[Boar: Drake got me painkillers, so don’t worry <3]
Pyro sighed with relief and squeezed Clover’s hand. He’d been angry that he couldn’t help his lover, but maybe the point was that they could all rely on each other.
Chapter 17 – Tank
The crowd outside was like an approaching tornado. Its roars got ever louder, as did the thudding of hundreds of feet, and Tank couldn’t help his hair bristling when a voice at the back of his mind told him to run for cover. Tank’s family was somewhere out there, and if the swarm of bloodthirsty animals who called themselves people recognized the impostors among them, blood would drizzle down the pale steps of the arena.
Tank had intended to do everything alone. He’d wait for his opportunity to strike and poison Apollo, starting a chain of events that should make the bastard’s heart stop. He hadn’t wanted any of the others present, but they’d insisted that if something went wrong, they could run together and protect each other.
Tank sincerely hoped they’d leave him be if he fucked up, take care of Clover and run off to the Alaska safe house, but worry still made him sweat like a pig.
He flinched when Ben entered the lounge for security staff with a big scowl twisting his handsome face. He looked like the kind of guy who in movies stopped to help stranded female drivers, but his usually-broad smile and dark blond hair hid the soul of a hyena. Tank had seen signs of it during their deployment, but while Ben had been hiding his true self in the army, his service to Apollo revealed the true, blood-red color of his personality.
Tank did not want to think about it, not now when so much was at stake.
“Where’s Hanson?” he asked, as if he hadn’t slipped the bastard an overdose of laxatives an hour back.
Ben kicked over a chair, as if he’d been waiting for a question that warranted this reaction. “Shitting his guts out. I swear I’m gonna kill him if this happens again. Told him last time to stick to safe foods before big events, and look what he’s fucking doing. The fat hog probably had that local ice cream again.”
Tank’s nape relaxed now that he knew his stunt had worked, so he continued playing dumb while the TV mounted on one of the walls showed real-time footage of the spectators gathered in the five rows that circled the entire arena. “Who’s replacing him?” he asked, even though he knew one of the usuals was on leave, which left only him and one other guy, who might have worked for Apollo much longer than Tank, but whom Ben hated with a passion over a lost rivalry for the attention of a woman. That meant only one person could be Apollo’s second personal guard for the night.
Ben tsked and reached out toward Tank. He held a wreath of artificial herbs.
Tank’s heart skipped a beat. “What is this?”
“Your laurel wreath. Take it. You’re replacing Hanson.”
“Me? I’ve only been here for a month. And… what? Why would I need a wreath?”
Ben briefly shut his eyes, and his nostrils flared, as if he were struggling to keep himself under control. “The boss wants it to feel more ‘authentic’. Be thankful he doesn’t have us wearing skirts and sandals.”
Tank’s blood ran faster. He would be close to Apollo during the event and have the opportunity and means to strike when everyone’s attention would be on the bloody spectacle at their feet. The pen-shaped syringe with poison burned in his pocket. “Shouldn’t he be the one to wear the wreath?”
Ben shook his head. “Just go with it. He read that Quo Vadis book again. When we first arrived earlier, he had me walk him to the arena and told me how he’d get that albino runt he’s looking for strapped to a bull and then have the animal fight a pack of wild cats so he’d be gradually ripped apart along with the bull. Unnecessarily elaborate, if you ask me.”
“He’s the boss,” Tank said, struggling not to show how Ben’s words affected him. Clover’s smiling face passed through his mind, and for a heart-searing second, he wanted to call the whole thing off. Text the guys, Thinking about you, and be done with it. Clover should not be here, in the den of the monster who wanted to maul him and feast on the bones.
But if they didn’t go through with this plan, they’d spend their entire lives on the run, and he couldn’t have that. Couldn’t have Clover afraid of his own shadow, and this was the best chance they’d ever get.
He met Ben’s gaze and put the stupid laurel crown on his head. “Understood.”
The creak of the sound system had Tank briefly stiffening before he heard Apollo’s voice coming from the speaker by the TV.
