“We really need to get this done, James.” He shot a look at the patched window. “Johnny Hunt is far from predictable.”
Mockerie’s smile grew to grotesque proportions. “So am I,” he said softly. He flicked the knife open and left it there to gleam in the lamplight. Tilting his head to one side, he angled the blade at Melia. “You remind me a little of my late wife. Around the eyes, the shape of them, and maybe the mouth.”
Is that good?
The blade embedded itself in the tabletop, jammed in by a furious hand. “I never had a chance to make the bitch scream. I’ll pretend you’re her and imagine she’s screaming with you.”
Definitely not good. She backed up a step when it looked as though he was going to throw the knife he yanked free at some part of her.
“Let’s get his done.” He thumped the table. “Right here,” he told AJ. “I want her placed faceup so I can see the terror. Inhale it. Live it.”
AJ gave her a rough push. “You heard the man, doc.”
Desperate, she looked at Satyr. His edginess had increased, but there was no chance he’d go against the wishes of his employer. His fingertips tapped lightly on the table. When AJ gave her another hard shove, he stood and crossed to the window. “The hair on the back of my neck is prickling, James. We really need to get this done.”
Mockerie aimed the knife at him. “Your agenda.” Then pointed it at himself. “My agenda. No surprise, Ben, mine wins. Relax and experience your wrath all over again. Savor it. Tell the lady about the screwed-up escape attempt that landed you back in that Iraqi prison for eighteen months.”
“There’s nothing to tell.” Satyr fired a visual dagger in her direction. “The woman I loved is dead because of Johnny. I could have been there for her, but I wasn’t. Johnny got away. I didn’t. She died. The universe and your husband owe me. Tonight, he’s going to pay for all of that. Do as Mockerie says, AJ. Get her on the table now!”
She fought, but AJ locked his arms around her from behind, eluded the kicks she leveled at his shins, and deposited her on the tabletop. He gave her knees a hard bang with his fist to straighten her legs.
“I’d suggest using gorilla tape on this one, Mr. M. She fights like a fucking wildcat.”
“Yes, I see that.” He pressed the knife to her throat. “Maybe this will calm her down.”
Satyr continued to peer out the window. “Get it done,” he said through his teeth. “I’m prickling like a mother over here.”
Mockerie rounded on him in a move so fast, Melia didn’t see it. One second, the knife was against her throat, the next, he’d crossed the room to press the tip of it up and under Satyr’s chin. “Don’t ever use that word in my presence again. Do you hear me, Ben? Not ever.”
Satyr swallowed. “What word?”
“Think about it,” Mockerie whispered. He stared for a moment, then turned his attention back to Melia.
AJ cleared his throat, but didn’t spit. Probably couldn’t. “Rope or tape, sir?” he asked Mockerie.
Mockerie bent over Melia and smiled. “Free,” he said. “Keep your gun trained on her. If she tries to scratch or bite or kick me, put a bullet in her leg. Start low and move higher every time she moves.”
Thunder shook the floor of the shack. I won’t scream, Melia promised herself. Then she felt the cold steel blade slide over her collarbone and thought, Screw it. She’d burst his fucking eardrums if she could.
“What was that?” Satyr demanded suddenly. He ducked down. “I saw a light.”
“I didn’t.” Mockerie fixed his gaze on Melia. “You’re jumping at shadows, Ben. Calm down, and enjoy the show.” He bent to whisper in Melia’s ear. “I suggest you make pain your friend, Dr. Rose. The three of us are going to be spending a lot of time together tonight.”
Chapter Eighteen
“You were right.” Laidlaw crouched in the bushes behind Johnny. “So what now? I count three assholes, big as tanks and armed to the teeth. Are there more, d’you figure?”
“Figure three more at least. Plus AJ.”
“Plus Satyr and Mockerie. You should’ve contacted McCabe.”
“No time. Pick a spot. When the first guy goes down, open fire.”
“Six against two.” One side of Laidlaw’s mouth lifted in a grin. “We should be able to handle that. If we’re lucky and one of the tanks we can’t see isn’t carrying an Uzi.”
“Life’s a gamble. Go.”
Johnny waited ten seconds for Laidlaw to position himself. Then he fired the first silenced shot.
The guy closest to him hit the ground with a thud not quite muffled by a peal of thunder.
The others swung into action instantly. As predicted, three more appeared out of the darkness.
Another man fell when Laidlaw’s bullet struck. The guards took cover. Johnny got one in the shoulder. As he was rolling right, he planted a second shot in the guy’s chest.
Two new men rushed out from behind the shack. Okay, more than he’d expected. Given the situation, Johnny wasn’t overly surprised.
Bullets began to fly. So much for any strategy. Shots whizzed past his head. He saw Laidlaw coming toward him, bent low. “It’s too closed in over there.”
“Here, too.” Johnny dipped sideways as another barrage of bullets whipped past. “Aim for the guy with the armband. I’ll take his buddy.”
Laidlaw had to lose cover to target the guy. Unfortunately, Armband must have been thinking along the same lines, because his bullet caught Laidlaw even as Laidlaw’s took him out.
“Son of a fucking bitch.” The big man fell right into Johnny. He clutched his leg with both hands. “Bastard blew a hole in my thigh with that shot.”
Yanking his shirt off, Johnny fashioned a quick tourniquet using a portion of a tree limb and a stone. Twisting on the limb, he knotted the shirt tight and grabbed his gun.
His own man was bellying forward. When he raised his head and took aim, Johnny put a bullet in the middle of his forehead.
“Three left, minimum.” Laidlaw was sweating heavily. Propped against a tree, he motioned for Johnny to go. “Get around back of them, catch ’em off guard. I’ll cover you. Got plenty of ammo.”
Johnny hesitated a moment, then nodded and pounded his friend lightly on the shoulder. “Stay out of sight.”
“Count on it.”
He kept to the trees. One guy continued to shoot blindly. Then two more appeared from the direction of the outbuilding.
He hated to think what was happening inside Pappy’s shack. Mockerie had to be there. Would he save himself and kill Melia outright, or put his faith in the competence of the guards he’d brought with him?
Don’t go there. Keep moving. Keep believing she’s alive. He’d know it if she was dead, he was sure of that.
One of the lamps in the shack went out. Johnny ran on, toward a small group of outbuildings. He saw an opening and shot the guard closest to him. Then he took a chance, left the trees, and grabbed the guy’s rifle.
It cost him, as he’d thought it might. A bullet passed straight through his upper left arm.
The pain barely registered. Raising the rifle, he fired two shots at the first guy he could scope clearly and watched him drop to the ground.
Far behind him, he heard a Magnum go off. Again and again and again. A victorious cry told him Laidlaw had brought at least one man down, likely more.
Someone ran across the yard behind Pappy’s shack. The man turned as he opened the door to a rickety outbuilding. He spied Johnny in the light from the shack and raised his weapon.
Johnny shot first, three times. The man spun as if on a pivot and fired while he was falling.
A moment later, an explosion ripped through the air. It knocked Johnny off his feet and sent him flying back into a sycamore tree.
Flames burst through the roof of the building. Pieces of burning wood landed on Pappy’s shack and the porch that surrounded it. The old wood erupted instantly.
Shaking the fog from his head, Johnny crawled into an unsteady crouch.
“What the fuck,” he swore. Then he realized what had happened. Whoever he’d fired at had shot his own weapon into the building that housed Pappy’s still—and all the whiskey jugs being stored inside.