Chapter 11
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All warmth drained from Andrea’s face as she snatched up her clothes, yanking them on with trembling fingers.
He stood guard at the door, every muscle coiled tight, listening to the elevator mechanism grinding closer. Floor by floor. Coming for them.
“Shoes. Hallway. Move.” He shrugged into his jacket to conceal the weapon at his waist, his hand never leaving the grip. His other hand gripped the ball cap in his other pocket and put it on, the bill concealing some of his face.
“How are we supposed to get out if they’re already—”
“Quiet.” The word cut like a blade.
The elevator dinged. By his estimation, they got off early, on the third floor.
He checked the peephole—empty hallway but not for long.
He grabbed her arm and Trent’s shoulder, shoving them both into the apartment next door.
The knob gave way easily—he’d picked it hours ago, prepared for exactly this moment.
He pushed them inside and pressed a finger to his lips.
“Don’t make a sound. Don’t even breathe loud. ”
Then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.
He moved toward the elevators with deliberate casualness, but his heart hammered against his ribs.
The stairwell door burst open, and two men emerged—thick necks, dead eyes, hands inside their jackets.
They clocked him immediately. Professional assessment.
Threat evaluation. His gun wasn’t obvious.
Hayden ID’d one of them as definitely the driver of the truck following them earlier into the mall parking lot.
He smiled as if he didn’t have a care in the world and stepped into the elevator, pressing the button for the lobby. The doors started to close.
The two men headed straight for the safe house apartment.
His hand shot out, pressing the Door Open button. He stayed hidden in the elevator car, watching through the widening gap as they reached the safe house apartment door. One knocked—a courtesy that wouldn’t last. When no one answered, the other pulled a handgun fitted with a suppressor.
Two muffled pops. The lock disintegrated.
They kicked open the door and rushed inside.
Hayden slipped out of the elevator like smoke, stopping at the open door. Oakley materialized from the stairwell, taking his position on the opposite side of the doorframe. They’d done this dance at least one hundred times before.
Inside, furniture crashed. Voices raised in confusion and anger.
“Where the hell is she?”
“Check the bedroom! Check everywhere!”
More crashing. A lamp shattered.
When both intruders stood in the center of the living room, weapons drawn and confusion turning to rage, Hayden and Oakley shared a silent communication, via hand signals. Three. Two. One. They moved as a complete unit. They swept through the doorway, guns raised. “Hands up! Now!”
Both men spun. No hesitation. No surrender. Muzzle flashes lit up the apartment like lightning.
Hayden and Oakley dove back through the doorway as bullets chewed through the frame where their heads had been a split second before. Plaster exploded. Wood splintered.
The gunmen were trapped—fourth floor, no fire escape, windows that led to nothing but a fatal drop. They knew it. That made them desperate. Desperate men were the most dangerous kind.
A barrage of suppressed gunfire tore through the apartment. Rounds punched through walls, shredded the couch, shattered the television. The gunmen were laying down covering fire, trying to create an opening.
Hayden dropped flat to the floor and rolled around the corner, coming in low, while Oakley came in high, both firing in a coordinated assault. The confined space became a killing box. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.
One gunman jerked backward as rounds stitched across his chest. He hit the wall and slid down, leaving a dark smear. Dead before he reached the floor.
The second man screamed in fury and pain, his weapon clattering away as a bullet shattered his shoulder. He tried to reach for it with his other hand, but Hayden was already on him, his boot coming down hard on his wrist. Bones cracked.
“Don’t even think about it.” Hayden kicked the gun across the room and pressed his weapon against the man’s temple. “Move and you’re done.”
The man glared up at him with pure hatred, his chest heaving, his blood spreading across his shirt.
Oakley checked the first gunman—two fingers to the neck, then a shake of his head. “This one’s finished.” He zip-tied the survivor’s hands behind his back, yanking the restraints tight enough to make him grunt in pain.
Only then did Hayden move to the neighboring apartment and knock twice. “Clear. It’s over.”
The door cracked open. Trent emerged first, weapon drawn, scanning for threats. Andrea followed, her face pale but composed. She stopped at the open doorway, stared at the carnage. “How did you know about that other apartment?”
“Backup plan. Always have a backup plan.” He checked the prisoner, making sure the restraints were secure. “Never go into a situation with only one exit.”
