Torsten Dahl book 1 - Stand Your Ground (15 page)

The instant he finished speaking, men surged forward. Dahl lunged alone, with no backup, Dario and Johanna frozen in terror, that spark he’d seen in her already extinguished. He punched hard, breaking a jaw and then jabbed again. Another enemy fell away, grunting in pain. Men surrounded him, grabbing shoulders and reaching for his neck. Dahl shrugged them off, swinging fists and elbows and kicking out. His attackers wailed, flinched and yelled but did not relent. Their mass was unbeatable, their commitment absolute. His arms were pinned in strong grips, his thick neck encircled by a huge arm like a boa-constrictor, allowing him barely enough air to breathe. It took six men to subdue him, but that still left more than six, plus the main players.

Dahl never stopped struggling as Dario took a blow to the head, staggering. Johanna screamed and kicked as blows rained upon her.

Then Vega’s men dragged Isabella and Julia out of her arms.

Dahl had never experienced such rage. Yes, the sheer presence of the girls clouded his abilities but watching them being pulled from their mother’s arms and hearing their frightened cries kick-started an adrenalin-fueled anger like none other. At first they couldn’t hold him as his berserker rage powered his arms. Bodies fell away. They pummeled and kicked and scratched like boys in a schoolyard brawl, fighting to regain their grip, which they quickly did. Dahl used every ounce of strength, every hidden resource, but couldn’t break free. When his muscles were sapped and the point of a sharp knife pressed against the back of his neck, he relented for a moment, willing the unaccustomed weakness to slip away.

Vega exchanged a glance with Grant, who tapped his watch. Time was pressing, it seemed. “Despite all this show, I do have other things going on tonight. Let’s finish all this, shall we? Now, take this loaded gun.”

Vega held the weapon out for Dario. Several men flinched away or hid behind bigger, less vigilant comrades.

Dario reached for the weapon. As he did so, Vega spoke again.

“Now, men, point your guns at the girls’ heads. If Dario doesn’t shoot himself in the next 20 seconds, I want you to shoot them.”

TWENTY FOUR

Dahl saw Dario’s turmoil, the dilemma etched deep into every feature. The gun was loaded, the faces watching him, all expectant. Vega studied his son with interest; Vin with naked contempt. Grant looked bored, clearly ready to move the night along. Dahl felt choked with emotion, every single ounce of power and strength and feeling he possessed, every iota of hope, wrapped up in the two small but immensely spirited figures now being held by Vega’s men. Every nerve bled terror through his entire system.

Dahl studied Dario and then Isabella and Julia as Dario, weeping, raised the gun. His shaking hands made it hard to determine the barrel’s final destination. A few grunts of warning went out, a snort of nervous laughter. Dario brought the weapon around in an arc, finishing by pointing it at his own temple.

Vega nodded. “That’s right, son. Now, show me your mettle.”

“Father,” Dario said, “you never even knew me.”

Vega inclined his head in agreement, “I require loyalty,” he said. “Look at these men. That is all I need. I tried, day after day, to teach you that. When they come into the fold they are family. These men mean more to me than a worthless boy who sneaks out to go see his girlfriend and hides from his family duty. These men . . . they are of my blood. Not you. Is it the carnival noises in the distance? Do you think you will be missing out on life?”

Dario’s tears flowed freely down his cheeks as the gun barrel wavered. Dahl saw his finger tighten on the trigger. Of course, Dario killing himself wouldn’t change anything for Dahl’s family. This merely prolonged the agony. The faces of the men holding his daughters became imprinted forever in his memory.

“He’s weak,” Vin growled. “He won’t do it.”

“You know, it’s interesting.” Vega turned away from his son’s terror to gaze at Vin. “We have both been shot, you and I. And now I have this and you limp.” He proffered a half-mangled hand.

Vin stared with lopsided uncertainty, unsure how to respond to that.

Dahl turned to Dario. “Don’t do it.”

“No . . . choice . . .” Dario managed.

Dahl despaired, caught between the Devil and a dozen demons.

“Come now,” Vega said. “Your girl is dead. Shoot yourself. Show me how much you cared for her.”

Dario screamed, his face a mask of anguish. His finger tightened.

