Renner (In the Company of Snipers Book 19)

by Irish Winters

  “What was that?”

  “God, no,” Roger growled. “The boiler. She’s... shit. She’s back.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The abandoned meat packing plant occupied an acre on the far east side of a long rectangular stretch of land alongside the interstate. Asphalt covered the area surrounding the plant. An eight-foot-high chain-link fence surrounded the parking lot. No trespassing signs marked twenty feet intervals on that fence. A chained double-gate barred the main entrance. A reasonable person could never gain entry. Good thing Renner wasn’t reasonable.

  The helo had already coasted over the property for a quick look-see. No lights shone from the front office windows. The only sign that someone was indeed home—the POS utility van parked alongside the loading dock behind the building.

  Renner’s plan was simple. Montego had a driver. Montego had Tara. Montego and her buddy driver were going to die.

  But getting into the building without being seen was the problem. The lair that The TEAM had discovered in Alexandria had been one helluva diabolical nightmare that had nearly ended Maverick Carson, another TEAM agent’s, life. Seemingly a derelict warehouse from the outside, the interior opened into one wide space. All walls and a high ceiling with metal struts, at first blush it appeared to be what it looked like from the outside—empty.

  But unbeknownst to Alex, Beau, Maverick, and Gabe when they’d B&E’d, the entire floor—which had appeared solid—had actually concealed an array of individual concrete cells, each capped with a benign steel plate designed to hold a man’s weight. But only for so long. Like the treacherous black widow spider Montego was, each of those steel plates had also concealed a spring actuator. They were pressure plates, that, within seconds of someone stepping on them, dropped the trespasser into either one of her victim’s cells or onto a bed of steel spikes.

  Maverick fell onto steel spikes that afternoon. He would’ve died had Alex, Beau, and Gabe not been there to commence immediate life-saving measures. By the end of the day, he’d been in critical care and in surgery, and The TEAM had rescued nineteen tortured, starved, feral men. Alex’s USMC buddy, Aaron Pope, had been among them. Renner hoped to make Tom’s nine and those still missing seven, Montego’s final victims. Her swan song if he had his way.

  It was well known she had access to unlimited resources. One didn’t come up through the ranks of an international crime family like hers without inheriting the blood money they’d left behind when they’d died—all violently. Which made Renner certain nothing about this derelict building was what it appeared to be.

  “Is the parking lot solid?” he asked Tom through their headsets.

  Tom’s head bobbed. He’d grown more somber and less nasty now that they were hovering over the place where he’d been tortured.

  “What can you tell us about the place?” Renner needed specifics. “Are we going to run into any booby-traps? Early warning systems? Poison darts?” He didn’t really think there were poison darts, he just said that to get Tom’s waning attention back on track. The man seemed to be lost in his thoughts.

  By now Ben had landed the chopper near the trees on the parking lot at the far west end of the property. Montego’s second lair lay due east at the opposite end of the property. While freeway lights cast a dim light on the front of the building, the entire rear was pretty much shadow. A full stretch of cracked asphalt parking lot lay between Renner and Tara.

  Tom gestured with his prosthetic hand at the ominously silent building. “I hate to admit this, but I, umm… I helped her carry some, umm, stuff, through that rear bay door right there. Second closest to us. I, umm, yeah… stuff…”

  By ‘I umm, yeah, stuff’ Tom really meant he’d dragged the men he’d helped Montego dope and kidnap into this godforsaken place. He’d probably helped her torture some of them, too. Some of the very men who stood with him now. Young, stupid, heterosexual male military members who had, for one night, used their dicks instead of their brains. Like Jed, they’d fallen for Montego’s poisonous charms and woke up in Hell.

  Renner knew she’d used ungodly means of controlling her male victims—forcing them to watch as she tortured other men—or worse. She’d used mind-altering drugs to obtain them, but she’d also fed body parts and still living, screaming men into the maw of the industrial woodchipper Alex had found at her first lair.

  But why hadn’t these guys ganged up on the bitch—just one time? That’s all it would’ve taken. They were men. Bigger. Stronger. They could’ve fed her to her own damned chipper and ended this unholy nightmare months ago.

