Welcome back, gentle reader.
This is a story I've had percolating for some time. In my profile I say I don't write about secret agents or special forces; this might be the closest I come, with a protagonist in that vein, but not superhuman by any means. Also, because I have little knowledge of the nuts and bolts of law enforcement or the criminal underworld, I have no doubt I've made some errors in my depiction. Google research only gets you so far. Either way, I hope you'll enjoy the crux of the tale.
Note: this story does contain stark violence and situations involving sexual assault and abuse. This also isn't one of my more erotic stories. There is some sexy time here but it's more of a natural action of the characters, and not the real focus.
Thanks to my special friends who gave this a test read (you know who you are!). As always, I apologize for my poor copy-editing skills and welcome all feedback, whether good, bad, or indifferent.
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WHAM!
Dale's reaction was instant and reflexive. He rolled to the side and yanked the semi-automatic pistol from the holster on the nightstand. His body tensed. Breath caught in his throat. Weapon leveled at the door, he waited for the next blow.
The second slam was just as loud but he realized immediately it wasn't his door, but one or two down. Dale slumped. Still palming the gun, he pressed the slide against his forehead and closed his eyes.
Jesus. Almost ... I almost came up firing. That would have been ... bad.
He shook his head. Yuri had always said Dale had a fine gift for understatement.
He glanced at the clock, seeing it was two-thirty, just as a third crash came from outside. Now that he was fully awake and not reacting, Dale's ears automatically assessed the sound: it had come from the left, and probably from the next room. The angle of his own room door meant that if he wanted to investigate, he could open and see the noisemaker with minimal exposure to himself.
Get out of that thinking, man. You're not that guy anymore.
Another blow reverberated through the night, though this time it was followed by a hoarse shout. "Maggie! I know you're in there. Open this goddamn door! Maggie!"
Silence greeted this request. The speaker struck the door again. "Don't make me break this down, bitch. Do you know what I am going to do to you?"
Dale tensed. Between the accent and the inflection, the sinking feeling that he knew that voice made his mouth dry and his finger tremble.
A faint feminine scream drifted through the walls. "Go away!"
"Maggie!"
WHUMP!
"You fucking bitch!"
Another voice shouted from somewhere in the distance and the speaker at the door responded. "
You
shut the fuck up! Fuck you!" The, in a lower tone: "Pavel, go fuck him up."
Pavel. That seals it.
Dale sat frozen in the bed.
It's not your problem, Dale. Just sit still. Don't ... just don't ...
Another slam. The speaker's voice dropped, though it was still audible. "Maaaaggie. Open the door, Maggie. We can work this out. I promise, I won't hurt you."
"No, leave me alone!" The woman's voice reverberated with terror and panic.
WHAM!
"Open this fucking door!" The outside voice resumed its prior volume.
Dale clenched his eyes shut.
Don't do it, man. Stay quiet. Stay hidden.
There was another distant shout, followed by the sound Dale knew all too well: that of a pistol discharging. He heard a pained shout, another shot, and then nothing save the commotion next door. His gut contracted.
No, I just ... fuck me.
In a flash, he was on his feet and at the door.
When he looked back later, Dale figured that if he had sat still just a half-second longer, his self-preservation would have kicked in, overriding his need to fling open the motel door, step to the door jamb, and raise his own weapon. As it was, he did just that.
As suspected, the source of the noise was just one door down from his. The man was short and wiry, and looked to be in his late twenties, with close-cropped blond hair. As soon as Dale flung open the door, the man looked his way. Cruel blue eyes locked with his.
The man did a double-take. "Sergei?"
"Step away from the door, Vasily."
A greasy smile crossed Vasily's face. "Well, fuck me sideways.
Predatel
right here in front of me. What are the fuckin' odds, eh?"
"I'm not gonna tell you again, Vasily. Get lost. Cops are already on their way."
"You always were a bad liar, Sergei." Vasily's hands drifted to the pistol thrust in his belt. His bloodshot eyes fixed on Dale, who recognized the manic, glazed look. Vasily was high as a kite, which meant Dale's chances of talking him down had just gone to near-zero.
"But a good shot." Dale's heart thumped in his chest. "I don't want to kill you,
"But I want to kill you. Fucking rat."
"Vasily--"
"
Cyka blyat!
" He clawed for his pistol.
