Unmask (Adrenaline Series (Stand Alone) Book 4) (4 page)

Suddenly there's a pair of footsteps coming from behind me. I turn around assuming I'll see a defeated Destin when I'm shocked by the sight of the dude in a black ski mask. Instinctively, my fist balls, preparing to swing when another sound of footsteps rushes at me from the other side. In one swift motion I'm attacked from both sides, my cigarette hitting the sidewalk in the scuffle. My fists swing, landing in the jaw of one, then the gut of the other. One hits back, the blow landing in my kidney, doubling me over as the other one brings his knee up to my chin, making my teeth click. Growling through the pain I straighten back up, my elbow nailing one in the nuts. He drops, giving me a chance to stumble away quickly for help, my stride is cut short. A burning sensation shoots through my leg dropping me to the ground. I do my best to keep crawling forward, knowing if I make it to the window someone will see. Someone will help me.

Help! Go! Call someone! Yell at them for me! Do something!

Unfortunately, another masked figure appears in front of me and places a moist cloth over my face. With my final breath, the sharp scent attaches itself to my system, shutting it down effortlessly.

Melody

“But I don't understand,” Omar scratches his bald, tan head. “How can any plant do that?”

“Plants are remarkable,” I hum turning the page in my botany book.

They are. They're so underrated. Sometimes I feel I'm just like them. Mistaken for something weak and disposable. I know that's how The Devil views me. That's how he views everyone
.

There's a commotion among the voices outside the plane that lifts my attention off my book.

“You weren't supposed to fucking shoot him, Rex!” JJ, one of The Devil's flunkies, gripes to another. “If he's dead, we're dead!”

“It was a leg shot!' Rex argues as they drag a limp body onto the plane. “He ran! What did you want me to do?”

“You two would've been fucked without me,” Lamar, another member of the Three Stooges adds.

That's what I call them when they're together. Not quite as funny as the show, but definitely dumber at times. I know what you're thinking. It's not possible. I've come to realize, most things people think are impossible, are what I'm most likely to encounter. Hell, how do you think I got here?

“We're fucked with you!” JJ shouts.

“He's lost a lot of blood,” Rex sighs. They drop the body at my feet like puppies would a bone. “At least I think he has. If anyone can fix him Melody can. Melody is amazing.”

Concerned I ask, “What do you mean fix him?” When they don't reply I snap, “You were supposed to put the rag over his face and bring him aboard. Two simple steps. The rag would do the heavy work-”

“Lifting that asshole is heavy,” Lamar whines.

“Oh please,” JJ grumbles. “You barely lifted his feet.”

“You barely lifted his feet!”

“That doesn't make any sense!”

“Shut up,” Omar commands.

Knowing their place in the pecking order they immediately do as they're told. The three of them gather around with their heads hung. Omar moves to stand beside me, but doesn't comment.

His jeans seems to be rubricating. “He's bleeding.”

“I uh...” Rex looks up. “I might've shot him.”             

Omar growls, “Why would you shoot him?”

“He was running away,” Rex quickly tries to explain. “I had to stop him! He couldn't get back to the bar! If we-”

“Shut up and get me the iron.” Dropping to my knees, I state, “JJ get me my med kit.”

“We need to be in the air,” Omar whispers out. In a harsh movement he pushes the squad out of the way to head for the pilot. “The Devil wants us in the air!”

Working for a man who could probably make actual angels cry is awful. I didn't sign up for this and every chance he gets he reminds me of it. If it wasn't for Omar, I probably would've overdosed myself out of this shit by now.

“Rex give me your belt,” I demand.

The body that was still just seconds ago starts a low groan as his head moves back and forth.

“Really?” My face darts up. “I thought you said you drugged him.”

“I put the rag over his face,” Lamar insists, bringing me the iron. “I swear!”

I snatch it from him. With a pinned look I ask, “Which rag, Lamar?”

“The white one.”

“The white one was the test rag!”

“Why did you need a test rag?” He yells back.

