “You don’t leave people behind!”

  Clover hunched his shoulders and wouldn’t meet their eyes, but tears dripped to his dirty feet, a glint in the morning sun. “There was no other way. Drake told me to go,” he uttered.

  Tank stroked Clover’s matted hair. “You did good. You got us to come here. Let’s go. We’re wasting time.”

  Pyro squared his shoulders but led the way, his movements stiff as if he were a machine. Clover clenched his fingers around Tank’s hand like a lost child. He wasn’t himself, and all Tank wanted was to stop time and talk to him, find out what the fuck had happened, but time was a force even he couldn’t fight, so they all got into the car as fast as possible.

  Having beat Pyro to the steering wheel, Tank sped down the peaceful street. His brain burned with the worst of possibilities, but he couldn’t let them overcome his mind now. Time to act, he told himself, time to act. His entire focus was on following Clover’s directions, but when two black vans drove right past him through the quiet industrial estate, he was torn whether he should reach the facility or check what kind of cargo the vehicles carried. This was why they usually travelled in more than one car.

  Following through on the original plan was an executive decision he made without telling Clover and Pyro about his thoughts on the vans, but when he headed for the open gate and spotted a body lying at the side of the asphalt road, his breath sped up. The facility was surely evacuating fast, all assets to be taken. And what assets were more important than people?

  “Is he hurt? Should we take a first aid kit?” Pyro asked.

  “I don’t know. They separated us after the zoo. I m-met Drake, but Boar was somewhere else.” Clover rubbed his face. “They put us in a room in the basement, so maybe he’s there too.”

  Pyro muttered something, his voice dark. He was the embodiment of Tank’s deepest emotions, but someone needed to keep their head clear, so Tank pressed on the gas pedal and dashed down the driveway, toward a blocky building that looked like any other eighties office complex.

  Wind whisked pieces of A4 paper, documents someone must have dropped in their hurry to leave following the security breach, but Tank’s focus was singular at this point, on a small truck facing away from the main entrance to the building, awaiting its load.

  Sweat rolled down his back when he saw a man jump out of the cab with a rifle in hand, but Pyro opened the door, hung out of it, and shot, hitting the guy’s forehead.

  Tank had considered leaving their car farther away and sneaking up to the facility, but that ship had sailed, and with the gate wide open and unmanned, they had to focus on their only advantage—surprise.

  “Clover, duck in the back seat and stay there.”

  Pyro aimed again, but still found it in him to snarl at Tank. “After leaving them there, the least he can do is come with us.”

  It was like having a dragon blow fire into Tank’s face, but he wouldn’t budge. “Clover. Stay. Use one of my spare handguns if needed,” he said before leaving the vehicle. He didn’t bother to check whether the boy followed the order. He knew.

  The pulsing in his head might have been a distraction, but he welcomed its rhythm, because it reined in the situation, offering a countdown. Everything moved in slow motion, even his own legs when they stepped over the second corpse he’d seen today.

  Noticing the ghost of a movement beyond the entrance was as easy as breathing, and he gestured at Pyro, taking shelter on one side of the door while Pyro hurriedly leaned against the other.

  His gaze swept over the scene to confirm whoever was coming wouldn’t spot their dead colleagues right away. But then he looked across the roofed porch, at Pyro, whose fingers shook from the effort not to charge just yet.

  Leave one alive, he told him in one of the gestures they used for voiceless communication.

  Tank flinched when the glass doors burst open. He heard three pairs of feet. Two walking, the third—shuffling as if he couldn’t move that well. By the time two large goons emerged into view, dragging their captive as if he were a ragdoll, Tank’s whole body itched with held-back fury. Despite his sorry state, Drake didn’t have to be carried, which meant he was alive.

  Pyro didn’t hesitate and shot one of the men dragging Drake. Tank put his gun against the other’s head. The goon raised his arms with a sharp intake of breath, and Drake dropped to the ground the moment he no longer had support.

