Chapter 46

There was a man at the top of the stairs.

Since Kate had told me about Rourke and the degradation he’d put her through, I wanted to kill him almost as much as I did Quicksilver. Kate told me about the way he’d watched as she’d performed intimate and private tasks, forever making lewd suggestions and promises. He had been rough in his treatment of her, and more than once his hands had lingered where it was unnecessary. Rourke hadn’t physically raped her, but throughout her ordeal he’d been constantly raping her in his mind. His debasement of Kate required punishment in kind.

It was difficult not to charge up the stairs and pump bullets at him. But instead, I went slow and sure. He thought I was the man that I’d killed downstairs. Grade. Concealed by the thickening tendrils of smoke, he was none the wiser. Taking each step slowly, I groaned as if I was injured, lowering the man’s reaction time as I made him wonder what had happened.

‘Killed the bastard,’ I croaked, ‘but he got me good, man.’

‘He shot you?’

Rourke’s voice was no more than five feet ahead of me now. I kept my head down so that he couldn’t get a good look at my face. The smoke helped. Even when I coughed, it sounded like a man who’d been hurt.

‘You sure he’s dead, Grade?’

‘He’s dead,’ I said, finally reaching the top stair. The man was to my right and he was holding a gun, loosely, like he’d forgotten it was there. I stumbled towards him and raised a hand, as though looking for support. He lifted his own free hand and I wasn’t sure if he was trying to help me or to ward me off. Either way, it didn’t matter; I immediately plucked his gun out of his grasp.

He knew then who I was. I expected him to put up some kind of fight, but he didn’t; he crunched against the wall bringing up his hands in a pleading gesture. Just your typical bully. Not so tough when he was up against someone tougher.

I jammed my SIG under his jaw.

‘Grade’s dead.’

‘Please! Dear God! Don’t kill me…’

I shook my head slowly. Smoke coiled around me and I could feel a furnace blast of heat pushing through my clothes. For the briefest of moments I felt immeasurably cruel. I wanted to make the man go down on his knees and beg for his life before I sent him into the flames crawling on all fours like a dog. But then I’d be the bully.

‘Is your name Rourke?’

At first he wouldn’t answer, so I thumbed back the hammer on my gun. I didn’t need to, all I had to do was pull the trigger and it would fire, but it was quite intimidating.

‘Yeah, man, I’m Rourke. But I’m nobody!’

‘I know that. That’s why I’m going to give you a chance.’

‘You’re going to let me live?’

‘Yes. But you won’t be a danger to women again.’

In my other hand was the gun I’d just taken off him. It was pointed low, between his thighs. I squeezed off a single round.

Rourke screamed and collapsed at the same time.

‘If you can crawl out of here, you’ll live,’ I told him as I walked away. ‘But that’s down to you.’

Rourke was too concerned with screaming to crawl.

Flames or smoke or bleeding to death, one of them would most likely finish him, but I’d kept my word. I’d given him a chance at survival, although he wouldn’t be raping anyone in future.

In front of me was an open door, and beyond it what looked like a bedroom. Bright light washed the room in total contrast to the rest of the house behind me. Taking a quick glance back over my shoulder, I noticed Rourke was lost to sight. I heard the crash of Rink’s Mossberg. Voices were raised in a harsh whisper, but the sound of the disintegrating building made it impossible to hear the actual words. Still, I recognised Larry Bolan’s deep baritone and the self-regarding tones of Robert Huffman.

Both my enemies were right there.

I didn’t want Larry just yet but Huffman was a necessity.

An M16 rattled and bullets punched into the room. The bullets went high, digging up and into the attic space above. Harvey and Rink had the men cornered at the back of the building just as we’d planned. I moved into the room, lifting my SIG. I had to disable one or other of them immediately: even with my friends watching my back it would be difficult fighting both men.

Then I heard a rumble on the planks, saw through the door a huge shadow hurtle over the balcony. This was followed seconds later by the clatter of shattering glass and I understood that Larry Bolan had jumped for it, throwing himself across the space between the house and the next building and had crashed through a window in an effort to evade capture. The big man was proving more agile than I’d ever have given him credit for.

For now, Larry was out of the picture. Let him run. Rink and Harvey would chase him down between them, but right then I only wanted Huffman. I moved quickly across the room, gauging his position by the sound of muttered curses coming through the open door.

I considered shooting him through the wall. The wood would do no more to stop my bullets than cheesecloth. But that just wasn’t satisfying enough. In my present state of mind, I wanted revenge on the punk. I wanted the son of a bitch to know exactly who had killed him.

So slowly, ever so slowly, I edged out of the door and looked down at the man who was on one knee firing at my friends below. I pressed the muzzle of my SIG on the top of his head.

‘Drop the gun, asshole.’

Huffman’s eyes rolled up at me and he sighed.

‘You think this is bad, Huffman? Think again. It’s about to get much, much worse.’

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