Protect Her Read online

  "Where's my product?"

  "It's here," she said, holding out the backpack for him. "And I want you to know that taking it was never my intention. I did it to help Stan out and --"

  "Is that so?" Drax cut in. He nodded for one of his henchmen to take the bag. The man closest to Cleo snatched it from her hand. "Stan said the same thing, or so I was told."

  "So you understand?" Cleo asked, feeling a flood of relief.

  "Oh, I don't doubt that what you did was done under honorable circumstances. But I don't care. Do you know what happened over the three days that my product wasn't on the street?"

  "N... no..." Cleo managed. She could feel the temperature in the shed drop. Or maybe that was just her imagination? Maybe it was just the cold tenor of Drax's voice, affecting the mood and the way she suddenly felt that a cold finger was running up her spine.

  "Some punks from the west side came across and sold in my stead. They tried to take my street and steal my clients. They essentially stole from me. It's an affront to me and my honor. And, although I’ve made them pay, I also need to punish the original cause. That's just good business. You understand, I’m sure." He smirked.

  "My brother," Cleo said quickly. "Where is he?"

  "Your brother?" Drax let off a low chuckle. It made her blood curdle. "We don't have your brother. You think I'm going to risk nabbing a cop? No... It was you I wanted. You need to pay for what you did."

  Cleo didn't think. She didn't have time to think. Instead, she seized the moment, turned on her heel and sprinted back toward the car. At least that was her intention. She hadn't so much as gotten two strides away when a large pair of hands grabbed her, and dragged her toward the chair that Drax had been sitting on.

  She screamed. She kicked. She yelled out in protest. But it was pointless. There were too many of them... but really just the one could have overpowered her. And overpower her he did, strapping her to the chair with little effort.

  Cleo’s whole body was shaking. She wished it was from anger, but she was worried that it was really fear. Pure, unadulterated fear rushed through her. What was going to happen to her? No one even knew where she was!

  "And not just you either," Drax continued as Cleo was tied in place. "But that friend of yours. Two of my men are dead because of him. I wouldn't be where I was today if I let that kind of thing slide. So you're going to sit tight, and wait. If my instincts are correct, he's going to be with us shortly. Someone as sweet as you can't be left missing for too long."

  Now Cleo was even more terrified. This was exactly what she had been trying to avoid! Her attempt to protect Dallas had failed. Because of her, he was surely going to die.

  CHAPTER NINE

  As he woke, it took Dallas a few moments to remember where he was.

  The first thing he noticed was the scent on his sheets. His eyes were still closed at that point, and he kept them that way as he savored the delicate aroma of Cleo, and of great sex, wafting through his nose.

  Then he opened his eyes, taking in the apartment. As he did, a small smile spread over his lips. It was a subconscious action, one born from the satisfaction he was feeling. He knew that he shouldn't be feeling as happy as he was. He should have felt shame, and remorse. He should have felt guilt over what he had done. Cleo was Mark’s sister, for Christ’s sake!

  But he didn't. He didn’t know what was going to come of all this, but he sure as hell wasn’t ready to let it end. He had never had a connection like that with someone during sex. He loved women, and he loved sex, but the moment it was over, he was done with them. He had never wanted to look deeply at his partner in the heat of the moment, but with Cleo, it had felt like they were attached, like he could see right into her soul. It made the sex a million times better, a million times more powerful.

  As he looked around the apartment, he quickly realized that he couldn't see her. He wasn't concerned though, he assumed she was in the bathroom. He went to sit up, but had to stop. His wound was throbbing now that the adrenaline had worn off. He slowly pushed himself up, rolling his shoulder to loosen it as he did.

  "Cleo," he called out. But there was no answer. "Cleo!" He tried again, a little sharper this time.

  He moved through the apartment to the bathroom. She wasn't there. It was then that he started to panic. He quickly made his way through the apartment, looking a little closer and that was when his stomach dropped from under him. The backpack was gone.

