Outlaws, Matt Rogers [best ereader under 100 TXT] 📗

tracks.

The driver’s side of the tractor unit was blocked by a large silhouette.

Quinn pulled his weapon.

A shot blared, and he felt the surreal numbing sensation of a bullet passing straight through his forearm. He found himself oddly detached from the pain. All he experienced was a series of still images.

Lying on his back on the gravel, unsure when he’d fallen.

His gun kicked away, frozen in mid-air, punted by a giant boot.

Then hands on his collar, and suddenly he was off the ground, back on his feet.

He stood there, pale and bleeding and shocked.

The mystery man stood across from him.

‘What’s this truck doing here, Quinn?’ the man asked.

Looming over him.

Quinn spluttered, ‘I—’

‘You don’t know?’

‘Yeah, man,’ Quinn said. ‘I don’t know. I think … maybe Cal and Vince got it. They’re feeling much better, you know. I think they snuck out. Maybe they knew about another container or something. I sure didn’t.’

‘Cal and Vince are tucked up in bed.’

‘No they ain’t.’

‘They sure are. They’ll be there until someone finds their bodies.’

Quinn shivered. ‘Christ, man. What did they do to you?’

‘To me? Nothing.’

Quinn stared up at the silhouette. ‘You know, don’t you?’

The silhouette said, ‘Of course I know.’

‘How’d you find out?’

‘You had it written on the whiteboard.’

‘I thought you didn’t see that.’

‘I did.’

Quinn bowed his head.

The silhouette said, ‘All you had to do was show me the right container. The result would have been the same.’

‘You would have killed me.’

‘Probably not.’

Quinn shivered.

The silhouette said, ‘But now it’s a certainty.’

‘This was all Duke, man,’ Quinn said. ‘Not me.’

‘You picked it up all on your own. You’re taking it somewhere all on your own.’

Quinn tried to find the words for an explanation, but those words didn’t exist.

The silhouette said, ‘If you tell me where you’re taking them, I’ll let you live. I’ll let you walk out of here a free man.’

‘You promise?’

‘You have my word.’

Quinn gave the address — a ranch-style compound way out in the desert, with gates and walls and sicarios patrolling the perimeter. He’d been there three times previously, for three separate deliveries. But the silhouette didn’t need to know that. Quinn masked his smugness, because it wouldn’t do him any good to reveal it. Inwardly, he couldn’t believe the guy had bought his shtick for a second time.

The mystery man repeated the address back to Quinn.

Quinn nodded.

‘Thanks,’ the silhouette said, and brought its Glock up.

Quinn’s face collapsed. ‘You promised.’

‘Just like the human cargo gets promised a safe and harmless journey?’

Silence.

The silhouette said, ‘No one keeps promises in your world, Quinn.’

A trigger was pulled.

It was the last thing Quinn Chapman ever saw.

74

Beckham Lang was mentally indestructible.

Slater knew that the moment he met the man’s gaze.

There wasn’t an ounce of self-pity in his eyes. His stare was uncompromising, and he didn’t blink or waver, not even when he failed to recognise the bulky stranger who’d stepped into his room. He was across the space, sitting upright in a modified wheelchair, his thin pale arms resting on supports. His body had clearly been unresponsive for years, and most of his muscle mass had wasted away entirely, but his face was tanned from sun exposure, and he held his chin high, and his hair had been cut recently. It was brown and thick and swept back stylishly off his forehead. What little he could control he paid careful attention to, refusing to allow himself the leniency he probably deserved.

Slater admired it. This was not a man who accepted compromise. He recognised his condition, but didn’t wallow in it.

When Slater stepped through the doorway and closed the door behind him, Beckham said, ‘Who are you?’

‘Someone you need to trust.’

‘Oh, great,’ Beckham said. ‘That wasn’t cryptic at all. Are you going to give me a riddle next?’

Slater paused, allowing himself a half-smile despite the circumstances.

Then he remembered why he was here, and the smile vanished.

Beckham said, ‘Are you here to hurt me?’

Slater stared. ‘No. What makes you think that?’

‘There’s a look in your eye,’ Beckham said. ‘I’ve seen the same look before. A long time ago. On the face of the man who did this to me.’

‘Aggressive?’

‘Volatile. Unhinged.’

‘I’m here to help. But you’re in danger. That’s why you see that look on my face. Because if anyone else comes in that you don’t know, I’ll hurt them.’

‘What sort of danger?’

‘Threats have been made on your life.’

‘Why? I’m nobody.’

‘Violetta LaFleur.’

Beckham’s face became steel.

Slater said, ‘Now’s not the time for grudges.’

‘“Grudge” is putting it lightly.’

‘Drop the tough guy act,’ Slater said. ‘It doesn’t suit you.’

‘You don’t know a thing about me.’

‘No,’ Slater said. ‘You’re right. But I know Violetta. She’s a work colleague. You know what that means. You know what she was doing when you two parted ways. She’s still doing it, only at a higher level. Which means higher stakes, too.’

‘So threats have been made against her?’ Beckham said. ‘What do I have to do with it? Leave me out of this shit.’

‘Let’s say she’s in the middle of a disagreement with her superiors. They’ve threatened to kill you.’

Beckham scoffed. ‘What’s it to her?’

‘She was willing to ruin her life to keep you alive.’

Beckham stared.

‘Let me be more specific,’ Slater said. ‘I was one of her closest allies. She was willing to double-cross me and kill me to save you.’

‘Then what are you doing here?’ Beckham said. ‘Come to get your revenge?’

‘No. We made up. I trust her again. I’m on her side. I want you alive, too.’

‘That was fast.’

‘Only way to be in our world.’

‘So what is this, exactly?’

‘I’m going to need you to come with me.’

Beckham looked down at himself. ‘You think I have a choice? You can do what you want with me.’

‘I want you to do it willingly.’

‘How real are these threats?’

‘Very real.’

‘Tell me exactly who you are and what you do,’ Beckham said. ‘I’m sure it’ll violate all sorts of agreements. But if you want me to trust you, then you need to trust me.’

‘I was a government black-ops killer up until two days ago. Now I’m just a killer. A