Four Mercenaries - The Complete Collection

by K. A. Merikan

  Pyro couldn’t take his eyes off the four dark red scars on Boar’s face. They went all the way from his forehead over his cheek, to the—to where his ear had been. Boar, his Boar, had suffered. “We’re looking for you,” he said, pushed into action by Boar’s movement, but he wasn’t fast enough, and the hard fist punched him in the stomach.

  Shock only lasted a single heartbeat, because when the crowd roared, it became clear that whatever he was to decide, he needed to play along, or those people would descend on them and rip them apart.

  “Just pretend you’re hurt more than you are,” Boar whispered, ignoring the narrative that poured out of the King’s lips. “Hit me.”

  Pyro now regretted the extra shots of vodka he’d downed before coming here. The concoction they created with the drugs made him feel both slow and fast. He was a cheetah caught in hot tar. But Boar was always right, so he listened and punched him straight in the jaw, making a show of the quick work of his muscles.

  “Do they keep you here?”

  Boar pretended to fall back much more violently than the strength of the hit warranted, but he roared and charged at Pyro as soon as he regained stability. He grabbed Pyro’s middle, and since this wasn’t a life or death fight anymore—because he would never kill Boar—Pyro let Boar tackle him to the tiles.

  “No. We travel, but this was where it started. I don’t even know where this is. Are we in Oregon? Doesn’t matter. They move me in a van,” he said before huffing out the licence plate’s number into Pyro’s face as they writhed on the floor in a mock battle.

  He was hot in the places Boar touched, as if his body remembered the familiar hands. Everything inside him itched to pull machine guns out of non-existing pockets and gun down every single man or woman standing in their way. But even now, even with the coke making him hyper-aware of every single surface he touched and making his brain speed beyond what he could comprehend, he knew it wouldn’t have worked. He needed to pace himself, or they would both die.

  “I love you Jamie. I thought you were dead,” he choked out, shocked to realize that he’d believed this all along. Without Boar in the picture, a sober life hadn’t been worth the effort, and so he’d come to this godforsaken place with one goal—to die.

  “I knew you’d find me. I had to survive,” Boar said, but then grappled Pyro and rolled with him. It was instinct to knock his elbow into Boar’s face. They needed the audience to think they were playing by the rules, no matter how much it aggravated him. His brain rushed at top speed, noticing everything too fast, and in this moment the bright spotlights above were like alien airships descending to abduct them both.

  “Is there a way out?” he rasped, eyes locked on Boar’s.

  “You just have to make a run for it.” Boar groaned at the blow to his ribs, but they’d wrestled enough times to know each other’s capabilities by heart. He pulled on Pyro’s arm and slammed him face-down into the tiles, perched on top like a wild animal that wanted to play with its food before making the kill. “There’s a loose drain cover to your right, in the corner. Grab it as a weapon, then take a guard’s gun if you can.”

  Pyro groaned. “We can drive of. I have your car. Let’s go,” he said, eyes settling on the cover. It was circular, the size of a large plate but looked heavy enough to make a decent weapon in capable hands.

  The crowd roared when Pyro cut one of Boar’s legs from under him and rushed toward the corridor he’d earlier walked, his eyes briefly catching Morticia’s.

  “I’ll be behind you. Pretending I’m chasing you,” Boar whispered, charging at Pyro, who moved his shoulder, escaping the grasp in a move etched on his muscle memory. He spun around Boar and locked his head with one arm as blood buzzed through their bodies.

  “I’ll lead the way,” he said, staring at Boar’s bald head during this mock-choke. He missed the fluffy waves of hair tickling his chin, but they would grow back, and that thought kept him going as he rose to his toes and scowled when Boar repeatedly punched back with his elbow, as if attempting to free himself.

  Pyro’s gaze swept all around, catching glimpses of mouths opened wide to scream, of red faces, and fingers crooked into claws. Bloodlust boiled in everyone’s heads, and he was about to take their favorite drug away.

  Pyro released Boar’s neck and rolled toward the drain at top speed. He dug his fingertips in where the cover protruded from the otherwise smooth surface and forced it out of its place. Heavy as a shield, it must have been used by fighters before, because the rows of spectators rose, their shouting making his ears ring.