  As if he’d read his mind, Aaron placed his fingerless left hand on Renner’s forearm. No pressure. No gentle clasp of fingertips. Just the four-knuckled dead weight of what was left of a proud man’s hand that had once palmed an NBA basketball. “A guy will do anything to save his buddies, Agent Graves. That’s her power. Her genius. She probably understands us better than we understand ourselves.”

  That was all he had to say. Renner swallowed his opinion and asked Tom again, “What else? If we can get in there without her knowledge, what else will we find? Pressure plates?”

  Tom shook his head, his one eye glistening. “She loved that place up north more than this one. That place belonged to her brother, you know. That’s why the fancy setup and all the traps. He’s the one who did that for her. She adored Roland. Talked about him all the time. If you ask me, them two weren’t just brother and sister, if you catch my drift. But this place here was just... just...”

  “Just what?”

  Tom sucked in a quick breath, steeled his spine, and said, “Where she fucked us.” The muscles in his neck constricted. “Then she... she… you know.”

  Renner knew. Castration without anesthesia would’ve been damned hard to endure or watch.

  “I’m sorry for what you and your men went through,” Aaron said, “but we’ve got a second chance here tonight, Tom. You and me, we can save Tara and those missing men, if Montego’s got them. You need to tell us everything you know. Let’s go in strong and prepared this time. Let’s be men again.”

  The pirate in Tom turned that single, sharp eye on Aaron, then on Renner. His lip curled. He nodded one curt nod. “I know where she kept us. I can get us that far. And it’s all concrete. Ain’t no way she could’ve installed pressure plates in those floors. Want to bet she’s conceited enough to think me and my guys ran like scared little dogs with our tails between our legs? Want to bet she thinks we weren’t never coming back? That she’s safe?”

  “I’m not a betting man,” Renner bit out. “But tonight, all I’ve got is riding on you, buddy.”

  The pirate in Tom blinked. Twice. That one eye glistened, and Renner knew he hadn’t been called buddy in a while.

  “Thank you, sir,” Tom murmured hoarsely.

  Renner gave him an answering nod. Trusting Tom. Trusting Aaron. “Then let’s end this once and for all. Take us in, Tom. You lead, we’ll follow.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Tara sat in the dark, her knees pulled tight into her chest, her arms around her legs. Her heart hammered after that loud noise and what Roger had said. The men had all moved away from the sole exit, over to the wall farthest from the door, preferring to cower with Shy’s dead body. But Tara couldn’t leave Tony. He hadn’t stirred, and he was so sick. She refused to show Montego one speck of fear. It hadn’t worked with Jorge.

  By now, the tension and heat in this concrete dungeon were unbearable. Rivers of sweat poured between her breasts and down her back. Her hair was all but plastered to her head and neck. As frightened as she was, she climbed to her feet, determined to meet Montego like a woman, not a coward. If Montego thought she’d go down easy, she had another thing coming. The bitch!

  Until the door creaked open and a blinding light hit her in the face. Tara lifted one hand to block the glare, trying to see the psychotic woman who’d terrorized the East Coast for too damned long.

  Instead, a
male voice snarled at her. “You.”

  “No,” she shot back at him. She could barely see beyond the beam of bright light aimed in her face.

  “She wants you,” he said.

  “I heard you, and I said no,” Tara replied. “If she wants me, then tell her to get her fat ass in here and get me herself.”

  The guy grunted. “It don’t work that way.”

  Tara planted her feet. “It works that way now.”

  He grunted.

  She grunted back at him, surprised at her sudden bravado. But she was tired, damn it. Tired of bullies and bitches. “The fuckin’ buck stops here,” she growled at her warden, if that’s what this guy was. “Now. Tonight. Go get Catalina Montego. I want to talk to her. Go!”

  “Do what he says,” Roger whined, back to sounding like a little boy instead of a man. “Please. Don’t make this guy mad.”

  Montego’s henchman stood waiting.

  “Why should I?” Tara asked. “If she’s going to kill me anyway, then she needs to man up and do it. Why wait?”

  “B-b-because she won’t hurt you when she comes,” Gilbert said. “She’ll h-h-hurt us. Then you’ll do whatever she wants. You’ll give her anything, even p-p-parts...”

