One Rough Man - Brad Taylor [65]
Fuck it. I raised my weapon to the position of high ready and turned the knob.
38
Lying on the floor, Jennifer stared warily at the men who had entered. So far, none of them had done anything against her, apparently because they were waiting on the word to start the fun. She had no idea what she should do. Should I fight, or simply give in? If I fight, will that only bring on an ass-kicking before the rape, or will they back off? She knew she couldn’t keep up a fight for long, and that they could simply hold her down while battering her into submission. She might sustain enough damage to kill her outright. But if I put up enough of a fight, they might be forced to hold me down while they rape me. Maybe I won’t have to take on two or three guys at once. She closed her eyes at the thought; her new definition of success being not all five men raping her at the same time. Dear Lord, help me. Don’t let this happen. Please . . . Please . . .
I ENTERED A SMALL ROOM that appeared to be a butler area, stuffed with shelves holding all sorts of kitchen utensils. Swinging my weapon in an arc, I attempted the impossible task of covering three hundred and sixty degrees simultaneously. A frightened man dressed as a servant stood up, throwing his hands high above his head. He clearly wasn’t a threat, but I had no way of detaining him and didn’t have the time even if I could. My success rested primarily on my ability to keep the enemy from knowing an assault was under way, but speed was a close second. If an alarm was raised, the only thing that would keep me alive was keeping the enemy from knowing where to orient their efforts. If I maintained enough momentum, going as fast as I possibly could, the enemy wouldn’t be able to pinpoint my position and would hopefully attack areas after I was through them.
I squeezed off a double tap to his head and raced to the next door before he even hit the ground. I suppose I should have felt some pity, but there was only relief at the fact that the weapon I held had hit what I aimed at. He was collateral damage. Nothing more. He knew who he was working for. Fucker should have picked a better employer.
I entered the next room and dropped a man in military kit racing for a weapon propped against the wall. I scanned the room for other targets, settling my sights on another man sitting in a large wing-backed chair smoking a cigar. Apparently a study, the room was paneled with dark wood and lined on one side by a giant bookshelf. The other side housed a fireplace, with the husks of a long dead fire sitting on an iron grate like a blackened skeleton. The man was dressed in a business suit, smiling, with his hands outstretched, the Cuban cigar wafting smoke toward the ceiling.
“You must be the infamous Mr. Pike. Jake was right—you are full of surprises. I’m assuming you’ve come to bring me my package.”
I eased off of the trigger. “Where’s the girl?”
“All in good time. She’s fine. First, where’s my package?”
I felt the time slipping away, like lifeblood flowing from an open wound. “Where—Is—The—Girl.”
The man leapt up in a rage, shouting, “Who the fuck do you think you are? You think you can enter my house, attack my people, and walk away unscathed? You think—”
Before he could finish his sentence, I blew out the back of his head with a high-velocity hollow point, watching him fall backward into the chair. Who do I think I am? I’m the man with the gun, dumbass.
I moved on, clearing room after room. The majority of the mansion was unoccupied, which made the clearing fairly fast. My assault was only into minute number twelve by the time I had cleared the first and second floors, encountering only two more men, killing both. I went to the third floor, clearing it