22. Twenty-One

Snipers and priests had a lot in common. We cleansed the world of sinners, taking their sin upon ourselves. We both served a higher purpose, often without question, and we both had our sacred rituals.

Mine included Dum Dums. In a pinch, any lollipop would do as long as it was small, but Dum Dums were the perfect size and the sticks didn’t taste like utter shit. That was important considering once I put one in my mouth, I had to sit completely still for long periods of time. The suckers turned to a puddle of sugary goodness on my tongue, leaving behind only the stick to suck on. It wasn’t as good as a cigarette, but I made do. Smoking from a sniper perch was asking to be shot.

From my perch inside the hollowed-out guts of a Volkswagen Beetle at the top of a pile of junk, I had a pristine view of the junkyard. I lay, belly-down, on a custom-built rotating sphere that I could control with my feet. No mechanical parts meant minimal noise while repositioning. Of course, due to the size of my sniper rifle, I only had a view of a hundred and eighty degrees at a time when I wasn’t peeking through the scope, which I did as little as possible to lessen the strain on my eyes.

Instead, I used a spotting lens, this one equipped with thermal night vision. Peering through it bathed the world in shades of green and white. Anything living registered in red or yellow, depending on how hot they were. Most humans were yellow-orange with a red center. That made it easy to pick out targets below.

Leo was safely tucked inside behind bulletproof glass, monitoring the yard’s security systems. Church was just barely visible from my spot. He occupied the other sniper perch, watching my six. He was set up over there with his thermos full of Earl Gray, still as the dead.

Bowie, meanwhile, patrolled the south side of the yard with Morticia at his side while Ragnar took the north with Trixie.

I swung the spotter toward the trailer where Leo was working and saw Wattson in one of the windows. He had triage set up in there, which I hoped we wouldn’t need. It was wishful thinking. The guys coming for us would be pros every bit as good as us, if not better. I’d promised Xion we’d win, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have my doubts. Still, I hadn’t expressed them to him. I didn’t need him to sit in the bunker stewing in his worry. I needed him to be calm, to stay put, to trust me.

I shifted the sucker from one side of my mouth to the other, and as I did, I spotted a flash of red in a place red shouldn’t be. “Movement, two-alpha.”

“Copy, two-alpha. Moving.” Weapon at the ready, Bowie moved toward the area I’d indicated.

I shifted my rifle, looking through the scope to do a quick sweep of the sector. The one weakness of our setup was all the obstructed views on the ground. Church and I had to be the eyes for everyone below us and direct their movements. From our perches, however, it was impossible to see everything. If there was someone moving around down there, they might easily duck behind more trash, and we wouldn’t have a clear shot.

My vision blurred for a second, so I backed off the scope, blinked, and shook my head, clearing it away. What the fuck was wrong with my head? Get in the game, Boone.

“False alarm,” Bowie’s voice cut over the comms. “I think it was just a big rat.”

I’d just unwrapped another Dum Dum and put it between my lips when the lights in the yard suddenly died, along with the hum of the backup generators.

“Showtime,” I muttered and put my eye back to the glass.

Scanning the sectors below, I searched for any splashes of red I couldn’t easily identify, ready to call them out. My vision blurred and I blinked again, trying to clear it, but this time it didn’t do any good. I backed off the scope a second time and rubbed my eyes, but that didn’t help either.

What the fuck was going on?

I shook my head, which was suddenly throbbing. I lifted my arm to rub my eyes a second time, but it felt strangely heavy, my movements slow and messy.

Like I’ve been drugged.

A chill went through me. That motherfucker! I spat out the Dum Dum, but it was too late. Whatever they’d laced it with was already in my system, making me sluggish and weak.

“I have movement,” Ragnar was saying into my earpiece. “Bloodhound, can you confirm?”

The use of my codename over comms sent a shock of awareness through me. If they’d gotten to me, they might’ve gotten to Church too though his tea. I groaned and used all my strength to make my mouth move. “Church…”

No response. I tried to lift my spotter scope, but found I couldn’t. I couldn’t even verify he was alive.

“Bloodhound? Church?” Bowie sounded worried.

I tried to muster my strength to respond, but my body wouldn’t answer my demand. I slumped back, my muscles going slack, eyes fixed on the sky where black parachutes blocked out the stars.

I groaned as I came to, my head throbbing. My training kicked in and my brain did an automatic checklist. Injuries? Minor. Limbs? Restrained. Position: upright. The air was cool, damp, and smelled of motor oil. Sound echoed. Footsteps to my right, left, in front and behind.

By the time I opened my eyes, I already knew I was tied to a chair in my office above the garage and there were five men in there with me.