  Tara tried to swallow, but she had nothing to work with. No saliva. No breath. Parts. Montego had already dismantled these men, bit by bit and part by part. But would she do that to a woman? Or was it just men she hated?

  Speak of the she-devil. Catalina Montego peered around the corner, her haughty nose in the air. “What’s taking so long?” she asked her male slave.

  He pointed a finger at Tara. “She said no.”

  Montego’s lips curled into a salacious smile.

  “Oh,” she said. Just “Oh” as she slid into the room like a viper, her eyes black and soulless, her lips still bearing that hint of an evil smile. She’d changed out of her hooker ensemble and into a long, dark velvet dress. The slit up her right thigh revealed most of her leg; the corresponding slit down the center of her outfit, most of her breasts. Not a good look for someone as big as she was. The outfit made her look fat and sloppy. She needed a bra and a corset—one of those old-fashioned kinds made with whalebones. That ought to work.

  “Aren’t you the clever one?” she asked Tara. “Did Mrs. Stewart put you up to this little deception? Is she paying people to die for her now?”

  “Kelsey has no idea I’m here,” Tara asserted, still acting the part of a tough girl instead of a cowering wimp—which she knew she’d soon be reduced to once Montego got down to her disgusting, dirty business. But hey. Why not go out with a bang?

  Montego took three steps toward Tara, her sharp gaze flashing from the men cowering behind Tara, to poor Tony, then back to the men again. “Where’s the wig you used to trick me?”

  “How would I know? I’ve been busy,” Tara bit out. “Why don’t you come in and look for it?”

  Man, it’d sure be nice if just one of the guys got on his feet and at least stood beside her. Or behind her. Maybe they could work together to bring this lunatic down. Two against two made the odds even. Kind of. Five against two would’ve been better. Wasn’t that what soldiers were supposed to do? Fight back? Even when they were injured?

  A genuine grin curled Montego’s lips. “Yes, I see you’ve been very busy, and perhaps a thank you is in order.”

  “No,” Roger growled. “Don’t do it.”

  “You dare speak?” she hissed, her eyes wide now, her brows raised.

  Instead of answering, Roger made a funny sound.

  “Him,” Montego ordered her slave. “The one on the floor. He’s useless. Bring him.”

  Tara couldn’t help thinking, ‘My God, what have I done?’ as she stepped over Tony’s legs, protecting him. He was still unconscious, but he would’ve done the same for her, wouldn’t he? “Stop!” she yelled as the henchman set his light on a hook near the door and headed her way. “You’re not taking him anywhere.”

  Which meant nothing to the guy. His fist shot out and hit Tara square in her chest, knocking her backward onto her butt. She’d barely missed landing on Tony. By the time she could draw a breath and climb back to her feet, he’d grabbed Tony’s ankle and was dragging him out the door.

  Poor Tony never made a sound, but Tara did. “Stop!” she yelled. “You can’t take him!”

  Montego cocked her head, her long ebony locks now cascading over her shoulder and her eyes as flat and lifeless as a ghoul’s. She wrinkled her nose at Tara. “You’re smart. Brave. Want to join me? You might learn something.”

  Adrenaline flooded Tara with two very loud demands. Run! Fight! She was shaking and she knew Montego could smell her fear. But she would not go willingly. Never!

  “Don’t hurt him,” she snarled. “He’s sick. He needs medical—”

  “He’s not sick, he’s dying,” Montego said as calmly as if she’d just mentioned a change in the weather. “You may not be who I first thought you were, but we can still be friends.” She held a slender hand to Tara, canted her head, and coaxed, “Come on. Together we can watch how easy it is to make grown men cry.”

  Somebody, maybe Roger, groaned behind Tara, and she swallowed hard. Still facing Montego, she told Roger, “I’m sorry.” Then, to make it look authentic, she turned her body partly toward him and his guys.

  Montego stepped closer, her grasping fingers reaching for Tara’s arm.

  Guess again, bitch. Tara had already cocked her hand—the one in the shadow, the one Montego could no longer see—into a powerhouse knuckle sandwich. Just as Montego’s ice-cold fingers contacted Tara’s skin, Tara followed through and punched her in the face.

  “Roger! Help!” she screamed, facing the zombie-like men who were supposed to be at her six. “Gilbert! Pete! Now’s our chance! Come on, get up. Help me. We can win! Just—!”

