Mystic Hearts (37 page)

Larry
had to admit, it was civilized of Smith, if what he said was the truth. “Back
to my question, what was your deal?”

“I
get the manor’s operation, clout, and the Black Scorpions’ acceptance, and most
importantly,” he squared his shoulders as best as someone could while sitting
in a chair with their hands tied behind their back, “I’d get Charlene back. She
and I had one last roll for old time’s sake this morning. I appreciated you
keeping the bed nice and warm. I didn’t have to do any work.”

Anger
that had been holding at a boil bubbled into a full out fire. Larry saw red. He
struck Andrew in the jaw. The hell Andrew put Charlene through tumbled through
his mind. Larry’s fist connected with Andrew’s eye.

Andrew
and the chair fell to the ground, blood spewed from his mouth.

“Whoa!”
Jackson gripped the back of Larry’s shirt. “Stop, man!”

Ready
to nail the son of bitch in the nose, Larry shrugged Jackson off and drew his
arm back.

Jake
caught the blow in his open palm. “Larry!”

He
snapped from blind fury and gazed at his friend.

“Get
out.” Jackson pointed to the stairs.

Larry
bolted up the ladder to fresh air. Way too much emotion battled around in his
mind. If he had any hope of saving Charlene, he had to get a grip.

Jake
approached. “Are you all right?”

Larry’s
temper had him blowing out steam. He walked a few feet, placed his hands on his
hips, and gazed at the mountains, releasing another breath. He prayed Smith was
full of shit. That he hadn’t touched Charlene.

Larry
ground his teeth, the only way Smith could have—his face flushed and the pulse
in his neck thumped.

“Man,
don’t let your thoughts go there. Nothing happened. He’s trying to rile you
up,” Jake warned.

—was
to force Charlene. Rage spurred Larry into action. He raced to the bunker.

Jackson
came up the ladder, shoved a hand into Larry’s chest. “Don’t!”

Larry
drew back.

Jackson
held his ground. “I’m not your enemy. Cool your jets before this situation
turns from bad to dire.”

Damn,
Larry wanted to cold cock someone. He’d rather hit Smith, but with the
uncontrolled anger flowing through him, he didn’t care who was the target as
long as he could unleash it. That in itself wasn’t a good idea. He forced
himself to take a calming breath and uncurled his hands. “I’m all right.”

Quigley
slammed the door shut.

Larry
backed away from Jackson. “That fucking piece of shit could rot in the hole as
far as I’m concerned.”

Jake
smacked Larry on the arm “I think he’s already made his death bed.”

“Abort
mission, abort!”

A
male voice blasted Larry’s eardrums. He pressed a hand against his earpiece.
“What the hell?”

“Scorpions,
twelve o’clock.”

Jake’s
eyes shot toward the sky. A helicopter hovered above. “Paul?”

“Get
the fuck out of there!” Paul yelled back. “You’re sitting ducks.”

Larry
drew his gun and pointed it toward the house. On the other side of the tree
line and the snake pits, a fence presented barrier for the motorcycles
maneuvering around before they could reach them. Still, it’d only take a second
for the bikes to blast through the metal gate.

“Fuck
a duck!” Quigley yelled.

“Take
cover!” Jackson shouted.

Chapter Twenty

Larry’s
heart beat double-time, pounding in his ears so loudly other noises were wiped
out as he ran for cover toward a small run down garage along the road. Ten
Black Scorpions rode motorcycles heading toward his way. Four against ten, no
way would he, Jake, Quigley, and Jackson outrun motorcycles once they broke
through the gate.

“Coming
in,” Paul shouted in their earpieces.

Larry
ducked behind a tree next to the garage, a few feet from the fence bordering
the road, his gun at the ready.

Jake,
Quigley, and Jackson fell in around him, guns drawn. Their bodies were shielded
by either a tree or the garage.