“Because it wasn't the only solution I needed to mix and you morons are always messing with my shit before it's labeled!” Frustrated, I toss my hands in the air. “Fucking unbelievable...”

JJ drops my med kit next to my feet just as I plug in the iron. “What happened?”

“Wrong rag,” Rex mumbles. “And I'm an idiot cause I shot him.”

“You didn't have to fucking shoot him,” the arguing starts again with Lamar.

“At least I stopped him,” he fights. “Better than half ass knocking him out.”

There's another heavy groan and the body moves. Knowing I need to act fast, I grab my scissors and cut his pant leg exposing the wound. Quickly I disinfect it, more grunts of discomfort rolling out of him.

“Good news, Rex,” I sigh. “You're a terrible fucking shot.”

“I pinned him in the leg!”

“You grazed his leg.” The correction causes his partners in crime to snicker.

Thankfully. Thankfully it grazed his leg. I hate pulling out bullets almost as much as I hate what I'm about to do next
.

Carefully I wrap the belt around his exposed leg to help stop the blood flow before grabbing the heated iron to cauterize the wound. The second the heat hits his skin, he arches up, a cry of agony so fierce coming out of him, my heart darts into my throat.

That's...that's never happened before. No. Not the screaming thing. That always happens. Have you ever been burned before? Exactly. I meant the heart thing. I've never hurt for someone like him before. That's not good. Neither is the extra step I was required to add to this process
.

“Fuck...” he grumbles, his eyes still struggling to open.

In a flawless motion, I wrap the freshly closed area with a bandage from my med kit. “It's alright,” I try to comfort him quietly. “It's gonna be alright...”

“Burn a motherfucker with an iron then lies to him about it being alright..” JJ mutters. “And they call us heartless.”

“Shut up and get my bag from by the window,” I whisper as my hand reaches up to touch his flushed face.

How can anyone still look beautiful when they're cringing in this much pain?

With a gentle stroke I reassure him, “The pain will fade.”

“Promise?”

Hearing his voice so weak and helpless causes me to respond immediately, “Promise.”

Once my bag is in my hands, I pull out the mixture and a fresh rag.

You've seen how stupid these guys are. Of course I keep spare everything. Wouldn't you?

I dampen the rag and place it over his face. “Now breathe...”

He takes one large inhale and drifts off the way he should've originally. At the sight of him knocked out once more, part of me feels at ease.

At least he's not in pain at this very minute. With what's ahead of him at least he'll have this. It's more than most get
.

Omar points. “You three, front of the plane, now.” The three of them sulk the direction they were instructed. When it's just the two of us he shakes his head. “Don't look at him like that.”

Instead of denying anything, I shift my attention to cleaning my hands of the knock out mixture. “Like what?”

“Like you did, Jimmy.”

Just hearing his name causes my body to tense. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“You know exactly what I'm talking about, Melody. You were stupid once and managed to live. Be stupid twice and you'll for sure die,” he harshly states.

Omar doesn't say anything else before he turns around to stalk off the way he came.

He's right. I know he's right. The problem isn't knowing he's right. It's knowing that what I'm doing is wrong and having to do it anyway. Welcome to Hell. I'm not a visitor. I'm an employee
.

Drew

Angels, aren't real right? And if they were, which I am not saying they are, shouldn't they be blonde? We already talked about my blonde obsession. Honestly, I think it's because my mom was a brunette. She was the most gorgeous woman in the entire world. Just the most stunning in beauty and personality. She was also the most supportive and fucking lovable person I could think of. She is what truly made a McCoy boy into a man, so I think that's how I view brunettes. They should be treated with respect. They should be kept as the one woman you wanna keep forever. I've never met a woman who I ever considered keeping. Never figured I would. Until now. You didn't answer my question. Are angels real?

The brunette woman adjusts her long braid. “You're awake.”

“Are you the Angel of Death?” I groan through the throbbing pain in my head. “Am I in Heaven?”

“Hell.”

