Blowback, p.11
Blowback, page 11
part #12 of Nathan K Series
He was supposed to meet Octavia, but he had an easy in to the house and he refused to waste it. The plan remained simple enough. Let Octavia continue to cause havoc while Nathan would find Robin and Dieter. Taking Robert Barrett as a hostage gave Nathan leverage. All he needed, really. Even if Clay didn’t like his own brother, he would never let another person harm the man. Brothers were like that. Crime boss brothers, doubly so.
Sniveling, Robert said, “You’re a dead man. You know that, right?”
“Been one many times. Still here.”
They neared the door. Nathan checked behind to make sure nobody had become brave or loyal or even noticed. Clear.
But then the lights snapped back to life.
Clockwork had warned that he couldn’t permanently disable them on such short notice — Nathan thought Robin could have — and to be ready for their sudden return. Nathan had not been ready.
He paused, his eyes squinting at the instant brightness, and when he pressed Maggie forward into Robert’s flesh, he felt nothing. Looking ahead, he saw Robert had stepped to the side, swung around, and had a fist barreling his way. Instinct took over.
Nathan dropped low to avoid the punch. When Robert’s fist cracked into the wall, Nathan dashed a step forward and stomped on Barrett’s injured foot. As the man hissed, Nathan uppercut with Maggie leading the way. The weapon’s metal dug into Robert’s jaw, breaking the bone with a clicking noise followed by the man’s anguished scream. He elbowed back and caught Nathan in the side of the head. Nathan stumbled, the world spinning drunk for a few breaths.
He raised Maggie, wanting to squeeze that trigger, but held off. He had to keep the brother as leverage — for Robin’s sake. Besides, he still wobbled. Probably would have shot the wall.
Breathing heavily, Robert punched Nathan in the head again. As Nathan sagged to his knees, Robert pulled something out of his pant pocket. Then the beep of a walkie. Then: “I want a report.”
A static-filled voice responded, “We got a group attacking the warehouse. Lights came back up, so we should be able to find them soon.”
“It’s a diversion. Send a unit to the house.”
“Repeat?”
“I said —”
Maggie belched fire, and the side of Robert’s head painted the corridor wall. Nathan lowered his weapon, took several deep breaths to clear his head, and stood. Robert’s soul rose nearby. The hunger urged Nathan, nearly demanded that he open his eyes in that mist, take in the soul, feel complete once more. But Nathan balked at the idea of having that bastard inside him. Not only because Barrett disgusted him, but because the man had enough hatred and strength to fight for control. Still, he needed a second soul.
Too late though. This one dissipated, and the pangs boiled. He had missed too many opportunities – should’ve listened to Octavia. No. No. He refused to think that way. That was the Immortal in him. Gaining a second soul could not be allowed to rule him. There were more important things than his own mortality.
He stood over Robert Barrett’s dead body, gripped Maggie tight, and turned toward the door. Not how he had wanted this to go, but at least he knew where to find to Robin. He headed for the house.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Moving across the open lot to the house would have been easy several minutes earlier. Now, with the area flooded by numerous lights, he would stand out like a wine stain on a white dress. Octavia had to be keeping the majority of Barrett’s crew busy, but even that could no longer be counted on. After Robert’s final chat with someone in the warehouse, it was possible the enemy no longer saw Octavia as the main threat.
Nathan scurried along the side of the building. Peeking around the corner, he spotted the colonnade running to the house. If he could make it there, the structure would provide some cover from being detected — not by anybody at ground level but certainly by anybody in a guard tower. However, to reach the colonnade required a sprint across more open terrain. Between the two options — sprint for the colonnade or sprint for the house — the latter was more direct. A bit longer of a stretch, but when he finished, he would be where he needed to be.
That settled it.
Lowering like an Olympic runner waiting for the starter pistol, he licked his lips. And hesitated. He had only one soul. The emptiness gnawed within him. That pounding thirst reminded him of more than a desire to be whole again — it promised that he was vulnerable.
