Rogue Alliance (5 page)

             
Champlain stuck his head in the hallw
ay.

             
“It’s clear. I’m sure they’
re still tying up loose ends with w
hatever it was that
Shinto
had to take care of
in the first place. So
me other abomination, I’m sure.”

             
Abomination, thought Brennan
, t
hat about sums
it up.

             
He followed Champlain down the hall. They stopped short when they heard the sound of laughter.
After pausing
, he
realized the culprits weren’t getting any closer. They were most likely pissing around on break. Didn’t matter.

             
They rounded a corner and sprinted down another long, sterile hallway. Brennan felt high. The feeding and the impending
moment of long-awaited freedom
was causing
his system to go into over-drive. He was ready for anything.

             
Champlain halted.

             
“Okay,” he said, “s
ee that little station down at the end of t
he hall, just before the door? T
hat’s the guard. Hang back a minute and let me handle this.”

             
Brennan wanted to bust through the walls.

             
“Okay,
”
he said.

             
Champlain’s body language suddenly shifted. He stood up straight and a wicked calm
seemed to co
me over him. He sauntered down the hall as if he owned the joint.

             
“My business is
done here,” Champlain said to the guard,
“I’ll take my gun now and be on my way.”

             
Brennan ducked out of sight
when the guard poked his head out of his tiny room.
             
“Where’s Dr. Shinto? He always sees his guests out.”

             
“He’s taking care of
other business. He’s a busy man,
as
I’m sure you know. He and I have said our goodbyes. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to be on my way.”

             
The guard’s eyes darted back and forth
.

             
“Uh, I guess. Let me get your weapon. Sorry, I didn’t mean to delay you, Sir.”

             
“No problem at all.”

             
Brennan wondered how Champlain was going to finagle him past the guard. He
watched as he
signed out his weapon then
carefully pointed it into the guard’s face.

             
“Take your gun out of your belt,” he ordered, “t
hrow it on the ground and then buzz me out.
You aren’t going to raise the alarm or cause a scene
. You’
re just going to let me and my guy walk out of here. Or I will shoot you in the face. Do you hear me?”

             
The guard’s color had faded t
o an ashen-gray.

             
“What guy?”

             
Brennan started down the hall. The guard caught
sight of him and his color dropped
another few shades.

             
“Oh, no. You can’t take him,” he said,
“
Shinto will kill me.”

             
“I don’t thi
nk you have to worry about that,
”
Champlain laughed.

             
Brennan was twenty feet away when suddenly the heavy metal door just behind Champ
lain opened wide. A burly, bear of a man
stood in the doorway and pointed his revolver straight at the back of Champlain’s head.

             
“Drop your weapon!”
he shouted.

             
Brennan stopped. Champlain froze but didn’t
drop his weapon. He held it steady
to the other guard.

             
“I said drop it!
You and I both know that neither of you are getting out of this facility. Now drop your goddamn gun.”

             
Brennan
walk
ed
slowly fo
rward. The guard gave a wary glare
out
of
the corner of his eye. He kept his gun trained on Champlain but spoke to Brennan.

             
“Don’t move another step. I will shoot this asshole.”

             
Brennan
kept walking, slow and steady.

             
The guard shifted the
weight on his feet
. His eyes darted
nervously
.

             
Brennan didn’t say a word.

             
“
Stop right now
or I’ll shoot you and then shoot your friend.”

             
B
rennan knew he couldn’t do both; n
ot before
he had a piece of him. He kept stalking. He wa
s only about eight feet away
.

             
When the guard finally
panicked and made his decision, Champlain was ready. The guard jerked his aim toward Brennan. Champlain spun around and shot the guard before h
e got off a shot of his own. His
thick
body fell to the floor with a thud.

Brennan was already moving with deft speed to intercept the other guard who was lunging toward his gun on the floor. He blocked Champlain’s body just as the guard aimed
and fired. The bullet nicked
Brennan
’s
left shou
lder
. The imp
act threw him against the wall and a
burning sensation seared his flesh.