So I'm not always the smartest guy and I may not know as much about lore as other people, but I'm pretty sure angels are a Heaven thing right
?

My eyes struggle to focus, but when they do, the sight in front of me makes me want to question her again about her angel status. Her olive skin looks soft enough to blanket more than just the pain in my body away.  The long braid she seems to be fiddling with would wrap nicely around my hand while those brown eyes that are sparkling at me would look even sweeter, brighter from the orgasm I'd give her.

No, I'm not ignoring her perfectly curved figure that's trying to hide under those white scrubs. I'm just trying to be a gentleman and not mention it. So what if I just mentioned giving her an orgasm? What's your point?

“Stop looking at me like that,” she sharply whispers.

With a crooked smile I ask, “Like what?”

“Like I'm every other girl that's ever crossed the McCoy path.”

“You're so far from it...”

She tries to hide her smirk, but I see it.

You see it too, don't you? I told you. McCoys are hard to resist.

Groaning once more, I drag my body upward and lean it against the pillows behind me. “Where am I?”

“You're in one of my many homes,” a voice I recognize says from somewhere in the background. Melody steps to the side and reveals a face on the screen I was hoping the next time I saw it would be in a news report about being found dead. “Welcome.”

No, he's not here for his Forbes magazine photo shoot. He is one of the most wanted criminals in the country. I can easily see how you think those two things could go hand in hand, but this time they don't. Well, is there a criminal edition of that mag?

I rub the back of my neck. “Your hospitality has been generous.”

“You're alive, aren't you?”

Don't agree with him
.

“For a purpose.” My reply makes him smirk. “What the fuck do you want?”

“Right to the point. You have learned a thing or two from the oldest of you McCoys.” He leans back in his office chair. “You're here to do a job for me.”

“Fuck you,” I bite. “We don't fucking work for you anymore. That's what happens when you kill our fucking family.”

He nods and snaps his fingers. At that moment the screen splits in half revealing Daniel, tied up in a chair, slightly bruised, with duct tape on his mouth and gun against the back of his head.

Shit...

“I have no problem killing more of you if necessary,” he states. “I only need two of you triplets for this job and as far as I'm concerned one less McCoy is never a bad thing. Now, would you like to watch your brother’s brains paint my basement wall or shall I continue?”

I swear I can feel the pressure of that loaded weapon against the back of my own head
.

With a deep growl I shake my head. “What do you want?”

He waves his hand and the weapon lowers from Daniel's skull. His camera angle expands wide across the screen, but in the corner the view of Middle Man remains.

Worse conference call ever.

“There are two things that are missing from my life because of you fucking McCoys.”

I try not to smirk. “We didn't blow up your house.”

He glares. “The only reason I believe that is because your brother burned in the flames.” Hearing the words forces my face down and The Devil takes the exposed weakness like a bone being tossed to a full pup. “Oh no...sensitive subject? You don't wanna discuss how your baby brother barely had time to say a final prayer before he was screaming in torment?”

The image of my twenty three year old brother losing his life like that churns my stomach.

Thanks for your apologies.

Clearly pleased, he smiles. “My compound, which has all been burned to the ground at this point, was not what I was referring to. Due to McCoys being hell bent on revenge, my inside men on the force are dropping like flies. I. Do. Not. Like. This.”

Shaking my head I deny, “Like we told your punk ass flunkies that fucked up our shop. We're coming for you, but it won't be like that. Narking on you like that isn't our style.”

“Regardless.” His hand waves in the air. “Whoever is knocking out my players in the system is costing me a fortune
and
preventing me from acquiring things I've had planned to be in my possession for months. Show them.”

The woman in white presents a tablet in front of me with a photo of two different objects. One is sculpture of some kind and the other...the other is artwork on two wheels.

“By your expression, you are well aware of what that is.”

“That's The Phantom Black Princess.”

“The 1934 BMW R7x,” he announces. “Price unknown because in theory it doesn't exist.”

“It doesn't.”

“The most valuable things do not exist on paper, Drew.”