Why tempt a death he could not come back from when he could find a safer way to the house? Glancing up, he saw his answer — the cracks of light through the blinds on the second story. With an obvious assault on the compound in progress, each passing second brought greater risk to Robin, and she was there. Behind those blinds with the cracks of light. Of course, getting killed on his way would not help her at all but neither would arriving too late. Only problem — he had already played with Luck when he forced the crash with an eighteen-wheeler. But he had acted more on instinct then. This time, for better or worse, he was thinking.
Robin would laugh at that one.
Picturing her smile, hearing her amused voice — it all clicked.
He ran. A straight line across an open field. An easy target taking a calculated risk.
All sound drained from the world except for his hard breathing and his pounding heart. And the silence. The absence of a sniper shot that would drive him to the ground, split his head open, end all he had fought for.
Seconds. The run lasted mere seconds. He crouched with his back against the house, panting and smiling. Still alive.
Keep moving.
He hastened along the side, around the corner, and toward the back porch. He eased over the wood railing and gingerly stepped near the entrance, trying to avoid the sound of thumping feet — or worse, the long whine of a wood plank. Still no shots came to end him.
No guards, either. Maybe they had all run toward the warehouse at the start, but why hadn’t they returned? Octavia was an excellent fighter, yet Nathan doubted she could dispatch all of Barrett’s men. Plus, he could not recall seeing guards at the house when reconning on the hill.
Nathan remembered Robert’s fear. Nobody goes in the house, he had said. It appeared that Clay Barrett had a vicious hold on his followers. No need for gatekeepers when nobody dared to disobey. That also left extra men to guard the perimeter and the warehouse — areas that needed to be protected from intruders.
Opening the backdoor as quietly as possible, Nathan entered the house. The main floor held none of the charm a home should have. Devoid of most furniture, it looked like the bare minimum required to exist in this space had been provided. If anything, it was less a home and more a safehouse.
“I warned you he’d be coming,” a voice said from above, and Nathan’s chest swelled. He could pick out Robin anytime. Especially because she went on, “I’m not saying you’re all acting stupid. I mean, I get that you have no reason to trust what I’ve told you, but maybe now that your entire facility is being shot to pieces, maybe now you’ll start to believe me.”
A loud smack, and Robin said nothing more.
“She talks again, shoot her in the leg.” A graveled version of Jake’s gravelly voice — Clay Barrett.
Nathan forced his legs to hold back. He wanted to rocket up there and fight, but the noise of stomping up the stairs would ruin any chances he had for a clean entry. Swallowing down his sense of urgent anger, he took each stair with the care of a parent trying to keep a newborn from waking.
“I’m starting to think there’s something to what this woman says.” Clay’s pacing steps thumped on the floorboards. “You understand that, Dieter? If I’ve got to deal with some punk trying to get here, then I’ve got to finish dealing with you before that happens. So, last chance before I cut out your tongue — for starters. Why’d you kill my son?”
Nathan managed another silent stair.
“It was never supposed to be like that,” Dieter said. The strain in his voice, the exhausted way it stretched into an upper-register, suggested he had been beaten repeatedly. The fact that he spoke at all suggested he knew he couldn’t take anymore. “I only meant to scare him away from my daughter. I told you this. I can’t change the truth.”
Another step closer.
“Yeah, but here’s the problem, Dieter. Ever since my son took an interest in your daughter, I started looking into you. I mean what kind of father would I be if I let my boy date just anybody. If he was screwing her and that’s it, I wouldn’t have cared. But we both knew those two kids had a thing for each other. They were getting serious.”
“I do not try to offend you. I am in the same world you are. I wanted something different for my daughter. That’s all.”
Halfway up the stairs.
With a slam of his hand on something hard, Clay said, “That’s it, right there. You keep saying stuff like that — I am in the same world you are. See, that’s what I dug up about you. You are far more ambitious than you let on. You want to be in the same world as me. You want to have the power and the money. But you don’t like waiting. Isn’t that why you left Germany and came here?”
