Out of Plans (The Mercenaries #2) (31 page)

Marc rocked back and forth in his seat, his eyes tracking the road outside the window. How far had they gone? How far was he from
her?

Dead. She's dead. You got her killed.

NO! She can't be dead. Lily wouldn't die so easily. Something has to happen. Please, god, I don't talk to you a lot, but please. She can't be dead.

She can't be dead.

“Christ, my ribs,” Kingsley coughed out and Marc looked across the seat. The British mercenary had been unconscious for most of the ride.

“You okay?” Marc checked.

“No. No, I don't think I am. Something bad has happened, hasn't it?”

“Yes. Now shut up and let me think.”

“Ah, Mr. Law! You are awake!” Stankovski laughed from the front seat. “Glad you could join us. So sorry Ms. Brewster couldn't make it, though.”

There was silence for a second, then Kingsley let out a shout, startling everyone in the car, including Marc. His leg lashed out and he kicked Stankovski in the side of the face. Russian swear words filled the car and the driver lost control of the wheel for a bit.

“
You fucking wanker, you fucking killed her!
”

“
I will shoot you in the head!
” Stankovski all but shrieked, pointing a pistol into the backseat.

That line ricocheted around Marc's brain, “
... I will shoot you in the head!
”, and he thought about Stankovski holding a gun to Lily's head. Thought of the way she hadn't moved. Hadn't even flinched. Always so strong. She'd been pale from the cold and her green eyes had looked so big. So large, staring straight at him. Then she'd smiled, and she hadn't needed to give her speech about love and thanks.

Marc had already felt it in his heart.

And this motherfucker killed her.

Rage completely took him over. While Stankovski was still threatening to shoot Kingsley, Marc jumped forward in his seat and threw his arms around the head rest in front of him. He jerked back and the ropes that tied his wrists together pulled tight against Stankovski's throat, cutting off his air supply.

Everything went crazy. The pistol in Stankovski's hand started going off, the man's arms waving around in panic while he couldn't breathe. Kingsley kicked him in the arm and one of the bullets wound up in the driver's skull. He went limp and the car surged forward as the gas pedal was pressed down to the floor. The vehicle careened across the snowy road and leapt off an embankment, catching air for a brief moment.

Nothing. Not one goddamn thing ever goes off without a hitch.

The vehicle rolled three times before landing on its side, and even then, it still slid for a solid twenty feet. Marc had gotten bounced around the interior like a ping pong ball, and when he opened his eyes again, he wasn't sure how long they'd been closed.

“Off,” Kingsley was whispering. “Get off me.”

Marc realized he was sprawled on top of the other man and they were both pressed against the side of the car, which was now underneath them.

He lurched forward and managed to grab the passenger seat. He used it to haul himself up so he was standing, his feet on either side of Kingsley. He looked down, but the other man wasn't moving.

“Hey! Are you alright!?” he shouted.

“Oh, sure. I didn't need those ribs. Or any of them,” Kingsley wheezed, one his hands pressed against his side.

“It's gonna be okay. We have to get out of here, she may still -”

The door above him was suddenly ripped open and Marc blinked as snow fell in all around them. When he managed to look outside, it was to see that Stankovski was standing above them with a gun pointed into the vehicle.

“Good lord, what does it take to kill this man?” Kingsley groaned.

“You are too late!” Stankovski yelled. “We're already at my house, men are already on their way to us. You will not try anything else.”

“You think I care!? You think you can threaten me? There's
nothing
you can do to me. You got rid of the only thing left that made me a decent human being,” Marc snarled. “The only thing I cared about in this entire world. So go fuck yourself.”

“The
only
thing?”

Stankovski moved his gun an inch to the left and fired it. There was a shout and Marc jerked his head to look down. Kingsley was gnashing his teeth together and gripping his leg. He'd been shot, right in the middle of his thigh.

Goddammit.

“Enough. Anymore back talk, and I shoot him in the head. Move, De Sant.”

As Marc crawled out of the car, he glanced around. They were down the road from a fence, and a small group of men were jogging towards them. When he looked behind him, a snow covered road stretched off down a hill, curving out of sight. Hiding the stables from view.

She's alone. I already left her alone for too long, and I didn't get nearly enough time back with her. Hang on, sweetheart, I'll be coming. One way or another, I'm coming.