“But how did you know it was empty?”
“I made it my business to know.” His tone left no room for argument. “Mason confirmed most units are vacant—maybe Airbnbs or whatnot. I verified this one myself. If someone had been home, we would have used a different option.”
“Right.”
Trent now entered the compromised safe house.
She asked him, “You’re really going in there?”
He flashed a grim smile. “Part of the job.”
“You’re all insane.”
“Probably,” Hayden agreed, leading them all back inside.
Andrea approached the prisoner slowly, studying his face. Recognition flashed in her gaze. “He was at the warehouse. One of the men who grabbed me.”
“Good.” Hayden crouched beside the wounded man. “What about the dead one?”
She forced herself to look at the corpse, then nodded quickly and turned away. “Him too. He was there.”
“Confirmed kills from the warehouse operation,” Hayden stated. “That’s something.”
She looked him over, checking for injuries. “You’re not hit?”
“Not today.” He turned his attention to the prisoner. “Now, what do we do with you?”
The man tried to spit blood in his face, but it just dribbled down his mouth and chin.
Hayden smiled without warmth. “Cute. The feds are going to love you.”
“The FBI are pussies,” the man snarled.
“Maybe, but your operation crossed international lines. That means CIA. Interpol. European authorities. You’ll be passed around like a party favor, and each one will want their piece.” Hayden leaned in closer. “And they don’t have the same rules we do.”
The man’s bravado flickered. Just for a second. But Hayden saw it.
Oakley returned, phone in hand. “Cleanup crew’s five minutes out. They’ll handle the body and transport this one.”
“Good. We’re leaving.”
Andrea’s eyes widened. “Leaving? We just caught them.”
“We caught two of the foot soldiers. Whoever killed Arlene is still out there, and that changes everything.” He watched her face drain of color.
“Mason told me earlier. Forgot to tell you. Then Mason called again while you were getting dressed. Arlene’s half-brother was hit too, while moving him from his jail cell to a more secure location. Professional job. Single shot.”
“Oh God. Is he—”
“Alive. Barely. But it means someone’s cleaning house.” He looked down at the prisoner. “Did you have anything to do with shooting Brandon? Did you order the hit?”
The man’s head snapped back and forth, and, for the first time, his expression revealed genuine fear. He was confused. Scared.
That told Hayden everything. “Didn’t think so. Someone’s eliminating loose ends and won’t be giving you guys any heads-up notice.” He studied the prisoner’s face. “Right?”
Nothing but silence came.
“What’s your name?”
He said nothing.
Oakley dropped down and rifled through the man’s pockets, pulling out a wallet. “Darius Keen per one license. Got a whole collection of fake IDs here.”
Darius glared but remained silent.
“Listen carefully, Darius. You’re lucky to be breathing. Everyone else in your crew is dead. Everyone except Brandon.”
“Brandon’s already dead. He just doesn’t know it yet.”
Hayden stood, looking down at him. “In a couple days, you might be too. Whoever’s taking over doesn’t leave witnesses. You’re not a foot soldier anymore. You’re a liability.”
Real terror flickered across Darius’s face.
Sirens wailed in the distance, growing closer.
Hayden turned to Oakley and Trent, then pointed to the last living gunman on the ground. “Don’t let him get loose.”
“Oh, he’s not going anywhere,” Trent confirmed.
Oakley smiled grimly at their prisoner, Darius Keen, and nodded. “He won’t be going anywhere except for a long dirt nap.”
“Yeah, says you.” Darius laughed madly. “You don’t know shit.”
“No, maybe not, but we’re finding out more and more every day.” That seemed to silence Darius, at least for the moment.
“Time to go.” Hayden grabbed Andrea’s arm. “Move. Now.”
*
Hayden got word from Mason as to which hospital now had Brandon, which meant the clock was ticking as to his assassination.
So Hayden and Andrea entered the hospital, his gaze straight and his steps clipped.
Andrea half ran at his side to keep up. Meanwhile Oakley and Trent were set up outside to keep a watch on the perimeter.
“Will they let you see Brandon?” she asked Hayden.
He nodded but didn’t say anything.
“What about Darius. Will he talk?”
“I think he’ll do anything to stay alive at this point.