The next few moment would live with Dahl forever, as it was one of the most shocking events of his entire life.

Johanna, until now more fearful than bold, stepped forward, catching everyone’s attention. “Kill me,” she said. “Kill me.”

Dahl’s mouth fell open. Dario paused.

Vega shook his head. “What did you say?”

“Kill me!” Johanna screamed at the cartel boss and his men. “Kill me. Not him. And spare my children!”

The balance of power shifted over to the woman. Dahl’s heart pounded like a jackhammer. If anything about this day was unforeseen, it was Johanna standing her ground with such uncompromising courage. Gone was the timid nervousness. Something had developed throughout the day – a new bravery – and now she was stepping up to protect the kids before Dahl could think of what to do himself.

Dario didn’t relax his trigger finger, but Grant now gave Johanna his full concentration. “You want to save people now? Show your bravery? You are different than before? Or were you hiding your true self? Women.” He snorted. “A man would have to be crazy to take this one on. Are you crazy, Dahl?”

He had always been her protector. Now, she had covered for him.

“My wife is more of a man than you’ll ever be, Nick. And you, Vega. I remember the jungle better than you think. And Nick? What happened between you, the Russians and your family? That’s on your head, not mine.”

Johanna suddenly made a lunge toward Dario. Dahl was astonished at the direction of her charge, as, it seemed, was everyone else. In the flickering dark, lit by patches of moonlight, narrow-bodied torches and the furthest fringes of pooling streetlights, disorder and misperception were Dahl’s allies. Johanna went one way, away from her kids; he ripped free from his captors in the opposite direction. Grant melted into shadow. The remainder became a bellowing, human puzzle.

Johanna plowed into Dario’s ribcage. The gun went off, the bullet tearing a bloody line across his cheek and vanishing into the night. Dario didn’t even moan, the gun now hanging forgotten in his hand. Dahl targeted the men holding his daughters as they sought sight of Vega, unsure what to do next, all the force and intensity that had accumulated inside the suffering father suddenly unleashed. Isabella’s captor jerked away as if hit by a wrecking ball, flying fully three feet before coming to earth. The goon holding Julia didn’t even scream under the force of a blow that almost snapped his neck.

Dahl grabbed his daughters and moved immediately, hoping the darkness would bring at least a modicum of cover. Vega’s men were about to start shooting, and it was important to evaporate, to move among them so they could not fire, to become little more than smoke. Dahl forced his girls under a stall, told them to lie flat, forced away the enormous sense of guilt he felt on leaving them, and then turned back to the battle.

Time to earn that reputation.

TWENTY FIVE

Dahl moved like a tangible patch of madness, separating men and leaving chaos in his wake. No way could he hope to defeat them all, but several new factors leaped to his aid. First, Grant had indeed disappeared, seemingly taking several men with him. Next, Vega — typically — panicked and shouted for everyone to come together. Then men began to trip over the bodies Dahl had already left behind, giving the impression that Vega’s soldiers were dropping faster than a banker’s promise. Finally, those who remained upright were still trying to grasp exactly what was happening.

Dahl punched and kicked and struck hard and fast, avoiding any skirmish as he circled the throng, always moving, never stopping, sidling around one enemy, progressing to the next man. As soon as a combatant became aware of Dahl’s presence, Dahl tried to entangle him with the next man. He made his journey around the periphery last 20 seconds, 30, largely unseen, before Vin even came close to regaining control over his crew. Handguns were waving in all directions, even toward Vin and Vega. Some men thought the departed Grant was Dahl and fired in that direction. The shots rang out clear and resounding, and would draw the police, even beyond those already present.

Last Dahl had seen, Johanna and Dario had slipped out of sight, under a stall. He caught hold of another man’s jacket and pulled him sharply off-balance, forcing him against the next who stumbled and dropped his weapon. Cries of derision broke out. Dahl skipped around the group, then punched out at the only man who saw him, sending him to his knees. Now more heads swiveled, eyes seeking, and Dahl saw that his few moments of free license were well and truly up.

Two gunshots rang out. Dahl saw men duck, but he knew Dario had fired into the air. He could see the boy’s head peering out over the top of the stall where Dahl had stashed the kids. Now was the time. A vast advantage had to be taken from the lack of visibility, the endless, winding hiding places and escape routes, and the level of chaos they had engineered. Thanks to Johanna’s new bravery and Dario’s ongoing aid, they had somehow contrived an escape route.

