Fury

by Fisher Amelie

  “Because they knew what I had become. They knew who I’d become to get our house, our car, our money. And they hated me for it.”

  “Then why continue?”

  “It’s too late for me,” he said, reminding me of someone. But who?

  It’s never too late, I thought instinctively. No, he’s right. It is too late. For both of us.

  “If I let you go,” I said, curious, “what would you do?”

  “I would run to Khanh. I would tell him you were coming.”

  “And if I prevented you from doing that?”

  “Nothing would prevent me other than death.”

  “Why, Dai?”

  “Because I’m entrenched and I like it.”

  “Then you will die by my hand tonight, Dai. I will steal your soul.”

  He turned his head and smiled, the smile of the devil himself. “You can’t steal something that’s already been stolen.”

  Breathe.

  We walked to the front of the club and inside without any trouble. I figured this was either because they recognized Dai and thought nothing of it or they recognized Dai and played it cool until they could get to the hooded guy behind him. I was betting on the latter.

  I let Dai move ahead before sinking into the crowd of people near the bar, pushing down my hoodie, and crouching to blend in better. I noticed Dai looked behind him to see if I was there. The look on his face was one of shock. He looked around him, searching for me. After a minute, he gave up and raced through the crowd to a pair of elevator doors at the back of the club.

  I noticed he placed his thumb on a fingerprint reader and the doors opened for him.

  Breathe.

  I had no idea how I was going to follow him at that point. I watched the lit numbers above the elevator doors. Floor six. The top floor. I made a break for the elevator doors, raising my hood one more time. I unzipped my jacket, making sure the flaps still covered the knives.

  There was a line of ten or so scantily clad women sitting at the bar wearing too much makeup and sporting way too much skin. The prostitutes.

  Breathe.

  I looked around for someone who looked like they belonged at the club and spotted a waitress with a very short skirt carrying a tray.

  “You,” I said, catching her attention.

  “Drink?” she asked.

  I shook my head and held up a folded fifty. “Open the elevator.”

  She casually walked forward toward the doors and placed her thumb on the pad. When the doors opened, I handed her the fifty and she left without another word.

  Too easy.

  I knew she would be notifying Khanh, but it was a moot point. Dai had beat her to it. I hit the button for the fifth floor, not wanting to risk an automatic sixth floor attack. Although I had no idea what was on five, I did know for a fact what was on six.

  Breathe.

  When the elevator car reached the fifth floor, I tucked myself against the button panel, laying flat against the wall.

  Breathe.

  The doors opened but nothing came barrelling toward me. I placed my left foot in front of the door and looked out. There was nothing but a large room with doors lining walls. I stuck my head out farther, left and right. It looked like some sort of spa. All white with wood accents. There was a comfortable-looking waiting area as well as an attractive woman sitting at a reception desk, which shocked me.

  She got up with a smile on her face, ready to greet me. When she saw I came unaccompanied, though, her expression twisted into confusion.

  “How did you get up here?” she asked, unafraid.

  “I’m looking for Khanh,” I told her.

  Her eyes widened and she screamed something in Vietnamese, running toward her desk, no doubt to alert Khanh and his men.

  Breathe.

  I ran to her before she could, swooping an arm around her waist and tossing her away from her desk. She yelped and landed on the white marble floor.

  “No, no,” I told her. She opened her mouth to scream but abruptly closed it when I raised Dai’s gun at her. “Stay,” I ordered as I went around to each of the seven doors and opened them, keeping my gun trained on her at all times. They were all empty except for a bed and a bathroom in each. I decided they were private rooms for the girls from downstairs. They all had such a Western feel, I knew they were reserved for the high-dollar tourists. I walked back to her.

  “Now, tell me everything you know about him. How tall he is, what he weighs, how many men he keeps around, what are his skill sets. I want to know everything. Now talk.”

  Breathe.

  Her lips trembled. “He is a big man.”

  “How tall?”

  “He would reach your shoulders.”

  “His weight?”

  “Seventy-five kilograms. Give or take.”

  Okay, I’ve got about twenty-five pounds on him.

  “How many men in the building work for him?”

  She started crying. “Seventeen in security for Khanh, another eighty or so that come and go. They run his cells and drop off cash throughout the night.”

  “Does he keep a gun on him? Any weapons?”

  “No, he keeps nothing on him.”

  Yeah, right.

  “What else should I know about him?”

  “He’s going to kill you,” she said without feeling.

  “Thank you,” I told her.

  I walked to her desk and ripped the telephone cord and wire from the wall and phone. I walked back over to her as she began to whimper. I wrapped the cord around her ankles several times, hogtying her. With one swift movement, I lifted her up and carried her to the bed of the first room nearest the elevator. I ripped a piece of cloth from the sheet on it and stuffed it in her mouth.

  “Go ahead and scream if you want.”

  She screamed a muffled sound but enough to gain someone’s attention if they entered the fifth floor. Just what I’d wanted. I walked over to her desk and examined it until I discovered the silent alarm. Before pressing it, I checked for weapons and stumbled upon a loaded gun attached to velcro beneath the underside. I removed it from its holster and checked the clip. Full.

