I’ve gotten as close as I dare. The scarred one has had enough of waiting. He’s checking his phone and cursing the invisible delivery boys. I quickly text Lethal to tell him the show is about to start.
“Where the fuck are you two idiots?” Dipshit barks down the line in greeting. He’s forgotten all about Baseball cap, who’s still not surfaced, nor has Slade. I know he can handle himself.
“What do you mean you’ve been held up? What the fuck are you being paid to do? Be the fuck on time, is what!” This dickhead is fuming. Lethal must really be acting up. “She was a no-go? What does that even mean?” Dickhead is cursing like a pro into his phone. “All you fuckwits had to do was bring us a pretty girl, and now you’re telling me she had a fake leg and you just let her go? You didn’t pop a bullet in her pretty ice-blue head? You fucking incompetent idiots!” Now he’s hollering at the top of his lungs. I hear the deadly impatient sigh. “How far away are you from the airfield?” He wants to know so he can end the nomads.
Too late, fucker.
He listens more to Lethal, who is putting on a pretty convincing show. “No, he doesn’t have fucking time for you to find another. Fuck you, assholes.” There go his bad manners again. “I would enjoy making you two scream, and I would draw it out slow until you wish you were dead.” Another round of curses starts up. The dickhead needs anger management courses, and maybe some social skills. “You better hope we never cross paths, or you can consider yourselves done for.”
Keep pushing him, Lethal. The angrier he gets, the more he will slip up in rage and spill some secrets.
“Can’t wait another night, idiot. Gotta be back into Anchorage tonight. He needed just one more gal for The Pen, and you two can’t fucking deliver, which means I can’t fucking deliver, which means you’ve made a very big fucking problem for us.”
The Pen? Is this guy fucking serious?
His arm is flying around like he’s a maestro. “Shut up, asshole,” he squawks, really losing his lot. “You’ve got no idea who you’re playing with and what this fuck-up means to him.”
Asswipe... you got no idea who you are playing with.
“We’re expected to return with a pretty, young, fuckable thing who is undamaged, unlike the last one, who was half-dead when she arrived in our hands,” he bites out. “That bitch was a handful trying to escape in the freezing cold. I fucked her up so she would think twice about running,” he boasts his achievement in hurting Whisper, who had already been shot.
Is this man Kane, who Whisper said likes to hurt women?
I hear the animalistic growls coming from me, threatening to expose me. I quiet down as Slade messages me to abort and meet him back at the bike.
What. The. Fuck?
I’m ready to crack skulls. Shove things in places that will hurt. Cut places that will drain the life essence out of a person. Make a fucker talk. No Mercy is ready to come out and play.
Dickhead growls down the line. “Fucker, you talk too much.” The realization he’s saying too much hits. Lethal has pushed him for too much information, and he’s gonna run. “Forget I told you Alaska. Forget we’ve even had this conversation.” And then he disconnects and starts pacing again.
I’ve heard enough. My grip tightens on the handles of my little black bag of tricks, the urge strong to break all my rules of Hunting 101 and just go motherfucking Nazi on these two men, because I have no patience left in the tank. It’s empty.
I’ve known Slade a long time, and the last time I remember, which was fifteen minutes ago, he had all his marbles. Why the fuck would Slade ask me to abort?
Baseball cap reappears holding his hat in his hand, looking straight in my direction, a deliberate action. I snap off a couple pictures. I shove the binoculars to my eyes and I jolt back a few steps.
Adam?
I’m about to do something stupid, when a hand slides over my mouth and across my chest, crushing my trigger-happy arm to my side. Slade’s a beast of a man and knows he’s got more mental and physical strength than me at the moment.
“I. Said. Abort.” Each word is ground out with an invisible full stop into my ear.
I’m straining against his bulky body. My brain hasn’t caught up with the memo yet. I hear what Slade is saying, but we came here to make heads roll and get answers. This isn’t getting answers in my book.
That guy looked a little like Adam, but it can’t be, right?
“Time… to... walk away... brother,” Slade grunts each word, because my body has a mind of its own and is fighting his hold. Nobody has had their hands on me like this in a long time, and it is setting my nerves on end.
I’m hearing him, but the math still isn’t computing, because my memories are at war with my mind, threatening to spill out, and they need to stay locked down tight.
I’m glaring at the two men, who are now conversing with each other in the hangar and then Kane-the-fucker has his back to us and is heading for the pushback tug. They are preparing to leave. Those fuckers are right within our grasp, ripe for the picking, but what Slade is asking me to do sounds fucking nuts.
Is that really Adam? I’m floundering in my mind, because it does and doesn’t look like him. And why would he be here of all places?
I put more effort into my struggling. This is our shot to find out a lot of information, to exact some motherfucking retribution for Whisper. To make a fucker bleed, as Whisper has, as Santana has.
An eye for an eye.
I’m being dragged backwards by Slade’s sheer strength into the hidden safety of the trees. “Fuck, Edge, stop fighting me for a second and let me talk.” I hear a heavy sigh of relief from Slade when I stop struggling against his hold, but he isn’t fooled by my compliance. He’s still convinced I’m going to buck him off me. “Do you trust me, Edge?” His voice has this deep, soothing timbre to it. I’ve never known Slade to steer me wrong. He’s by my side now, because I know he is loyal to a fault. He won’t fuck with me. “Are you with me, buddy?” He gives our mashed-together bodies a shake.
Of course I fucking trust him. He wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.
“I said, are you with me?”
I take a moment, and then begrudgingly nod, because I do trust Slade, but this doesn’t make sense. How did he come back with a whole new plan? We had a motherfucking plan, and it didn’t involve walking away without busting some chops and getting answers.
“Not a peep from you when I remove my hand from your mouth, but I’m still gonna be hugging you like a bear. Got me? I ask you a question, you answer in hushed tones. You can’t fuck this up now, Edge. I’m warning you. This is for Whisper’s safety and return to her people. I have intel that will make that possible.”
I nod reluctantly. Yeah, yeah... not a fucking peep.
He removes his hand, and I don’t wait for a question, but I do use his requested hushed tones. “Answer me this. Was that Adam Balan?”
“Yes, that was Adam. He knew I was out there watching, and he was trying to lure me around the back, which he succeeded in doing. He’s still one crafty motherfucker.” There’s great admiration in Slade’s voice.
What. The. Fuck?
“I’m gonna take my hands from around you now, and I need you to listen, stand down, and let me explain once we get back to the bike. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes,” I growl.
“Christ, Edge, you better mean it, because regardless of what you are telling yourself, this is the best thing for Whisper. You want her rescued, then you will do as I say. I promise you, on my life, I’m not fucking around with you. This has to go my way this time.”
Well, fuck.
I begrudgingly agree again, and his hold loosens as he steps away. And then we make our way back to the bike with me taking the lead, fuming and confused why Slade had been talking with Adam and why we still aren’t storming that fucking plane.
I’m the bear that has been poked too many motherfucking times in the last few weeks.
“This better be a fucking Oscar-winning speech.”