“What? No.”
“Oi, don’t lie to me. Fella like you gets so used to lying, you can’t tell the truth anymore. But I know the truth.”
“It’s not like that.”
“My sources tell me that you couldn’t handle dealing with the old German bosses. Too engrained in the system. You came out here thinking we were all a bunch of outback idiots and that you could easily rise to the top in half the time.”
Dieter’s voice rose even higher. “I swear that’s not true.”
Only a few more stairs left. Nathan slowed down the desire to bolt for the top. As long as Clay and Dieter talked, there was time. But Nathan also wanted to hear this – to finally know why Dieter had screwed everything up.
“What better way to cut in line than to get your daughter married off to my boy?” Clay snarled. “Straight to the top with one utterance of I do.”
“I love my daughter.”
“You wouldn’t be the first father to whore out his loved ones for profit. But here’s the thing — despite all of that, and I believe you capable of it all, I don’t think that’s exactly what happened.” Several heavy punches were followed by Dieter’s cries. Then: “Maybe, at the start, that had been your plan. But you’re smart enough to figure out you’d never get even close with that strategy. In another outfit, maybe. But I got two brothers. The seats at the top are full.”
Nathan reached the second floor, sweat soaking his back. This had been set up like a formal office with the stairs opening to a narrow waiting room, a receptionist’s desk, and two chairs. On the wall behind the desk, one door stood a sliver ajar. Enough for the sounds of Clay beating Dieter to carry through.
“A greedy prick like you,” Clay went on, “you tried to break up our kids’ and get her interested in one of the rival families. When that didn’t work, you went straight to the bosses. Which one took you up on the offer?”
Dieter’s words mumbled through a fattening lip. “A-Alder.”
The waiting room had carpeting that absorbed Nathan’s steps. He moved fast to the door. Staying low, he tried to peek through the open crack, hoping to get some idea of the room’s layout and — most importantly — where to find Robin. But he only had eyes on the back leg of the guard standing just inside.
“Alder?” Clay said. “That gutless shit. Yeah, he would send you after my son. That’s why he’s one of the lesser powers out here. He’s never had the balls to go for the real prize.”
Clay’s voice intensified, and that sound rattled Nathan. The boss was opening the valves on his anger. He wouldn’t need it to motivate killing a man — especially this particular man — but he wanted it. Nathan understood. That intensity heightened the experience, and Clay craved the full pleasure of avenging his son.
With adrenaline coursing through him, Clay would reach a near-fugue when he tore apart his son’s killer. After he finished, he would ride a high and want more — pain, pleasure, all of it. And there would be only one other target in that room. Robin.
No time left.
Nathan stood, cleared his mind, and kicked the door.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The door bashed open, slamming into somebody on the other side. Those that Nathan could see — Robin seated in the back corner, Dieter hanging by the arms from a rafter, Clay hulking forward with bloodied fists, and the guard just inside the door — they all startled at the sudden noise. Before entering the room fully, Nathan opened fire. Two rounds. The first hit the guard in the belly — a body shot that required little aim. As he clutched his side and bent forward, he presented his head for a more controlled shot.
Nathan swung around to face the door between him and the person on the other side. Squeezing off another two rounds at an average man’s chest level, Nathan waited. He stared at the splintered wood where the bullets had cut through the door and listened. A groan. A body slumping over.
Nathan tried to maneuver around the door, looking to grab the man’s soul, but Clay took a step forward. With his weapon held tight, Nathan made a quick arc in a coordinated motion — scanning the room. Blood-soaked and beaten, Dieter swung limp but still breathed. Robin and Clay stared at him, still shocked by the sudden intrusion of unexpected violence. The room was clearly Clay’s office, lined with bookshelves and well-used books. Lower shelves came out perpendicular to the wall on the right. On the left, Clay’s domineering office desk had been shoved aside — it probably took the center of the room normally. Behind Clay, the back wall had an exquisite stained-glass window. Difficult to get the full picture at night, but Nathan saw flowers and trees reaching upward along with a woman’s arm.