  There was no way that she... would Cleo really be that stupid? Would she be that stubborn? It would appear so. For some reason, Cleo had decided to go against what he had told her and go and see Drax.

  If Dallas wasn't so worried, he would have been furious. But he didn't have time to be furious. He had to get to Drax's before it was too late. Somehow, he had to rescue Cleo.

  --

  Dallas' armed himself heavily, delving into his own personal armory that was stocked with several kinds of firearms, knives, grenades, and ammunition. It was enough weaponry to take down a small army. Dallas hoped it was enough for what he intended. Then he left his apartment to go meet with a “friend”. He needed inside information about Drax – where was his headquarters? How many men would likely be on site?

  --

  "Whoa, whoa, whoa," Hardwire exclaimed as Dallas stormed into the tiny backroom of The Dirt Pile, fifteen minutes later. "I gave you the address. There's no need for... for whatever this is..."

  The reason for Hardwire's reaction was probably on account of how Dallas looked as he walked into the room. Again, he was forced to take the bouncer at the front door down and again he did it with ease. But that wasn't why he had Hardwire in a fluster. It was the arsenal strapped to Dallas that made him nervous.

  Guns and grenades on his belt. A shotgun strapped over his back and a very large knife in his hand. Even the bouncers that had heard of Dallas’ earlier visit took a step back, intimidated by what they saw.

  "I need another address," Dallas said. As he did he placed the knife down in front of Hardwire. Dallas didn’t have time to argue or negotiate. He needed Hardwire to know he meant business.

  "What – yeah, of course. I mean, why would I even expect to discuss payment first,” he muttered unhappily, “– what's the address? I mean, whose address do you need?"

  "I don't know his full name. Drax? Does that mean anything to you?"

  "Drax? From the east side, Drax? Drug dealer, weapons smuggler, all around terrible human being, Drax? Is that who you mean?"

  "Sounds right," Dallas said.

  "I don't even need to look him up," Hardwire explained. He looked a little less nervous now. Most likely he was just happy to be able to help and stay on Dallas' good side. "The industrial park on fifty third. It's a spot called The Junk Yard. Nice and simple. You head down the main highway going east, take the second exit and once you pass the lumber mill you'll see it on..."

  Dallas didn't wait for him to finish. As soon as Drax told him the name and where to find it, he picked up his knife, turned and stormed from the room, not even feeling the throb in his shoulder.

  --

  Dallas saw the security detail almost right away. There were two of them, standing by the entrance to The Junk Yard. With the fence closed off and bolted shut, the two men seemed to think that their job was done. They paid the road little attention as they chatted among themselves.

  Dallas didn't pull up at the gate however, that would have been stupid and suicidal. He didn't know if Drax was expecting him or not, and he wasn't planning on finding out either. This was going to be a covert mission. Instead, Drax drove the car slowly past the entrance. As he did, he did his best to survey the scene. From what he saw it was a typical industrial yard, the only difference being that this one had guys carrying semi-automatics patrolling the yard in the dark.

  He pulled the car to a stop down the road and around an adjacent corner, out of sight. He made his way back to the corner of the fence surrounding the junk yard. The top of the fence was covered in barb
ed wire, but Dallas had dealt with that before. In the back of his car he had a large rug which he flung over the wire, covering the barbs. He then hoisted himself up and silently dropped to the other side, landing behind a large stack of crushed vehicles.

  He was in.

  The junk yard was almost entirely dark, save the odd spotlight. This pleased Dallas greatly as it would play heavily into his chances of coming out of this alive. Usually he wouldn't be as nervous as he was. As a Navy SEAL, he was trained for these exact situations, but this was different. He had never been personally attached to the subject that he was tasked to retrieve. He couldn’t stop picturing Cleo inside one of these warehouses, scared and alone. If she died, not only would that devastate Mark, but it would hurt Dallas too. In fact, he was quite certain that no amount of wrath from Mark could match the personal pain he would feel if he lost Cleo.

