Chapter Eleven

  As the ketamine faded out of Dorian’s system, he noticed the night sky draped outside the grimy windows and still felt the edges of numbness ease towards the pain of his body. He tried not to grit his teeth, already feeling the echoes of the pain inside his head at even the smallest movement. The blood in his mouth long since drying as a scab formed over the hole where his tooth had been. The taste if iron and copper on his tongue and filling his nose as he tried to force himself to his feet.

  His abdomen feeling like someone had repced the muscles and sinew in his body with steel bands as he bent himself inward with all the strength he could summon. Ribs feeling like they would pop and snap if he pressed himself any harder or tried to take a breath any deeper than a quick shallow gasp. These same attempts proved futile as he fell back to the ground, his strength giving out on him as exhaustion took hold.

  Part of him screamed that he was going to die here if he didn’t do something. Another asked if that would really be so bad. The part of Dorian still left between those two points could only see the syringe ying on the ground away from him and tried to scoot himself across the floor. His chains rattling underneath him as he kicked off the ground and dragged his hands across the stone until he couldn’t pull himself any further. His leg swinging out as the toes of his shoes caught the syringe and pulled it in closer to himself. Close enough that he could eventually grab it with his hands now.

  The syringe was empty. The plunger was pushed all the way down and the needle was bent after being tossed to the side. Dorian wasn’t interested in using it for its intended purposes though, let alone for the drugs it contained just moments earlier. Instead, he used the sole of his shoe to bend the needle back around on itself before stomping it ft. Bending it perfectly in half. His strength coming back to him as his mind raced with the pain surging through his form. He was coming down quick and needed to use this golden moment between the crippling pain and the moment of crity to get this done quickly. The throb of the nail in his thigh already pulsing like a war drum while the feeling of those steel bands around his body only felt like they were tightening even further.

  Inspecting the floor, Dorian saw Pat hadn’t bothered to pack up the tools around him. Leaving most of them scattered across the floor. The hammer y well out of reach and its handle looked one good swing away from snapping all together. The wood frayed and shivered the way it was; it would do little good to him now. The drill was an option but not one that he’d be able to use with his hands cuffed together. The bit was brass as well, meaning it wouldn’t do any good against steel cuffs or the bolts in the concreate beneath him. That left the plyers.

  Just looking at the steel slip joint plyers ying on the ground made Dorian’s stomach churn. If not for the blood already dried on his tongue, he would have well imagined it at the memory of the tooth sitting not far from it. He needed to stay focused though and grabbed the plyers before bending the needle into pce. All that was next to do was to see if this would work. If not, he had the rest of the night to figure out another pn.

  ~Hours Later~

  Sleep never came to him in the hours between, though this didn’t stop Dorian from at least resting his eyes and body. The cool concrete being the smallest reprieve as he still y curled in the fetal position with the cuffs around his wrist. The ratches sitting loose around his wrists. Enough that he had to clench his hands to keep them from falling off but still tight enough to give the illusion they were still secure. The light from the day giving way to the heat that now consumed the workshop made prison as the air became stuffy and suffocating. The air thick inside his lungs as every breath he tried to take felt like he was trying to take a breath inside of a boiling pot of water.

  Laying like this, with his ear pressed to the ground in the dim silence of the world around him, it made it that much easier to hear a vehicle rolling up to the workshop. Wheels traveling across dirt and gravel before the squeak of breaks announced the stop followed by doors opening and closing. Muffled voices beyond the door, Dorian counted three in total. Pat brought his men with him and Dorian clutched the nail inside his fist. His mind running through a pn that he had to cut short when the door opened. The hinges whining and creaking as they swung open. Pat’s broad silhouette cast in shadow from the sunlight behind him.

  “Stay out here, if he tries anything I’ll holler.” Pat said before shutting the door behind him, walking over to the shop table and pulling his pistol out from behind his back. Making sure to hold it at his side for a moment long enough to make sure Dorian could see it just before he set it down onto the work table against the wall.

  Pat squat down before him, forearms on knees as he cocked his head to the side. Examined Dorian’s form as the bruises and swelling only got worse from the day before. Dorian could only imagine the inky blotchy patches of bruises and the colors of that came of his face. How he must have looked might have been horrifying to anyone other than Pat who just scoffed and shook his head. Dorian’s eyes tracing his every movement, but never moving his head.

  “You’re still alive.” Pat said, with a touch of surprise. “Thought for sure you wouldn’t make it through the night. Kept me up thinking about how I may as well have just set a sack of a million dolrs on fire and watched it burn.” Pat pursed his lips and shrugged. “You’re pretty tough though so I guess I’m gd to see you’re still kicking it. Speaking of which…”

  Dorian felt the toes of Pat’s boots dig into his abdomen as his body curled around the impact. The air in his lugs flooding out in a groan and gasp as he curled even further in on himself. The air knocked out of him as he forced himself to gasp even against the pain in his ribs. Not yet, he told himself, gripping onto the nail in his fist and hoping Pat wouldn’t notice it missing from his thigh.