As Nathan squinted to see the image clearer, he caught movement to the left. One guard remaining. Standing in the back, in the shadows. That’s why Nathan had missed him before. But the man stepped forward now and leveled a classic Smith & Wesson Model 19 revolver at Robin’s head.
Robin looked at the weapon and at the man wielding it. She struggled to hold still. A tear shed down her cheek. But her teeth ground together and the glower she sent to this man could not be mistaken. Scared — yes. But angry, too. A warm tension rose in Nathan’s chest.
The guard raised his lips in a bloodthirsty grin. Nathan knew that look. It left him no time for pride. He walked forward, firing with each step. The man jerked backward in time to the loud blasts and died with that disgusting smile on his face. It soured Nathan’s stomach.
Robin gazed across the room, and though she remained silent, he heard every word racing through her mind. Her relief and the hope placed on his shoulders came loudly in the way her body balled over. But she did not smile. If she were talking, she would let Nathan know that she understood they were not free yet, that she could keep her focus together, that she would do all she could to aid their escape, and that she trusted him.
He tried to convey his own assurances back to her, but he felt inadequate to the task. Instead, he turned Maggie onto Clay Barrett.
Like his brothers, Clay was a large man but with more muscle than paunch. His face bore the stories of many brawls, and his thin-line beard framed his scars like an abstract painting.
“You’re a dead man,” Clay growled.
Nathan chuckled. Those brothers needed to get a better line. To Robin: “Help him down.”
She jumped to her feet and hurried over to the rope that kept Dieter in the air. After a few attempts at unraveling the tight knots, she moved toward the table at Clay’s side. Though hesitant as she approached, angling back as if reaching out at a perturbed snake, she snatched a bloodied knife off the table. Nathan raised Maggie slightly to make sure Clay got the message. Then he glanced at the table — knives, scalpel, a spoon tarnished by flame, a lighter, and brass knuckles. Not a professional torturing kit but rather an assortment of painful implements devised by a vengeful father.
Robin cut the rope, and Dieter collapsed to the floor. He gasped and shuddered. She rushed over and freed his wrists. The stench of death surrounded him. Though sticky in blood and sweat, Dieter forced a foot forward and stood.
Nathan said, “Robin, get online. Octavia’s on the compound. She could use whatever help you can bring.”
“Octavia?”
“Yeah, and Clockwork’s available to help, too.” He caught her shocked face and shrugged. “It’s been a bit strange.”
She hastened to Clay’s office desk and opened his laptop. Over her shoulder, “What’s the password?”
Clay spit on the floor. “Suck my —”
“You don’t want to finish that,” Nathan said. “And you might as well tell her because she’ll have it figured out in a few minutes.”
“Then why should I tell her anything?”
“Because if you don’t, she’ll still figure it out, but I’ll also put a bullet in your leg.”
Clay paused, and Nathan could tell the man assessed both the seriousness and ruthlessness of his opponent. Then: “Sugarbritches273.”
Snickering, Nathan glanced over and saw that Robin was already in the computer. To the music of her fingers dancing on the keyboard, he turned his focus back onto Clay.
“You stupid turd,” Dieter said, the words mumbled through blood and missing teeth.
Clay shook his head. “Say whatever you want, it won’t change a thing. Even if your friend kills me, your life is over. You really think my brothers are going to let you leave here alive? Even if you manage that much, you really think they’ll let you go free forever? They’ll hunt you down.”
Dieter groaned, “Then I guess we’ll have to kill them, too.”
“Is that right? We? Because the way I hear it, the big man with the gun only came to save his girl. They don’t care about you. Face it, Dieter. I’m not the turd. You are. Because your life ain’t worth anything more than that.”