  His perception was on the verge of overloading, but he locked his eyes with Boar, who still held his throat with one hand, as if Pyro had really been trying to choke him. There was blood on his teeth and in his beard, and for the briefest moment Pyro worried that he’d hit him too hard. But Boar rising to his feet and hunching forward like a beast about to charge was Pyro’s starting pistol.

  He spun around and used the small distance to gain momentum before leaping up the lowest point of the wall surrounding the pool. The noise might have died somewhat, or maybe it was his heartbeat that suppressed it, but as he pushed Morticia away, who didn’t get enough time to consider her options, the room became a roaring tornado about to suck him and Boar back in. His head was a rattle filled with desperation. All he could think of was that the man he loved was alive and that they now needed to get out of this snake pit.

  Behind him, Boar let out a roar that pushed Pyro’s feet forward. “Fucking coward! Come back here!” But despite their closeness, his raspy voice was soon drowned out by the king’s voice coming from the speakers and raised so high its tone stabbed Pyro’s eardrums.

  “Cowards don’t belong here. Bring him in, alive or dead!”

  Immediately after, a loud chanting made by an entire audience of people. A single syllable.

  “Dead. Dead. Dead.”

  An armed guard emerged from the darkness, his eyes wide, as if he’d never seen such stunts, but before he could have managed to lift a finger, Pyro smashed his head with the drain cover, leaving behind body number one. Many more would be added to the list by the end of this night.

  “You’re high. Why are you fucking high, Pyro? You promised,” Boar huffed, catching up to him as they burst into the waiting room from earlier.

  The topic was so out of place when on the run from armed goons Pyro couldn’t wrap his head around it at first, and he glanced Boar’s way with his mouth wide. A bullet hit the wall right next to his head and sent shards of plaster into the air, bursting the bubble of guilt. They had a few seconds of advantage, and they would use it!

  In a flash of recognition, he saw the tear-streaked face of the girl looking at him from above the fighter’s corpse, her features twisted as if he were having some fucked-up trip.

  She dropped to the floor as soon as she saw them, and Pyro leapt over the dead body next to her, his focus a tunnel leading him to the exit. He burst through the swing doors, but when one of them hit something, he didn’t get enough time to break his speed. In slow motion, he saw two rows of white teeth, with a single gold dot at the front, but when he noticed the black muzzle of a handgun aimed straight at him, time stood still.

  Boar smashed into the guard at full speed. The bullet sped past Pyro’s ear, but the firearm dropped to the floor when thick arms grabbed the guard’s head and twisted until his neck snapped, as if it were a bottle cap. Pyro half-expected the head to fall off and a fountain of carbonated blood to explode out of the neck.

  He picked up the fallen weapon and offered the drain cover to Boar without thinking. The matte glass panel embedded in the door burst, sending sharp fragments all over, and it was their cue to sprint down the corridor. No words were necessary. This was enemy territory, and for all they knew, a whole contingent of armed goons might attack from the back.

  The sparsely lit walkway pulsed with each of Pyro’s heartbeats, and no matter what Boar thought about it, he was glad he’d taken coke before the fight
, because at this point that was the only thing keeping his brain and body from scattering.

  Heat grazed Pyro’s shoulder, and he spun around, his gaze passing over Boar’s bloodstained face and dark irises watching him from the pale background of wide eyes. The other end of the corridor was like a target, and the goons—bullseyes. Vital points on a human-shaped silhouette.

  He pulled the trigger of the dead goon’s gun, locked in the state of absolute focus. Fear had no place in his head. He and Boar were invincible.

  One. Two. Three. Four head shots. His mouth stretched into a smile when he saw the other men scrambling for shelter like bugs running from a predator. But when he tried to shoot again, the weapon remained dead, and he stared at it with an emptiness in his skull.

  Who the fuck came to an event like this with just four bullets?

  But he didn’t get to think anymore. Boar pushed him forward, and they both dashed along the curve of the hallway, away from immediate danger.

