Serial Story: Jasmine Betrayal, Part 2
This story is presented weekly in draft (that means unedited)
format every Friday right here on the blog for free. When the story is
done, it will be edited, polished and available for sale at all your
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Part 1 |
Jasmine Betrayal
Part 2
Max Westlake didn’t bother to watch Genevieve run to the kitchen. Whether she followed his instructions or not, chances were slim either of them would make it out of the diner alive, but he owed Pete Morano a blood debt, and tonight, he’d settle up.
The headlights cut off in the parking lot along with the engine, and four doors opened on the SUV. Five men got out, bringing a wry smile to Max’s lips. Apparently Jenkins wasn’t taking any chances, though Ms. Morano wouldn’t have been a challenge for even one hit man.
As Max watched out the window, two men went around either side of the diner, probably to ransack the trailer he’d seen out back and watch the back door. The other three men came through the front door, the first one looking surprised when it opened without resistance. Max nodded as they came in...he’d worked and lived with these men for the past three years.
And now he had to kill them.
“Didn’t figure you for a tea and scones kinda guy, Max,” one of the men said, moving closer to the table and sneering at the empty dishes. “Jenkins said you might be here. You always did have a soft spot for Morano, though I’m not sure why you’d care about his daughter. Didn’t think you even knew her.”
Max sat back, shrugged. “I don’t. She paid Pete’s debt though, and now I’m paying mine. Simple as that.”
The other two men exchanged grins. “She was fifty dollars short,” one said. “Boss said we could collect in a more personal manner before we brought her back to the ranch. You might as well tell us where she is. Her car’s out back, so she didn’t leave. You know we’ll find her either way...”
Max shook his head, sliding out of the booth and extending to his full six-foot-two height, his right finger barely touching the handgun’s trigger as it hung loosely at his side. The men stepped back, an involuntary, predictable motion that generally gave Max more pleasure. At the moment though, he was just really, really annoyed.
“Sorry boys. You want Ms. Morano, you go through me.”
The first man chuckled, raising the pistol in his hand. “I’m gonna enjoy this, Westlake.”
Max swung to the side before the shot rang out, twisting in one smooth motion to present a slim profile two feet to the left of the man’s aim. He calmly squeezed off two shots, the two backups crumpling to the floor as he dropped his gun and grabbed the first man’s wrist and twisted, two more shots going up into the ceiling before the man’s fingers released and the gun dropped to the floor.
Swinging him around, Max hooked a foot around the man’s ankle and held on to that wrist as the man went down, screaming in pain as his shoulder dislocated. Max put a foot between his shoulder blades and with his free hand, fished out a couple of long plastic zip ties from his back pants pocket, binding the man’s wrists together as he moaned and writhed underfoot.
“You’d think after three years, Jenkins would know me better,” Max commented, removing his foot from the man’s back and securing his ankles together. “He should have just left this alone.”
“Not...” the man gasped for air, his eyes squeezed shut as he fought the pain, “not considering what this place is worth. He won’t...stop until he gets that title. You’re a dead man if you stay here. When we don’t come back, he’ll send more.”
Max checked for pulses on the other men and then stood up, shrugged, and straightened his jacket. “We’ll be gone by then, and so will the title. Jenkins can fight it out in the courts, where it belongs.”
The man laughed, a dry, raspy sound. “You know that’ll never happen. He’ll hunt you down too, and for what? Some old guy who helped you out a few year’s back? Or just another pretty skirt? Neither of ‘em worth dying for, in my opinion.”
Retrieving his gun from the floor, Max tucked it into his waistband and then collected the three others, laying them on the back side of the lunch counter.
“Didn’t ask your opinion,” he said, taking his own piece out again and checking the clip. “Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s a couple other people I need to see out back. Sit tight, and I’ll be right back.”
Stepping around the bodies, he approached the old-fashioned swinging door from the side, peering into the kitchen through a small square window for several seconds. No movement. Cautiously pushing the door open, he moved into the empty space, moving smoothly and checking behind and around industrial stoves and counters as he went. The freezer was so close he could touch it, and his first inclination was to get Genevieve out but he pushed it back. Until he knew all the men were incapacitated, she was safer locked in the big metal box.
A puff of air hit the back of his neck, and instinctively he dropped as something whistled past his ear. Rolling over, he ended up on his back, his pistol pointed up as he stared down the barrel of another man’s gun.
