Zero Escape Page 22

  After the incident, he’d berated himself a few times over his stupidity. Only a few, though, because his reckless decision had come with some surprising advantages. He’d been twenty-eight at the time. Young, foolish, with the world at his feet, and driven to make a name for himself. So when a friend’s bachelor party morphed into a stupid illegal midnight run to Cuba, he’d decided to up the ante and, in an effort to impress them, went in search of quality cigars and rum. He could never have envisaged the devastating repercussions that decision would have.

  Diego had been young too, and his eventual rise up the criminal ranks was still in its infancy. It was hard to believe the two of them were similar in any way. Yet they were when it came to drive and determination.

  Stella stepped out of the jet’s bathroom, and as she strolled toward him, Noah cast his mind back to the Cuban woman who’d changed his life. Diego’s sister. He’d only touched her twice, and yet the impact of each of those times had been life changing.

  Her body was that of a temptress . . . luscious olive skin, silky hair, youthful flesh. But it was the fire in her eyes that remained the pillars of his recollection. When he’d first seen her, he’d been sharing a rum with Diego to celebrate a deal that was set to make the pair of them a decent amount of money. Benita had silently stepped into the room to place another bottle of rum on the table. It was obvious she was under Diego’s instructions, as she was in and out of the room in a flash. But it’d been enough to mesmerize Noah. Enough so that he’d asked Diego about her.

  When he’d declared Benita as his sister, Noah had thought that would be where any attempts at seeing more of her would end. But he was wrong. It turned out Noah could handle his alcohol much better than his new Cuban partner. So when Diego passed out drunk, Noah had raped Benita.

  From the second he’d grabbed her, he’d known it was wrong. But he couldn’t stop himself. He’d had plenty of women before Benita, but they’d all been willing sluts who’d practically thrown themselves at him. It was the Cuban woman’s rejection that’d driven him wild.

  Even while he’d had her pinned down, raping her—his hands around her neck, her fingers clawing at his flesh, hatred burning in her eyes—he still couldn’t believe he was doing it. But he had.

  It was the most brutal, shocking, unexpected, yet utterly powerful experience in his life at that time. In the space of five minutes, he’d become a different man.

  Empowered. Invincible. Dangerous.

  What he hadn’t envisaged, though, was Diego using that moment to blackmail him.

  For five years, he heard nothing, and Noah had thought he’d come away from the incident unscathed. But evidently Benita had kept the rape a secret too.

  That all changed when Diego overheard his sister confessing the rape to a friend. Consequently, five years after that fateful night, Diego made his first attempt to blackmail Noah. Today Diego had made his second attempt. Noah would ensure it was his last.

  He swirled the amber liquid around his crystal tumbler, then swigged back a large gulp of the top-shelf cognac. It stung his throat and put fire in his belly. A fire that would rage until he’d finished off Diego and his Machiavellian tactics forever.

  The twins began snoring at exactly the same moment, as if they’d choreographed it, and Noah was torn between pegging his tumbler at one of them and being grateful that he didn’t have to endure their blank stares anymore. Opting for the latter, he picked up his phone and opened it to the photo Diego had sent him.

  When he’d killed Benita twenty-two years ago, Noah had thought he’d eliminated that blackmail threat. But before she’d died, she’d mentioned the daughter who was apparently his. At the time, Noah had cast aside her comment as a desperate plea for mercy, especially given that he was strangling her.

  Now it appeared that Benita’s deathbed confession was true. Noah hadn’t believed Diego until he’d sent the picture. He stared at the photo, expanding it to look directly into her eyes. Claudia looked exactly like her mother. Noah’s missing finger twitched as though the damn bitch was haunting him again. He shook his hand and rubbed his stub with his other fingers. He was going to enjoy killing Claudia. The fact that she was potentially his daughter made it even more thrilling. But he’d take his time with her. He needed answers first.

  He had to know why she’d turned up now, after twenty-two years in hiding.

  When the pilot announced they were coming in for a landing, Noah cast all his tumbling thoughts aside, clicked off his phone, and finished his drink in one gulp.