  Absently whistling “Tighten Up” by The Black Keys, I triggered the silent alarm, closed every open door besides the girl’s, and made my way to the room on the opposite side near the receptionist desk. I cracked open the door and pressed myself against the jamb.

  Breathe.

  I heard the ding of the elevator door. My jaw clamped.

  Breathe.

  Breathe.

  Breathe.

  Footsteps rang out, too many to count. The room I’d chosen was well hidden but also constricted my view.

  Breathe.

  They ran to the receptionist’s room when they heard her struggle. They screamed in Vietnamese and I took advantage of their distraction, creeping out of my door and setting up shop behind the desk. Seven men that I could see.

  Breathe.

  One shot. Down. Two shots. Down. Three shots. Down. They came running out, a look of complete surprise on each of their faces right before I fell them where they stood. Before long, no one else came out and the only sound was the receptionist’s muffled bawling.

  Breathe.

  Whistling “Tighten Up” again, I hopscotched over the men’s dead bodies and stuck my head through the door. “Try to stay calm.”

  I made my way toward the elevator but remembered something and turned back around. I gathered as many handguns as I could, shoving them inside the waistband of my jeans. I strapped two automatics around my chest. I unsheathed one of my short swords and bent down. I chopped off one of the men’s thumbs and stuck it in my pocket. I needed a way to access the elevator.

  “Sit tight,” I told the girl. “Not much longer.”

  She screamed into the sheet gagging her mouth.

  When I got to the elevator, I pulled out the severed thumb and placed it against the electronic reader. The pad beeped and the doors opened.

 
; I stepped inside, dropping the thumb at my feet by accident. I picked it back up and stuck it in my pocket.

  I hit the button for floor two, intending to work my way back up.

  Breathe.

  I balanced the automatics on my hips, keeping both my hands on the triggers. The doors wouldn’t open. They required electronic access through the thumb pad. I let go of one of the automatics and retrieved the thumb again, placing it on the access pad near the button panel. It beeped. I picked up the automatic again. The doors opened.

  Breathe.

  A holding room. At least twenty-five children, girls and boys, between the ages of five and fifteen sat wide-eyed on the floor of an open room, drinking broth from bowls. I set the guns down then looked around the doors and took in their guards. Three men. Far right corner. No children near them. Eating at a table.

  Breathe.

  “Khanh sent me to fetch you,” I said.

  Breathe.

  They looked at one another, confused. “He’s pissed! Come on! Get up there!” I yelled.

  They scrambled up, convinced my presence had to be legitimate, despite the fact that I spoke in English. How else would I have gotten in their elevator? Why else would I be there?

  Breathe.

  They scurried onto the elevator and as the doors closed, I winked at them, stuck my handgun near the barely there opening and shot three times, killing all three. Not a single child screamed, shocking me.

  Breathe.

  I tucked the gun into the back of my waistband then turned around toward them. Their presence snapped something in me. Their faces reminded me of why I was there.

  Breathe.

  “Who can speak English?”

  A girl, maybe fifteen years old, stood.

  “I do, ” she said.

  “What’s your name?” I said calmly.

  “Vi.”

  “Vi, I’m Ethan.”

  “Ethan,” she repeated softly.

  “I, uh, I’m going to get you all out of here. I have some things to take care of first, though, so I need you all to remain here. Do not leave. Do not step foot on that elevator until I come back for you. Understood?”

  She nodded. A few others who understood, nodded as well, then began to translate to those who didn’t. Before long, lots of faces were nodding.

  “I’ll be back,” I told them, using the thumb once more to open the elevator doors.

  I stepped inside, stood amongst the three dead men, and pressed the button for the third floor.

  Breathe.

  When the doors opened and I stepped through, I discovered it was yet another “entertaining” floor. The receptionist smiled briefly before taking in my arsenal. She’d yet to be warned I was coming because I’d killed anyone who could have warned her.

  “Hands up,” I told her and she obeyed. “Do you have anyone behind these doors?” I asked. She nodded. “Which ones.” She pointed at three of the six doors.

  I bounded up to her and tied her up as I had the first girl.

  “Stay quiet,” I told her. She nodded.

  Breathe.

  I went to the first door and walked in on a sixty-year-old man with what looked like a fourteen-year-old girl. The girl scurried to one side of the room when the man turned to see who had interrupted him, tears were in her eyes.

  Breathe.

  “Stay,” I told the girl then yanked the man by his hair, dragging him through the door, and placed him inside an empty room. I killed him without hesitation.

  Breathe

  When I came out, the men in the other two occupied rooms had come out to see what had happened. I smiled at them.

  “Gentlemen,” I said raising two handguns at each of their faces, “this way.”

  I stepped aside, exposing the dead child molester in the room behind me.

  They both screamed and ran for the elevator that wouldn’t work for them. They didn’t have the magic touch. But I do. Two swift shots to the head and they went down. I dragged their bodies, their lifeblood leaving trails behind them, and put them in the room with the first.

  Breathe.

  I took the three girls with me to the second floor and dropped them off.