  “I asked you a fucking question, Pyro. My absence was no excuse to go back to this shit again. So I wasn’t there, but you had Clover, and Tank. Hell, even Drake, to help you,” Boar snapped as soon as they changed direction after running into a wall.

  “Now? Really?” Pyro growled, his boots squeaking against the laminate floor as he made the rapid turn.

  Boar shook his head but said nothing, because the thudding of shoes behind their backs was becoming all too loud. Still, even his silence was an accusation that pierced the balloon of Pyro’s ego. Even now, he was nothing but a disappointment to the man he so desperately wanted to keep happy

  “Stop! You’re surrounded!”

  It was like a shot of adrenaline straight into the muscles of Pyro’s thighs. Just like that, he was back in high school, racing along the track, one of the fastest despite his short legs. The corridor was the inside of a gun barrel, and he was the first bullet. When something banged all too close behind him, danger propelled him forward, along the bend of the corridor. And that was when he saw it.

  A window.

  Pyro gave a choked gasp, but as he stepped forward, heart pulsing evenly, he caught a glimpse of movement in the corner of his eye. He didn’t even have to think. Ducking, he shot his arm up and grabbed a thick wrist. His other hand went for the barrel, and he pushed it to the side with so much steam the goon’s finger cracked, broken by his own weapon. Pyro tried to take the firearm, but a huge guy pushed his predecessor over, sending him, and the gun, to the floor. His fat arms grabbed Pyro’s head before he could have stepped back.

  The monster’s thick neck went hard when he focused on Pyro, roaring like a madman as his hands squeezed on Pyro’s skull in a vise-like grip. Wheezing for breath, Pyro tried to send his boot into the fucker’s nuts, but the fallen goon wrapped himself around his feet, looking up like a cobra about to deliver its deadly venom.

  Panic shot through Pyro’s veins as the grip around his skull became unbearable. Pyro grabbed his opponent’s forearms and pulled, but it was like trying to force steel bars apart. The crushing force created pressure in his head and left little room for thoughts, replacing them with the frantic sense of imminent death. His head was about to cave in like a can, sending brains down the sides of his face. Saliva sprayed through the giant’s clenched teeth, but all Pyro could hear was the frantic thudding, which got louder and louder.

  The cover hit the side of the goon’s head with such force, its edge dug into his flesh and didn’t stop even when the bastard’s temple crashed against the wall. The hands that had nearly taken Pyro’s life went limp, and without their support, he fell over, in time to see Boar smash his fist into the next face in line.

  The men who’d chased them all the way from the arena were back on track, bursting into the hallway like a hoard of zombies hungry for their flesh. There was no time to wait when freedom was only a pane of glass away.

  “Don’t let the Red Bear leave the building!” screamed someone, but danger was too close to care about threats made from a distance.

  The man who’d dropped first dragged himself up, about to launch himself at Pyro, but the smell of blood fueled the rage inside, and Pyro smacked him away with the cover, which had fallen within his reach.

  “Now. Now,” he shouted, briefly looking at Boar, who cracked open another head, powerful and ruthless like his namesake.

  Pyro went first, and when he was close enough, the drain cover flew through the air and crushed the glass, sending a web of cracks all over the window. The whole thing collapsed within the blink of an eye, and he grabbed the windowsill, pulling himself up without care for the shards digging into his fingers.

  Fresh air burst into his system, flushing out the fatigue, and replaced it with renewed energy. Pyro spun around, his mouth opening to call Boar, but hope died in his heart when he saw him down, with a rifle pressed to the back of his bald head. On his hands and knees by the pile of goons they’d dealt with together, Boar stared back at him without a trace of aggression left on his handsome face, as if he’d already given up. His lips moved, but Pyro didn’t know what it was meant to communicate.

  It was as if his brain had been flooded by burnt molasses. Thick and bitter, it penetrated Pyro’s skull, drowning out all his hope. He tried to think of something, a way to turn this impossible situation around, but when more men poured in and a projectile barely missed his head, so Pyro jumped.

  His heart longed to fight all the guards in the fucking building and take Boar with him, but that was precisely what had gotten Boar and the others captured in the first place. No matter how much it tore him apart, he needed to flee on his own and leave his lover behind. There was no other way if he was to get him back for good.