  Speculation was over. It was time for answers.

  Stella buckled into the seat beside Noah.

  He wished he was as calm as the Swedish beauty appeared to be.

  The approach to the runway looked exactly the same as it had two decades ago. Unwelcoming. There was nothing but darkness below. And above, for that matter. Except for the scattering of stars, there were no lights anywhere.

  The damn backward country hadn’t advanced at all.

  Noah leaned into the curve of the jet’s window, hoping to get a glimpse of the landing strip. At first, he saw nothing. It was like they were landing in the middle of the ocean. It was a good minute or two before a light appeared. He squinted at the scene, trying to establish the layout. A rumble beneath his feet confirmed that the landing gear had been lowered, and the roar of the wind increased as it buffeted against the tires.

  At a clicking sound, his gaze shifted from out the window to the twins. Both had their weapons out, checking the magazines and clicking them back into place. It was obviously something they’d done many times over as they were almost synchronized to perfection. Stella was checking her phone, and if she was at all worried about the display of weapons, she didn’t show it.

  The squeal of tires announced the jet’s touchdown, and Noah glanced out the window in time to see a pair of car headlights shining onto a rusty old shed. He also thought he saw a few bodies lying on the dirt. But it all whizzed by too fast. He squinted again, trying to confirm his vision, and what he saw had his heart invading his throat. Two people were running toward the bushes. One was a woman in a red dress.

  Fury shot through him like a raging inferno.

  He was not going to let her slip away this time.

  But the image was so fleeting he couldn’t be certain. He snapped his eyes to his bodyguards. “Get those guns ready.”

  “Yes, boss,” they answered simultaneously.

  The pilot slowed the plane to a crawl and turned it around at the end of the runway, ready to take off. Noah glanced out the window again, but the view was nothing but darkness.

  Noah and the twins stood up before the fasten seat belt sign was extinguished, and he allowed them to lead the charge off the plane. After all, he’d hired them to protect him. Colt opened the door that doubled as the stairs and lowered it to the tarmac. Steele climbed down first, followed by his twin, and Noah was the last to step on Cuban soil.

  The threesome strode around the front of the plane and entered what looked like a war zone. Colt and Steele raised their weapons, angled their bodies into what Noah could only assume was a defensive move, and ran toward the side of the shed.

  “Jesus!” Noah’s heart was in his throat as he crouched down and raced after them.

  At the edge of the shed, he had a close-up view of one of the bodies. What was left of the bloody mess looked more like roadkill than a human being. And it was lit up in the jeep’s headlights as though it’d been arranged for maximum effect.

  The acrid smell of gunfire and bodily fluids invaded his nostrils, and Noah had to fight the urge to flee back to the plane. He’d never seen a dead body before, except for the woman he’d killed himself. But that had involved zero blood. Now there were eight of them covered in blood. And none of them were female.

  Colt and Steele stepped out from cover and played their weapons over the area. It was as silent as a mass suicide. When the twins lowered their weapons, Noah assumed it was safe and stepped out from
behind the shed. “What the hell happened?” He cast his eyes from one body to the next.

  “Looks like an ambush,” Colt volunteered.

  “More like a bloodbath,” Steele said.

  “Same thing, dickhead.” Noah strolled to the nearest body and kicked what was left of the man’s foot. He jumped back when the body groaned. “Hey, this one’s alive.” It was impossible to see the man’s face. “Anyone got a flashlight?”

  “Nah, boss.”

  Colt strode over, picked up the hand of the groaning man, and dragged him into the beam of the jeep’s headlights. The wounded man howled the whole way, but Colt’s ability to care was nonexistent. Yet another reason Noah had hired him.

  The ugly brute tossed the bloody man down, and Noah leaned over him. “Huh, it’s Diego. Go check the others; see if anyone else is alive. And find that damn woman.”

  The twins strode away, and Noah turned his attention back to what was left of his Cuban nemesis. “Hey, Diego, you still alive?” Noah nudged his foot into Diego’s ribs.

  The bloody body groaned.