Dale pulled the trigger.
Eight grams of lead, moving at eleven hundred feet per second, exited the barrel of his pistol, hurled across the intervening space, and punched a fresh hole in Vasily's forehead. The man stared at Dale for a long second, as if stupefied at what had happened, before collapsing to the ground.
Dale stared at him, his stomach contracting.
Shit. Just ... shit.
A flicker of movement to his right drew his attention. A heavyset man in a suit appeared from behind the end of the Dale's rented SUV, a gun in his hand. "Vasily, I--" His eyes fell on Dale and widened. "You!"
Dale didn't even think. He swung his arm wide and fired. His bullet clipped the new arrival in the shoulder. The man shouted and fired back. Mortar and shards of brick popped twelve inches from Dale's head. He turned his shoulders into a classic isosceles stance and fired twice more. Both rounds slammed into his foe's chest, who fell with a cry.
An inner voice screamed in his ear.
Move, Dale, you are out of time.
He hadn't unpacked, because he didn't have anything to unpack. Dale grabbed his pants and shirt and dressed as fast as he could, while keeping his ears peeled. Every second without sirens upped his chance of escape. He kept one eye on the door but didn't expect anyone. Vasily only ever traveled with Pavel, and that was only because Dmitri ordered Pavel to do so.
Dale snorted at that. No one could take being in Vasily's presence for more than fifteen minutes without being paid to do so.
He slid into his boots, not bothering to lace them. He scooped his wallet and car keys off the bedside table, grabbed his go bag, and hurried to the door, pausing only long enough to make sure the parking lot was clear. He didn't spot anything but Dale was sure someone in the hotel was watching through drawn curtains or that security cameras would pick up his face, or both.
First thing after I get clear is to ditch this vehicle.
He groaned at the thought. Rented under an assumed name, which meant all the documents with that name were compromised, along with the credit cards, which meant his fiscal trail would be easy to track ...
Move!
Pistol held low in both hands, Dale darted to the driver's side. He swiveled his head but saw nothing, so hit the fob. The car chirped; he slid in the driver's seat, tossed his bag in the back, and pulled the door shut. A quick push of a button started it.
The door next to his room opened and a small face peeked out. She didn't even glance at Vasily's frozen expression of surprise nor the blooding pool beneath his corpse. Her eyes settled on Dale and she lunged out of the room, carrying a small bag, and ran to the passenger side of the SUV. She tried the door handle, which was locked, and stared at Dale with pleading eyes.
At first glance, Dale would have assumed the girl was in her late teens but the mature cut of her face told him that was merely very petite. He guessed she stood no more than five feet tall and weighed a hundred pounds sopping wet. She wore a plain blue cotton tee shirt and jeans. The pigtails of her blonde hair hung in twin ropes at her shoulders and big brown eyes continued to stare at him.
Dale shook his head and put the car in gear.
The girl hammered her first on the window. Her muffled voice carried through the window. "Please!"
Dale closed his eyes.
Goddamn fucking Galahad on his white horse, charging in to save the girl. Well, I already fucked myself. Can't leave her now.
He popped the locks.
The woman threw open the door, shoved her bag over the seat and into the back, and climbed in. Through the open door, Dale heard the faintest howl of sirens in the distance, which meant he had seconds.
She slammed the door shut and turned her head toward him--and froze on spying the barrel of the gun pointed her way. Her eyes grew wide as dinner plates.
"Buckle up and roll over in the seat so your back is to me. Don't so much as turn your head my way or I'll blow it off. Do you understand?"
She hurried to obey and flopped to her right, facing the window. He figured that if she wanted to make a hostile move or pull a weapon, having to turn over to face him would buy him an extra half-second to react.
Dale threw the SUV into reverse and peeled out of the parking space. When he turned onto the road, he made another immediate turn, and then another, putting himself several streets over from the motel. He glanced at his passenger but she remained facing away from him. In the flash of street lights, he thought he caught her shaking but whether from fear, anger, or tears, he couldn't tell.
Can't worry about it right this second.
His eyes raked the streets for threats. Dandridge, Tennessee was not a thriving metropolis by any stretch of the imagination, but it was big enough that if he hurried, he should be able to get clear. If the cops responding to the motel were on the ball, he'd have about fifteen minutes before both his and the vehicle's description were all over the city. That would be just enough time, other than ...
