Deadly Intent: An Action Thriller (Adrian Hell Series Book 4) (5 page)

I look over again to see how Styx is doing; he’s sitting staring at me with shreds of flesh hanging from his fangs. The guy he went for is on the floor, unconscious with blood pouring out of his leg.

The remaining guy, on the left of Tori, hesitates and looks at his leader, who looks back and shouts at him in a foreign language, gesturing at me with his head. The other guy sighs and reluctantly walks toward me.

I let him throw the first punch, because I almost feel sorry for him. I block it easily, knocking his arm away with my left hand, before punching him hard in the sternum with my right. I step into him, using my right elbow to hit him again, knocking the wind out of him and sending him to the floor in a heap.

I look back at the one remaining guy, who’s moved Tori directly in front of him. He’s peering over her shoulder, looking very shocked and concerned.

“Let her go,” I say.

He moves his hands, positioning one on her jaw and the other at the base of her skull. I look him in the eye, searching for a sign that he’s bluffing, and that he doesn’t really intend breaking her neck.

“Fuck you!” he shouts.

He’s not bluffing… shit!

I can’t rush him, because he’s standing a good ten feet away from me—he’ll snap her neck before I can get close enough.

Styx starts growling again, but he holds steady.

I’m running every outcome through my mind. I keep eye contact with Tori to reassure her she’ll be fine.

A few tense moments silently pass, but noises sound outside and distract me. I look out the window and see two more cars screech to a halt outside the bar. Eight men get out, forming a line. They’re all holding assault rifles…

The guy holding Tori smiles, like he knows he’s just beat me.

I look at her. “Tori… I’m so sorry,” I say, as the shooting starts…

7.

06:02 CDT

As the bullets start flying, I race over to Tori, keeping as low as I can. The guy holding her moves, dropping for cover, but I get to him first. I grab his hand from around Tori’s jaw and break two of his fingers. As his grip loosens, I push Tori to the floor.

“Stay down!” I shout over the noise.

I watch as she moves into a fetal position, covering her ears with her hands, and screaming in fear. I feel terrible that she’s been dragged into all this, but I stay focused on the guy. I punch him hard in the stomach, and across the face, before grabbing his collar and spinning him round, launching him into the center of the bar. I dive for cover behind the bar and look over as he stands, disoriented for a brief second, before being riddled by the bullets peppering the building from outside. He flails backward, landing a few feet away, looking like Swiss cheese. Blood escapes from his lifeless body, quickly forming a large pool around him.

I sit on the floor with my back to the side of the bar, looking at Tori and thinking about how we’re going to get out of this in one piece. I guess I should accept the fact that I’m not going to be able to hide my past from her after this. She’s just seen me take out seven guys, and she’s about to see me take out eight more…

I crawl behind the bar and reach under the counter, retrieving the custom Beretta 92FS with the engraved butt that I have taped under there. Now isn’t the time to think about how much I’d
actually
moved on. I’m just glad I still keep some of my old habits. Like preparing for every eventuality. As I check the mag’s full and flick the safety catch off, I briefly contemplate what it says about me that I must have subconsciously known that something like this would happen at some point, regardless of how much I try to move on.

I sigh and lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees, and my forehead on the barrel of my pistol, thinking about what comes next. Tori seems to momentarily overcome her fear, as she opens her eyes and crawls toward me.

“You can’t stay here,” I shout to her. “It’s not safe.”

“What about you?” she yells back. “And where did you get that gun?”

“Don’t worry about me—I’ll be fine. Just get into the back and go upstairs. Get in the bathroom, barricade the door shut, and lie down in the tub with the cover from the bed over you. Stay there until I come and get you. I’ll shout to you, and I want you to shout back and ask for the code word. Do you understand? The code word is
hellbound
, and if I don’t say it, don’t let me in.”

“Adrian, I don’t—”

“Just trust me, please. Let me handle this. Now
go
!”