  “There you are.” Noah squatted down to get a better look at the mess. “What the hell happened?”

  Diego spat out blood, and it landed on his chin in a thick globule. “Por favor. Ayuadame. Por favor.”

  “English, Diego.”

  “Please.” Diego spluttered more blood. “Help me.”

  “Yes. Yes, I will. Tell me what happened.”

  “I . . . I not know. Man, he just started shooting. Help me. Please!”

  “Where’s the girl?”

  A small gasp released from Diego’s throat, and Noah wondered if he’d succumbed to his injuries.

  Colt approached Noah’s side. “They’re all dead, boss.”

  A scream burst through the silence, and Noah jumped up and spun to the shrieks. It was Stella. Her hands were in her hair, her eyes wild as she stood over the body of the nearest man. “Shut the fuck up,” Noah yelled at her.

  She didn’t.

  “Jesus, woman, get back on the fucking plane.”

  But Stella just stood there, screaming like a banshee. “Ahh, for God’s sake.” She was a problem, and Noah realized, too late for her, that it was stupid to have brought her along.

  “Give me that!” Noah snatched Colt’s Ruger from his oversized hand, aimed at the wailing woman, and put a bullet in her belly. Shrieking, she flew backward with a burst of crimson across her tailored suit and slammed onto the dirt. It wasn’t his best shot, but given the tension blazing through his brains, it was a wonder he’d hit her at all.

  That was Noah’s second murder. But it wasn’t anywhere near as satisfying as his first. Killing someone at a distance paled in comparison to watching the life drain out of their eyes and feeling their body dwindle beneath his fingers. Next time Noah murdered someone, he’d do it properly.

  And if things went according to plan, his daughter would own that designation.

  When Stella moaned, he extracted her murder from his repertoire and handed the weapon back to Colt. “Go finish her off. Then drag her body into the bushes and make sure she’s well hidden.”

  Colt swaggered over to Stella, who was clutching her stomach and groaning. He raised his gun, and Noah glanced away before the blast of the gunshot shattered the silence.

  “Such a shame.” He mumbled to himself. It occurred to him that he’d have Madam Athena to contend with next. But she was the least of his worries.

  He turned toward a new disturbing noise to witness Colt and Steele dragging Stella through the dirt by her wrists. “Pick her up!” Noah barked at them. “Goddamn apes. And make sure she has no jewelry or identification on her.”

  If her body was ever found, she’d be just another Jane Doe on the coroner’s table. Noah glanced around the surroundings. If she was found. The first time he’d been here, Diego had told him the remote runway hadn’t been used in decades. It was once a key asset in a drug cartel’s distribution center. But all that changed with a major drug bust here at the end of Batista’s reign. Anyone under the age of forty probably didn’t even know it existed. Noah never did ask Diego how he came to know of it. It was one of the things about the Cuban that’d impressed Noah. Diego had been a man who got things done.

  Had been . . .

  One glance at Diego was enough to know he was a dead man. Noah jabbed his leather shoe into a part of Diego’s hip that wasn’t covered in blood. “Hey, you still alive?”

  Diego’s lips moved, and Noah squatted down to hear if he was speaking. “You say something?”

  “Help me.” His voice was a strange, wheezy gurgle.

  “Yes, I will. Where’s the girl Diego, Claudia? Where’s my daughter?”

  A bloody bubble formed on Diego’s lips, followed by an exaggerated sigh that could only mean the end.

  “Shit.” Noah stood up, stepped away from the body, and glanced around. His eyes fell on the rusted pole the jeep headlights were aimed at. Two decades ago, Benita had been tied to that pole. At that time, he’d flown from New York to Cuba without any concept of what would greet him. His sole purpose had been to eliminate Benita. This time he’d had prior knowledge of the setting, yet the mounting bodies and missing target confirmed that his plan had tipped irreversibly off course.

  Noah was not accustomed to losing. Losing twice in one day was unprecedented. Losing the same target twice was incomprehensible. To top that off, he couldn’t fathom a way to cut his losses. Noah eased up to the pole and placed his hand on the cold metal. It was hard to believe this bleak spot was the site of his life-changing moment. He had hoped to replicate that delicious experience with Benita’s daughter.