Enjoy
this post? Support your author:
format every Friday right here on the blog for free. When the story is
done, it will be edited, polished and available for sale at all your
favorite online retailers.
Part 1 |
Jasmine Betrayal
Part 2
Max Westlake didn’t bother to watch Genevieve run to the kitchen. Whether she followed his instructions or not, chances were slim either of them would make it out of the diner alive, but he owed Pete Morano a blood debt, and tonight, he’d settle up.
The headlights cut off in the parking lot along with the engine, and four doors opened on the SUV. Five men got out, bringing a wry smile to Max’s lips. Apparently Jenkins wasn’t taking any chances, though Ms. Morano wouldn’t have been a challenge for even one hit man.
As Max watched out the window, two men went around either side of the diner, probably to ransack the trailer he’d seen out back and watch the back door. The other three men came through the front door, the first one looking surprised when it opened without resistance. Max nodded as they came in...he’d worked and lived with these men for the past three years.
And now he had to kill them.
“Didn’t figure you for a tea and scones kinda guy, Max,” one of the men said, moving closer to the table and sneering at the empty dishes. “Jenkins said you might be here. You always did have a soft spot for Morano, though I’m not sure why you’d care about his daughter. Didn’t think you even knew her.”
Max sat back, shrugged. “I don’t. She paid Pete’s debt though, and now I’m paying mine. Simple as that.”
The other two men exchanged grins. “She was fifty dollars short,” one said. “Boss said we could collect in a more personal manner before we brought her back to the ranch. You might as well tell us where she is. Her car’s out back, so she didn’t leave. You know we’ll find her either way...”
Max shook his head, sliding out of the booth and extending to his full six-foot-two height, his right finger barely touching the handgun’s trigger as it hung loosely at his side. The men stepped back, an involuntary, predictable motion that generally gave Max more pleasure. At the moment though, he was just really, really annoyed.
“Sorry boys. You want Ms. Morano, you go through me.”
The first man chuckled, raising the pistol in his hand. “I’m gonna enjoy this, Westlake.”
Max swung to the side before the shot rang out, twisting in one smooth motion to present a slim profile two feet to the left of the man’s aim. He calmly squeezed off two shots, the two backups crumpling to the floor as he dropped his gun and grabbed the first man’s wrist and twisted, two more shots going up into the ceiling before the man’s fingers released and the gun dropped to the floor.
Swinging him around, Max hooked a foot around the man’s ankle and held on to that wrist as the man went down, screaming in pain as his shoulder dislocated. Max put a foot between his shoulder blades and with his free hand, fished out a couple of long plastic zip ties from his back pants pocket, binding the man’s wrists together as he moaned and writhed underfoot.
“You’d think after three years, Jenkins would know me better,” Max commented, removing his foot from the man’s back and securing his ankles together. “He should have just left this alone.”
“Not...” the man gasped for air, his eyes squeezed shut as he fought the pain, “not considering what this place is worth. He won’t...stop until he gets that title. You’re a dead man if you stay here. When we don’t come back, he’ll send more.”
Max checked for pulses on the other men and then stood up, shrugged, and straightened his jacket. “We’ll be gone by then, and so will the title. Jenkins can fight it out in the courts, where it belongs.”
The man laughed, a dry, raspy sound. “You know that’ll never happen. He’ll hunt you down too, and for what? Some old guy who helped you out a few year’s back? Or just another pretty skirt? Neither of ‘em worth dying for, in my opinion.”
Retrieving his gun from the floor, Max tucked it into his waistband and then collected the three others, laying them on the back side of the lunch counter.
“Didn’t ask your opinion,” he said, taking his own piece out again and checking the clip. “Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s a couple other people I need to see out back. Sit tight, and I’ll be right back.”
Stepping around the bodies, he approached the old-fashioned swinging door from the side, peering into the kitchen through a small square window for several seconds. No movement. Cautiously pushing the door open, he moved into the empty space, moving smoothly and checking behind and around industrial stoves and counters as he went. The freezer was so close he could touch it, and his first inclination was to get Genevieve out but he pushed it back. Until he knew all the men were incapacitated, she was safer locked in the big metal box.
A puff of air hit the back of his neck, and instinctively he dropped as something whistled past his ear. Rolling over, he ended up on his back, his pistol pointed up as he stared down the barrel of another man’s gun.
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