No, six. The sixth man was completely silent. He stood roughly five feet in front of me in his pristine three-piece suit, not a wavy, silver-streaked hair out of place. So, here was the bastard in charge.

As soon as he saw I was awake, he prowled forward. Tugging his suit pants up, he squatted in front of me. “Good evening, Mr. Calhoun.”

“I’ve had better,” I quipped.

His lip twitched, almost as if he were stopping himself from smirking. “You may call me Lucky. It’s unfortunate that our first face-to-face meeting has to be so… unpleasant. But I did give you plenty of chances to cooperate.”

I glanced around the room. There were four armed guards and another man in expensive shoes dressed like a flight attendant. He clutched a tablet to his chest like it was the most precious thing in the world.

I turned back to Lucky. “My men…”

“Alive,” he said, standing and adjusting his jacket. “For now. As long as you cooperate, that will continue to be the case. I always make my best effort not to kill anyone who might be useful to me in the future. However, make no mistake, Mr. Calhoun, I will kill whoever is required to get what I want.”

And what he wants is Xion, I thought, clenching my jaw. I tugged at the restraints holding my arms behind my back, but whoever had tied me up knew what they were doing. I was zip tied directly to the chair with metal ties. I’d sooner cut off my own hands than get loose.

“Killing us would be too messy for someone as smart as you,” I said. “You’d leave a trail of bodies straight to you for the Laskins to follow.”

Lucky clenched his jaw. “The Laskins will be dealt with.”

I’d struck a nerve. So, there was a personal vendetta there. Interesting.

“Let me tell you how this is going to work,” he said, unbuttoning and removing his jacket. His assistant with the tablet came forward to take it. “I know you have my son.”

“Your son?” I choked out. Well, that certainly explained a hell of a lot, but it also opened a whole new bag of questions.

Lucky continued as if he hadn’t heard me. “You’re going to tell me where you’ve hidden him. If you don’t, I’m going to hurt you. And when I run out of ways to do that, I’m going to start hurting your men. I will break all of you if I have to. And then I will kill you and I will raze this entire filthy place to the ground and take back what was stolen from me twenty years ago. Do you understand, Mr. Calhoun?” He slid several thick rings onto his fingers and gestured to his assistant who fumbled with the tablet.

Music filled the yard through the speakers he no doubt hijacked.

I snorted when I recognized the strings after a few bars. “Vivaldi? Really? And can you get any more cliché than the Four Seasons?”

He finally let himself smile. “Every artist has his rituals. Like you and your candy suckers.”

“Fucker. That was a low blow, drugging me like that. You fucking coward.”

“The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting,” he said.

Because of course the fucker would quote Sun Tzu’s Art of War. God, I hated this guy already.

“Now…” He stopped directly in front of me, flexing his ringed fingers into a fist. “Where is my son?”

I sucked in a breath through my nose, knowing it was likely the last good one I’d get for a while. I fixed my gaze straight ahead as if I was staring through him and tried to center my mind and body. “Specialist Boone J. Calhoun. Twenty-seven, five, nine—”

He didn’t even give me the decency of reciting my entire service number before he hit me. His fist smashed into my nose with bone crushing force and my head jerked to the side. Blood filled my mouth and my neck ached from the sudden whiplash. The pain in my face came second, throbbing and blinding.

I blinked away pained tears and spat blood at him, more than a little satisfied when it splattered all over his tie. I grinned and laughed when his assistant handed him a handkerchief. “Come on! My old man hit me harder than that, and he didn’t have any fucking rings.”

He gripped my chin, forcing me to hold still. “Save your strength, Mr. Calhoun. You’ll need it. We’re just getting started.”

Lucky hit me again, this time driving his fist into my sternum. The air left my lungs in a burning whoosh, and I doubled over with a squeak, gasping for air. He didn’t let up, yanking my head back by the hair to land a devastating punch to my jaw. For a guy in a suit that cost more than most houses, he sure knew how to punch like his fists were made of lead. Blow after blinding blow rained down until they all blurred together. The pain became a constant throb that interrupted my thoughts at irregular intervals.

I thought of Xion down in the bunker, waiting for me to come for him. I’d promised I’d come back, but I didn’t think that was going to happen now. This fucker was going to kill me. The only solace I had was knowing I was making him work for it. That, too, was an illusion. I was an inconvenience at most. A little ice and a hefty dry-cleaning bill later and he’d forget all about me.

But if he got to Xion, what would he even do with him?

His son… What kind of father waited until his son was twenty years old before coming for him? Maybe this asshole was Xion’s parent by blood, but he was no father to Xion. He didn’t even know him. Not like I did. Xion was mine, and I’d protect him until my last breath. Unfortunately, that might come sooner rather than later.