  His daughter, if Benita was to be believed.

  His gaze drifted to the area where he’d thought he seen the woman running into the bushes. It had to be her. But who was the mystery man with her? The last time he was here, Claudia had been whisked away by Pueblo.

  Diego had told him Pueblo was dead. Looks like he was wrong, or maybe he’d lied on purpose.

  The crunch of gravel had him turning toward the twins. They’d both managed to get themselves covered in Stella’s blood, and Noah had a good mind to kill them both here too. Ignoring the stupid fools, he glared back at the bushes again. “I thought I saw the woman running into those bushes.” He pointed ahead. “Go check it out.”

  Without a word, Colt and Steele strode, side by side, in that direction.

  A gunshot cracked through the silence, and a millisecond later an explosion of blood burst from Steele’s neck and shoulder. The brute flew backward in a howl of agony.

  “Shit!” Noah dove for cover behind the nearest jeep. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

  Steele was on the dirt, clutching his neck and writhing in apparent agony. Colt ran to his brother and fell to his knees at his side. “Steele, Steele, no!”

  Steele curled into a fetal position, wailing as his blood squirted through his fingers.

  Another round of bullets pinged off the jeep, taking out the headlights. Bullets continued and whizzed barely inches from Noah’s head. “Fuck!”

  If the twins noticed the barrage, they didn’t show it. Colt was leaning over his brother, smothering him with his body as if for protection. He seemed to be crying. Noah stared in disbelief. The mission had careened dramatically off the rails. It was time to get the hell out of there.

  Colt flung backward with a spray of blood bursting from the back of his head. His body hit the dirt in a sickening crunch, and it took Noah only one look to know the fool was dead.

  “Fuck!”

  The next sound Noah heard shot a blaze of panic through his veins. The pilot had fired the engines. Noah snapped his eyes to the plane and could just see the pilot in the glow of the cockpit lights. “No!” He screamed and waggled his finger at the pilot. There wasn’t a chance in hell the pilot heard him, but when he finally looked over, he gazed right at Noah. “No!” Noah screamed, shaking his head.

  The pilot’s response was to set t
he plane into motion, inching forward.

  “Fuck!” Noah didn’t think. He didn’t even breathe. He just jumped up and, casting caution aside, sprinted at the moving jet.

  One hundred yards.

  He felt the crosshairs on his back. Felt the fierce concentration of the shooter. Felt the tingle in his spine where he imagined the bullet would hit.

  Felt the intensity of imminent death.

  He dodged left, right, careful not to enter into the remaining jeep’s headlights. Eighty yards.

  He forced power into his limbs. His arms pumped, his legs pounded the dirt, and he clenched his jaw, determined to make it.

  Sixty yards.

  Even with the whir of the engines, he heard another round of bullets whiz past. One slammed into the tail of the jet, taking out a small chunk in the tip.

  Time seemed to move at two speeds, fucking fast and painfully slow.

  Thirty yards.

  Noah had to get around to the other side in order to get onto the steps. If the asshole hadn’t pulled them up that is. He prayed for that miracle as he aimed for the back of the plane. If he went for the front, the pilot would probably run him over.

  Surging pain filled his lungs.

  Ten yards.

  He ducked beneath the undercarriage and gasped at the miracle. The stairs were still there. “Wait for me.”

  Adrenaline spiked his veins. He was going to make it.

  He couldn’t breathe. His legs burned like acid.

  Two yards.

  Noah dove at the steps and clutched the railing.

  The engine noise became louder. The speed increased. Noah strangled the rail, desperate to hang on. His energy vaporized in a flash. His legs wouldn’t move. Instead they whipped around, pulled by the drag of the g-force.

  To his horror, the plane left the ground.

  Noah screamed. The engine roared. And the plane barely skimmed over the tops of the trees.

  “Pull me in, you bastard,” Noah shouted at the pilot.

  “Fucking pull yourself in. I’m trying to get us outta here.”