Mastering the Devil (Rush Series Book 4) (27 page)

John clasped his hand when he started for the door.
“primum movens, Alex, ” he said in the most serious tone Alex had ever heard the man use. Primum movens – Latin for the ‘Unmoved Mover’. He hoped for everyone’s sake that he was able to
move things, without being pushed back … or removed, as the case may be. Of course, Alex knew John was being more philosophical in that he hoped truth and justice prevailed and remained unmoved.

~M~

Cash’s groaning broke through Devon’s consciousness. At first, she thought she was dreaming, but the continued noise finally broke through to her. She was sitting in a chair, her arms and legs were strapped tightly to it. She attempted to lift her head but pain splintered through her brain and she moaned and held her head completely still willing the pain away. Her shoulder had been painfully wrenched from the socket for the third time. She doubted if it’d ever be the same again. Even if she could get her brain to function enough to try and get out of the chair, her entire left side was completely useless. Her stomach roiled as the numerous points of pain in her body seemed to scream at the same time within her. She swallowed hard to keep her minimal stomach contents intact. She didn’t think she could handle vomiting right now, she knew if she did, her head would blow off.

She forcibly turned her thoughts away from the agony in her body and instead focused on the last time she’d actually had a meal
- it was breakfast with Alex, following a beautiful night of passion, want, need, and love. Swatches of sensations rushed through her mind: the texture of his warm skin against her fingertips; the bulge of his muscles against her hands; the taste of him on her tongue and the feel of him as he loomed over her, plunging himself into her over and over… sometimes fast, sometimes slow.

Tears sprang into her eyes at the
memory of the sheer beauty of it. She loved him so much and now he’d been drawn into her nightmare. That he’d come for her she had no doubt. She wished she’d stayed away from him. Instead, she’d brought him right where she’d tried to keep him from.

Cash’s groaning broke through her mind once more
and her scattered brain regrettably remembered where she was and the extreme situation they were in. This time, she concentrated hard, ignored the pain, and lifted her head. The motion of lifting her head caused her shoulder muscles to tighten and she whimpered at the pain. One of her eyes was swollen shut where that bastard, Tipton, had backhanded her when she’d tried to protect Cash.

Poor Cash, his body
had already been so mangled and burned so badly the skin had a constant sheen from whatever oozed from it. Her ears still rang with his clipped scream when they dipped him into the salt water of the ocean. She’d jerked away from the goon holding her arm – hence the new dislocation – and leapt on Tipton, slamming him with her fist over and over. The big man had snatched her one handed and swung her around before backhanding her. She’d landed hard on her butt and had jumped up screaming every known obscenity at him. He’d backhanded her again. That time her head had slammed against a pillar on the dock. She’d attempted to rise, but her equilibrium had been so messed up she’d wobbled side to side and then there’d been nothing but blackness.

“Devon?” Cash crocked.

She swallowed and cleared her throat. “I’m here,” she rasped.

“Where are we,” he murmured.

She blinked to clear her sight and struggled to see the space. Cash was directly across from her bound to a chair in the same manner she was, with his back to her, facing the opposite wall. Even through her blurred, partial vision, she could see blood as it dripped slowly to the floor from his shoulders and arms. Without moving her head, she allowed her eyes to shift around the sparse room. A thick layer of dirt and grime covered every surface. The area was relatively small and windowless. There were empty metal wire shelves attached to each side of the room. The only light came from behind her. She assumed it must the door.

“I… I don’t know. It seems to be some kind of abandoned warehouse – but small.”

There was a long pause before Cash said in an extremely weak voice, “Are you tied up as well?”

“Yes.”

She heard him swear weakly,
and his head sagged even further onto his chest, then silence hung heavy. “Cash?” she called. “Cash,” she said when she didn’t get an answer. She waited a minute then panic settled over her and she said more forcibly, “Cash!” At her effort, her head felt as if a pickax had been planted squarely in the center of her skull.

“I’m here,“
he murmured weakly. “What’s our options?”

Once again, she allowed her eyes to trail around the room, but it was empty with
the exception of the chairs. “I don’t really see any,” she said emotionlessly.

Cash grunted and hunched his shoulders. “I
have a little wiggle room,” “he said, “how about you?”

She struggled to
maneuver her hand out of the bindings but it was too tight. The same was true for the bindings around her legs. She was breathing heavy from both the exertions and pain caused by her labors.

“No, they are tight,” she gasped.

“Do you know where we are?”

“No, I was unconscious when we got here,” she replied.

She watched his head tilt forward again. “Cash,” she repeated softly.

He swore softly before saying, “
I think if I keep working it, I can get out. The sweat on my arms is acting like a lubricant,” he said grunting.

She frowned when she saw what his lubricant actually was... blood and fluid trickled to the floor. She opened her mouth, but clamped her lips shut. This might be there only chance.

~M~

Long shadows were playing across the dirty white of the connecting buildings by the time Alex crept up to the area. Impatience nagged at him, and he fought the near overwhelming need to abandon his plan and just take Devon and Cash and run
… if he found them. But he knew if he did that, they’d be running forever. He wouldn’t let Miguel Munoz get another opportunity to take her out.

From his position across the alley, he spotted two men leaning negligently against the outer walls of the garage, and four were stationed outside the former meat-packing building.
He heaved a sigh of relief, Devon and Cash were here. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to determine which building they were being held in either.

Now that he knew they were here, his anxiety lessened and his years of training kicked in.
He ran his gaze along the roof-tops but didn’t see any shooters there. Slipping into the shadows, he edged his way around the garage and sidled up to the back. With his gun drawn, he edged his way to an old rusted-out dumpster sitting directly below a row of narrow windows. He edged slowly around the dumpster and spotted another guard about ten feet from down the alley. The guard was squatting on his heels, smoking a cigarette, and talking on a cellphone. His rifle was resting against the side of a metal building. While he was facing forward, his gaze was turned away from Alex.

