Secret surrender, p.24
Secret Surrender, page 24
The river glinted against the moonlight to his left—his approaching destination a small win in a near impossible setup. The mob boss himself had traveled across the country, which meant the mission to kill Dean had long turned personal.
Luciano likely didn’t know about Dean’s arrest. That information had been suppressed, so why was he so invested? Because Dean had tried to break away? Because he hadn’t followed orders and served himself up for literal termination? Because Luciano’s fragile ego couldn’t allow for others to go their own way?
I guess his suspicions are right. I’ve already sold him for my freedom and to spare any other poor soul that might cross his path.
Not that Dean had any regrets. Any moment now, the cars would be level. Though he tried to take up as much road as possible, Luciano’s car would gain, and that’s when he would start shooting.
A sudden jolt ripped Dean’s attention to his side mirror and Luciano’s car ramming the SUV’s back quarter panel. The active part of this attack had started. Dean’s car fishtailed along the road, and he fought his steering wheel to gain control.
The swerving caused his car to lose ground, and he turned to his left to find the sedan’s front windows at his own.
Fuck!
He swung his wheel hard, a dull thud came, and the sedan wobbled and fell behind, the two men getting a taste of their own bitter medicine. Just what he needed. If he could hold them off, if he survived the next couple of minutes, he might survive altogether.
The Alfa roared again, inciting him to stomp the accelerator. Both cars hurtled on, the unfinished and bumpy road sending rocks and dirt pinging into the body of his car. Within seconds, Luciano’s car came level with his.
Dean’s passenger window exploded. He swore and ducked, a bullet hole appearing in his windshield about ten inches from his head. A lucky miss. Or unlucky, for Luciano. So, Dean took that luck and swerved his car again, ramming the Alfa until its tires edged the ditch on the other side of the road.
Within seconds, the Alfa righted and caught up to Dean once more.
“Pull over.” Luciano’s muffled voice crossed over his driver and through Dean’s shattered window. “Holloway, you’re gonna wanna pull over.”
He could have laughed at that. As if he’d ever stop. But Luciano called out again. “We’ve got your woman. Pull over.”
The muscles over Dean’s chest bunched, and an instant sickness kicked him in the gut.
How would Luciano know about Sarah?
Maybe he was bullshitting, gambling on the off-chance Dean did have a woman.
Then again, Harlow people loved to talk. A couple of hours in this town, and Dean had learned about the soiree, about Emilia having Blaine… Given recent events and the scene at Maynard’s, it wouldn’t be hard to find someone willing to share gossip.
“Let me see.” Luciano’s raised voice battled against the rumbling wind. “Green eyes. Pretty blond. A feisty one, that’s for sure. I’m told she put up a good fight.”
Dean clenched his jaw and swung his car into Luciano’s again. The fucker was lying. He had to be. Hell, one trip to Maynard’s and any fool could have figured all those details out with just one tiny interaction.
“Give in now, Holloway. Or I’ll have Sarah pay the price.”
Sarah.
He said her name. That name from his mouth brought a higher panic, and Dean’s body turned cold all over. He couldn’t assume anything. Couldn’t continue as though Sarah was safe. Not until he saw her again with his own eyes. Free and alive. And yes, his survival would save lives, but right now one life lay at imminent risk.
But even Luciano’s request for Dean to give up wouldn’t fly. Giving up wouldn’t stop anyone from putting a bullet in his head, much less Sarah’s, with death by bullets the nicer outcome. First there would be torture—hours and hours of soul-crushing pain.
He swore again and slammed a fist into the steering wheel. As much as it seemed he should mull through the options, there was only one way out of this. He had to escape. Had to hope the universe bucked its trend of screwing him over. Maybe then he might live long enough to confirm Sarah was okay.
Between the engine sounds and rushing wind, a relative silence filled the space, so he turned to Luciano’s car and finally addressed the man.
“Don’t hurt her.” He jutted his chin toward a structure up ahead. “I’ll turn myself in. Just stop by the bridge up there, okay?”
