Blood Vengeance

CHAPTER TWO

Ben Blake slammed the rear door of the three-year-old Ford Transit and stretched his aching back. Being the lead singer in a band did have its advantages, but sitting on a cushion with your back up against the van’s ribbed steel wall, jarred by every bump and pothole, crowded by the band’s haphazardly stowed gear, whilst the carefree driver took ninety minutes to negotiate his way back from an unwilling Manchester crowd was not one of them. Still, his new girl, Stacey, was by his side and full of smiles. One look at those big doe eyes and all his troubles melted away.

“Laters.”

He slapped the side door twice and watched the vehicle drive away. None of the guys waved. It wasn’t that kind of night. Stacey snuggled in.

“C’mon, let’s get upstairs.”

Ben headed for the communal door that led, via a dusty old set of barely carpeted stairs, to their second floor flat. He checked his watch and couldn’t believe it was after 0200 hours. The street was quiet, despite its close vicinity to the center of York. At this time of night most but the hardiest of party animals would either be at home or whiling the time away inside one of the city’s nightclubs or new entertainment venues such as Popworld.

“Lie in tomorrow,” he muttered.

“What else is there to do on a Saturday morning?”

Ben fished out his key. “Bugger all, I’m sure.”

He paused as his mobile phone sang a little text-message tune. “Who the—”

“Not your dad is it?” Stacey’s tone was only mildly mocking. She knew how close Ben was to his family. She was lucky enough to have a tight-knit family of her own.

“No. It’s bloody Karin. Over in the States. Says she’s okay and that they saved the world again four days ago.”

“She texted you that?” Stacey leaned over his shoulder.

Ben tapped out a quick reply. “It’s probably true.”

“Do you miss them all?”

“Sometimes.” Ben pocketed the phone and played with the loose lock. “Getting into this place is a work of art,” he grumbled. “We’ll have to ask Mike to—”

“Here,” Stacey grabbed his arm. “Step aside, geek. Let me help. Us district nurses can do more than save lives you know.”

Ben playfully fought her off, silently reflecting that this was the kind of tussle he could handle. The experiences of the ‘Odin thing’, and subsequent adventures had scarred him deeply, leaving him more of a timid, amicable guy than he had been before, much to his surprise. But there was no doubt getting out had been the right move. At least once every night he woke up soaked in sweat, the tatters of a nightmare still entangled with his brain, the blood of a dying soldier stained into and soaking right through the palms of his hands.

Stacey had questioned it at first, but he had mumbled something about a childhood trauma and she hadn’t said anything since. He didn’t know if she believed him, but didn’t care. Some things he would never share. And Stacey was too nice a girl to bring it up again.

Ben heard the lock click. Stacey stepped back. He turned to her with a smile on his face. “There, see—”

The man standing behind her materialized out of nowhere. He was big, with a crew cut and a scar stretching all the way across his forehead that almost matched his mouth, which was grinning from ear to ear.

“The Blood King sends his regards,” the man growled.

Stacey jerked, her eyes wide, and blood flew from her wide-open mouth. The blade of a knife burst through her chest. Ben stared, staggered, and fell to his knees. Drops of red spattered his face.

“Wha—”

The scarred man threw Stacey’s body to the ground and stepped across her. The red pool was already flowing toward him. He felt the hair on his head pulled hard and looked up into the cold eyes of a killer.

“Don’t worry, sissy boy, you’ll be meeting your parents soon enough. They’re next.”

The knife came down fast, but then suddenly clattered away as a shot rang out. A curse split the night’s odd silence. Ben felt his head released as a creeping coldness started to soak through the knees of his jeans.

Stacey?

Something hit the killer head on: another body. The sound of men struggling tore through Ben’s malaise as he realized one of those men was trying to save his life. He rose on shaking legs. Stacey’s body lay still before him. Beyond that, the killer groaned as a broad-shouldered figure straddled him and began to pound.

“Sam?”

“Ben!”

The shout came from around the corner of the house. Ben whirled to see Jo, another of Drake’s old SAS pals, beckoning him over. “Hurry.”

Ben stared at his girlfriend’s dead body. He couldn’t just leave her there, sprawled and lonely and broken. He fell to his knees, and it was only the pain of striking the ground that jerked his mind back to what the killer had said.

My parents are next.

Another shot rang out. Ben screamed as a body dropped next to him, almost knocking him over: a second killer. Another knife clattered across the driveway. Then Jo was at his side.

“Need to get outta here, kid.”

“He said my parents are next,” Ben said as he was pulled away. “What’s happening? And why are you here?”

“Your lucky day. We’ve been around, on and off, for weeks. Never could be sure the vendetta was lifted. You, being the isolated one of the team, were the one to watch.”

Ben tried to get his head around it. “You were using me? Us?” His head swiveled inexorably back toward Stacey.

“Don’t be a little fool.” Jo swung Ben around as two more men approached. Both wore black leather jackets and had an East European hardness to their features. They came at Jo without hesitation. An underhand knife thrust tore through his jacket, but snagged the arm long enough for Jo to break his attacker’s windpipe with stiffened fingers. The second man struck a second later. Jo rolled with the blow, coming around and hefting the big man over his shoulders with ease. A shrug, and the knifeman landed neck first.

Sam ran up. “C’mon. Quick.”

The two army men led Ben down the darkened street. Lights were blazing in windows up and down the quiet neighborhood. Curtains twitched. Sam pointed out a blue Mercedes A Class.

“In there.”

“What about my parents?” Ben knew he sounded like a whiny child, and his thoughts should probably be more centered around his own situation and Stacey’s, but his parents meant the world to him.

Sam opened the door wide. “Get in.”

As Jo cracked open the back door, two dark figures climbed out of a car opposite, dropping instantly to a firing stance. Jo threw Ben to the pavement and leaned across the Mercedes’ roof, gun in hand. Three shots crashed loudly through the night, returned twice by the attackers. The closest of them twisted and screamed before curling into a ball and trying to jam his body underneath his own car for cover. Sam scrambled around the back of the Mercedes as Jo laid down covering fire.

The other car shuddered as its windows smashed and holes appeared in its front wing and engine compartment. Ben imagined the local York residents on their mobiles, calling the police. He crouched by a back tire, protected, eyes again drawn toward the front door of his flat. The darkness huddled there was the dead body of Stacey Fielding. What am I going to tell her parents?

At last the firing stopped, and Jo was back, flinging open the door and all but throwing him inside the car. The seats fit snugly around his body, the suddenly operational satnav screen a blinding light. Sam rammed in the key and peeled away from the curb.

Jo laid low in the back, already on the phone, shouting orders at some unfortunate operator. It took a code word and five minutes of cursing, but Jo got his message across in the end.

“Firearms officers and ARVs are on the way to your parents’ place in Leeds. ETA five minutes.”

“ARVs?” Ben fought to focus.

“Armed Response Vehicles. Each one is equipped with a safe that’s armed to the teeth. Those guys don’t fuck about, mate. Your folks will be secured in a jiffy.”

“Take me there,” Ben said, and Sam nodded.

“We’re already on the way, mate.”