The 1934 BMW R7 is really a motorcycle, if you must call it that. It’s one of the most beautiful crafted pieces of machinery to ever exist. It had disappeared until a few years ago when it was discovered and restored to it's original condition. Literally art on wheels. Many of the designs were inspired by Art Deco. There was a prototype made, which was declared, would be too expensive to mass produce. The project was shelved. The BMW R7x is a rumor that the designer who had a special place for his shelved project, started another in his free time. One just slightly better. One with just a little extra edge. Hints the x. It's just a ghost story. A useless legend told at old biker bars. Uncle D used to tell it to us when he'd tuck us in at night. Ben, his son, used to promise he'd find that bike one day.

“This was supposed to be ceased at a raid and brought to me,” The Devil explains his eyebrows now furrowed. “But due to many of my allies in the legal system disappearing, the raid was put on hold before being thrown out altogether. This bike should already be in my possession.”

Still in disbelief I shake my head. “That's not real.”

“It is 100 percent real. I've seen the beauty in person. She's been appraised and authenticated. They don't want it in the news or on paper. A lost secret. Fine.” He surrenders his hands. “I don't give a shit. I have a buyer for it.”

“The statue too?”

“That's for me.  A little feel better present for all the pain and distress you McCoys have been putting me through.”

My eyes cut back to the art piece.

I don't know that much shit about art. That was Merrick's department. He was always spouting off facts and rambling about famous artists. This just looks like a misshapen claw to me.

“The statue, like the bike, has a value with enough zeros to make me a forgiving man.” When my eyes look back up he says, “Now, Daniel you will be in charge of making me a mock bike, as well as ones for you to use for your transportation. While Drew, you will be in charge of not only making me a mock statue but the false prints and facial pieces you will be needing to complete this task.”

Annoyed, I shake my head again.

Can't fucking believe this...

“Melody has a picture of the statue as well as the man, the two of you will be impersonating. He's a prince.”

“Y-y-y-you're having us pretend to be royalty?”

“Yes. So brush up your manners,” The Devil instructs.

I take a deep breath in an attempt to regain my composure. “How'd this prince get on your bad side?”

“That's none of your concern,” he snaps. “Like Madden, you need to learn your place. In this kingdom, I am the lion. I will take what I want when I want it and you...and your brothers are all like little lionesses, just waiting to grovel and eat my scraps.”

Did he...did he just call us his bitches? Swallowing that bullet sounds much better than working another day for this fucker.

“Speaking of Madden, before you do that thing you McCoys are well known for, he's...unavailable at this time to lend his assistance.”

Nervous of the possibilities of how he's torturing my big brother I clench my fists together. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“That means, him and Destin are battling a little thing called an audit. Doesn't sound like such a big deal, but I think you've forgotten how your money in the beginning for that shop got bankrolled.”

I wet my lips, but remain silent.

Please tell me you hate him as much as the rest of us by now. Good news is Destin has those tracks covered on paper and digitally to the point that besides an inside man's confession you couldn't ever figure it out. Our money is laundered, put away in bank accounts including Swiss ones, so the search is useless, other than to keep my brothers occupied
.

Realizing I have no choice, I shrug. “What's the plan?”

“That will be revealed to the two of you on a later date. As for now,
you
have thirteen days to create your identities and my statue, which you eyeballed like it would be easy.”

I've done a forgery once or seven times in my life. They don't have to be perfect. Just fucking believable
.

“But again...you McCoys need an attitude adjustment.” The corner of his mouth lifts. “Consider this it.”

The screen goes black not giving me another chance to say a word to him or my brother.

Immediately I snap my head at the woman. “Bring him back!”

“I can't.”

“Yes, you fucking can!” I shout. “Bring him back! I wanna make sure my brother is okay!”

“He's fine,” she softly answers.

“How the fuck do you know?”

“Because I know where he is. Nina will tend to his wounds. Levi will not lay another hand on him unless necessary.” She motions a hand to the doorway where there's a large tan bald man with his arms folded. “Much like Omar.”