“It’s time,” it said.
Ben glanced into a small mirror to make sure his relatively short hair was in order and nodded at Tank, leading the way into a corridor that looked like any other. Blood and chains were absent from this backstage area, and the noise above was the only sign that they weren’t in some kind of factory or office building.
Ben’s shoulders swung back and forth as he walked in front of Tank, and for the briefest moment, the pressing need to break the bastard’s neck and take Apollo out before he could even step into the spotlights became hard to resist. But if he followed the murderous impulse, the chances of all the people who mattered walking away from this place with a pulse would have been greatly diminished.
He would be patient. Like he always was.
Apollo had his own suite in this godforsaken place, and by the time Ben knocked on its door, Tank had managed to bring his bloodlust under control.
The ten seconds that followed stretched like the visit to a dentist, but when Apollo emerged, dressed in an impeccable beige suit, the contrast between his exterior and what he represented stabbed Tank with full force.
“Shall we begin?” Apollo asked, smiling like a pleasant grandpa about to hand out lollipops, and headed down the corridor without waiting for an answer.
Ben and Tank followed a step behind, flanking their boss as he headed toward the buzz of voices. The path led up two sets of stairs, all the way to a grand entryway that not only didn’t require Tank to bend his head but had two feet on his height.
He swallowed hard when Ben tapped in a code, and the two doors opened, letting in light so bright it made Tank close his eyes altogether. Blind, with the lamps turning his shut eyelids into a red picture crisscrossed by darker lines, he experienced the full scope of the noise. By the time he managed to peek at the giant structure outside through his fingers, he knew how huge of an audience gathered for the official opening of the amphitheatre, Apollo’s sick brainchild.
From outside, the structure hadn’t seemed as impressive with its concrete walls imitating marble blocks, but as they walked into the Imperial Box, and the clamor became even more ear-shattering, Tank realized he stood in Colosseum’s smaller, uglier cousin.
People sat on cushions laid out on white steps that descended toward a heavy-duty fence and an arena that sunk into the ground to provide a safer experience for the paying guests. And as if to make up for that feature, a large screen hung across from Apollo’s box, though what it currently showed was the live image of the bastard’s face.
Apollo raised his hands, walking past an armchair that looked more like Louis XIV’s lost throne, and he wordlessly greeted the spectators, who rose, applauding their celebrity human trafficker.
Apollo was busy basking in the attention, and once the shade of a fabric awning stretched above the throne, Tank let his gaze take in the crowd, only to realize that he couldn’t count on spotting any of his friends, even if they waved at him. The lights were too sharp, and the viewership too big to recognize features of people who were here undercover and thus aimed to not be seen. What he witnessed instead was vile human trash, some of whom must have traveled from far corners of the world in order to watch slaughter while enslaved staff served them refreshments.
Sweat trailed down his back when a tiny figure emerged in the corner of his eye. At first he’d taken the newcomer for a little girl, but the sparse bikini she wore revealed the body of an adult woman, only one who was extremely thin. Keep
ing her eyes low, she passed between Tank and Ben with shoulders hunched, and placed Apollo’s favorite cocktail on a side table before trying to scurry away. Ben gave her a loud slap on the tiny ass and grinned at Tank.
“Like ‘em with a bit more meat, but it seems someone here really wanted to make the Boss happy with this one.”
Tank offered him a crooked smile, hoping this one would be the last woman Ben would ever see. And that he wouldn’t have to walk anorexic-looking girls to a man’s bedroom ever again.
Apollo picked up a microphone, and the noise died down, giving him space to speak.
“Dear guests. It is a pleasure to have so many of you join us. I promise you that what you will see in this amphitheatre tonight and in the years to come, is beyond your wildest imagination.”
As he continued, Tank’s brain struggled to cope with the fact that so many people were willing to travel and pay huge amounts of cash to see what was about to happen. He wasn’t aware of what was in store exactly, but he knew it would be something horrific. He wished there was a way to eliminate all the spectators in one go. Nuke them, right here in the middle of the woods where they felt safe from the grasp of so-called-civilization encroaching on their ‘fun’.
