Outlaws by Matt Rogers (phonics books TXT) 📕

She said, ‘You’ve told me about the concussions. About the gunshot wounds, the stab wounds, the beatings and broken bones. It happens time after time because they put you in impossible situations. Where’s your breaking point?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Do you want to reach it? You know it’s coming. Do you want to hit it and fall apart on the job, or call it a day and tell yourself you’ve done enough?’

‘Do you have an answer?’

‘It’s not my place to answer for you.’

‘But I’m a part of your life. A large part. You should have a say.’

‘Not with this,’ she said. ‘This is you.’

He went quiet.

She said, ‘Otherwise you’ll second-guess yourself. This needs to come from you and you alone.’

Silence.

She said, ‘We have a few days here. Don’t decide now.’

The silence drew out, and he sensed her close her eyes and drift away, utterly spent from the evening’s activities. He followed suit, but a moment before he went out, he thought, I’ve been thinking about this for weeks. I have decided.

He just didn’t know if he wanted to say it out loud.

Because that would make it real.

11

The next morning, King watched grey dawn creep into Manhattan’s skyline from the porthole window of Donati’s private jet.

It was a Gulfstream G550 with a maximum capacity of nineteen passengers and a price tag of $42 million. Donati Group owned it outright, having purchased it with excess cash three years earlier to outmanoeuvre a tricky year-end tax problem. Even though King had enough money himself for ten lifetimes, this was still a foreign world to him.

But he was barely fixated on the opulence of flying private.

All his situational awareness was on the six Veloce Security Services bodyguards dotting the interior of the jet.

They were taking turns eyeing him off — a foolhardy attempt to establish themselves as the top dogs. King didn’t have time for a second of it. He hadn’t even bothered to introduce himself. They knew who he was — they hadn’t questioned him as he’d pulled up with Donati in the town car.

They’d simply stared, and stewed.

King had no problem with either of those reactions. He was used to getting shot, cut, beaten. As long as they weren’t trading blows, he couldn’t care less what they thought about him. They were a diverse group — three were white, one was black, and two were Asian. They were equally well-built, and they carried themselves with poise. There wasn’t a shred of nerves on any of their features. They were used to keeping their cool in stressful situations. To the ordinary civilian, they were tough, scary men.

To King, they were amateurs.

He put himself in the shoes of an adversary, and brainstormed a million ways he could slip through the security detail to get to Donati. He figured a simple fake-out would do the trick. Approach one of them on the streets of Moscow, feigning ignorance, perhaps hiding behind the language barrier. Take advantage of a second’s hesitation to spin the first guy around, use him as a human shield to drop three of them with a semi-automatic pistol, clearing a path to Donati’s forehead. Then put a single piece of lead through his skull and worry about the rest of the opposition afterwards.

Simple enough.

All the combat training in the world can be rendered useless by the ability to swiftly generate chaos.

King had been living in chaos his whole career.

Donati lowered his bulk into the seat beside King, which sure didn’t help his reputation with the rest of the protection detail. They saw their boss cosying up to the new guy and refused to hide their disgust.

King ignored them.

When the silence of the idling jet gave way to the low rumble of the pilot warming up the engines for take-off, Donati used the opportunity for a discreet conversation.

‘Are you wondering why I haven’t armed you?’ he said.

King looked around. ‘No one’s armed.’

‘We’re flying private,’ Donati said, ‘but that doesn’t make me omnipotent.’

‘There’s still customs to worry about,’ King said, stating the obvious.

‘Don’t worry. We won’t be without weapons for long. I have a man on the ground in Moscow.’

King didn’t react.

Donati said, ‘I’m waiting for your questions.’

‘I don’t have any.’

‘You’re not concerned about the legality?’

‘Does it look like I’m concerned about the legality?’

‘Attaboy.’

‘You afraid I’m going to rat you out?’

‘I must admit, the thought crossed my mind.’

‘Why?’

Donati stared, making a silent judgment call.

Then he made it, and said, ‘My man on the ground is a small-time arms dealer. There are warrants out for his arrest. A few years ago, before my first trip to Moscow, I put out feelers on the dark web and got in touch with him. Does that bother you?’

King smirked.

‘I asked you a question.’

King turned to look at the big man. ‘A small-time arms dealer is the least of my concerns.’

‘You mean that?’

‘Why would it bother me?’

Donati nodded, satisfied. ‘That’s what I like to hear.’

King fell quiet. He’d been about to add, As long as you’re doing the right thing.

But he figured he’d see for himself.

Then he could decide.

The Gulfstream lifted off, and as King’s stomach fell he said, ‘I need you to know something.’

Donati looked over. ‘Yes?’

‘I can’t go into detail, but this is a side gig for me. I’m usually preoccupied twenty-four-seven with my main job. I was granted leave to do this for you on one condition.’

Donati raised an eyebrow.

King said, ‘I’m on call. This whole time. If shit hits the fan back home, I’ll bail. I’m warning you in advance.’

Donati stared.

King said, ‘Does that bother you?’

‘Somewhat.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

‘I’m paying you a lot of money for your undivided attention.’

‘Firstly, you’re not. My other job pays ten times as much. Secondly, I’m what you might consider a last resort in that job. So if the call comes, you’re sure as hell going to want to let me answer it. Because the consequences won’t be good if I don’t.’

Donati said, ‘If you bail, I’ll be vulnerable.’

King made a sweeping gesture. ‘What do you pay