  “I’ll make you a deal Dorian.” Pat said as he circled around him. His boots thudding on the cold concrete floor. “If you can stand up on your own two feet, I’ll give you something to eat. Whatever you want too. You want steak I’ll run out to the Longhorn in town and grab you whatever cut you want. You want a burger I’ll get you a shake to go with it. All you gotta do is stand up. Think you can do that for me?”

  Swallowing hard, Dorian knew he needed to py along just a little further and nodded his head. Enough for Pat to see, but couldn’t summon the words to agree to these terms of his sick little game.

  Pulling his legs up, he tried to at least draw himself up to his knees. Pushing off the ground with his hands to try and not use his abdomen as he could barely flex his torso. To his own credit, Dorian managed to get to a kneeling position and panted as though he’d cwed his way up a mountain. His fists still clutched tight, the cuffs still holding his wrists and bound to the floor. Pat watching on with his arms crossed over his chest, nodding and smiling. Condesension dripping from every facet of his expression as Dorian regarded him from under his brow with disdain.

  It would need to be one explosive movement. For whatever strength he had left in his body he’d need to put all of his energy into this one moment. If he got this wrong, if he somehow missed, that gun would wind up in Pat’s hand and…

  Chaos erupted as one of Pat’s men, the stout bald one, came bursting through the door. Cmbering on all fours like an insect skittering away from the night. His panic proceeded by way of a gunshot echoing off the horizon. The bald man reduced to a bthering whispering mess as he knelt against the closed door.

  “What the fuck was that!?” Pat snapped as he walked over to the door.

  “There… there’s a- there’s a, the other guy his head just…” The bald man bthered before Pat’s knuckles smmed across his face. Flooring the man in an instant. This impact seeming to allow him to find his words now as he looked up at Pat. “Someone shot Marco, his head just fucking exploded!”

  Now or never, Dorian decided as he moved his fists into open palms and flicked his arms down. Forcing himself to his feet as the cuffs slipped from his wrists and he made a break for the gun. Grabbing hold of the handle just as Pat grabbed onto his wrist. Their bodies becoming a massive tangle of limbs and grabbing as Pat tried to wrestle the gun away from him while the other bald guy tried to grab his own gun. Adrenaline flooding his system and making him fumble just long enough for Dorian to whip his arms around against Pat’s grasp and fire off a pair of shots into the bald man’s gut. Blood flooding from his abdomen as he slumped against the door. Shaking hands disregarding the gun in favor of the wound that would bleed him to death in a matter of minutes.

  Pat’s snarling visage reared back as his head smmed into Dorian’s nose hard enough to cause him to recoil backwards. His face still painful and bruised from the torture the night before and thus caused the hit to strike all the harder with his grip still remaining on the pistol handle. His other hand still holding onto the nail. The very same he reared back and dug into Pat’s forearm. Causing the man to rear back in an anguished cry as he yanked his arm back allowing Dorian the slightest bit more control over the gun now. Though he knew he couldn’t risk letting Pat get his hands on it and couldn’t angle the barrel anywhere near him with the way Pat’s hand still held onto Dorain’s wrist.

  Instead, he chose to drop the pistol and let it ctter to the floor, kicking it away as it slid out of reach for the both of them. This momentary dispcement in Dorian’s bance was enough for Pat to force Dorian onto his back with a quick shove. Pat’s knee coming down onto Dorian’s chest as a flurry of blows came towards Dorian’s face. The first strike smacking Dorian in between his eyes with his head bouncing off the floor before he could raise his arms to protect his head. The flurry of blows never stopping as Pat continued his onsught. Hellbent on either knocking Dorian unconscious or beating him to death with his bare hands. Each blow feeling like a brick smming into Dorian’s forearms as he tried to guard but knew he couldn’t keep this up forever.

  While Pat reared back for another blow, Dorians hand snatched out for the first weapon he could find. The floor still littered with the tools from before as Dorian’s hand snatched around the handle of the drill. Bringing the tool around in a wide ark as he used the heavy battery as a cudgel to bludgeon the side of Pat’s head. The force enough to get him off bance as Dorian managed slip out from underneath him. Pulling the trigger on the drill as he thrust it forward like a knife while Pat held up his hand to block the blow. The drill bit slicing through Pat’s palm with the bit striking clean through to the other side. Pat didn’t scream in pain; he only kept the mask of rage and distain as he bared his teeth. Even as the drill bit kept spinning around his palm, spitting blood as it ran down the grooves.