Lily leaned over the steering wheel, trying to get control of a coughing fit that had taken over her body. Damiano's drugs had worked great, she was energized and she couldn't really feel her injuries. Despite that, though, her body was still showing signs of wear and tear. Her leg was still bleeding, making the coveralls stick uncomfortably to her skin, and she couldn't shake the cough in her chest.

She was concentrating so hard on clearing her lungs that she didn't see the accident till she was almost right on top of it. She slammed on the brakes and the old car skidded to a stop right at the same place a large vehicle had gone off the road.

She got out of her car and stood next to it, but made no move to investigate the crash. A large SUV was on its side, a fair distance from the road. Both passenger doors were open, and from where she was standing, she could see footprints all around the vehicle. She laughed to herself.

I told him. I knew Marc would do something, would slow them down. Good job, De Sant. Now just wait for me. Don't do anything stupid till I get there.

Lily got back in the El Camino, then promptly drove it into a ditch. She didn't want anyone else to be able to use it as a getaway car. If she survived this ordeal, she'd just have to find another way out of the country.

After she climbed out of the car, she slogged through the snow, making her way towards a fence. According to the map Damiano had given her, the rickety wooden barrier surrounded the front yard of Stankovski's country home. She shivered and glanced around. The sun was dipping down towards the horizon and twilight was beginning to settle all around her. Her shivering cranked up a notch and she closed her eyes while she walked.

No, no, no, Liliana. Just a little farther, then you can sleep for as long as you want. Maybe even forever.

She crept up to the edge of the fence. There was a large yard behind it,
huge
. Possibly two hundred feet across, maybe more. Then at the other edge of it, bushy trees bordered a drive that ran in front of the home. She could see lit up windows peeping through the snowy branches, but not much else. No people, and no cars.

Taking a deep breath, she crawled over the fence and started making her way across the yard. It seemed such a long distance, and she was so cold. The snow all around her was perfect and pristine, completely untouched. She decided if she ever got back into mercenary work again, she would never take a job above the Mason-Dixon line.

Fuck the snow. Give me sand and desert any day.

Shapes were materializing out of the trees. Two men, slowly moving in her direction. One called out to her. Both had gun in their hands.
Large
guns.

Lily stopped walking and glanced down at her own gun. At her small Glock. Then she dropped to her knees, swaying back and forth. She fell forward, twisting at the same time so she landed on her back. She stared up at the sky, noticing that the clouds were starting to clear out. She could even see the stars in some places.

I am so very tired.

Her arms were outstretched at her sides and as she heard footsteps approaching her, she let out a deep breath. One she'd been holding for over five years. Then she didn't breathe again. Just stared up into the sky.

“Holy shit, is she dead?”

The men were standing behind her head, just out of her vision.

“She looks fucked up. Is that blood on her shirt?”

“Yeah. Shit! Look at her hair! Is this the chick!?”

How long can I go without blinking?

“Shit, I think it is. She must've made it all the way here, then just died. Fuck, I don't wanna tell Boss this bitch is on his lawn.”

“I'm not gonna tell him. Maybe you should check to see if she's alive.”

Yes, please check. Please move to where I can see you.

“I ain't no doctor.
You
check.”

There was a shuffling sound, like they were shoving each other, then both men were standing on either side of her. She clenched her teeth together, ignoring her lungs as they begged her for air.

“Man, she looks rough.”

“I dunno. Nice eyes. Nice tits.”

“Check her pulse!”

“How the hell am I supposed to know where that is!?”

Come closer and find out.

Finally, one of them got on their knees. Lily was really struggling at that point, but she managed to hold out as he leaned further over her. His fingers came to rest against the side of her neck, his face within arm's reach of her own.

“Hey, hey I think I feel something. I think -”

She could barely feel her hand because she'd had it buried in the snow, to hide her gun, but she managed to snap it forward lightening quick. The barrel landed solidly in the middle of the man's forehead. While she sucked in air for a moment, everyone stayed quiet.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered, then cleared her throat. She looked back and forth between the two men. “I don't have any issues with you. Your boss is a very bad man. He does very bad things. Just walk away. No one has to get hurt here. Please. Just walk away.”

Again, there was a long silence. The man standing above her was nervously touching the gun at his side. The man kneeling next to her hadn't moved a muscle, though a vein had popped out on his forehead. She took another deep breath, fighting to hold her arm steady. The gun began to shake.

“Please. I don't want to hurt you. I'm begging you.
Please
.”

Then the other man grabbed for his gun, and Lily let out a sigh.

Nothing is ever easy.

