Sean reached the bend in the road and jumped off to the side, into a stand of poplars. He took cover behind a particularly broad trunk, and peeked around it. Of all the times to not carry a weapon. He usually kept his Springfield XD .40-caliber with him at all times. When on one of his motorcycles, he’d pack the compact version. At the moment, he had nothing, which could present a huge problem.
The muddy road ahead snaked back to the left. There was no sign of the sedan. Sean darted out from behind his hiding spot and sprinted across the road to the next bend, taking cover behind another tree. After the road bent to the left, it straightened out into a clearing. The Cadillac had come to a stop next to an old barn with a rusty red roof. The building looked as if it hadn’t been used in twenty years. Half of it had nearly fallen in on itself.
Sean’s attention didn’t stay fixed long on the ancient barn. It was quickly drawn to the vision of his friend kneeling in the mud; a stream of blood mingled with the falling rain and trickled from his forehead and across his right eye and cheekbone. The man Sean had seen driving the sedan towered over Charlie. From this distance, it was difficult to measure how tall he was, but Sean guessed a few inches over six feet. The driver’s powerful muscles on his tall frame told Sean the guy focused more on functional strength than just bodybuilding. That meant he was probably some kind of special ops, at least in the past.
The stranger stared down at Charlie as if expecting him to say something. It was a scene Sean had witnessed before in different parts of the world. He’d even been on his knees once or twice and had been fortunate to get out alive. He blinked away the rain dripping down his forehead and into his eyes, squinting to get a better view of what was going on. He was still too far away to hear what the man was saying, but from what he could tell, it was an interrogation.
What could he possibly want with Charlie? The question effortlessly popped into Sean’s head. Charlie never bothered anyone. From what Sean knew of him, the older man didn’t have any enemies, and he doubted Charlie had any vices that would get him in trouble with the wrong kind of people. No matter what the answer was, Sean knew he had to do something.
He cursed himself for not bringing a gun with him. He had a conceal and carry permit, but he figured it wouldn’t be a necessity for a short trip to see his friend. A motto he’d learned long ago echoed in his mind: always be prepared.
The tall man in the skin tight T-shirt suddenly smacked Charlie across the face with the barrel of a gun. The blow toppled him over sideways into the mud. Sean could see now that his friend’s hands had been tied behind his back with some plastic clips. Those weren’t readily available to the public and only reinforced Sean’s notion about the guy.
Sean had to act fast before anything else happened. He scanned the wet leaves and twigs around him for something, anything that could be used as a weapon. There were a few rocks lying around but nothing that would do enough damage. The other problem with using such a primitive weapon would be that he’d have to get close enough to hit the guy with it. By then, his target would have put four rounds into Sean’s chest.
There had to be something else.
His eyes drifted to the Cadillac idling between him and the two men. The driver’s side door had been left open, the man letting it rest against the frame instead of closing it completely. Sean had no idea why. At this point, he didn’t care. His idea was risky at best, but it was the only one that had a chance to work.
With the decision made, Sean darted out of his crouching spot and padded quietly along the grassy edge of the muddy road. He stayed low, trying to use as much of the car’s body as possible to keep out of sight. With every step, his feet made an ever-so-slight squishing sound on the soft ground below. He kept his eyes trained on the gunman, wary that the slightest noise could draw the man’s attention.
Thunder rumbled through the dark sky above, and the rain fell harder still. Sean was close enough to hear the low murmur of the car’s engine amid the sound of raindrops striking the wet earth and the tin roof of the nearby barn. He reached the back edge of the sedan and braced himself on the trunk with his right hand, risking just a peek around the front edge so he could see Charlie. His friend lay sideways in the mud, grimacing in pain. The old man’s eyes were open though, and caught a quick glimpse of Sean hiding behind the car. Sean hoped that was the case, at least.
The success of Sean’s plan hinged on the ability to stop the car on the slick surface; or Charlie’s ability to get out of the way. Sean was good with either, but not with the other possibility.
This was his only play, and he knew it.
Sean stayed low and crept toward the front driver’s side door. Rain splashed through the opening, soaking the expensive leather and wood trim. The guy must have rented it. He let go of the thought and eased the door open, inch by inch, to make sure no alarms or sudden noises would alert the gunman to his presence. What seemed like minutes later, but was only a few seconds, Sean slid into the plush leather driver’s seat. He gazed out the windshield, praying silently that the man standing over Charlie wouldn’t turn around and see him. His friend had pulled himself back up onto his knees again and spat a little blood out onto the ground.
Sean smirked. Defiant even in the face of death. “You’re not going to die today, Charlie,” Sean whispered to himself.
The gunman said something to the old man again, this time pointing the gun’s barrel straight at his face. Whoever the guy was, his patience had nearly run out. Sean had to make his move or watch his friend eat a bullet.
He gripped the gear shifter as gently as he could, as if the mere act of touching it would cause the car to lurch forward. With his foot firmly on the brake, Sean warily pulled back on the knob, putting the car in drive. He took a deep breath and jammed the gas.
Chapter 2
Gerard Dufort stared through the one-way glass with an apathetic gaze. The three young women on the other side of the window wore nothing but plain white underwear. While each one wore makeup, their faces appeared weathered, as if they hadn’t slept in days.
Dufort didn’t show it, but he enjoyed seeing the young women tied to the aluminum poles in the other room. None of them struggled. They couldn’t. Most of them were so doped up that they barely knew what was going on. Their glassy eyes wandered the room, most of the time just staring at the mirror in front of them. Dufort’s men made sure the room remained mostly dark. The women were presented on a small stage against a backdrop of brown satin curtains. Dufort rubbed his chin with a thin index finger. His elbow rested on top of the other wrist.
“I’ll take all three of them,” he said in a heavy French accent.
He rubbed his nose for a moment before turning to his head of security, a brutish-looking man named Fabien Caron with a flat-top haircut that came to a point in the middle of his head. Caron easily stood five inches over his employer. Dufort wasn’t short, but standing a few inches under six feet made his head of security seem even taller.
“See them up to the holding rooms and get them cleaned up. We’ll need to make sure they’re ready before our guests arrive.” Dufort twisted his head slightly toward Caron as he finished the sentence.