  Tank didn’t miss their captive’s hand gravitating to his own firearm, but a stronger push of the muzzle against a sweaty temple stifled the bastard’s will to fight in the bud.

  “I-I’m just doing my job—”

  He would soon regret he ever took that paycheck.

  “Where’s Boar?” Pyro barked, getting into the guy’s face like a wild cat about to bite off his face.

  “Who?”

  Tank cursed beneath his breath and spoke, “The big guy. Auburn hair. Captured last night.”

  One of Drake’s eyes was so swollen and bruised he couldn’t open it, the other—dark and dilated—looked up at Tank, but when he tried to speak, he only managed a moan, as if his captors had drained him of both blood and strength.

  Apollo’s man shook his head. “We’re the last ones. That other guy’s gone. Don’t know where the albino is, either. I’m not even the driver, I don’t know where they take them. Please…”

  Pyro snarled, and his gun clicked as he pressed it to the underside of their captive’s jaw, making the man whimper frantically. “They took him away an hour back. He’s not here, I swear, I swear!”

  Pyro pulled the trigger, and Tank felt the coppery taste of blood overcome his mouth as blood shot into his face. The man went limp, and there was no point holding him up anymore.

  Chapter 16 – Pyro

  The blood cooled on Pyro’s skin, but it didn’t bring him any relief. His heart galloped when he saw the broken head first drop, then collapse to the floor when Tank let go of the body.

  If he could have. He’d have killed the fucker again. He’d have killed them all again.

  “What the fuck?” Tank’s fist came out of nowhere and hit the middle of Pyro’s chest, sending him back so fast he tripped over the man he’d shot earlier and hit the wall. “We could have questioned him further!”

  “He didn’t know shit!” Pyro yelled. “Every minute counts. Drake.” The sorry state Drake was in didn’t stop him from scooting down and shaking his arm. Boar wouldn’t have come out last night if it hadn’t been for fucking Drake, so he’d have to pay with information. “Where did they take Boar?”

  Tank shoved him again, as if Pyro was the one who’d provoked half their crew into a suicide mission. “Let’s get him to the car.”

  Drake’s gaze was even blacker than usual when he glanced at Pyro. With the daylight rapidly chasing away the night, the bruises and swelling all over his skin were impossible to miss. He kept sucking air through lips which were caked with dried blood and so thick it was hard to understand him when he spoke up softly, attempting to rise to his feet.

  “I don’t—Clover?” he whimpered, but the question was yet another drop of fuel to the fire of Pyro’s anger.

  “Boar. Where is Boar, you dumb fuck? We agreed to sit this one out,” Pyro exploded, but when he shook the trembling shoulders again, Drake heaved, and Pyro pulled away just in time to avoid the vomit.

  "Clover's with us. In the car. He's fine,” Tank said and helped Drake get up, but it was more like Tank carrying him than anything else.

  Drake di
dn’t even have the strength to resist the touch and went limp, rolling his head along Tank’s shoulder. He stumbled, glancing around as if he couldn’t believe they were here. The relief in his one visible eye was hard to bear.

  There would be no relief to be had until they found Boar. Did no one but Pyro understand that? Or was Clover all that mattered? Sure, the boy was frightened out of his mind and bleeding here and there, but he was alive and back in the fold.

  Unlike Boar.

  Pyro followed them to the car with frustration oozing out of his every pore.

  “He’s not fine,” Drake whispered, but went limp in Tank’s arms before Pyro could have asked what the enigmatic shit was about.

  Tank scowled. “Help me, Pyro. Come on.”

  Pyro stilled, staring at Tank while his muscles turned into wood. Seeing Drake like this, when Pyro knew he was resilient as a cockroach, made him even more frantic to find Boar. “Are you kidding me? He must be still down there!”

  Drake coughed and shook his head, his damp lips barely moving. “They took him. I saw it.”

  “No. They couldn’t have,” Pyro said, but when he tried to grab the front of Drake’s T-shirt, Tank stepped away. “You saw it and did nothing?”