Paul
maneuvered the helicopter, darting it back and forth as if he was
it
chasing the advancing motorcyclist in
a game of tag.

From
their location, they had no choice but to keep cover and wait for the outcome
of Paul’s one-man team.

The
nose of the helicopter aimed toward the ground and lowered.

“No,
man, no!” Jake yelled, his hands raking through his hair.

The
weight of the anxiety Jake felt vibrated off him at the difficult maneuver Paul
undertook. If the nose of the helicopter didn’t pull up in time, Paul would
crash. Larry held his breath, along with the rest of the wide-eyed men.

“Shut
up, bro.” Paul replied, his voice deadly calm. “You’re messing with my concentration.”
The helicopter leveled out and flew at the Scorpion leading the pack.

The
bike swerved, lost control and flipped, front end over rear. The driver flew
off the seat, landing on the ground in front of another motorcycle. The wheels
rolled over the down Black Scorpion and the bike toppled over.

“There’s
more than one way to skin a cat.” Paul chuckled. “Eye patch and his side kick
are down.”

“Two
down,” Quigley said, crossing his arms and chuckling. “I love this guy.”

The
helicopter lifted.

“What
the hell is this?” Jake cut his eyes at Jackson. “The owner of a sports store
is your eyes in the sky?” Skepticism laced his voice.

“You’re
not the only one who keeps secrets.” Jackson remained stoic, not giving any
indication if his high-school friend’s five year disappearance had irked him or
not. “I’m not at liberty to say any more.”

Jake’s
jaw stiffened and he gave a slight nod. The silent agreement to discuss it no
further was made.

The
helicopter banked right, lowered, and rocked back and forth, inching toward the
bikes as if the massive machine was a border collie herding sheep.

“Damn,
he’s good.” Admiration for Paul’s ability reflected in Quigley’s eyes. “Guns!”

Gunfire
erupted in a storm of pings against the aluminum sides of the helicopter.

“Shit.”
Larry tapped Jake’s shoulder on the run past and took off. “Team one heading to
trees,” he transmitted.

“Team
two covering,” Jackson said, snapping a rifle together and flattening to the
ground. Several yards away, Quigley mimicked the act.

Bypassing
the tree line where they’d found the snake pits, Larry climbed the stock fence
and headed toward a grove of trees midway down the field.

“Damn,
they have all the toys,” Jake said between breaths, his pace even with Larry’s.

Larry
took cover behind one of the five trees in the dip of the field and hoped
Quigley and Jackson were as good as their fine tune actions said they were.
“Paul’s got a good cat and mouse game going on.” He aimed his gun at a driver,
firing at the helicopter, and squeezed the trigger.

The
guy fell to the ground. The bike spun out.

“You
boys and your secrets,” he said.

Jake
rested against another tree and let off two rounds. “Yeah, go figure.”

A
shot missed and the other hit a Scorpion in the shoulder, but didn’t deter him
from driving toward them.

“You
just pissed him off.” Larry swung around the trunk of the tree to get in a
better position.

“That
or he recognized me.” Jake moved away from the tree. Feet shoulder-width apart,
, he fired his gun until the gun’s magazine emptied.

Larry
covered, firing at the remaining moving targets.

Jake’s
target jolted and collapsed to the ground, the bike went with him.

Five
more Scorpions tumbled over. Either Larry hit them, or Quigley and Jackson had.

“Paul
had all the signs. No show.” Larry pushed the lever on his gun, discharged the
magazine, and snapped a spare from his belt. “Take off at the last minute.”

“I
can hear you,” Paul said. “Open mike, remember?”

Except
for the whirl of the helicopter, the rest of the motors quieted. Larry moved
out from behind the tree, scanned the area.

“Six
o’clock!” Paul said, his words firm, but tone urgent.

On
full alert, Larry whirled.

Bullets
whizzed by.

Two
men dressed in Black Scorpion jackets stormed toward them, guns blasting, and
crumbled to the ground.