Knowing this would probably be his only opportunity, as quietly as he could manage, he
got as close to the building as he could and stealthily moved toward the unsuspecting man. He’d gotten within a foot when something warned the other man of impeding danger. The man stood suddenly and spun in Alex’s direction. Before the Hispanic man could do more than drop his cellphone, Alex had jumped at him and slammed his Glock into his skull. The man grunted and crumpled to the ground, blood beginning to seep onto the graveled ground.

Slipping his Glock into the curve of his back beneath the waistband of his jeans, Alex snatched up the other man’s rifle and made his
way toward a door which was propped open to allow the circulation of air.

Before he entered, Alex asked just loud enough for his voice to be picked up by the microphone situated next to his lips, attached to the earpiece he wore, “Where is Tipton?”

A few seconds later, Erick’s voice in his ear said, “He’s in the office.”

Alex blinked as he mentally recalled the office’s location from the van’s camera view. He slipped through the door’s opening and slipped into the dimly lit garage. His eyes quickly surveyed the garage and didn’t see anyone in the open area; not that he expected to.
Setting the rifle aside, he removed his Glock from his waistband and with quiet steps, he slowly made his way to the office and peered inside. His old driver, Tipton Mays, was sitting at the desk, his feet propped up, as he sipped something amber-colored from a plastic cup.

Alex
lifted his weapon and slowly stepped forward. “You’re a real piece of shit!” he said softly and menacingly.

Tipton blinked and turned his head, but otherwise didn’t seem affected by Alex’s sudden appearance. He met Alex’s eyes unflinchingly, moved the cup to his lips, and took another unhurried drink. Once he’d swallowed, he smiled and gave a small shake of his head. “Ya know, he said you’d find her. I had my doubts,” he said with a small laugh. He pointed the cup in Alex’s direction. “I didn’t really think you were smart enough. I have to admit, I wasn’t that impressed when I met the infamous Alexander Masters,” he said sarcastically.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Alex replied smoothly. “Call him.”

“Oh
, don’t worry. He already knows you’re here. He’s been biting at the bit to talk to you.” Setting the cup aside, Tipton leaned back in the chair and folded his meaty arms over his chest and grinned.

“Where is he?”
Alex asked coldly.

From behind him
he heard the unmistakable sound of a hammer being pulled back. He froze instantly and began to think through his options.

“That’s right, think
very carefully,” Miguel Munoz said from behind him.

Slowly, Alex lowered his weapon to his side.

“Mr. Mays, why don’t you alleviate Mr. Masters of his weapon,” Miguel said.

Tipton laughed and rose surprisingly graceful to his feet and took the Glock from Alex’s unresisting fingers. “Be my pleasure.”

“Now, be a good man and turn around slowly,” Miguel instructed.

Alex glanced about the room as he turned, looking for anything he could use, but nothing was close enough… yet. When he finally faced the man he’d come to find, anger filled him to overflowing, and his hands trembled with the ne
ed to dismantle the man who’d nearly destroyed Devon – both mentally and physically. Instead, he did the exact opposite, he smiled at the evil man.

Miguel cocked his head to the side and studied the odd reaction. “If you think there’s a way out for you, you are wrong, my friend.”

Alex gave a small nod of his head and smiled bigger. “We’ll see.”

“While Mr. Mays might not appreciate your skill, I do. Just so we are clear, I have given orders to kill the girl if anything happens to me. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

Looking past him to Tipton, Miguel said, “Give our guest a seat. We have plenty to discuss.”

Almost immediately, Alex felt the desk-chair Tipton had previously vacated, hit roughly against the backs of his knees. He sat and placed his hands on the arms of the chair.

“What do we have to talk about?” Alex asked, as he casually crossed one ankle over one knee.

“A conversation that is five years overdue,” Miguel replied.

“Five years?”

Miguel propped one foot against the bumper of the van the thugs had taken and placed the hand holding the gun over one knee. “Si… five long years. I’ll admit that I am curious as to why it’s taken you this long to unload the merchandise. Why did you wait?”

Alex eyebrows arched. “Merchandise?”

Miguel waved the gun dismissively. “Don’t play coy with me. Now is not the time to play games. I want what’s mine!” he demanded.

Alex stared at the man as his mind struggled to come up with an answer to the situation. What could he have that Miguel would want? Even after careful thought, he didn’t know, but decided to roll with it.

Looking down to pick a piece on nonexistent lint from his pants leg, Alex smiled coyly, and asked, “And why would I give you the merchandise?”

“Because I’ll kill the girl if you don’t,” Miguel threatened.

Alex laughed. “We’re dead either way. So I say… no.”

Miguel rose and walked to the desk where a bottle of bourbon sat and poured himself a drink. He tossed the liquid into his mouth and swished it around before swallowing it.

“You are right,” Miguel began menacingly, “but there is dead… and there is painfully dead.” Miguel moved back in front of Alex and leaned against the van. “Have you ever seen what happens to a body when it’s placed within a cylinder of tires and set afire?” He shuddered at thought and smiled. “It is not a pretty sight. And the screaming… oh, my friend, I can only imagine how painful it must be.”

Leaning towards Alex, he continued, “I will do it in front of you. I will make you sit and watch her burn… slowly. You’ll have a front-row seat… you’ll hear her screams and not be able to help… you’ll smell her flesh as it’s burned
from her body. The smell will linger long after she is dead.”