The Alex King Series, A BATEMAN [good books for high schoolers .TXT] 📗

almost enough to make her gag. He had taken the stairs as if her weight had been unnoticeable. He was a huge man, his back as wide as a cart-horse. He smelled about as bad as one, too.

She knew he would try something when they reached the room. She managed to get the wingnut out of its hiding place, tucked into her bra, and got it between the knuckles of her right hand. The metal protruded over a quarter of an inch. Enough to make a mess of his eye if she could get a punch there quick enough. The shock and pain would disable him, perhaps only temporarily, but she would not stop there. Like she had been taught by her krav maga instructor, the service’s close quarters combat instructors, and by Alex - who she sparred with as part of their fitness regime - she would just keep hitting, gouging and striking until The Beast stopped moving.

And she wouldn’t stop there.

The Beast took the stairs easily. Her heart was pounding, not only because she knew that the man would be intent on violating her, but because she knew that the time had come.

She would fight or die.

It would be as simple as that, because if The Beast overpowered her, she knew he would not stop until he got what he wanted. And she would never allow that.

Not over her dead body.

The door had been left open. The Beast was tall enough to have to duck down under the doorframe. Caroline would put him at six-feet-six. His frame was large; muscular underneath an ample covering of fat. Caroline felt the weightlessness as she was tossed through the air and landed on the bed. The mattress was old and most probably a poor-quality item when it had been purchased, and she felt the slats of the bed against her spine as she landed heavily and bounced once. She gave up feigning unconsciousness, looked up at him with contempt.

“Convenient,” he said, his accent thick and guttural. Barely pronouncing the vowels. “So good for you to be awake for this…”

Caroline tucked her legs up, turning herself into a ball. She was frightened, but it was also an integral part of her act. She would appear submissive, strike like lightening when he thought he had the upper hand.

“Jurgen!” Michael appeared in the doorway. He spoke Russian. A short sentence, but Caroline could make out Helena’s name. It was spoken like an instruction.

The Beast looked at Michael sternly, then back at Caroline. He shrugged, then said, “Later sweet one. Later I will show you, teach you a lesson…”

Michael glanced at Caroline, held the door open for Jurgen, then closed the door behind them both. Caroline could hear the bolt slamming back in place, the sound of the padlock hasp locking tightly. She had been close, but was now a prisoner once again.

46

 

King was seated in the departure lounge at Stockholm Arlanda airport. He had eaten open snow-crab sandwiches with lemon and dill mayonnaise at a concession stall, dressed-up to look like a street food stall. It wasn’t exactly convincing in its execution, but it offered him a chance to sit at the counter on a barstool and observe the rest of the lounge, and it was quiet which meant that nobody would be waiting for his seat or bother him with inane conversation. The server cleared away his plate and he turned his side to her while he washed the sandwiches down with a cold Mariestads beer.

He took out his mobile phone and scrolled through his address book. He thought about it for the third time in as many hours, decided against it again and slipped the phone back into his jacket pocket. He could not order things. It was like playing chess and thinking five moves ahead. He knew he was on the cusp of his mental capabilities. Helena Milankovitch was as devious and ruthless as anyone he’d ever been up against. But it was more than that. The tasks he had completed over the past couple of weeks and the threat of Caroline’s life hanging over him had been both physically and emotionally draining. He was starting to over-think things, doubt his chances of success. Sweden had been a case in point. He had over-thought the importance of the post office. The effort and risk involved in gaining access to that computer server was a move too far. If he could find an image of the person planting the letter and the phone in the safety deposit box, but what then? Sweden was to be the turning point, because Simon Grant had unwittingly laid it out for him.

Love is the strongest emotion, but it can so easily be used against you by those who would do you harm…

And with that, King had the answer he needed, the key to winning this duel with Helena Milankovitch. He had missed it in Italy. But he knew that he could find out what he needed to in France.

King scrolled through his mobile phone again. He found the number for the fourth time and dialled. The ring tone reached a count for three before it was picked up.

“Took your time…”

“Had a few things to work out,” replied King.

“Done now?”

“Pretty much.”

“Where are you?”

“Sweden. Just checking out.”

“Where next?”

“France. Unfinished business.”

“Really?”

“I think I’ve found an in.”

“Think?”

“It’s not going to be easy.”

“It never is.”

“It’s going to get dirty.”

“It always does.”

“I’m going to need your help.”

“Figured as much.”

“Can I count on you?”

“You have to ask?”

“Over and above.”

“Always.”

“I’ll text the details.”

“You’ll owe me.”

“Call it a pint?”

“Call it two.”

“Shit, the rate doubled.”

“You still owe me.”

“Hang tight, I’ll text you where and when.” King ended the call and smiled. He looked up at the