EIGHT
“Ik pirdhu, motherfucker.”
Saying goodbye to Armend isn’t bittersweet. It’s just sweet. He’ll linger here for days, as his body slowly succumbs to infection and blood loss. It’s the only thing that could be done with so little time that would give him the full agonizing experience he deserves.
A quick death would have been too good for him.
I push the door open slowly, exposing a long ascending staircase. My legs shake violently, reminding me of the very real trauma my body has endured. The adrenaline of what just occurred is waning.
Fuck…I hope I can make it up there.
It looks like Mt. Everest from here, when in reality, it’s probably only fifteen steps. The door at the top of the stairs is closed, giving me a brief second to regain my breath and prepare myself.
With every step, searing pain radiates throughout every fiber of my being, but I can't acknowledge it. If I do, I'll stop, and there's no stopping from this point on.
The branding iron and crowbar are my only weapons. Anything else down there was too small and delicate or too heavy for what I have planned.
Knowing my brother, there’s no way there aren't more men here. When I was working, he always ensured I wouldn’t be interrupted by placing a handful of others in the building. I pause at the top of the stairs. Voices trickle through the crack at the bottom of the door.
I count three.
But there could be more.
It doesn’t matter. I’m ready for anything. I just hope they’ve become complacent and aren't expecting me.
Why would they, though?
Doc psychopath down there probably has them as convinced as he had himself that there was no way I could escape. Dumb fuckers.
I can barely make out their words.
Something about chicken?
How sweet, they’re planning lunch. Too bad they’ve already had their last meals.
They have no idea what's about to be unleashed upon them.
A brief pause to catch my breath and try to alleviate the spinning in my head is all I allow myself before I shove the door open. Three confused faces look up at me from where they play cards around a small table in the center of a kitchen.
“What the fu—”
The crowbar connects with the side of his head, and the question dies in his throat. Before the other two can even react, my hand is around the weapon that had been sitting on the table to his right, and I fire off two shots.
But it's not quick enough. Searing pain laces through my side right as my two shots connect, dropping his buddies to the floor…at least momentarily. There’s no time to assess the damage to me or acknowledge the pain.
A large buoy knife sitting on the edge of the table catches my eye. The handle feels at home in my hand, and I step over to one of the wounded men. I press my bare heel against his chest where blood oozes from the entry wound.
His buddy sputters and moans next to him. My bullet hit him in the neck; it's only a matter of seconds before he bleeds out, so he's not a threat. I can focus my attention elsewhere.
Wide, scared eyes meet mine.
“I…I…I didn't…I don't—”
The tip of the blade presses into his jugular, and I smile down at him. “Don't waste your last words on bullshit excuses, my friend. If you just tell me where he took Jade, this will end much quicker for you.”
He struggles underneath me, and I grind my heel into his chest harder. His scream rents the air.
“Fuck…Jesus…fuck…okay. I don't know. I don't know anything.”
I don't believe that for one second. “Do you know who I am?”
The man nods almost imperceptibly.
“Then you know that I'm going to get what I want, one way or the other. Tell me what I need to know, and I can end this quickly and relatively painlessly.”
I have no intention of letting him get off lightly, but he doesn't need to know that. Most people will latch onto any thread of hope that they might not have to suffer. “Tell me where he took Jade.”
His eyes narrow at me with defiance. Again with the tight lips. When will these assholes learn?
“All right, I guess you want to do this the hard way.”
With a glee that should probably concern me, I press the knife into the base of his throat. Slowly. It doesn't take much for most people to crack, and the pressure of a blade against the skin usually does the trick.
He flails, scratching at my arms and my naked body, trying to free himself from underneath me. I don’t relent, just press more firmly until it pierces the skin.
“No! Stop! Fucking stop!”
I pause but don’t remove the blade.
“All I know is he left with her on his jet. That's all I know, though. I wasn’t even there. I was here, and he told me to wait until you were brought here and the doc arrived.”
“And where exactly is here?”
He sucks in a deep breath and coughs up blood. “Montana.”
Christ, leave it to my brother to drop me in the middle of fucking nowhere. I don't think this guy knows anything about Jade. But his time on this planet is through.
I pull the knife from his throat, and he breathes a sigh of relief and then coughs again. Blood spews from his mouth. The bullet in his chest likely hit an organ. He’s a dead man soon, but after what he's been part of, the least I can do is make it more painful, physically and mentally.
Before he can say anything else or react, I stab the knife into the middle of his gut and jerk it upward. The slice tears his shirt and flays him wide open.
Screams echo in the barren room, mingling with the gurgling sounds from his soon to be deceased friend.
I reach in and grab the first thing my hand finds. A quick jerk rips his intestines from his body, and I drop them onto his chest.
His eyes widen briefly, and he chokes on his own blood. Then the life slips from his body far too quickly for my liking.
Fucker got off easy. And without giving me anything to go on. I need more information.
My crowbar victim is my next task. I wander over to where he lies next to the table where he fell when I struck him.
Shit…he's dead too.
My only solace is that he likely didn't have any more information than the other motherfucker did. These guys are just thugs. Mindless worker bees doing the dirty work while my brother controls the hive.
I’ll just have to find Jade the old-fashioned way.
But first, I need some clothes.
I eye up the three men and determine Mr. Crowbar is pretty close to my size, and his clothes aren’t bloody, yet. Once I don his T-shirt, jeans, and combat boots, I search their bodies and the house for any additional weapons, information, or useful supplies.
Loaded up with ammo, a few handguns, and the surprising amount of money I found stashed at the house, my confidence level about my chances has certainly increased. But then I open the front door to the vast nothingness outside, and my heart drops into my stomach.