  Tank gestured for Clover to open the door once they reached the car. “What was he supposed to do? Can’t you see how fucked-up he is?”

  Pyro kicked the wheel in helpless fury. “I don’t know! Something. Clover?” he looked at the boy, who was so pale he’d be turning translucent any second. Clover got out of the car, making room for Drake on the backseat, and Pyro grabbed his shoulder, shaking him out of the wide-eyed state. “What else did you hear about Boar?”

  Clover swallowed, acting nothing like the cocky shit he could be some days. “That he’d replace their champion. That a man called ‘Tyrone’ is the buyer.” His teeth began to clatter, and when his eyes filled with tears, he wiped them off with the heels of his hands.

  “The police might be here any minute. Drake just confirmed what the guard said. Boar’s not here anymore. Keep it together!” Tank snapped.

  Pyro kicked the wheel again, unable to cope with the pressure inside. He could practically sense Boar’s touch, but it was just out of reach. “This isn’t fucking Game of Thrones, so stop talking to me in riddles,” he yelled so loudly Clover stepped back and slid into the car to put his arms around Drake. His blue eyes were wide and damp, devoid of care for Boar’s fate.

  It was then when truth hit Pyro like a hammer to the head, crushing his skull and leaving his brain as mush—nobody but him cared.

  They saw Boar as a casualty and were ready to move on. He couldn’t fucking believe it.

  Tank snarled as soon as he was done moving Drake into the back seat. “What the fuck is your problem? He can’t tell you what he doesn’t know. Now get into the car. Let’s go before it’s too late! We can’t help Boar if we’re in jail!”

  Pyro shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere. They were leaving in a hurry. They could have left clues about where they took him. Clues about their fucked-up organization. Let’s stay and search. Clover can drive Drake to get help, and we’ll figure out an Uber later or something.”

  Tank took a step closer. “Clover’s in no shape to drive,” he whispered.

  Pyro screamed out in frustration. “He’s fine! He walks, he talks, so he can also drive. If he can’t take a little beating, he never should have been included in our team in the first place!”

  Tank’s nostrils flared as if he were about to charge, and Pyro was waiting for it with open arms. If Tank wanted to fight, so could Pyro. But Tank shook his head and moved toward the driver’s seat. “This makes no sense. They’d have taken all the incriminating stuff. People like Apollo don’t stay in this kind of business without being good at covering their tracks. We have the buyer’s name. I’ll inquire as soon as we’re out of the fire.”

  The matter-of-fact statement stabbed Pyro in the back. There had to be something more they could do. Something.

  “Fuck it. Go. I’ll see you… when I see you,” he snarled and walked, then ran into the building.

  Tank called out Pyro’s nickname, the anger in his voice like blades too dull to affect reality. Pyro dashed inside, stepping on paper scattered over the floor in the large hall devoid of any personality. He went straight for the staircase, because if those fuckers wanted to contain a man like Boar, they’d never have tried to do so in a room with windows. If he was here, if there were any signs of his recent presence left, they’d be underground.

  Pyro could have sworn a car engine came to life outside, but it was only an afterthought.

  The people he’d considered brothers, whom he’d trusted for so long, were fleeing the scene like rats, as if leaving one of them behind was no big deal, as if Boar wasn’t included in Tank’s rule to never leave people behind.

  It seemed Boar wasn’t important enough for them to save.

  Pyro stood still once he reached the level below, faced with three identical corridors. Two were pitch black, but he followed the one lit with fluorescent lights, because it had most recently been in use.

  “Jamie?” he called out, scanning the floor for blood stains, but there was nothing, just boring old laminate and walls painted with the kind of smooth paint used in kitchens and bathrooms. The underground level of any office building in existence. Where were the chambers of torture? Where were the cages, firepits, and iron maidens?

  He opened every door, but the giant space was virtually empty, as if the company that used to occupy this place had only just moved to its new location, leaving behind junk. The place was enormous and full of smaller hallways that led nowhere, trapping him in their labyrinth, but with the Minotaur already gone, was there a chance to find traces of his final victim?