Luciano gave a small nod and flicked a hand onward. The bridge, a small wooden structure, had room for only one car at a time. Luciano’s driver did the logical thing and slowed, allowing Dean to inch ahead, so Luciano could eventually stay behind and keep track of his new hostage.
Dean kept the SUV at speed and waited for the nose of Luciano’s car to slip back to the half way point of his. That’s when he slammed his foot to the brake and swung his steering wheel hard to the left, clenching his eyes shut as the tail end of his car slammed into the Alfa.
Both cars spun in opposite directions. The SUV crashed into the bridge’s thick end pillars, a loud crack a testament to the damaged wood. Dean’s chest bounced into the steering wheel and then ricocheted him into his seat, his back smashing into the leather and his mind swimming before he swung around to track the trajectory of Luciano’s car.
The sedan still skidded across a grass patch, the side soon slamming into a giant oak. Just like Dean’s car, Luciano’s bounced, but no bridge caught him, and the Alfa Romeo did a quick slide down the river’s embankment.
A heavy and quiet moment passed—Dean’s body turned numb through a clash of adrenaline and relief. Maybe he would live. But his life meant little if Sarah didn’t live too. And if they hurt her…
He had no idea where she was or if she was even still alive, but he couldn’t think on that, or he’d fail to be any use to anyone. So, he leaned across the middle console and pulled the glove box open, his Glock quick to slip out and greet him.
He might have made a vow to never kill again, but there were special circumstances for everything, and if he had to put a bullet in Luciano’s head to end all this, he would.
But first, find out about Sarah.
He kicked his door open and ran to the embankment. The Alfa Romeo’s hood lay submerged under the river’s murky water, the entire front end sinking fast. Luciano had somehow made it to the back seat, and he struggled with the back door. His driver lay slumped over the steering wheel, dead or passed out.
Dean held up the Glock and called out, “Don’t move.”
Luciano ceased with his frenzied movements, his wide stare colliding into Dean.
“Please.” Luciano darted his gaze about, the car sinking and sinking fast. Still, he didn’t move. Even this idiot could see a bullet would kill him before the water ever did. “We’ll call it even. Just get me out.”
Dean’s focus caught on the end of his Glock, Luciano still in his periphery. For the first time ever, he was alone with this fucker, a loaded gun pointed at his head. “Where’s Sarah?”
“One of the newbies has her down at her bar.” Luciano’s breaths were rugged and rushed. Meanwhile, Dean’s had turned shallow and near non-existent.
“She’s still alive?”
Luciano nodded.
A new silence took over. A frightening kind of calm.
Dean had the information he needed. He could kill Luciano—just wipe him off the face of the earth, never to bother anyone again. Luciano had chased him after all. So, a classic case of self-defense.
Faint sirens wailed in the background, likely the sheriff. Meanwhile, Luciano held stock-still, his gaze clinging to Dean as though he read what went through his head. As though he too had been in this position—with the unfettered chance to take out an adversary, once and forever—all Dean had to do was squeeze the trigger.
Then again, the only difference between him and Luciano was he had never crossed that line.
Being in Harlow, meeting Sarah, he’d seen a world so far from the one he’d known. Killing this man, however evil, would be a backward step away from everything he’d escaped the day he decided to stay in this town.
The sirens grew louder. The sheriff was less than a minute away.
Dean stepped back but kept the Glock in position, his retreat a sign that Luciano could exit the car. The man shoved his door open and a flood of water rushed in; he waited, then battled the current and mud until he fell to his knees on the banks.
Luciano pressed a hand over his black pants pocket.
“Hold still.” Dean stepped closer. “Or I’ll put a bullet in your head.”
“Calm down, you fucking maniac.” Luciano shook his pocket until a water-logged cell phone fell out onto the wet grass beside him. He peered up at Dean and gave a crooked smile. “Looks like I can’t call off the dogs. You’ll have to go to the bar and get her yourself.”