He composed himself by the time Apollo sat in his throne, and the screen switched to showing three men forced onto the dusty floor of the arena. Naked, they all first scrambled to run back inside, but a guard shocked the leader of the pack with a cattle prod and shut the only escape.
The spectators went crazy, like hyenas already sensing blood in the air, but their voices reached their heights when a low door opened on the other side, and six dogs entered the space tentatively. Tank’s stomach sank, but he stayed still, trying to forget that Clover was forced to watch this cruelty from among a crowd that reacted as if their favorite team was about to win the World Championship.
The animals must have been left hungry for days, because once they spotted prey, the grotesque spectacle turned into a gory bloodbath. Tank swallowed hard, sweating into his clothes as he kept his gaze on the strip of flesh where Apollo’s skin emerged from under his shirt. A single step would put them close enough to inject the poison, but Tank needed to pace himself and endure. If he wanted to minimize the risk to his own life, striking at the very end was his best bet.
Once the dogs had been fed, Apollo made everyone watch two rounds of men fighting each other, first one-on-one, then with a single person having to defend himself against ten opponents. What followed was a demonstration of medieval torture devices and their use, so by the time staff entered the arena to remove the contraptions and their victims, Tank was struggling with nausea.
Heat rose up his neck despite this being an outdoor venue, but he remained still, pretending he was wary of any danger to his boss. Boar had been through the kind of shit happening below. How he’d survived a whole four months of it and had emerged relatively unscathed was a mystery Tank did not want to dwell on. The depravity playing out below was much worse than he’d imagined, and he was letting it happen. For Clover. For their family.
A young woman, who worked for Apollo at this venue, entered the box but was stopped by Ben before she could have reached the boss. She raised her brows when Apollo gestured for them to let her through.
“The data you wanted, sir,” she said and offered Apollo a tablet, which he unlocked with a swipe of his finger. Blocks of text appeared on the screen, and Tank found himself wondering whether it was the profits from the event and all the gambling going on, but Apollo leaned back in his chair and picked up his drink as soon as the woman left.
“This one will be extra special,” Ben said, eyeing Tank with a wide grin. “You haven’t seen anything like it yet.”
“Much better than sports,” he said, still playing the game he so desperately wanted to win. His face hurt from smiling, but his efforts seemed to work, as Ben’s gray eyes twinkled with cruel joy.
They went silent when Apollo rose so fast his throne was close to falling over. “Goddamn! The albino, I think I see his face,” he said, sending Tank down a funnel of panic. He’d reached the point of no return, and if he tried to crawl back into safety, Clover might become the show’s next star attraction.
Tank’s heart dulled the noise as he reached into his pocket and took out the pen-syringe. He pulled on the clip to release the needle and put his thumb on the cap, ready to inject the poison the moment he got a chance. He stepped closer to Apollo, trying to stay focused under the extreme stress. He could not let him identify Clover or any of the others even if it meant his death.
“Where? Wh—?”
His arm twisted back so abruptly he dropped the syringe, and sharp pain shot all the way up his neck. Ben’s teeth and gums passed through his vision as he punched back, but the sight of a gun pointed straight at his head was the signal of his defeat.
The amphitheatre erupted with high-pitched gasps, but in this moment, Apollo’s expressionless face above the gun he held became the center of Tank’s universe. Ben kicked away the syringe before swinging his boot straight at Tank’s ribs while the door to the box opened and three more guards marched in, armed to the teeth.
Tank was done for, and while he couldn’t give the signal to abort the mission, he hoped his friends would understand the situation clearly enough and leave before it was too late.
“We fought together. How dare you betray my trust?” Ben screamed before kicking Tank yet again. Pain spread across his chest, as if his ribs broke, but he didn’t fight it and met Apollo’s gaze while one of the men searched him and took away all his weapons.
