Redemption (26 page)

There was always the problem of CCTV surveillance – almost every gas station in North America had cameras
in
case of robberies – but there wasn’t much he could do about that. In any case, their pursuers didn’t know what kind of car they were driving or even what direction they were heading, so there would be no way to narrow the search. Short of trawling through footage from every gas station within 300 miles of DC, their chances of finding their targets that way were negligible.

All things considered, he couldn’t think of a better place to stop.

The main building was a 7-Eleven. There were no other cars parked at the pumps, and there seemed to be only two attendants on duty, both in their teens. One was manning the cash register, and the other was restocking a shelf with bags of Doritos. Neither looked very enthusiastic, which suited him just fine. They were less likely to remember him.

There was a click as the back door opened and Anya stepped out.

‘Better stay in the car for now,’ he warned.

‘No,’ was her dismissive reply. She seemed entranced with the mere notion of being outside, and he understood why. She hadn’t felt the sun on her skin in four years.

He reached for the petrol pump. ‘Fine. Just … don’t cause any trouble.’

She said nothing as she walked to the edge of the forecourt, closed her eyes and tilted her head back, raising her face to the sun. It was a warm day, and humid with it. Moisture seemed to linger in the air all around them. Some might have found it uncomfortable, but for her it was absolute heaven.

Sunlight, warmth, a faint breeze sighing past her …

The mere idea of experiencing such things again would have seemed ridiculous a few days ago. But here she was. Even if her life still hung in the balance, even if
she
was being hunted by Cain and God knew who else, in that moment, she was free.

‘Hey,’ Drake called out.

The spell was broken. Opening her eyes, she turned to look at him. He had finished pumping the gas and was screwing the fuel cap in place.

‘We won’t be stopping for a while. Do you need to use the bathroom?’

She shook her head.

‘Suit yourself. I have to pay for the fuel. Stay with the car.’

He ignored her hostile look and strode into the convenience store. Straight away he was in an air-conditioned world of car magazines, soft drinks of all shapes and sizes, potato chips, cakes, chocolate, engine oils, alloy-wheel cleaning kits and countless other items that he had no time to take in.

Making for the counter, he paused to grab a couple of bars of chocolate, some crisps, pre-packed sandwiches, two bottles of Mountain Dew and two mineral waters. He didn’t know what Anya’s food and drink preferences were, nor did he care. She didn’t strike him as a fussy eater.

Dumping his load of provisions on the counter, Drake fished in his pocket for some money as the cashier scanned his items.

‘Having a good day, sir?’ he asked, going through the motions.

‘Yeah. Good, thanks,’ Drake replied in his usual north London twang. He couldn’t imitate an American accent to save his life.

When the kid’s eyes showed interest, he pasted on a fake grin. ‘We’re on vacation for a couple of weeks, heading down to New Orleans.’

Drake couldn’t tell if that explanation satisfied the cashier’s curiosity, or if he just didn’t care. Either way, he went back to what he was doing, scanning and bagging each item with no sense of urgency.

Outside, Anya turned as a Ford pickup pulled in to the gas station, music blaring. It was a new model that she didn’t recognise, big and square and intimidating, red bodywork gleaming in the afternoon sun.

There were two men up front, one wearing a loose checked shirt, the other in a black tank top. The one in the tank top was in his twenties, young and strong, while the checked-shirt man was older, mid-forties. Both were working men, broad shouldered and well built, used to heavy manual labour.

The driver had his eye on her the moment they entered the station, and she saw him say something to his companion in the passenger seat. She couldn’t tell what, but their grins gave her some idea.

She turned her back on them, staring out across the grassy expanse beyond the forecourt to a belt of trees beyond. She had no wish to speak to such men. Where was Drake?

There was a click and a thump as a door opened, and she heard the scrape of work boots on the concrete. Another metallic click as a fuel pump was unhitched, then a low rhythmic hum as the gas started to flow.

Another thump as the second door opened. Both men were out of the truck now. Glancing down, she could see their reflection in the window of the Ford Taurus.