  Just beyond their chaos, the stout bald man, just twitched and gapped at the blood pouring out of his body. Shock taking hold of his form as he couldn’t think to do anything against his own death slowly encroaching around him like the blood that soaked into his shirt. His mind too occupied with either making peace with that or perhaps too distracted to realize. Either way, he wasn’t a threat anymore.

  Rearing back with his free hand, Dorian smmed his fist into the side of Pat’s head and then delivered another blow and a third before he finally saw Pat’s head recoil. This moment just far enough to allow Dorian to grab onto the scruff of his shirt and force him back as Dorian pinned him to the floor. His other hand still holding the trigger as he forced his full weight down onto the drill now. Pat’s hand still holding fast against the spinning bde as it inched ever closer to his head. The slow crawl of the drill bit, spinning and wining as it inched closer till Dorian had enough. He shoved his hand down against the back of the drill. Throwing his whole weight against the tool as it dug into Pat’s eye. Shredding and mulching in his socket for a quick moment before pulling back before Dorian shoved it again. Deeper this time, more blood leaking from the wound as Pat howled in pain once more before a final third thrust of all his weight dug the big down to the base. The drill burying into Pat’s eye socket as he let out a pained and horrified scream that warbled as his brain was punctured by the drill before choking out and silencing into a whimper before the whine of the drill was the only thing making any noise now.

  Leaning back, Dorian saw the way the drill stuck out from Pat’s palm as it remained pinned to his own head. His remaining eye looking gssy and unfocused as his lips parted and the mask of feral rage washed away like wet paint in the rain. The adrenaline coursing through his own body enough to dull the pain as he managed to get to his feet now, his shoulders bobbing with every breath he took as he searched the room. His eyes flicking over towards the door as he heard foot falls on the ground outside. Quickly approaching the door.

  Snatching the gun from where he kicked it, Dorian pulled the pistol up against his chest before rushing the door the moment it opened. Smming the barrel up against the chest of the intruder with a war cry that died on his tongue. His face sckening against the realization as he saw the white hair and the familiar face that regarded him.

  “It’s me… It’s me pup…” Keeva said, her voice soft like she was talking to a spooked animal. Rifle hanging to one side with the barrel pointed at the ground. “It’s me pup, just put the gun down.”

  “It’s… it’s you?” Dorian croaked and swallowed. Trying to find his voice as it wavered and cracked. “It’s you. It’s you… you came back for me?”

  “I came back for you pup, that’s right, now just put the gun down.” Keeva said, her voice still calm.

  That’s when Dorian paused for a moment. His mind focusing less on the actions right now, more in the scene he found himself. Only now aware of the pistol in Keeva’s hand digging into his abdomen as Dorian kept his pistol trained against her chest.

  Lowering his gun, he took a step back and felt the adrenaline begin to wash out of his system. His eyes scanning the room around him as he saw the bean pole of a man slumped on the ground. Marcos, that’s what the other one said his name was, Dorian thought. Most of his head missing from a gun shot. The stout bald man still ying on the ground with his hands barely clutching his abdomen where Dorian shot him twice. Pat ying against the floor with a drill pinning his hand to his face. His gaze returning to Keeva now as he saw the bck eye and the bandage on her head. Her wounds from the crash that happened, Dorian paused at that. Wondering if it really had just been a full day or if his perception of time had warped so badly that it felt like that or maybe longer.

  “Are you okay to wait here?” Keeva asked and Dorian noticed how she still kept her pistol trained on Dorian’s abdomen. Her rifle still hanging to the side with the barrel pointed at the ground but her finger on the trigger.

  Tossing his gun to the side, Dorian nodded his head as he pushed past Keeva and stepped out into the light of the outside. Staring at the horizon ahead of him as he saw the rolling hills filled with sparce brush. His eyes catching movement as a coyote prowled across the horizon, stopped just for a moment, turned its head towards Dorian before continuing on its path.

  “Just stay put.” Keeva ordered as she holstered her pistol on her hip and slung the strap of her rifle along her shoulder. Her figure walking around Dorian as she proceeded up along the dirt path carved by tires in two parallel lines that led up to the workshop.

  Dorian took a moment to gather his surroundings. Nothing of real note around him. No structures beyond the rusted and pockmarked shed behind him. Not even fencing or anything. No structures off in the distance, no homestead anywhere. Nothing of note and Dorian wondered just how many people vanished here. Remarking to himself that three more would join the several others and thought to himself that he should be grateful that he hadn’t joined them today.

  The car that pulled up was even older than the one they arrived in. The red mark on the grille marking it as a Pontiac with the engine rattling inside betraying its years of use. Keeva stepping out of the car as she nodded for Dorian to get inside. Dorian didn’t protest as he took his seat. The car was old enough that it didn’t bark at him to put a seatbelt on when the car started moving. Either the previous owner was a smoker or Keeva kept herself steady by ripping through a whole pack. His eyes drifting to the side mirror as he watched that hut shrink away from him in the distance.