Dean ground his teeth together just in time for a flood of light to hit him from behind, the sheriff’s siren now blaring in his ears. His own car might have been banged up, but it was at least still drivable. “You never should have dropped Sarah into this mess. If something has happened to her, sheriff or not, I’ll come back here and put a bullet in each one of your vital organs.”
Sensing the sheriff behind him, he stepped back, but in typical Luciano style, the man couldn’t help but get in the last word. “You gotta be quick, Mr. Holloway. I hear they’re keeping her in a freezer.”
Forty-One
Sarah held a huddled position next to the freezer’s door, as far from the shelves of frozen goods at the back where the temperature was perceptibly colder. Her breaths puffed in thick clouds around her, and the icy air made each of those breaths sting, each inhalation a testament to her new goal of staying alive as long as possible.
If only she hadn’t left her phone in its hiding place under the bar’s counter. Stupid woman.
Then again, she’d never tested the reception inside the freezer, so maybe the thick metal walls would block her from calling for help. Though, at least having a phone could have told her how long she’d been locked in here, or maybe she might have found some game on the device. Something to distract from the pain of wearing little more than a white work shirt and black jeans. She was cold, so very cold. And the psychotic man who’d shoved her in here likely waited just outside. So really, she was doomed no matter what she did.
How long could a person survive sub-zero temperatures like this? Was she here because of Dean? Had his past come looking for him and claimed her too? Maybe the guy outside intended to use her as a bargaining chip to get him. Or maybe they’d just slowly torture her to torture him…
She slammed her eyes shut at that thought and tapped her forehead against her bent knees. Chances were, the guy who’d shoved her in here, just like her, didn’t know how long she’d stay alive in this freezer. He just trusted luck that when he finally did open this door, she wouldn’t fall out in the form of a human popsicle.
An icy cracking sound came from one of the food products on a shelf, once again reminding her of where she was and the harsh conditions that would likely claim her. A tear trickled down her cheek. She’d planned to upgrade the freezer. To get one with an internal safety release so that getting trapped inside would be impossible. But things like that weren’t a huge priority among all the other costs of running the bar. She’d simply never gotten around to it.
Did a different freezer even matter, though? If she didn’t die from hyperthermia, the freak outside would have gotten her some other way.
She used her sleeve to wipe her tears. Extra moisture was the last thing she needed in these icy conditions, and why she didn’t jump on the spot to keep warm. Growing up in Minnesota, she’d learned a few things about handling the cold, like that people could die simply from perspiration speeding up the freezing process…
Freezing process?
Oh hell. This was really happening.
A panicked sob wrenched up her throat, just as a new and terrifying thought struck her.
What if the man outside had nothing to do with Dean?
What if this was just a run-of-the-mill robbery?
One where the guy who’d put her in here had already left?
She turned around, her knees digging into the unforgiving concrete, as she slammed her fists against the hard metal door. The dull thunk confirmed its immovable hold and for what felt like the hundredth time, she cried out.
First came anger, that someone could be so callous with her life. Next came hopelessness, a drowning emotion that left her sagging against the door, her forehead tipped to the glacial steel as more tears came. Within this echoey and bleak chamber came the realization that she really did have nothing left to do now but wait to die.
Dean pushed against Maynard’s back door, only slightly relieved that, unlike the front, this one moved. If one of Luciano’s cronies waited inside, a new one at that—there was no knowing how the next few minutes would play out, and he needed a silent entry.
Gun in hand and positioned to use, he nudged the door a fraction wider, the hinges creaking and forcing him to hold still. A first glance inside revealed a man pacing the kitchen, his back turned and his black leather jacket marking him as not someone from around Harlow.
The man began to turn, and Dean’s heart beat pounded loud in his ears. Maybe the guy had heard the hinges creak because he lifted his hand, his fingers curled around the grip of a gun. Dean didn’t think. Didn’t need to. He aimed and shot.
The air filled with an explosion, followed by a crimson mist.