  He had already lost someone, on account of his own shortcomings. He wasn't going to let it happen again.

  He saw a few men, walking back and forth in a loose patrol formation. They were casual about their patrol though, obviously over confident, most looking bored rather than alert. Dallas stayed in the shadows, blending into the darkness as he crept through the yard toward the first sentry.

  The closest sentry was a large man in a black suit. He carried a handgun in his right hand, and flipped it through his fingers as he walked. As he reached the end of the line, he pulled up and reached into his pocket. Dallas watched from less than ten feet away as the man pulled out a cigarette and lit it up.

  Thick smoke billowed through the air as the large man blew out his first puff. As he put the cigarette back to his mouth for the second, Dallas wrapped his arms around the man's neck, putting him in a sleeper hold. Within seconds the man was out cold.

  Dallas dragged the man back into the shadows and left him. He then continued on his way.

  It didn't take long for him to spot his destination. There was one main source of light coming from the warehouse at the very end of the yard. Dallas would bet anything that was where Cleo was. But he was also pretty certain now that he was expected. The higher than normal number of men on patrol was the first indication, the second was the warehouse itself. It was lit up to make it stand out implying that Drax was trying to lure him there like a moth to the flame.

  But Dallas wasn't so easy to beat.

  He stayed close to the shadows as he made his way closer and closer to the warehouse. Most of the sentries he was able to avoid, but a few he had to do away with in the same manner as the first. They all went down without a fight.

  It was when Dallas got closer to the warehouse that he saw Cleo through a dirty window, tied up and sitting in the wooden chair. Now he knew it was a trap. There were fresh bruises on her face, and her hair was a mess, as if she had been manhandled. It was most likely done to send Dallas into a rage so that he would burst onto the scene. And it almost worked too. Dallas had to work hard to control himself. Running in there, guns blazing would do no one any amount of good.

  Instead, Dallas made his way around the back of the warehouse.

  The entire warehouse was lined with windows, making it easy for Dallas to look through as he crept around the back. The center of the warehouse was occupied by a car. The car had no wheels and was propped up above a hollow pit – to allow for a mechanic to stand underneath it while he worked. The chair Cleo had been bound to was placed in front of the pit. And standing around her were five heavily armed men and an older man who must have been Drax.

  As far as Dallas was concerned, the easy part was taken care of. Now he had his work cut out for him. The problem was Cleo. If it was just a matter of taking the men out, he could handle that. A grenade would do it, or a few well-placed shots from his gun. But one mistake, or a single hesitation could see Cleo getting in the middle of the action and potentially getting hit herself.

  No, this was going to take every ounce of skill that Dallas --

  "Freeze." The voice was like the crack of a whip, cutting through the silence. "Nice knife. Don't even think of reaching for it."

  Dallas stayed perfectly still, slowly raising his hands in the air.

  "Turn, slowly."

  Dallas turned, the whole time cursing himself for how stupid he had been. Such an amateur move. And now it may have gotten both of them killed.

  Less than a minute later, Dallas was being marched into the warehouse. When Cleo saw him, her face dropped and she began to shake. There was fear in her eyes. Pure fear.

  He didn’t want to look at her; instead he looked to Drax who had a big smile on his face. That was until he saw that Dallas was still strapped to the teeth with guns and grenades.

  "Why is he still packing?" Drax asked, sounding annoyed.

  "I didn't want to risk him getting the draw on me," the one who had caught Dallas explained. "He's got an arsenal on him. I can't carry that much. I figured that once he was in here we could --"

  "Fine," Drax said, silencing him. He then nodded to the five men in the room, indicating for them to disarm Dallas. As they got to it, Drax spoke. "I knew you would come. A piece as fine as this, no man would leave it out to dry." He leered towards Cleo as he spoke.

  "Very astute," Dallas answered. He was paying Drax little attention. Instead he was observing the scene, taking in everything and anything that he could. He needed a way out and he was determined to find one. This was not how he died.