She looks at me, confused and afraid, and then nods slowly. She turns and scrambles across the floor into the back. As soon as she’s out of sight, I stand and fire off a few rounds out the window, catching two of the gunmen to the left of the line and dropping them. I duck back behind the bar and take a few deep breaths, controlling the adrenaline rush I’ve not felt in a long time.

Six left, but the gunfire seems relentless.

I can’t stay here, as I’m a sitting duck, but I don’t know where else I can go. I just have to bide my time, wait for them to change mags, and be accurate when I return fire.

The bar’s starting to disintegrate around me from the perpetual onslaught of bullets. Another minute passes before I get an opportunity to return fire. I quickly poke out the side of the bar, keeping low, and pick off a guy on the right.

That’s another one down…

But I know my little resistance is just prolonging the inevitable. I know a shitty situation when I see one, and this couldn’t get much shittier.

I move to stand, intending to get another couple of shots off, but the sound of a shotgun blast makes me hesitate.

Crunch-crunch… BANG!

I chance a look over the bar as I see the guy now standing on the far left explode and go flying off to the right, knocking into the guy next to him.

What the...?

I wait a second longer before standing, and I fire off five more rounds, taking out three of the four remaining guys before clicking down on an empty chamber. The last guy stares at me through the smoke for a moment, then he quickly disappears off to the right in a red mist—the result of another shotgun blast.

Silence falls, and I step out from behind the bar and walk cautiously over to the door, holding my gun ready, despite being out of ammo. The smell of gunpowder in the air stings my nose; the smoke catches my throat, but I fight to suppress a cough. From the left, Sheriff John Raynor appears, shotgun in hand and his hat on a slight angle.

“Looked like you could use a hand,” he says.

“Yeah, thanks,” I reply, tucking the gun into my waistband behind me.

I step outside and stand next to him, turning to look at the front of my bar, which now resembles a war zone.

“Jesus…” I say to myself.

“So, you mind tellin’ me what all this is about?” asks Raynor.

“Would if I could, Sheriff. I have no idea.”

Raynor rests the shotgun on his shoulder, the barrel still smoking. “Adrian, you’re a good guy, and I consider us friends. But cut the crap and level with me, because I just helped you take down eight fellas emptying their machine guns at your bar. Somethin’s goin’ on here, and you know more than you’re tellin’ me.”

I sigh, knowing I’ve reached the point I guess I always knew would come one day. Where I can no longer outrun my past. I walk over to the nearest dead guy and pick up his gun. I feel its weight as I turn back to show it to Raynor.

“This is a Steyr AUG A3 SF assault rifle. Manufactured in Austria and fires nineteen mil’ cartridges at a rate of about seven hundred rounds per minute. It’s been used by the Austrian Special Forces for the last decade.”

Raynor takes off his hat, rubbing his hand across his head, before replacing it and stroking his mustache.

“Now how the hell d’you know that kinda shit about guns like
that
?” he asks, nodding at the weapon. “What exactly did you do in the military?”

“Sheriff, I’m being straight with you here, and I’d appreciate you keeping what I’m about to tell you between us.”

He nods.

“My full name is Adrian Hughes. I’m ex-military and used to head up a black ops unit for the CIA. I did a lot of things that no one kept any record of, and when I retired I became a professional assassin. I was the best there was, and I made a lot of money doing it. I had a global reputation for being the greatest. But I also made a lot of enemies. I lost a wife and daughter because of that job, and when I finally avenged their deaths, I found my passion for the business had gone. I
was
Adrian Hell, but I buried him alongside my family and hung up my guns.”

I pause so he can process what I’m saying. He just kind of nods along, like none of it is really
that
hard to believe… like it kind of explains a lot. But I continue.

“Those three guys the other night came here looking for me, trying to recruit me for something. I don’t know who sent them, or what they wanted me for, I just explained I’d retired, and they shouldn’t come back. Then when you said they’d been found dead, I started to worry that maybe there was more to it than just my old reputation coming back to haunt me. Next thing I know, I have seven guys in my bar holding Tori hostage, saying I shouldn’t have refused their offer, and now I was a liability of some kind. But they came with no weapons…”

“So you took out seven guys?” asks Raynor. “On your own?”