  “If anyone finds this pce, they’ll likely chalk it up to the cartel.” Keeva said, perhaps catching the way Dorian kept his eyes on the hut behind them. “Were still in the states but close enough that you could throw a rock into Mexico.” Keeva said, as though that would somehow sooth the situation at hand.

  Dorian’s mind bnked for a moment. His eyes gzing over as he could feel his jaw scken and his vision darken at the edges. All thoughts ceasing at once before he came back to himself in the blink of an eye.

  “Keeva?” Dorian said as he id his head on the headrest, his neck lolling to one side as he turned to face her.

  “Yeah pup…” Keeva responded.

  “I don’t know how old I am…” Dorian said and thought for a moment Keeva might sm on the breaks with the way her eyes widened before her expression returned to something more neutral. She was still wearing the clothes the two had bought at the thrift store, the same she’d been wearing in the crash. Her long sleeves covering her arms albeit her chest was covered in a bullet proof vest and a holster with her pistol strapped to her thigh.

  Keeva drew in a deep breath. Ran a hand across her lips as she checked the mirrors and kept driving forward before taking that same hand to pull up the sleeves on her forearms. First the one on her right to reveal a winged sword with a shield behind it and a ribbon underneath. The ribbon reading “Who Dares Wins” the other arm holding a V shaped stringed instrument Dorian recognized as a harp. The coloration and rivets giving the impression it was made of iron. Dorian kept his gaze on those tattoos across either of her arms and the myriad of others that covered them and filled in the spaces around. The tattoos coming just shy of her wrists with much of her skin covered in various shades of ink.

  “I got these tattoos because I needed to go deep cover with an organized crime unit that cimed it was with the IRA.” Keeva began and spared Dorian a gnce. “Irish Republic Army.”

  “I’m familiar.” Dorian croaked and nodded for Keeva to continue.

  “The Iron Harps were an IRA off shoot in name alone. Really, they just used the affiliation to scape goat their actions. Any time they were caught, they’d always give the same story that they were working for the IRA. Didn’t matter what they were busted for either; prostitution, drug smuggling, whole truck load of rifles. They had their cws in every single thing you could ship through any part of Europe and the IRA, the real IRA not the Iron Harps, they were just as fed up with their shit as the government was, enough so that they sent us in.” Keeva said with the us of her statement meaning the Special Air Service, the same one who held the insignia of the winged sword tattoo on her other arm.

  “Being just Irish enough, I was offered a position to go into deep cover for an operation we called Operation Bck Padin. I thought to myself if not me then who else could go in there? Problem was the Iron Harps weren’t keen on having a woman in their ranks but neither was the SAS so I was used to having to go above and beyond just to be recognized as doing enough. Had a few sleeves of tattoos done, did a stint in a prison cell for a few months under the guise that I was transferred from another prison just to give the cover more validity and managed to make my cim with a few members of the Iron Harps inside.

  “When I was released, it was easy enough to make contact with them, earn their trust over the next few months. Eventually managed to get ourselves enough evidence that we could finally put these bastards in the bin for good this time. Cut the strings so to speak.” Keeva began and smirked when she heard the raspy cough that passed for a chuckle from Dorian’s lips.

  “I think I remember this story.” Dorian said as his eyes grew heavy. His gaze casting down to the floor as he began to melt into the soft seat. His body slumping again as his head throbbed and a dull whine began to consume his hearing. “This was the first time we met. We were in France at the time right?”

  “Nah you’re thinking of that one girl we met.” Keeva smirked at the thought. “If you remember I wasn’t the only one in deep cover either, you know that spy we came across who was working with the buyers you were selling to? We almost blew her cover when we saw her and recognized she worked for the French government!”

  Keeva and Dorian shared a ugh at the memory. Lauren was her name, Dorian recalled as they both thought of the way they all shared a knowing gnce before it all came out at once. Dorian knew Keeva was working for the SAS and Lauren was with the DGSE or the Director General for External Security as the name transted. Keeva already knowing Lauren from her days as a spy as well making the whole situation awkward at the time but hirious in hindsight. A memory Dorian wished he could ugh harder at had ughter not hurt his ribs so severely. For the time being, Keeva would have to ugh for the both of them.

  “What happened to Lauren after that?” Dorian asked, still feeling the giggle well in his throat at this shared moment.

  “Think she got a promotion from that operation. Working inside an office instead of a field now. Last I heard she has a shot at making director.” Keeva said with a smile.

  “We should send her something when she makes director.” Dorian said, his voice fading out as his eyes slowly shut and his mind began to bnk. The st thing he remembered hearing being the sound of Keeva’s ugh and the image of Lauren’s face at receiving a gift from the two of them bringing a smile to Dorian’s face.