  Pyro’s heart beat faster by the time he left the well-illuminated area and entered one of the passages he’d previously ignored. The green EXIT sign loomed at the very end like the ghost of a reality he didn’t want to enter.

  He switched on the light in the next room in line, and despite scouring the place for clues, he was surprised to see a collection of comfortable-looking armchairs. They all faced a large window into the other room, but when he approached the glass, his heart went into gallop.

  Blood was the first thing he saw. Smeared over the translucent surface were prints of two hands, along with a streak where someone’s face must have crashed against. But as Pyro stepped closer and focused on what lay beyond the gruesome traces, his brain came to a halt for several moments.

  White tiles were pristine, but the floor close to the window—not so much, and the cane lying in the center of a spray of blood had Pyro’s brain spinning into overdrive.

  Was this where Boar had been tortured not long ago? The strange contraption with restraints attached was there to keep the victim still, but just as hope was about to die in his heart, he got face-to-face with the bloody smear on the glass and realized that it couldn’t have been Boar. Boar’s hands were much bigger. And he was slightly taller than the victim here had been, something Pyro was intimately familiar with, because Boar’s arms would so often hold him, his chin so perfectly aligned with the top of Pyro’s head.

  Why hadn’t he trusted Pyro with this? Why hadn’t he woken Pyro up or at least left a note?

  Guilt ate at his throat as he stumbled out of the room and went farther, between two rows of open doors that showed him precisely nothing. No trace of human presence. They were empty, devoid of the sign he so desperately craved, but he marched on toward the EXIT sign, losing hope with every step he took.

  A collar and a chain attached to the wall, an unexpected sight in one of the cleared spaces, chilled him to the bone, and it wasn’t because he didn’t expect to find fucked-up shit. It was the excruciating notion that Boar could have been the one trapped here, his face beaten like Drake’s.

  But as long as there were rooms left for him to examine, there was hope.

  Pyro would never give u
p on Boar. Not after all the things they’d been through together. Boar had always been at his side, even back when Pyro had been a coke-snorting shit, who blasted all his money on drugs and sometimes woke up in his own piss. Endless times Boar had made him hangover concoctions, and nursed him to health. Boar hadn’t abandoned Pyro through washing vomit off the floor. Through rehab, through relapse, through another rehab, Boar and his sweet kisses had always been there when Pyro needed them.

  Pyro would never abandon him either.

  No matter how sorry he felt for Drake and Clover, right now, checking room after room for signs of Boar, he couldn’t help the resentment building a thick wall inside him. They’d been fighting their own war, had drawn Boar in, and Boar had still gotten the short end of the stick. Because of course he did. He was the kind of guy who always sacrificed himself for others, even when he knew he wouldn’t get the same in return.

  Anger was like molten lava inside him, and he had no way to release it, no one to spew it at. No matter how much he adored Clover, he wished to grab the kid’s slender neck and throttle him for causing this. If Boar didn’t love Clover so much, too much, he would have still warmed Pyro’s bed in the morning. They’d have easily rolled into each other’s arms and enjoyed lazy blowjobs before breakfast.

  He would have been safe.

  Instead, Pyro was stuck searching for any sign that Boar was here. That he was still alive. For any clue about his future whereabouts.

  He walked into yet another dark room. A fallen chair in this one had fresh blood staining the wooden armrest, and its bright red color made Pyro pay more attention. His breath sped up, and the scent of dust mingled with the coppery aroma he knew so well. Was he even really sensing it or was his brain amplifying everything he saw? He wasn’t sure anymore.

  A glint of metal drew Pyro to the corner of the room, and he dropped to his knees, breathless when he picked up the item in his shaky hands.

  Boar’s brass knuckles.

  The lava inside exploded, his chest collapsing on itself. He could only be angry with himself, and the intensity of the fire flooding his veins overflowed every single cell of his body.