I wasn’t aware of the beating coming to a halt, but it must’ve. There was a sharp prick in my upper arm and I vaguely registered that I was being given a shot of some kind.

“Don’t pass out on me yet. That should keep you awake.” Long, ringed fingers grabbed me by the hair and yanked my head back. “Where is my son?”

I spat blood on his face. “Safe.”

Lucky wrinkled his nose at me and swiped a hand over his face. “You test my patience, Mr. Calhoun. I didn’t want to have to do this, but you leave me no choice.” He turned his head. “Bring him in.”

The door to my office opened. Exhausted as I was, when I saw them haul Church in, bloody and beaten, I found the energy to fight my restraints with renewed vigor. Church had done nothing wrong except follow my orders. He shouldn’t have to take a beating for me, but he’d clearly endured one without breaking. His whole face was swollen and covered in blood. They dumped him on the floor just feet away, but he might as well have been on the next continent. I couldn’t get to him any more than I could get to Xion.

One of the paramilitary goons handed Lucky a revolver. He made sure it was loaded before he pointed it at Church’s head and looked at me, blood still speckling his pale face. “You may be willing to die to keep my son as your pet, but what about your men?”

Flashes of Mason dying while I sat drunk and helpless next to him filled my head, and I damn near went feral trying to get free. I didn’t care if I had to rip my own hands off. I’d do it before I sat helplessly by and let someone else die for me.

“Where is my son?” Lucky demanded again.

Church lifted his head and looked at me through swollen eyes. “Boone…”

Metal zip ties dug into my wrists, sending blood pouring down my fingers. “You point that gun at me, God dammit! Shoot me!”

In one fluid motion, the man moved the gun from the back of Church’s head, pointed it at me, and pulled the trigger.

At first, I thought he missed. I’d been shot before. I knew it should hurt. At that range, how could he have missed? I didn’t realize he’d even hit me until my arm felt wet. I looked down and saw blood pouring down from a line carved into my upper arm where the bullet had just grazed me.

“The bunker!” Church shouted. “He’s in the fucking bunker under our feet!”

My heart sank and my head fell. I couldn’t look at him, but I couldn’t blame him either. Xion was mine to protect and I’d failed. It wasn’t right to expect Church to die for my failure. At least all this was over. At least it wasn’t me. Guilt gnawed at my insides as soon as I thought that. If I had been more alert, more ready, it never would’ve come to this to begin with.

“What bunker?” Lucky demanded.

Church heaved a heavy sigh and stared at the floor. “There’s a hatch in the dirt about twenty yards in front of the central trailer. The code to the door is five eleven nineteen eighty-seven.”

May eleventh. The birthday I shared with Mason. I bit my lip and groaned, wishing he’d put the bullet in my head instead. At least then I’d be where I was supposed to be. All this time I’d lived on without my brother was a mistake. I should’ve died in the car with him that night.

But then I never would’ve met Xion. I never would’ve known what it was like to hold onto someone so tightly that they transformed me. The part of me I’d lost when Mason died had scabbed over when I was with Xion, finally starting to heal. I’d let myself feel again with him, let myself care. I would’ve died for him, just like I would’ve died for any of my men, and I’d kill for him. I’d bleed for him, fight for him, go to fucking war for him. Xion could’ve handed me a gun and told me to put a bullet in my head for him and I would’ve done it because he meant that damn much to me.

And now it was all over. Lucky was here to take him away from me, and I was going to die.

I had only one option left. It was disgusting and demeaning, but there was nothing I wouldn’t do for Xion.

“Please,” I said, lowering my head to my chest. “Please don’t take him away from me.”

“What was that?” Lucky pushed my head up. “What did you say?”

I was so damn tired, and I hurt everywhere, but I looked the man straight in the eye anyway. “Don’t take Xion away from me.”

“Why would you beg for him?” Lucky spat. “He’s nothing to you!”

I shook my head, fighting off dizziness. A fat tear burned its way down my bloody cheek. “I love him.”

He dropped my head immediately and took a step back.

“Sir?” his assistant spoke for the first time. “The retrieval team is reporting they have him secure. There was a scuffle, but he’s ready for transport once you’re finished here.”

The room was silent for an unbearably long time. I teetered on the edge of consciousness, desperately hanging on to hear his answer. If he took Xion away, I hoped at least he’d be smart enough to kill me, because if he didn’t, I’d burn the countryside to ash to get him back.

“Prep Mr. Calhoun and his associates for transport as well,” Lucky said at length.

I slumped forward. If I’d had the energy, I would’ve sobbed in relief. Instead, I let go and finally faded into unconsciousness.