  “Remember, no one leaves until I come back. I will protect you,” I told them.

  I made my way toward the elevators, stuck the thumb on the fingerprinting pad, and entered, pressing the button for the fourth floor.

  Breathe.

  My heart beat wildly in my chest.

  Breathe.

  The doors opened. Straight ahead there was nothing, just stacks of old club furniture, but my peripheral was blocked. I crouched down. Took one of the handguns in my waistband, removed the clip, placed it in my pocket, then threw the useless gun out into the middle of the room.

  Immediately, I heard gunshots.

  Breathe.

  I readied the automatics, threw myself out of the elevator, turning onto my back, and began spraying both sides of the room.

  They returned fire.

  Breathe.

  Something burned, stung as I went sliding across the concrete floor, making me grit my teeth.

  I was hit.

  Breathe.

  I continued to shoot until all men had fallen. I counted at least fifteen on each side. I stayed down for two reasons.

  One, I had no idea if there were more. Hidden.

  Two, my legs were in sudden agony.

  Breathe.

  Rise above it, I heard Akule’s voice in my head. Rise above it.

  Breathe.

  Out of bullets, I tossed the automatics, and removed two of the four handguns I had left. I flipped over on my stomach, ignoring the fiery pain in my legs. Scanning through the furniture, I spotted two pairs of feet at the back of the room. I rolled myself against a stack of chairs and took aim with one gun.

  Breathe.

  First shot. One man fallen. Second shot. Second man fallen.

  Breathe.

  Both fell at eye level with me. Both saw me. Both pointed their weapons at me. Both died within a second.

  Breathe.

  Scanning the rest of the room, I found no other signs of life. Using one of the stacks of chairs, I lifted my body with an agonizing shout. I gnashed my teeth together to defeat the misery. I put my weight on my legs and almost fell back down. Razor-sharp torture shot down my legs then back up my body. I let out one final muted bellow, my body breaking out into an intense sweat from the effort. I wiped my eyes clear with the bottom of my T-shirt and made purposeful strides toward the elevator doors.

  I rose above it.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Ethan

  Breathe.

  The elevator door closed. I pressed the button for the sixth floor. The brief ride was peppered with images of Finley. I had a sickening feeling of finality I’d never see her again. I thought back on all of my bad decisions. The decisions that ultimately prevented my forever life with her. I thought back on what had motivated me to do it. She was that everything. She was my foundation, my supporting walls, my attic full of secrets, my sheltering roof. She was my home.

  My eyes stung at the memory of her driving away from me. My last words to her should not have been my last. My last words to her should have been everything she’d deserved. They should have been private, astounding words spoken from a marital bed made undone by us. By us. By us.

  Those should have been my last words... before I’d began new words, new promises.

  I’d made such an incredible mess of our lives. Of so many good people’s lives. I had no regrets when it came to saving the innocents I’d saved, but I should have found another way. A way that didn’t cause more rife, more suffering, more difficulties. I should have been patient. I should have quelled the fury that rose so easily in my heart and soul and mind and hands.

  Breathe.

  The doors opened slowly. And there. Ten feet from me, surrounded by a small army of armed men, stood a man I couldn’t have mistaken for anyone other than who he
was. He was grotesque, wearing a smile of triumph, with the most hollow, malevolent eyes I’d ever seen owned by another human being. My body shuddered.

  “Khanh.”

  Breathe.

  “In the flesh,” his voice grated, the tone oozing something so profoundly disturbing it made me want to claw away my ears. His arms extended from his sides in presentation. I fought the urge to throw a knife at his open target of a black heart. It was so dark I felt it could be seen through his shirt, beating the irregular rhythm only shared by those whose soul had been sold.

  Breathe.

  “Come in,” he said, gesturing me forward. He was young, much younger than I would have thought, maybe twenty-five. He did indeed reach my shoulders. I’d guess five feet ten inches. He was not one hundred percent Vietnamese, mixed with something else, something European. He was barefoot, casual, in a very American look of jeans and a T-shirt, as if the men surrounding him hadn’t weapons trained on me. I looked down. Red lasers painted the entire length of my body. I looked up and saw Dai’s smiling face.

  Breathe.

  I stepped inside and absently noted that my boots were filling with blood from my legs.

  Breathe.

  “Take a seat,” he said, pointing to a part of sectional opposite where he’d tossed himself onto like a little kid.

  He picked up a controller and started playing a video game on the large flat screen perpendicular to the windows that faced the night lights of Hanoi I sat with my back to. I felt so confused, wondering why he hadn’t killed me yet.

  Breathe.

  “You’re so young,” I observed.

  He laughed as his fingers clicked the controller, his eyes stayed trained on the TV. “That I am.”

  “Did your parents get you into this?” I asked, trying to figure out how the young, seemingly normal guy in front of me had gotten into the business he’d gotten into.

  “Nah, self-made, baby.”

  “No need to brag to me, asshole,” I said, leaning back into the sofa, making myself comfortable. “I’ve seen your business firsthand.”

  He stared through me with his horrific eyes and threw the controller at his side.