Dahl placed his future firmly before him and went for it.

TWENTY SIX

Dahl came from behind Vin, believing he had him unawares, but the large bodyguard was ready, rolling at the last moment and sending Dahl flying. Dahl sprawled headlong, but was swift to roll and recover, ready for Vin as the bodyguard descended with a jabbing blade.

Dahl caught the wrist and held tight. The blade stopped in mid-air, four inches from Dahl’s left eye, tremoring with the strain of their struggle.

“Grant and I,” Vin whispered. “We have a deal.”

“I hope is has nothing to do with wrestling and baby oil,” Dahl breathed, trying to inject a little looseness into the tense situation but failing under the bigger man’s brute force.

Vin bore down relentlessly. “No, with your pretty daughters. We’re gonna sell them and split the profit.”

Dahl compressed his body to the side, feeling rough asphalt scrape away flesh but ignoring it, slipping out from beneath Vin and letting the blade drive harmlessly, point-first into the macadam. From his knees, Dahl delivered two lightning punches, but Vin barely moved. The next struck the large man’s temple. Vin grunted. Dahl rose and kicked the man away so that a gap opened up between them.

Only a handful of seconds had passed since they’d come together. Vega was bellowing somewhere, his men casting around with their pinprick flashlights. Shots rang out, but Vega yelled sarcastically at someone to
stop shooting at the fucking moon!

“I don’t think he’s happy with your choice of men,” Dahl said.

Vin lowered his head and tackled Dahl hard around the waist. Dahl was strong enough to hold his ground, much to Vin’s surprise. Dahl smashed elbows down upon the man’s back, then punched in from both sides. Vin pulled back, but Dahl wouldn’t let him go so easily. Two more blows to the side of Vin’s head sent the bodyguard reeling back.

At that moment, the two men Vin had been leading, who’d ranged ahead unaware of the melee behind them, materialized like Halloween ghosts popping up out of the gloom, one of them holding a gun at arm’s length. Dahl immediately pulverized him, not standing on ceremony nor even acknowledging the weapon. It was sometimes better to act without hesitation than allow a situation to take shape. The other man saw his chance and hit him hard.

Vin had recovered. “No way out,” said the bodyguard. “Not this time.”

Dahl throat-punched the second ghost, but Vin was upon him, first ramming him, then staggering Dahl with blows as he tried to recover.

Dahl went to one knee, heart on fire, limbs leaden and screaming, but that single, desperate, horrified voice inside spoke for his children, bawling and hollering and spurring him on. He caught Vin’s roundhouse kick and heaved the man away, gaining a fraction of a second’s respite.

A shot rang out, then another. Vin paused, then stared stunned down at the two red spots that began to bloom across the white shirt that stretched across his chest.

Then he looked up, mouth falling open. “You?” he gasped. “Again?”

Dario stood behind his bodyguard, pistol still pointed at the big man’s torso. The youth had shot his mentor again, and this time his enemy wasn’t coming back.

Vin collapsed, a pool of blood forming quickly around him on the street. Dahl quickly finished off the other two men so Dario wouldn’t have to step up again, then rifled through Vin’s clothing for a gun.

“Why didn’t you shoot him?” Johanna wondered, peering up from under the table and looking a little confused.

The British phrase
my head’s a shed
didn’t do her question justice. How could he tell her that in any other situation he’d have taken a gun and dispatched Vin from behind in less time than it took to blink? That, if you started with two-parts danger and then added family to the mix all you ended up with was a blend of second-guessing and low confidence and a head full of churning blades – each a conflicting thought whipping from side to side?

“I . . . wasn’t thinking right.” He breathed, but then reached out a hand to his wife and children. “What you did, Jo,” he said. “Was brave beyond belief. I—”

Dario spun. “We have to run.” And I need one of these guys’ shirts.”

Of course, their pursuers wouldn’t stop. They would be ranging out now, aiming torches in the direction of the gunfire and striding toward the spot. Vega would be among them – Dahl couldn’t see any figures; they were too far away – but there was no way he’d let this lie now.