“Jesus fucking christ, for the love of god, just stop it. Put a bullet in me,” Kingsley begged. Marc strained against his bindings.

“Shut up, Law! You're gonna get out of this!”

“I can handle the electricity,” the Brit moaned. “It's this god awful music. Please. Death would be better.”

There was a chuckle from behind them and the country western music that was filtering through the room suddenly got louder.

“What can I say? I am a fan of the wild west,” Stankovski explained as he walked between them. He adjusted the dial on what looked like a jerry-rigged generator, then held up the jumper cables he had in his hands. He scraped the clamps together, causing a burst of sparks to fly through the air. He headed back to Kingsley.

“Wait, wait, wait. A last request, I beg you,” he panted.

“Hmmm, depends on what it is.”

“Cigarettes. I would kill for a cigarette.”

“Easy enough. Who am I to deny a man his basic pleasures?” Stankovski laughed as he reached behind him and pulled out a pack of Marlboro's.

“No, thank you. Mine are in my front pocket, please,” Kingsley instructed.

“Picky.”

“They're from France, made specially for me in a little shop. Outstanding, really. I've never gone back to name brand.”

“I should try them.”

“Feel free, I don't think I'll be using the whole pack.”

Stankovski laughed again as he placed a cigarette between Kingsley's lips, lighting it for him.

“You're so funny! Pity, you should've come to work for me.”

“Nah. I have this thing about working for cunts. Just not my style.”

Stankovski scowled and ran the jumper cables across Kingsley's bare chest. He screamed, convulsing as electrical currents coursed through his body. Marc grimaced and turned away.

He'd figured they'd be brought to the house and shot, buried in a back garden, or whatever. But Stankovski wanted to know who had attacked his stables, ruining the execution he'd been almost ready to complete. Of course, neither Kingsley nor Marc knew, but Stankovski didn't believe that, not one little bit. So Kingsley was stripped of all the garments on his upper half and was then strapped to a gurney that had been attached to a wall in the basement. Very handy. Marc was tied to a chair and made to watch.

Marc had been tortured with electrocution before, and he could honestly say that watching it happen to someone very close to him was vastly worse than the act itself.

“I don't understand you people,” Stankovski sighed, backing away. Kingsley's head dropped forward, but Marc could hear his ragged breathing. “You have nothing left. The diamonds are gone, the girl is dead. What else is there to protect? What are you holding out for?”

“Hey!” Marc shouted, scooting his chair forward. “Hey. This is fucking stupid. You're right – the diamonds are gone. The girl isn't a problem. So why the fuck are you wasting all our time? Either let us go, or put a bullet in my head, cause I'm getting really sick and fucking tired of hearing your voice.”

“Hold on, he doesn't speak for everyone. I could listen a bit longer,” Kingsley interjected, though his words were a little slurred.

Marc barked out a laugh, but this only seemed to enrage Stankovski. He was a man who was clearly used to invoking fear. Marc and Kingsley were seasoned mercenaries. Fear was dealt with on a daily basis, usually with a passing glance and a hearty laugh. It would take a lot more than jumper cables and creepy basements to scare a man like Kingsley Law. And Marc, well, he was pretty sure he was officially beyond fear.

She can't be dead. She can't be dead. I just got her back. I can't do this without her, not anymore.
She cannot be dead
.

Stankovski growled something in Russian and stomped over to the generator contraption, cranking the knob as far as it could go.

“We will see if you are still laughing after five million volts!” he shouted, storming towards Kingsley.

“Bring it, you fucking twat.”

But just as Stankovski was about to “
bring it
”, there was a very distinct sound. Two gun shots. Close, but not inside the house. All three men turned their heads to look at a window that sat at ground level, high up on the wall. Stankovski glared at it, then went back to where his source of electricity was sitting on a table. Next to it was a walkie talkie and he picked it up.

“What is going on!?” he barked. Static hissed over the empty radio waves. “Answer me! What is going on out there!? Reply!”

There was silence for a minute. Marc was pretty sure he could see the Russian gnashing his teeth together. There were a few swear words muttered, then Stankovski tried again, switching the radio to another channel. And then another.

While Stankovski yelled into the radio and paced around the room, Marc held very still. He closed his eyes and concentrated all his energy on listening. He had exceptional hearing and tried to put it to use. He could hear …
movement
. Somewhere above them, but not directly. Then a crashing noise. A door opening and slamming shut.

“Sounds like you're being deserted, mate,” Kingsley chuckled.