  "You know why you're here of course?" Drax asked as his cronies pulled gun after gun from Dallas. He didn't seem at all concerned about the danger that Dallas presented. And really there was no need. Dallas was one man. Drax had all but won.

  "I can guess," Dallas said again. His eyes were on the henchman closest to him - The one that had one of his grenades, clenched in his hand. Dallas had a plan. It was risky, but it was the only thing that might work.

  "Good, that will save me the time of having to explain. You're going to die tonight. Sooner rather than later too. That's just the way it has to be." Drax sounded very proud of himself indeed.

  "I totally understand. Just do me a favor, make it quick?" With all his guns off now, the only henchman not holding a gun began to take off Dallas' vest. As the Velcro tore open and the vest came off, Dallas was counting down in his head.

  "My, oh my," Drax said as he spotted the blood, slowly seeping through Dallas' shirt. His wound had opened. "I suppose I should be happy my men at least put up a fight? Gun," he said to the henchman standing closest. "Now it falls on me to finish the job." Drax took the gun, cocked and aimed it at Dallas. "Any last words... actually, I don't give a shit. Goodbye?"

  It happened quickly.

  The henchman that had taken the vest off Dallas stood less than two feet from him. The vest was held loosely in his hands and Dallas was quick to grab it. The moment he did, he held it in front of his face, just in time to block the gun fire from Drax.

  The force from the bullet was terrific, buckling Dallas where he stood, but only for a second. The moment he got his balance back, Dallas went for the henchman that was holding one of his grenades. Dallas bent his head down and drove it into the nose of the henchman. He heard the crack of the guy’s nose against the top of his skull and as he did, he grabbed the now loose grenade from the henchman's grip.

  He felt a bullet tear through his leg, before he even heard the gunfire.

  The pain was instantaneous, but Dallas didn’t let it slow him down. Pushing himself from the other leg, he went for Cleo.

  Another bullet hit him, this one entering his side.

  The moment he reached Cleo, he wrapped his right arm around her, lifted her and the chair and, in one motion, threw them backwards. They flew through the air, landing on Dallas’ side with his arms still wrapped tightly around Cleo, taking the brunt of the impact. They skidded across the ground then disappeared under the propped-up car and into the pit beneath it.

  Bullets ricocheted off the car and walls around him. Sparks flew. His eardrums near bursting, but D
allas didn't stop. He slid to the ground, his hand wrapping around the lever that operated the pulley system holding the car up. As he slid, he yanked down on the lever.

  The car began to lower. As it did, Dallas pulled the pin from the grenade and threw it through the rapidly narrowing space between the car and the floor of the warehouse. The moment it was released from his hand, the car landed on the ground, sealing the pit off almost completely.

  Once in the pit, Dallas threw himself over Cleo, covering her with both his body. Above them, Dallas felt the force of the grenade as it exploded. The pit vibrated with tremendous force. The walls shook, the ground heaved. The car above them was blown back by about eight feet, one corner of the car catching the edge of the pit, nearly toppling the whole car into it. Metal rained down upon them, but for the most part they were safe.

  For several seconds, Dallas lay on top of Cleo, until he was sure that nothing else was going to fall into the pit. It was only then that he tried to lift his body off her.

  Using much more effort than the act should have required, he pushed himself off Cleo and rolled onto his back. His abdomen was bleeding profusely. Again, he tried to push himself up, but was unable to move any more. The adrenaline had left his body and drained him. He was cold and clammy. His mind was getting fuzzy. He tried to focus on Cleo’s face, but it started to dull and fade out.

  Cleo slowly realized that Dallas wasn’t moving anymore. She grabbed his shoulders, shaking him, at first gently, and then more vigorously when he didn’t respond.

  “Dallas! Dallas, please, answer me!” she cried. She watched, horrified, as his eyes slowly closed and didn’t open again.