No Fortunate Son (Pike Logan, #7)(118)

Colin said, “I . . . I brought what I could. I can give you Seamus. I know where he is. He’s already gotten millions for her and her fiancé. He has cash. In Bitcoin.”

“Where?”

“Ireland. He’s planning to get more money. He’s bleeding the US dry. I swear, I can give him to you.”

Ratko stared at him, the pure malevolence of the glare scaring Kylie. He nodded, then flicked his head to the guard next to her. He said, “I’ll take her. She might make some money in another country.”

The man to her left grabbed her arm, forcing her to rise. He led her to the circular staircase and she heard Ratko say, “So, tell me more about Seamus. Tell me about the money he’s received.”

She began circling the stairs, realizing that if she got in a vehicle with these savages, she was worse than dead. Her only chance of survival was escaping before she left the bar.


* * *

The men around me shouted and yelled, threatening me with all manner of violence, but I knew they wouldn’t do anything. They’d slapped me around a little bit, but with the number of cell phone cameras in play, I knew they would only let off a little steam. As long as I didn’t pose a threat.

I hadn’t. Nung and I had cracked a couple of rounds in the air, causing massive panic, and letting Jennifer sprint through the crowd. As soon as she’d made it to the top of the first capsule, I’d raised my hands, telling Nung to do the same.

Jennifer had made it to the top, the men screaming at me to tell them what she was doing. I yelled back the truth, holding my hands in the air. Eventually, they’d decided that I might not be lying and had stopped the wheel. Or maybe Blaine had gotten through. Either way, we’d waited at the bottom while Jennifer climbed. I’d gotten the call from her and heard the explosion, feeling my life ripped apart.

I’d jumped out, trying to see what had happened, and I’d been tackled by about a platoon of guys. Sitting underneath, screaming at the top of my lungs, I couldn’t get them to let me go. I heard a groaning of metal. An inhuman, grating screech, and I knew the wheel was falling. With Jennifer on it.

The men on top of me heard it as well, and we all stopped. I screamed again, “Get the wheel turning. Get them off it!”

They shouted back and forth, and I saw the machinery start to work, capsule after capsule spilling out shrieking patrons. The wheel picked up speed, going about three times as fast as it normally did, the people literally jumping off, some tumbling to the ground.

I was ripped to my feet, Nung beside me, and both of us hustled off to a panel van. I tried to jerk out of their hands, looking over my shoulder for Jennifer. We were slammed into the paddy wagon and cuffed to a bench. They’d searched me, taking my wallet, passport, phone, and weapon—but they’d left in my Bluetooth earpiece. And had placed all my items in the front seat of the van. Within range.

I whispered, “Koko, Koko, status.”

I heard nothing. I did it again, then heard, “Coming down now. I have weapons aimed at me.”

I sagged back, staring at the ceiling of the van. Nung, his own Bluetooth in, nudged me, smiling. Because he was f*cking crazy.

He leaned in and said, “I was worried this wouldn’t work out. I like her.”

Sitting in my chains, seeing the SWAT guys running about, I truly wondered if he wasn’t living in a dream world.

Six minutes later, Jennifer was shoved in the back, wearing her own chains. I wanted to jump up and wrap her in my arms, but I was a commando. And I was shackled to the bench.

She looked at me, worn-out and scared. I winked and said, “Saved the day again.”

She shook her head and sagged back against the wall of the van.






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Kylie followed the men down the stairs, seeing her window of escape close. They reached the bottom, one in front and one behind, and she knew she needed to do something. If she wanted to live, this was it.

The floor had grown crowded in the hours since they’d entered, the entire area full of an eclectic mix of Saturday patrons, some in suits with neat haircuts and others sporting Mohawks and torn, raggedy clothes.

They threaded their way by the bar and the ring-nose girl shouted, “You guys closing out?”

The men around her kept walking. The barmaid shouted at them again. Kylie pulled the jacket of the guy in front, saying, “She’s talking to you.”

He looked at her, then the barmaid.

She held up a tab, waving it about, and said, “Are you guys closing out or what?”

He said something to the man behind her, in a language Kylie didn’t understand, then walked to the bar. The man behind her followed with his eyes. She saw her chance break open, as fleeting as a star burning out in the night sky.

She took off running.


* * *

The police slammed the panel van doors, and we started trundling to wherever we were going, two goons in the back giving me the stink-eye, like they were going to jump me. I suppose I should have felt apprehension. Or elation. But I felt neither. I’d just caused the compromise of the entire Taskforce, but I’d also saved hundreds of lives. In the end, neither mattered to me, because I’d sacrificed Kylie’s life to do both.

I’d failed. Again.

Jennifer was shackled next to me. She rubbed my thigh, glancing at me out of the corner of her eye. I leaned back into the wall, ignoring her, and she followed suit, not giving up. I sighed and looked at her.