“Hoorah!”
Paul shouted. “Snipers Jackson and Quigley are on fire.”

Another
well-kept secret
.
Larry eyed Jake, his mouth pulled down cartoonlike in disbelief.

“Snipers?”
Jake asked. “Where the fuck have I been?”

“Playing
dead,” Paul responded in a patronizing tone and made another pass with the
helicopter over the now quiet field. “All clear.”

Larry
motioned toward the woods on the other side of the field. “Let’s roll!”

Confirmation
in his earpiece from each of the guys told him they followed his lead. He jogged
across the expanse of land at a steady gait, surveying the motionless bodies
and watching for sudden movement. Ten brown jacket-wearing Black Scorpions lay
on the ground, their bodies disjointed and blood seeping out of bullet holes.
Larry couldn’t help but wonder what retaliation would be in store for them over
this battle.

A
gunshot pierced the air.

Larry
hit the ground, a sickening sensation smacking his gut. A quick look over his
shoulder confirmed his raw feeling. The leader of the group, identified by an
eye patch, swayed over Jake’s motionless body. “You fucking pig!” he gruffed,
anger blazing in his eyes.

No. Fucking.
Way.
Larry squeezed and held the trigger. The automatic unloaded the magazine,
pumping ammo into the man’s upper torso. The Black Scorpion jerked and flinched
until he hit the ground.

Pain
pounded in Larry’s ears in a deafening roar. He raced over to his friend,
knelt, and pressed two fingers to the pulse in his neck. “Jake!”

****

“Charlene!”

In
the distance, Charlene heard her name called, but her eyes wouldn’t open.

“Wake
up! Charlene!” She recognized the familiar female voice. By the high pitch, the
person was excited, yet the
 
shaky edged
tone gave away she was scared. The evil men took her to the pits. She held her
breath, scared she’d hear a rattle like Larry had, and would have to fight off
a snake with nothing more than her hands and feet.

Pressure
wrapped around her wrists, comparable to what she figured a calf underwent at a
rodeo.

“They’re
going to drag you behind them,” Celine sobbed.

Celine.
Had she been
moved? Were Celine and her in the pit?

Charlene
came slamming back into her body and opened her eyes. Her vision blurred then
sharpened on the dark green horizon and the outline of the mountains way off in
the distance. Earthy, hay scents drifted over her.

She
hadn’t been moved to the pits.

A
headache flared behind her eyes. She went to rub them, but couldn’t. Her arms
stretched over her head and her wrists were bound.

Sunlight
hit her face from all directions. Squinting, she eyed three figures standing
nearby then twisted to see what held her against her will.

Sheer
fright radiated through her body. A piece of rope connected her to the backend
of a four-wheeler.

“Take
them off!” Celine yelled. Desperation mixed with tears laced her words.

Angry
faces popped into her line of vision.

“Untie
her, Albert,” Roach ordered, grasping Celine’s shoulder and shoving her
backwards.

Albert
smelled of sweat, dirt, and cow manure. He removed the rope and grasped the
elbow to the hand she used to cover her nose and mouth. “Get up.”

Charlene
rose, almost crashing into the woman called Lavender, her face pinched with
worry and her eyes wide. “Monk, there’s a problem,” she said, touching his arm
and guiding him a few steps to the side.

Charlene
glanced at Celine, standing behind Roach and focusing on Lavender and Monk.

“The
Black Scorpions arrived, found the agent Mathews used to bait them here, and…”

A
wave of fear mixed with excitement slugged Charlene’s stomach. Larry was there!
He came looking for her, for them. Still, his name was used simultaneously with
the Black Scorpions. She held her breath and waited for Lavender’s next words.

“And
what?” Monk barked. He nailed Lavender with a glare, yet a touch of tenderness
edged the corners of his eyes.

Her
gaze dropped to her hands, clutching together. “Um, none of them made it.”