  Down Tara went as another needle struck her neck. She stumbled to her knees, blinking, trying to stay focused. Too late she realized Montego hadn’t intended to grab her. Just to subdue her. With drugs. It was too, too late.

  Not that Roger, Samson, Gilbert, Pete, Gary, or poor, poor Tony cared.

  Tom was good for his word. He led his men, Renner, Seth, Beckam, and Aaron directly through the door on the dock and into a dark corridor that was wide enough to accommodate forklifts.

  Into the bowels of Montego’s lair they went, each now armed with a government-issued LED tactical light Velcroed to their shoulders, just like in the old days. This operation felt like others Renner had been on in the Corps. Nothing but shoulder pats and hand signals as Tom took them through a maze of hallways and deeper into ground zero.

  Heavy equipment grumbled somewhere up ahead and the air in these concrete corridors had grown oppressively hotter. More humid. But Renner had heard no screaming. Which meant Montego wasn’t torturing anyone yet. Renner didn’t want to think what she might do to Tara.

  Tom fisted his right hand, signaling a full stop, and their hurried advance ceased. Until now, Seth and Beckam had been quiet, just following orders.

  “Sir, I think we’d accomplish more if we broke into separate groups. Is that doable?” Beckam directed that question to Tom.

  “Agreed. This hall splits into a T up ahead. Some of us…” Tom gestured at his men and Renner. “Will go left. The rest of you…” He pointed at Seth, Beckam, and Aaron. “Go right. That way’ll lead you to the boiler room behind Montego’s workshop, if that’s what you want to call it. Shut that fucker down and haul ass back here. We should be inside her, umm, dungeon by the time you get back. Understood?”

  “Copy that,” Beckam and Seth replied simultaneously. Like the good troops they were, they turned right at the T with Aaron, while Renner went left with Tom and his men. Another sound, this one mechanical, higher pitched, sounded behind the double doors ahead. But not as high as Tara’s scream, “No!”

  The muscles in Renner’s thighs bunched with the need to run, but Tom’s hard plastic
prosthetic hand hit him in the chest. “Don’t you goddamned dare go in there to save your girlfriend and spoil everything,” he snarled. “This ain’t about one person, this is about taking Montego down once and for all. This is a revenge killing, damn you. We get to finish her. Us! We! Not you!”

  Tara screamed again, one long, drawn out, “Nooooooooo!”

  Renner couldn’t think, couldn’t focus. Until Tom hit him again. “You’ve got to be the man that young lady needs you to be, Agent Graves. Engage. Focus. Know the rules!”

  Just that fast Renner’s inner sniper shoved his softer, more thoughtful, human side out of its way. His spine turned to steel. His heart stopped beating, and he was a highly-trained USMC machine, hardened in battle, ready to do whatever it took to get Tara out of there. “I know the rules.”

  “Are you ready then?” Tom asked from the doors where he’d molded C4 over the lock.

  “Ready,” Renner growled, primed now. Ready to kick ass. Dying to kill.

  The blast went off just as Tara screamed, “No!” again.

  Renner put his shoulder to the door and promised, “Hang on, baby. I’m coming.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “No! Stop! You can’t do that!” Tara screamed at the wicked woman lashing Tony to a wooden plank that would soon be fed into the gaping maw of a woodchipper as big as a full-sized truck. Its wide intake feeder led to filthy metal augers that led to—God!

  She couldn’t bear to think what that chipper did to a man’s body. For now, the wicked machine sat humming. The augers weren’t spinning, just frightfully threatening. One only had to see it to know what Montego used it for. A foot-deep aluminum trough sat below the chute leading out of the chipper. Dark stains on the concrete floor beneath the machine and trough testified to the chipper’s previous, horrifying use.

  “Oh, but I have to,” Montego replied as she wound another bungee cord around Tony’s ankles and secured the hooked ends tightly together. She was a study in morbidity. Gone was the velvet. Now she wore black coveralls, the sleeves puckered at her wrists, and long black gloves tucked into her sleeves. She’d pulled her hair back from her face, every last strand secured beneath a black rubber cap. Black rubber boots that came up to her knees completed her extremely efficient, frightening ensemble.