Hunter's Games (22 page)

I can’t wait to kill him.

“So, Adrian,” he begins. “Here we are... finally! I’ve waited a very long time to get you all to myself. Patience isn’t one of my virtues, so it’s a relief for all the games to finally be over.”

I glance around the circle, gesturing to all the armed men.

“I’d hardly say you had me all to yourself, Danny Boy,” I say, scoffing. “Looks like you’re sharing me out with all your boyfriends. What say you send them all away and we settle this like gentlemen, yeah?”

In an instant, his expression darkens and his face changes to one of pure evil. He lunges forward with lightning speed, producing a knife from behind him as he does. He takes me by surprise—I didn’t expect him to be capable of such speed and precision. He grabs Chambers by her arm and drags her toward him. He pulls her close to him, turning her so he has her pinned with her back against him. He moves the knife to her throat and presses the sharp metal against her flesh.

“Fuck you, Adrian!” he says, practically spitting the words at me. “You’re going to suffer, and you’re going to watch everyone die before I end you! You took everything from me, and now you will feel the full extent of my wrath!”

I instinctively take a step back, dropping into a loose fighting stance. I’m unarmed and surrounded by eight men who aren’t... Not exactly the best situation I’ve ever been in... My mind quickly flashes back to my first morning in San Francisco, when the FBI had put me in the exact same situation in front of City Hall.

I look at Chambers, who’s seemingly put her opinions of me to one side and is staring at me with frightening, pleading eyes.

Ironically, the closest thing I have to an ally right now is an FBI agent. How far I’ve come...

“Danny, let her go!” I urge, trying to subdue the desperation creeping into my voice. I’m no stranger to bad circumstances, but the last few days have been a particularly shitty run of luck. I need to catch a break and turn this whole thing around.

I realize how dependent I actually am on Josh and his ability to give me information that can save my ass. I’ve not been doing so great without him. He better pull through or I’m screwed!

“What do you care about one more victim?” hisses Pellaggio, as he presses the blade harder against Chambers’ throat. “You’re Adrian Hell—master assassin! You’ve got more blood on your hands than anyone here. How can you plead for someone’s life, when you’ve taken so many yourself? What gives you the right?”

“Hey, I only take contracts to kill people who deserve it,” I say, defending myself. “Bad people who’ve done bad things. You know, like your old man?”

Rage erupts in his eyes and he points the knife at me, giving Chambers a moment’s reprieve.

“You don’t get to say his name!” he bellows.

Jesus, this guy’s losing it. It’s almost like he has a split personality. He can flip and go from zero to crazy in a heartbeat. I need to be careful… I might have underestimated exactly how pissed off Pellaggio is.

“Fair enough,” I say, raising my hands defensively. “Let’s talk about your name. Why call yourself The Shark?”

Pellaggio visibly calms down and his chest swells a little with pride.

“Because the shark is a beast... a
predator
... that’s been honed to genetic perfection through evolution,” he explains. “It’s immune to all known diseases, it smells blood from miles away and it strikes without conscience or fear. It’s nature’s ultimate killer!”

“Fuck me, you’re insane! It was definitely a mistake not going back to finish you off when I had the chance... I would’ve been doing the world a favor.”

Before Pellaggio can react, a voice shouts from the back of the warehouse, echoing around.

“Danny, stop playing with him. You’re wasting time.”

The voice is calm and calculated. The outline of a figure emerges from the plywood office area at the back. There isn’t much light coming from back there, so I can’t make out their features, but the voice sounds oddly familiar.

Pellaggio smiles and turns to greet the silhouetted figure as they approach. The light is slowly washing over them, revealing them piece by piece from the ground up. I see a nice suit, light gray. Shiny black shoes…

Before the light reveals their face, I suddenly feel a sharp explosion of pain in the back of my—

17.

??:??

“HELLO, ADRIAN.”

I open my eyes slowly. The bright light forces me to squint, so I close them again. I frown as I feel the dull ache throbbing at the base of my skull.

Okay, I’ll leave the eyes for a moment.

How long have I been out?

I’ll try moving instead… I twist my shoulders, but feel my arms bound together behind me at the wrists.

Shit.

I try to stand, but my legs are tied to whatever I’m sitting on at the ankles.

Double shit.

Fine… let’s try the eyes again.

I open them slowly, letting them gradually adjust to the light.

“Wakey, wakey, Adrian,” says the voice.

There’s that voice again… who
is
that? I recognize it from somewhere…

I blink rapidly to clear the last of the fuzz and look around. The first thing I see is Jimmy Manhattan sitting in front of me, perched on the end of a desk.

And… triple shit!

I knew I recognized the voice. Great…

I frown again as I try to process the fact he’s here and figure out why. I look around the rest of the room. I’m guessing I’m in one of the makeshift offices at the back of the warehouse. The space is small—no bigger than fifteen square feet. The door must be behind me, because I can’t see it from where I am.

I look down and see I’m sitting on an old, wooden chair in the center of the room. In front of me is a desk—the surface of which is clear, except for Manhattan who’s sitting on it staring at me.

Jimmy fucking Manhattan.

He’s the last person I expected to see again, although the more I think about it, it does explain a lot—namely, Pellaggio’s bankroll and the intricate planning of his attacks.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I manage to ask.

“I’m helping young Daniel get revenge for the death of his family,” he replies, matter-of-factly.

“Ah, okay… So what are you
really
doing here?”

He smiles, like he didn’t really expect me to buy his first answer.

