The end of a long tale. Thanks to all for feedback, encouragement and suggestions. As per usual, a ton of gratitude to Rumpole for nudging this to completion.
Just a warning, this story has history. The first part is largely filled with violence and dark-natured villains. If you've disliked the style of previous chapters, I suggest you avoid this one. Otherwise, enjoy.
Peace.
*******
"They are right on our tails. And I mean
right
on us," Alex muttered furiously, still lamenting his earlier oversight.
The air around them was thick with a buzzing anxiety. Fighting to harness his panic, Alex urgently gestured the group to follow him.
The industrial shed's interior was huge, the size of a large warehouse. The dark area seemed enormous at night, vaguely illuminated by a dark, gloomy green coming through the translucent tin roofing.
Alex paused, hearing a faint sound outside. He pulled Katie close, with Mark and Cory bringing up the rear.
They all jumped when a door to their right briskly opened, and a blinding torch centred on Mark's face.
"Stop!" snarled a voice.
"Alex, take her. GO!" Cory shouted, shoving Katie forward. Alex caught her before they loudly fell behind a stack of crates.
Immediately staggering to his feet, Alex roughly dragged Katie away in the dark. At the same time, Mark stepped toward the open door to stand between Cory and the intruders.
"Wait, idiot!" another man exclaimed, and the flashlight rattled. "We need him alive!"
Finally his eyes adjusted, and Mark perceived three strangers. One held a torch and gun, another wrestled for the gun, and a third stood staring at them as though he was the one who'd been ambushed.
"Fucking hell, Frank!" Peter managed to get a hold of the weapon, and steadily pointed it at Mark and Cory.
"Now listen, Mark," Peter said, and Mark was quite surprised by the man's refined, sophisticated voice. He sounded more likely to host a tea party than point a gun at a civilian in the middle of the night.
"George wants you alive. Not Cory. You. If you care about your friend at all-"
"I'm supposed to trust you?" Mark growled.
"I haven't shot him, have I?" Peter levelly replied, and Frank shifted uncomfortably. He clicked his fingers at the third, startled man. "Cuff them."
"Er..." the man said nervously. "I didn't bring..."
"I
said
cuffs!" Peter's eyes widened with incredulous outrage.
"You said ties," the man answered defensively, a twinge of resentment in his voice.
Peter looked to Frank, who shrugged awkwardly. "This was Stanley's job."
"Then cable them," Peter spat, briskly shaking his head at his companions.
"I have rope," the man muttered.
"ROPE?!" Peter screamed, as his nerves surpassed breaking point. Mark took a mini-step closer.
"Don't fucking try it, Mark," Peter snapped, brandishing the gun. "George said 'alive' not 'unharmed'," he lied. "Don't make me cap your knees, and kill Cory."
After facing Mark's rather intimidating death-stare, he indignantly looked to his companions.
"Must I bloody-well do everything? Tie them up!"
"Figured you'd be better at it," Frank snidely muttered, fortunately too low for Peter to hear.
Under the pretence of cooperation, Mark folded his wrists behind his back and briskly turned to face Cory.
'Tense,' he mouthed. Cory stared, wondering if his friend had gone mad. Mark cast his eyes upwards and tried again.
'Tense!' he mouthed again. Scowling, he looked pointedly at his biceps, and slightly hunched for emphasis. Mark looked like he was impersonating a body builder in competition.
The lightbulb clicked, and Cory took a deep breath, expanding his chest and straining every muscle in his body, particularly his arms and wrists as they were bound.
"Didn't George say to kill the blondes?" the third man asked anxiously.
"He said 'when they are all together'. As you can see, some are missing," Peter snapped, struggling to maintain his composure.
Worried about things going awry, Peter was also nervously aware of the fate in store if he killed someone prematurely. Peter was by no means George's first assistant, and he'd already fucked up with the rope.
"We'll find them. They're here, somewhere," the other man argued, eyeing Mark and Cory's strong physiques with substantial trepidation.
"We might need hostages. The instructions are clear," Peter stubbornly shook his head.
Knowing it would do little to alleviate his fear, Peter was unable to stop glancing toward Mark and Cory, with a silent prayer they never got the upper hand.
"Where is George?" Frank asked.
"He..." Peter hesitated. "He'll be here. He's finalising something important."
**********
Rosa barely struggled against her binds, seized up with terror so powerful that she thought her heart might actually stop. She was uncomfortable confronting Cory and Mark in the beginning, but with current company, the character distinctions were very clear.
Now, she was again in the hands of two strangers, but with clearly sinister intentions. In hindsight, her experience with Samson now seemed like a peaceful park stroll.
"Well, here's an intrigue," Greg smiled, and Rosa felt goose bumps rise up her arms as she stared into the coldest brown eyes she'd ever seen.
"I don't know who she is," Dominique snapped, looking to the door impatiently. "But she's not what we came for. If we wait too long-"
"I did their tyres. They're not going anywhere," Greg said silkily, reaching to gently trace his knuckles down the side of Rosa's arm.
Petrified, she shrank back, but not before Greg caught her loathsome shiver from his touch. He loved the effect he had on women.
"You can't hurt me," Rosa blurted, frantically looking to Dom. "I'm his sister."
Rosa had little idea how true her words were. All she knew was that the time remaining before certain violence rapidly dwindled, and it was the first stupid thing that came to mind.
"What?" Dom smirked, impatience etched across his bruised features.