‘I don’t see how we’re gonna finish on time. You know we gotta get that floor laid down by Friday, then get all the wiring done, then get the air-conditioning guy in,’ the one in the checked shirt remarked, his voice strangely high pitched for such a big man.

The one in the tank top sighed. This was a debate that had been going on for a while now, by the sounds of things. ‘Not our problem. We can’t do a goddamn thing till the joists get delivered. They want to ride us for missing deadlines, they can just go ahead and bitch to the lumber company.’

‘Yeah, like that’ll happen.’

The passenger elbowed his companion and nodded in her direction.

‘Hey, darlin’,’ the young man in the tank top said. ‘How you doin’?’

She didn’t reply. Her mind was racing, trying to think of a way to back out of this situation. She didn’t want to draw attention to herself, didn’t want these men to remember her, but she couldn’t think of a way to get rid of them.

‘Hey. I’m talking to you, blondie,’ he called out, a little more insistent this time. He was trying to be genial and friendly, but she caught an edge of impatience in his voice.

She had to speak to him. If she ignored him, he would lose face in front of his friend and that would piss him off. She wasn’t concerned for her own safety, but she didn’t want to get into a fight. Not now.

She turned around to look at them both, doing a rapid threat assessment as she always did. The one in the tank top was the taller of the two, probably 6 foot 3 and about 210 pounds. His arms were heavy with thick corded muscle, his shoulders broad and square – the kind of build that came from more than just hauling timber around a construction site. Maybe he’d been a football player in high school.

The other man was a few inches shorter, more fleshy and with a visible beer gut that came from hard work
and
hard living. She guessed his weight at perhaps 230 pounds.

The one in the tank top smiled at her. She was playing his game now. ‘We just wanted to be friendly, y’see. What’s a beautiful woman like you doin’ all alone out here?’

He was unusually confident for one so young. Still, with his strapping build and ruggedly handsome face, he was no doubt used to approaching women and having his advances reciprocated.

‘I’m waiting for my husband,’ she lied. ‘He’s paying for the gas.’

His brows rose straight away at the sound of her voice. She had learned English a long time ago and spoke it with confidence, but a trace of her former accent remained unless she made great effort to hide it.

‘Not from around here, are ya?’ he asked. ‘Where you from? Russia?’

She didn’t like the way this conversation was going, and she didn’t know how to turn it around.

Where the hell was Drake? What was taking him so long?

The man in the tank top had finished pumping his gas. Replacing the pump in its cradle, he rounded the pickup to approach her. He was still smiling, but the look in his eyes had changed a little. She had seen that look in men’s eyes before. She had seen it in Bastard plenty of times at Khatyrgan. It wasn’t as strong or malicious in this man, but it was there all the same.

‘I don’t want any trouble,’ she said. It took a great deal of self-control not to assume a defensive posture which she knew would further antagonise him.

‘Trouble? You don’t have to worry about no trouble from me!’ he laughed. He was enjoying this, toying with her, making her feel threatened. ‘What kind of trouble you think I’m gonna cause?’

She glanced away, hoping a show of submission and disinterest would help him get the message. Come on, you had your fun. Just walk away.

‘What? You too good to talk to me or somethin’?’ he asked. ‘What’s your problem?’

This was going too far. She had given him every opportunity, but even she was starting to lose patience now.

Turning her baleful glare on him, she spoke in a low, cold voice. ‘Listen to me, because I won’t say this again. I don’t want to speak to you or your friend. I just want to be left alone. Walk away. Please.’

Even he seemed momentarily daunted by the look in her eyes and the cold menace in her voice, and she saw him fight the urge to take a step back.

With that, she turned her back on him and walked towards the parked Ford Taurus, reaching for the door handle. All the while, she was watching his reflection in the window.

It took less than a second to see that her warning hadn’t had the desired effect. Now that her back was turned and he was freed from her vengeful glare, anger and indignation had taken over. She was a woman, and she had made him feel fear.

‘You fucking whore,’ he growled, jabbing an accusing finger at her.