” If he didn’t, the consequences would likely be fatal.
And speaking of fatalities, he needed to talk to Brandon before he died, whether from health complications or a bullet.
The update Mason had sent hadn’t been good.
Brandon was awake, but his prognosis wasn’t good.
Security was sitting outside Brandon’s room as they approached. It took only a moment to get clearance for them to enter.
At the open doorway, Hayden stopped and studied the man in the bed. Smaller now, more frail looking, but then major surgery and a bullet hitting an aorta wasn’t easy on the body, nor the surgery to fix it.
Brandon heard the door and shifted under the blankets, his eyes opening. Hayden and Andrea walked closer so that Brandon could see them. His face darkened, then he closed his eyes. “What the hell do you want?”
“Answers. Apparently you may not make it out of this bed.”
He coughed. “Yeah, they can’t seem to stop the bleeding.”
“So talk. Don’t take this to your maker. He’s way less forgiving than we are.” Hayden had no idea if that were true or not, but anything that worked was okay with him.
Brandon’s lips twisted. “Arlene didn’t talk.”
“Not many have. Yet they all ended up dead regardless. We have a Darius Keen in custody, and his cohort is dead. They were after Andrea here.”
“And likely you,” Brandon noted, his gaze now fixed on the ceiling.
“When it all went bad here, the EU group decided we weren’t the ones to handle the US arm and wanted to kill it off.
Arlene protested that we were capable, but, according to them, we didn’t have the skills nor the manpower, so the answer was no.
A few arguments ensued, and Arlene may have mentioned something about causes and justification.
Whatever she said made them uneasy and they decided to cut ties—literally. ”
“Causes?” Andrea couldn’t help asking.
“Arlene was all about saving the Ahiska Turks, branded as enemies way back in 1944, deported on cattle trains, not belonging anywhere. Her family line was directly descended from them, and she felt deeply the persecution of her people. She wanted revenge, didn’t care that she was targeting people who had nothing to do with killing Ahiskas.
Had no awareness that she was just creating new victims to supposedly avenge other victims. To her, it was payback.
To me? … I was all about the money.” He coughed again.
Andrea stepped forward and offered him a drink. He drank, and she replaced the cup on the side table.
“When Arlene was taken out, I knew that I wouldn’t be left alone for long.”
Hayden asked, “And why were you after Andrea?”
“Keen was supposed to pick her up. She was supposed to be my ticket out of here.”
Hayden asked, “And that was for your personal gain, right? Not anything to do with the trafficking organization or Arlene’s cause?”
“I knew who Andrea was. I knew they’d picked her up and had lost her. I figured if I could blackmail her father for her release, … maybe I could get clear of this mess.” He shrugged. “You got to get money from somewhere.”
“Seriously?” She walked closer to stare at him. “That’s all I am to you, … a plane ticket?”
“Not just a plane ticket, … a little bit more,” he clarified. “But, yeah, that’s all women should be, tools for what we need to do,” he snapped. “Anything else is bullshit.”
“Right,” she muttered, staring at him with a growing fury. “Nice to know we were all so well loved by you and your sister.”
He shrugged. “It’s a dog-eat-dog world out there. So, if you don’t like it, piss off.” Then he started coughing and coughing. Blood spilled from his mouth with each cough. Hayden pushed the alarm for the medical team and pulled Andrea out of the room as the Code Blue cart arrived.
Hayden and Andrea waited in the hallway. When the doctor stepped out, he looked at them, shook his head, then turned and walked away.
Hayden asked Andrea, “Do you want to contact your dad?”
“No, I don’t want to contact my dad,” she declared, glaring at him. “Why would I want to do that?”
“Because he might have a house where we can stay that nobody knows about.”
She stared at him for a moment, stunned. “Are you serious?”
“It’s certainly a consideration,” he muttered. “We have to get out of here, and we don’t want anybody to find us at our next location. So, that’s anybody’s guess where that’ll be.”
“I can contact him,” she grumbled hesitantly. “He does own a lot of property here.” Then she frowned. “But is that a good idea? I’m sure his name as the owner is in the public files, and people can find that out pretty fast.”
He nodded. “That’s a good point, unless he’s hiding behind some corporate entities. Still, we’ll find a hotel first and regroup.”