             
Champlain turned to shoot the guard but
Brennan
w
as already
in motion.
Brennan
hit the guard with such speed that the he
flew against the wall behind him. There was a sick sound of bone cracking as his head hit the concrete
partition.

             
Not sure
if Champlain was taking aim, Brennan
rolled to the ground, scooped up the
gun and pointed it at Champlain.
T
he spot between his furrowed brow
s
was
directly
in his sites.

             
Champlain
,
for the first time
,
looked to be almost sha
ken
.
He raised a quizzical brow and spread his stance. They stood with weapons drawn facing one another.

             
Brennan hadn’t even broken a sweat. He knew he could kill Champlain right the
n and there. H
e cocked the gun. He stared
Champlain
down
for another minute. Champlain looked half
amused but Brennan knew he fully understood the situation. He
was no match for
the
speed and agility he’d just witnessed
in Brennan
.

             
Brennan
lowered his weapon.

             
“I don’t owe you anymore,” he said,
“w
e’re even. Now let’s get out of here.”

FIVE

             
Shyla’s
breath came in short, shallow gasps. She pulled the covers tighter over her head and prayed that just this once he would leave her alone. Sinking into the soft bed, she imagined that she was growing smaller and smaller. Maybe if she willed it hard enough, it would be true. She would shrink and shrink until she was as small as he always made her feel.

             
I
t was pointless
; i
t didn’t matter if she was small or not. He would come for her just the same as he always
had since she’d turned ten. Four
years had passed since that first horr
ifying night. But like a bad dream that wouldn’t quit
, Dad would make his Friday night visit. Mom would work her night shift.

             
It was his night off. He would start drinking at dinner, then head out to the bar. She would go to bed and start praying. T
hen
,
when he thought she was asleep
,
he would sneak in.

             
Her whole body shook. She lay on her side, both sweaty hands tucked between her legs, and waited.

             
“Shyla,” he barked from the kitchen.

             
She clamped her mouth shut
, pretending to be asleep.

             
“Shyla. Get your skinny little ass out here.”

             
He usually came straight up into her room. Maybe this time really would be different. Should she go out there? Yeah. Then he might not come in at all. She sat up and slipped out from under the thin covers.
Barefoot, she sneaked
out of the room.

             
“Shyla,” he bellowed,
“Get out here now!”

             
“Yes, Daddy. I’m coming.”

             
She peered up at him, glaring against the fluorescent kitchen light
. He swayed
. His eyes were glassy.

             
“
Hey kiddo, w
hat’s this mess?”

             
He waved an arm t
oward the counter. Only a steak
knife and the tub of butter were
out.

             
“Oh, sorry. I must have left it out after I made a snack.
I’ll clean it up.”

             
Shyla
hurried
across the col
d linoleum and tried to hide the
trembling.

             
“Good. I shouldn’t have to come home to a mess.
And use a butter knife next time for Christ
’s
sake.
I don’t need you cutting your damn finger off and costing me an emergency room bill.
”

             
Shyla
opened
the fridge, leaned in, and placed
the butter in its
designated spot on the middle shelf.

             
“What kind of ridiculous get-up you got on, girl?”

             
He was slurring heavily but he sounded less angry. She thought that was a good sign.

             
Shyla shut the door and glan
ced down. She was wearing a baggy pair of Tweety B
ird sweats that her friend, Stacy, had given her. She thought they were ugl
y, but they were comfortable, baggy
. They covered
everything and hid any curves.

             
“Nothing. Just an ugly pair of pajama pants that Stacy gave me.”

             
“Damn right, they’re ugly. Take ‘em off. Now.”

             
“Um, okay.”

             
Shyla
started to walk out of the kitchen.

             
“Where you goin’?”

             
“I’m going to my bedroom. To take them off.”

             
“No you’re not. Take them off right now.”

             
Oh, god. She just couldn’t take t
hem off right in front of him, w
ith the light on. At least
,
before
,
they had always been in the dark, where she could close her eyes and pretend it all away.

             
He stepped closer, but almo
st lost his balance. He stopped, wavered
,
th
en lifted his finger.

             
“
I’m not going to tell you again,” he warned, “t
ake those damn things off.”