I shrug like it wasn’t a big deal, though I guess it probably was to the sheriff of a small town in Texas.

“Just as I was about to get Tori to safety, these boys turned up outside and started raisin’ hell. I appreciate the save there, sheriff.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Surprised you needed it, given your past. So why are you here, Adrian?”

“Starting over, somewhere small and anonymous. I’ve got plenty of money and no ties anywhere else. And I’ve been real happy here. But you have my word, Sheriff. When all this is over, I’ll move on. I don’t wanna put the people of this town in any danger. I guess there’s never any escaping a past like mine…”

He scoffs. “Cut the shit, you self-righteous son’bitch,” he says. “I could give a rat’s ass about your past, and if you think this is your fault, you’re dumber than you look.”

“Thanks, John.”

“Where’s that girl of yours?”

“Shit, Tori! I’ll be right back.” I turn and run through the bar, into the back and up the stairs. “Tori!” I shout. “It’s me. Are you alright?”

There’s silence for a moment, and then a muffled voice says, “Wh-what’s the password?”

I smile to myself. She’s a smart girl. “It’s
hellbound
,” I say. “Now get your ass out here, baby—it’s all over.”

As I enter the bedroom, the bathroom door flies open, and she jumps into my arms, wrapping her legs around my waist and burying her head into my shoulder, tears flowing down her cheeks, wetting my T-shirt.

“It’s okay,” I say, to reassure her. “It’s over now.”

“And you’re alright?” she sobs.

“Baby, I’m fine, just like I promised I would be.”

We spend a few minutes hugging, and then head back downstairs to the bar. The sheriff’s sitting on a bar stool, looking at the damage to the interior, which is
extensive
to say the very least. He stands when we enter, his hat resting on the bar next to his shotgun.

“Tori, how you holdin’ up?” he asks, genuinely concerned.

She nods and smiles weakly.

We stand for a minute, looking at the devastation around us. In the silence, I hear a low, muffled cry… not a cry, actually. More of a… yelp.

My eyes go wide.

“Styx!”

I rush over to the far side of the bar, where tables and chairs have splintered and broken, covering the floor in debris. I follow the noise and come to a small heap of wood in the corner by the window. I throw piece after piece away to the side, uncovering Styx, lying on his side, his breathing shallow and fast.

I see the bullet hole straight away. It’s underneath him, on the fleshy part between his two front legs. It’s a bad wound. I feel my heart sink as he whines, looking up at me with his tongue lolling out of his mouth. I place my hand on the side of his face, and he just about manages to raise his paw enough to place it on top of my wrist.

“Jesus… Styx, hang in there, boy—you’re gonna be fine.” I shout back without looking round. “John, ring an ambulance… or a vet… or someone—just get somebody! Hurry!”

I hear him leave and, a moment later, Tori appears at my side. I’m kneeling down next to my wounded friend, an animal who walked into my bar one night and stayed by my side without question ever since. She stands next to me, placing a hand on my shoulder.

“Adrian…” she says.

“He’s gonna be fine, aren’t you, boy? Yeah? You’re gonna be just fine.”

I stroke his head. His breathing is fast and shallow, and he lets out a low whine with every exhalation. He moves his front paw, as if holding my hand against him.

“Come on, Styx. Hang in there—the sheriff’s getting you help, okay?”

His breathing starts to slow. Tori crouches down next to me, stroking his back as she rests her head on my shoulder. He looks up at me. I swear to God he’s trying to say sorry…

“Styx, come on! Stay strong boy.”

His breathing slows even more. The low whines are less frequent and quieter now. I know there’s no hope. Not anymore. But I refuse to accept it.

“Styx…”

Raynor comes back in. “All kinds of folk are on their way, so I’ve got them to rush a vet here as well, Adrian.”

Styx lets out another long, low whine. I stroke his head.

Then, silence…

I frown, holding back the emotion fighting to spread across my face. I feel Tori kiss my arm before standing and walking off. I hear her start to cry again.

“Styx…?” I say.

But he’s gone.