He was wrong, though. Marc was positive that most of Stankovski's men were back at the stables. Only a small contingency had been left at the house. Kingsley and Marc had been dragged to the house by only four men, and he was willing to bet that was it. Plus, when he strained his ears, he was pretty sure he could only detect one set of footsteps. No mass exodus from the house by several large bodyguards.

It couldn't be ...

Stankovski had made his way back to the radio and was fiddling with the dials. He'd been trying to get anyone to answer for over five minutes, but there'd been no response. Just as he was about to try yet another channel, all the lights went out, plunging the room into darkness.

Marc let his head drop back and he sucked in a deep breath of air. He'd remained calm up until that point, but right in that moment, he felt something akin to panic clawing at him. He struggled to catch his breath, and ridiculously, he felt like crying. He decided to laugh, instead. Deep, gut bursting laughter.

“What the fuck is going on?” Kingsley's voice shouted.

“You shut up! And stop laughing!” Stankovski demanded. But Marc couldn't stop.

“Holy shit,” he gasped for air. “I fucking knew it. I goddamn fucking
knew it
. Christ, when we get out of here, I am going to marry that fucking woman.”

“It's impossible!” Stankovski was on the verge of shrieking.

“More like improbable,” Kingsley suggested.

“
Shut the fuck up!
”

Marc blinked his eyes, willing them to adjust to the darkness. The window was barely more than a sliver, and it wasn't exactly broad daylight outside. The trees didn't help, either. He could barely make out Stankovski, who was wearing a linen suit – now filthy. He was more of an outline stumbling around in the room, a ghost bumping into shadowy objects.

Kingsley suddenly burst out singing, startling Marc. His voice was ridiculously loud, almost bellowing, and he'd taken on somewhat of a cockney accent. The song was “Henry the VIII”, if Marc wasn't mistaken.

What in the ever loving fuck is he doing!? Jesus, they'll be able to hear him Newark! Why is he being so loud? Loud.
Loud
. Why is he being loud? What noise is he trying to cover?

Marc was shocked out of his reverie when he felt the rope around his chest pull tight for a second, then fall away completely. He jerked his head around, trying to see anything, when the ropes around his left leg suddenly went slack. His right leg was freed right after that, and then he finally felt what he'd been hoping for; fingers against his wrist. Thin fingers, small. Delicate. Belonging to hands that were fast and knowledgeable and were the absolute best at turning him inside out.

Thank god, sweetheart. Thank god for you.

The moment his wrists were free, Marc bolted out of the chair and slammed into Stankovski. He came up against his back and they both fell into the wall. The bullet holes in Marc's shoulder screamed in pain, but he ignored them and worked his fingers into Stankovski hair before bouncing his head off the rock wall.

He'd forgotten about the jumper cables, though, and while he was intent on beating the Russian's brains out, the other man managed to work a hand behind his back. The clamp brushed against Marc's side and the shock was enough to make him jerk back, falling as he went.

He could see Stankovski turning around, watched as the man grabbed the clamp that was dangling free. Now both his hands had weapons, and he began bending towards Marc. There was a shout, though, followed by a chair flying through the air. It crashed into Stankovski, one of the legs breaking off as it hit him.

“Hey!” Lily shouted. “We have unfinished business.”

Her voice sounded rough. Hoarse, and slightly breathless.

Better than anything he'd ever heard.

“Wow, you are certainly tenacious!” Stankovski laughed as he clanged the clamps together, causing sparks to rain down on Marc.

“I'm not in the mood for clever one liners. Not tonight. Not anymore.”

She let out another shout, and there was a loud crashing sound. The clamps hit each other uselessly, not producing any sparks. There was no electricity. She'd taken out the generator.

“Well then. I suppose we should just get on with it.”

Marc lunged forward, grabbing for Stankovski's leg, but the other man was already moving. He slammed into something, shuffled around, and then the door was thrown open. His footsteps could be heard stomping up the stairs.

“Did he actually
run away!?
” Kingsley burst out. “And what … what is that smell!?”

“The house,” Lily panted, and Marc could hear her moving towards the door.

“What do you mean?”

“I pulled the logs out of the fireplace in his living room. This whole goddamn place is going to burn down.”

“
Fuck.
”

“Hallway, last door on the right, I left the door unlocked. Get Kingsley out of here!”

There was no time to argue. As smoke started billowing into the basement, Marc could only listen as Lily's footsteps thundered up the stairs.