“I’ve always said you were smarter than you look.”

“Not
that
smart,” I say. “I’ve no idea how you managed to track me down in the first place? I took the San Francisco job on a whim…”

“I know you did,” says Manhattan, flashing a knowing smile across his thin face that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I was worried I wasn’t subtle enough at the start, but once your little British friend was out of the picture, I knew you’d have too much going on to notice...”

He lets his words trail off, and my brain starts ticking over.

What does he mean?

My mind’s racing in a thousand different directions at once, and I can’t focus on any one thing. I have to figure out how to get out of here without getting killed—something that seems to be getting harder and harder to do... I’m also worried about Chambers. I have no idea where she is or what’s happening to her.

I take some deep breaths, calming myself.

Focus, Adrian...

They’ve been playing me from the start, setting me up so I’d be right where they wanted me, when they wanted me there. But how?

Wait a minute…

Oh, you sonofabitch…

“The Richard Blake job was a set-up, wasn’t it?” I say, finally.

Manhattan smiles again and nods, remaining silent and letting me come to the conclusions myself.

“There was no gangster,” I continue. “You’re Nathan Tam, aren’t you?”

Nathan Tam… hang on a minute!

“…which is an anagram of Manhattan—goddammit!”

He laughs. “Well done, Adrian. All on your own, too. As I say, I was worried I hadn’t been subtle enough, but it’s all worked out perfectly.”

“So who was Richard Blake? And why did you want him dead?”

“Well, he wasn’t a drug user, obviously. He was on Roberto’s payroll, and then found himself on mine. He’d served his purpose, so I killed two birds with one stone, so to speak.”

“Sonofabitch... And how have you managed to stay one step ahead of the FBI all this time?”

“Ah, now that would be telling, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, it would. Which is kind of why I asked, asshole!”

Manhattan smiles again, patiently, and stands up. “All in good time,” he says as he reaches around the desk, opening a drawer and retrieving a small box, which he places on the surface in front of me. “First, you and I have some unfinished business.”

Hmmm.

Jimmy Manhattan... A small box… Me tied to a chair…

We’ve been here before…

The two-inch long scar below my left eye itches—a psychological reaction as I recall the last time I was in this situation, back in Heaven’s Valley last year.

Manhattan opens the box and takes out a surgeon’s scalpel.

“Oh, come on!” I say. “Really? Jimmy, at least try something original, please!”

“I like to stick with what works,” he replies.

He moves toward me, pointing the scalpel at my face. The lights above reflect off the blade, shining into my eyes and forcing me to squint as he leans over me—his face inches from mine with the blade in between us.

“Now, the privilege of killing the mighty Adrian Hell belongs to Daniel,” he says. “But I think I owe you some payback nonetheless.”

“How’d you figure that?” I ask, keeping my eye on the scalpel and trying to move my head away from it. “I’m pretty sure the last time we spoke, I saved your life.”

“The last time we spoke, you hit me in the face with your gun and left me on the floor of a portable cabin, surrounded by a group of heavily armed Russian terrorists.”

“Well, if you’re going to argue over the details...”

“And then you had me arrested for a murder that I paid
you
to commit.”

“Oh, that was just a joke between friends, c’mon!”

“And now, I get to say to you the one thing I’ve been dying to say for almost a year.”

“Do I wanna know?”

Manhattan stands up straight and tosses the scalpel up in the air. He watches it spin around and as it falls, he catches it by the handle and jams it deep into my left shoulder, just above my pectoral muscle. He holds it there and leans forward, our noses almost touching. His eyes are burning with rage.

“Now we’re even, you sonofabitch!” he hisses through gritted teeth.

I scream in agony as blood starts running from the wound. I take quick, deep breaths to counter the pain and focus.

He regards me a moment, the anger leaving as quickly as it came. He walks past me and out of the room, leaving me sitting here with a scalpel sticking out of me, tied to a chair.

Shit!

Think, Adrian—think!

I doubt I’ll have long to wait before either Manhattan or someone else comes back. I have to get out of here. I look around the room and see nothing that’s any use to me. I jerk my whole body up, but I’m held in place to the chair. It achieves nothing besides making the chair squeak a little.

Wait a minute…

I'm tied to an old, wooden, squeaky chair.

Hmmm...

I rock forward, so I’m essentially standing up, but still positioned like I’m sitting down. I don’t have much mobility in my legs, but I bounce up and down on my toes, trying to build a little momentum. After a few moments, I jump as high as I can and dive forward, twisting in the air so I land on my back. The impact hurts like hell, especially my arms, but the chair shatters under my bodyweight, just as I hoped it would.

Now I’m free of the chair, I bring my knees up to my chest and move my arms down the back of legs and over my feet so they’re in front of me. I reach up and quickly yank the scalpel out of my shoulder, ignoring the bolt of pain that shoots through my arm and chest. I turn it in my hands and quickly cut through the ties on my wrists, then my ankles.

I lie on the floor for a moment, slightly out of breath, processing the pain that’s pulsating through my entire body.

I’m definitely getting too old for this shit...

I feel like I’m saying that a lot at the moment.

I drag myself up and inspect the wound on my shoulder. It’s deep, but with it being a very narrow blade, the overall damage is minimal. I can certainly live with it. I throw the scalpel on the desk and instinctively reach behind me for my Berettas.

Shit—they’re both on the Golden Gate Bridge…

I pick the scalpel back up. It’ll have to do for the time being.