“Ahh. Fuck!” The crony clutched at his upper arm and swung around fully.
His dark stare hit Dean, his face scrunched in angry pain. “What the hell did you do that for?”
Dean lowered his weapon, his muscles suddenly weak. “Ramos?”
Adrian Ramos pulled his palm away from his arm, his hand covered in blood. “Thank fuck you’re a shit shot, Holloway.”
Dean strolled in and peered around the room. “Anyone else here?”
Ramos shook his head, striding toward a roll of paper towel on a bench. Meanwhile, Dean clapped his friend on the back, his form of an unspoken apology.
As bad as he felt about shooting the guy, Ramos would survive, and the wound was nothing more than a deep graze. They both knew the shot could have ended a whole lot worse, one major positive in the whole shit-show that had followed Dean to Harlow. “You’re Luciano’s newbie?”
Ramos pressed a ball of paper towel to his shoulder and nodded. “How else do you think I got that warning to you? Getting hired was the best way to keep track on his vendetta against you, and I figured, with you gone, the low-life scumbag would jump at extra help. Hell, I even lied about being a private detective and a cold-blooded killer to get the gig, and it’s just blind fucking luck I could wrangle my way into this job. So, I’d say I deserve more than a freakin’ bullet in the shoulder for my trouble, don’t you?”
“I’d offer to shout you a beer sometime, but I think, at the moment, I’m about as unwelcome in this bar as you are.” Dean pulled his attention from Ramos and onto the freezer. “Is she really in there?”
Ramos nodded. Dean swore under his breath and stormed toward the freezer door. “Why the fuck did you put her in there?”
“Relax. I meddled with the temperature. She won’t freeze.” Ramos’s footsteps pounded behind Dean. “Besides, your woman is a fighter, and in case Luciano came back, I figured it was safer to contain her than expect her to play along. I always planned on helping her escape. And if all this went pear-shaped, the last thing I needed was your old lady identifying me as part of the syndicate.”
“Ever heard of blindfolds and ropes, dumbass?” Dean held his hand to the freezer.
Ramos kept his mouth shut long enough for a muffled scream to come into focus. Sarah’s scream. Pitchy. Broken. Desperate.
For all the savagery she’d encountered today. For everything he’d put her through in the days and weeks prior. He’d always banked on being able to simply slip out of town and out of her life. That she’d be just fine without him. But trouble followed him, and nothing he touched escaped unscathed.
She wasn’t dead, but her cry belonged to someone who thought they would die soon enough. A cry he’d heard before, all those years ago in the service. A cry that sank metal claws into his heart and pointed blame at him for all her trauma.
This wasn’t how he’d wanted any reunion to go.
There was no telling what awaited him on the other side of this door.
Forty-Two
Sarah pressed herself deeper into the wall behind her, her breaths exploding and her already chilled skin prickling into goosebumps all over. She’d heard the bang. A gun. Followed by a male scream. Now, the fear of being left in this freezer faded, and a wilder terror took over.
She squeezed her hand over her mouth, stifling another sob, doing all she could to remain silent. Undiscovered. To listen. To remain forgotten. All while her every regret played on her mind.
Why had she used her mother’s breakdown as an excuse not to get on with her own life? She’d stepped right into her mom’s empty shoes. Seen so little of the world. Kept people at arm’s length. Made them jump through so many hoops just to get to know her, installed so many obstacles that most gave up. Except Dean hadn’t.
What a fucking mess.
She held her breath and listened closer to the two voices outside the freezer. Despite all instincts to run, because there was nowhere to run, she stepped back and stood her ground, attempting one final chance at freedom.
If the nut-jobs out there want to shoot, I won’t make murdering me easy.
The freezer creaked, a low suction noise breaking through as the door shifted just a fraction open. She didn’t wait for whoever tried to enter. No. She bolted full-pelt toward the door and slammed her weight into the heavy metal—that heavy metal swinging hard into whoever stood outside.