Just for a moment, she felt a fleeting sense of disappointment that she had failed to defuse the situation.

Then something snapped.

Turning, she grabbed his outstretched hand, bent it backwards and twisted it at the wrist, feeling the taut resistance as tendons and ligaments stretched. In a heartbeat, she had him in a supinating wrist lock. He was no threat to her now. He never had been.

His first reaction was a grunt of surprise, followed by
a
cry of pain as she applied more pressure to the overtaxed joint. Instinctively his body went with the rotating motion, trying to find relief, but she knew it was a futile move. She could keep twisting the wrist as far as she wanted.

‘What did you call me?’ she asked through clenched teeth, pushing harder. ‘Please, say it again.
Say it
.’

‘Jimmy! Aargh, get this bitch off me!’ he screamed, dropping to his knees. ‘Get her off!’

Realising at last what was happening, his companion rounded the pickup, reaching into his back pocket. Anya followed his every move. Now she had a second opponent to deal with.

She couldn’t waste any more time on the first man. But that was fine – she knew exactly how to remove him from the fight.

With a sudden, violent motion, she twisted his hand as hard as she could. As strong as the bones of the human forearm are, they are poorly designed to cope with radioulnar rotation. There was a moment of resistance, then a faint pop as his radius and ulna bones fractured just behind the wrist.

His scream of pain was cut short by a sharp knee delivered to the bridge of his nose, shattering it. He went down, blood spraying from both nostrils. He was out of the fight.

Drake was just handing over his money when he heard shouts coming from the forecourt. Straight away he turned towards the source of the commotion, and felt his blood run cold.

Turning her attention to the second man, she strode forward to meet him just as he brought something out of
his
back pocket. A knife. Not a dagger, but a tool – a box cutter. Normally she disliked taking on opponents armed with knives, but she felt less apprehension in this case. He could slash with it and perhaps cause damage if the blade met her face, but otherwise it was a poor weapon.

And it didn’t take long to decide that its owner presented little threat.

She ducked one wild slash, then twisted aside as he came at her again. She felt the blade brush her upper arm, but the leather jacket seemed to absorb it. He was slow and clumsy, not used to fighting with any kind of technical skill.

Still, she wasn’t going to wait for him to take another swipe. Balling up her fist, she drilled him in the face with a hard cross, stunning him, then delivered a second blow to his fleshy stomach that doubled him over. A hard kick to the groin stamped out whatever fight remained in him, yet for some reason she found herself unable to stop.

A sudden surge of anger and fury rose up within her like a tide, so sudden and powerful she couldn’t contain it.

The sound of their footsteps on the tiled floor receded. She heard the rasp as Bastard unzipped his trousers
.

She was helpless, unable to protect herself, unable to resist as he grabbed her shoulder and rolled her over onto her stomach. She could barely feel the chill of the tiles on her naked skin, but she did feel the first gut-wrenching penetration as he thrust inside her
.

This man had tried to kill her. He would have cut her throat, slashed that blade across her eyes, plunged it into her chest.

Drawing back her fist again, she slammed it into his face, feeling the cartilage of his nose give way beneath the force of the blow. The box cutter fell from his hand, and she caught it on the way down.

Gripping him by his shirt, she shoved him backward against the chassis of the Ford pickup. The vehicle shuddered under the impact.

He was limp meat in her hold, dazed and frightened, blood dripping from his nose and burst lip. His eyes met hers and she saw wild, primal fear in them. It sent a shiver of excitement through her.

Weakness will not be in my heart. Fear will not be in my creed
.

She raised the box cutter to slash the exposed throat. But as she did so, a pair of strong hands seized her by the shoulders and threw her backwards.

She whirled around to face the new threat, gripping the weapon tight and preparing to lash out with it. No one could stand against her.

I will show no mercy. I will never hesitate
.

Then she froze. The man standing before her wasn’t an enemy.

‘Stop it. Right now,’ Drake said, bristling with anger.

The weapon fell from her grip and the uncontrollable rage vanished in an instant. For several seconds she just stood there, breathing hard, almost perplexed by what had happened.