Apollo scratched his white beard, watching Tank without emotion, which only added fuel to the fiery panic burning inside Tank’s gut. “I have enough human chattel here to look through all the trash, even the big container you thought would keep your secret. Your fingerprints match with those found on a bottle of laxatives,” he said, finalizing Tank’s fate. There was no point trying to make excuses or deny the accusation, because he had approached Apollo with a weapon in hand. They’d baited him, and he’d jumped head-first into the trap.
Ben and one of the men Tank didn’t know hauled him to his feet. He didn’t resist when they walked him all the way to the railing for everyone to see. Tank kept his face still when it appeared on the screen, watching him back with bloodshot eyes.
His heart trembled with hope that the others could safely abort the plan, but he didn’t want to look for his friends or send them any messages. He couldn’t afford the risk of drawing unwanted attention to the very people he needed to protect.
He took a laborious breath when Apollo picked up the mic again.
“This man, my own guard, tried to assassinate me. With this,” he said, showing the hidden syringe to the booing crowd. Tank shut his eyes, locking himself in a bubble that wouldn’t protect his flesh but could keep his mind safe for a few more minutes.
He could take this. He could take anything that came his way if only his friends came out of this alive. He’d chosen a dangerous life, and it would have taken him to his grave eventually anyway.
He took a deep breath, expecting to face Apollo’s gun, but two pairs of hands shoved him forward, and his lungs filled with air. Tank tried to grab the railing and break his fall, but his fingers slipped, and he tumbled all the way into the dust of the arena, landing on his side.
Pain burst through his body, spreading like a tsunami, but the sharp crack he heard upon impact had him shivering even before he looked at his left arm, which was quickly going numb. Unnaturally bent, it made nausea well up in Tank’s throat, but he didn’t have time for taking care of the limb or self-pity, because a section of the floor opened, and he backed away, struggling to think straight when the spectators began to chant.
What emerged was a cage, and the huge lion inside it roared, shutting its eyes to protect them from the light. Looked like Apollo had gotten his lion in the end, and now Tank knew exactly what the animal was for.
Chapter 18 –
Clover
Tank fell from Apollo’s box like a sack of grain, and while the thud of his body hitting the arena got swamped by all the noise, Clover still sensed its phantom echo in his skull. He felt numb when the fact that their plan had been thwarted finally settled in. Struggling to breathe in the crowd of strangers who chanted in demand for the ‘traitor’s’ death, he briefly looked up from Tank, who was dragging himself to his feet, to the galleries above.
They’d all come here in disguise. Drake wore prosthetics that changed his features in subtle ways and clothes that disguised his silhouette, making it bulkier. Pyro had shaved off his signature Mohawk and hid face tats under makeup, while Boar wore a wig of long, wavy hair, but Clover knew how his men were dressed and could find them in the crowd with ease. And when he spotted Drake and Boar across the arena, his breath caught when he realized they were on their way toward Apollo’s box like two shadows of murderous intent.
His heart galloped. He knew nothing of a plan B, and they should have agreed on one. Whatever his lovers planned to do could end up with yet more disastrous consequences, and all because of their love for him. Nothing about such a fate would have been fair.
The amphitheatre shook when spectators all around Clover raised their voices to a point where his ears rang, but the reason for such excitement had his blood freezing.
The floor in the middle of the arena parted, leaving sand to sprinkle underground as a cage rose to the surface, inch by inch. Pyro’s hand squeezed Clover’s just as the lion emerged, its massive muzzle twisted in response to the aggressive lights and noise. But then its attention settled on Tank, and it gave a bone-shaking roar, sinking low when one of the barred walls lifted, offering the animal the freedom to hunt.
Pyro couldn’t have held him any more firmly, but the comfort of his touch meant nothing if Clover was to see a man he loved more than his own life ripped to shreds like so many others before him. It had been a nauseating spectacle so far, but Tank, who’d sacrificed so much to keep Clover safe could not die. He couldn’t.
Four Mercenaries - The Complete Collection Page 68