  Right now, Boar could claim he chased Pyro, that things got out of hand. If the King, who had to be the elusive Tyrone, knew they’d attempted an escape together, Boar would end up dead.

  The licence plate numbers Boar told him about rolled through his head over and over as he ran so fast his legs couldn’t keep up with his brain. That was the one clue he had, and he would hold on to it to his dying breath.

  The asphalt was like lava under his feet, bursting with little explosions as he slalomed between vehicles and pieces of old equipment scattered in the dusky area between the massive building and a wall topped with barbed wire, which stood out so sharply against the background of the sky Pyro could almost feel its teeth digging into his flesh.

  Helplessness clutched at his throat when he rolled behind a tower of large wooden boxes, avoiding the claws and teeth of the dogs sent after him. The sight of the gate ahead made him realize his car was parked on the other side of the property, far away from here, and if he was to stand a chance at fleeing, he couldn’t stall and cry for the Subaru. He’d have to run and then steal someone’s vehicle or phone to contact the others. Boar might be flown out of here by helicopter, for all he knew, and if that happened the chances of another opportunity like this one would be too slim to count on.

  If he only had a Molotov’s cocktail on him, he could have thrown it at the hunting party, run through the open gate, and called it a day. But he had no explosives, not even a melee weapon, so he decided to fuck it all and dashed forward, breathing the sharp air that smelled of projectiles and blood. His feet barely touched the ground as he dove between two vans, once again minimizing the chance of getting hit, and sped up, seeing the open gate and two guards standing in the way of his freedom.

  And a truck. A black pickup.

  Pyro’s brain stumbled over the possibility of the vehicle being familiar, but then he spotted broad shoulders, and a profile he saw every day.

  “One! One!” he screamed out Tank’s codename at the top of his lungs, and when the tall, broad-shouldered man by the truck turned his way like Pyro had seen him do so many times, time slowed down.

  One of the guards turned to face Pyro, but Tank cut him down with a single punch. The other stepped back and took aim at Tank’s head, but his own exploded with blood before he
could have pulled the trigger.

  Clover, who must have been hiding on the bed of the truck, emerged from behind the cab, his long hair floating around his face like a halo. Tank joined him on top of the vehicle in a quick leap and sank lower, only to emerge holding a shape that put a wide smile on Pyro’s face.

  “Fuck, yeah,” he whispered when Tank opened fire from the assault rifle.

  The familiarity of the flash appearing at the end of the muzzle boosted Pyro’s energy. With the goons cut down like logs, he reached the truck within seconds and opened the driver’s door just as Clover climbed in from the other side.

  Their eyes met, and for the briefest moment regret over things that couldn’t be unsaid punished Pyro like a fist to the gut. But he shut the car, punched the roof three times to let Tank know they were leaving, and started the ignition.

  Next to him, Clover strapped himself in, his loud breath echoing in the tiny space to the tune of Pyro’s heart, but as soon as Tank knocked in confirmation, Pyro backed away from the gate, aggressively pushing the back wheels over some kind of bump.

  The open fire above was a sign that they weren’t out of the woods yet, so he switched on the high-beam lights and stepped on the accelerator, dashing along the empty road through a long-abandoned holiday resort.

  The glow of the headlights licked trees and deteriorating cabins as he gained speed, trying to keep in mind that the pickup wasn’t nearly as agile as Boar’s Subaru. “Write this down,” he snapped, ignoring another series of bullets shot from above his head. He could only hope Tank was holding on to something, because their ride might get even bumpier soon.

  Clover didn’t argue, didn’t ask any questions, just opened the glove compartment and pulled out a notebook. Pyro recited the licence plate number as they sped past a children’s playground overgrown with vines. His focus turned razor-sharp as they followed a straight road for the next exit, heading for the gates of the entire complex. His foot lowered on the gas pedal, and the vehicle darted down the uneven road until the pickup shook, maneuvered between bumps and potholes at a speed far exceeding reason. Next to him, Clover gasped when two men ran to the middle of the road in front of the mesh gate with barbed wire on top. Pyro buckled his seat belt.