The Relic Runner Origin Story Box Set by Ernest Dempsey (non fiction books to read TXT) 📕

could without sacrificing speed, he circled the rise until he reached a giant tree. He stopped for a second behind the wide trunk, stole a look up at the building again, and darted toward the wall.

The run was only fifty yards, but it felt like a thousand. Every second ticked by like a hammer blow. Dak feared someone in the building would see him, or that maybe the guard from the front balcony would—for some reason—appear at the nearest corner as he looped around.

None of that happened and Dak skidded to a stop on the tile walkway surrounding the building.

He pressed his back against the wall and shuffled his feet to the corner on the eastern side of the house toward the entrance. His approach had come from the northern side, allowing him to get a good view of the front and the back, though up to the point the assault team left, he hadn't seen any guards on the front side.

Dak knew that wasn't going to last, and that it was only a matter of time until more men were deployed to keep watch of the entrance.

Leaning into the wall, Dak waited for a moment, listening. He heard a silent click, the tap of a shoe on hard stone. Just as he'd suspected. A guard approached. Dak retreated to the side and waited.

The guard appeared within two seconds. The man's head was turned to the left, looking out over the property. He didn't notice Dak until his periphery caught movement.

By then it was too late.

Dak plunged the hunting knife up through the man's throat and into his head. He twisted the tip slightly, killing the guard instantly, and then yanked the blade out. The guard fell to the ground with a quiet thump. Dak pulled the body to the side to hide it from anyone in the front of the mansion. Then he stripped the man's radio out of his ear and put it in his right ear. After he wiped the blade clean on the dead guard's shirt, he circled back to the rear of the building, satisfied—at least for the moment—that he wouldn't face an attack from the front.

He sheathed the blade when he reached the second corner and raised his AR-15. The suppressor attached to the barrel would conceal most of the sound, though not all. It would have to do.

Calling on his memory of where the two guards were stationed by the door, he stepped out with the AR-15 already braced against his shoulder. The red dot lined up with the farthest guard’s head. Dak moved forward, his knees absorbing the shock of each step to keep his aim steady. He squeezed the trigger. The click preceded a pink mist exploding from the side of the guard's head.

As the man toppled sideways, the nearest guard turned his head to see what happened to his partner. Before he could turn to face the unseen threat, a second bullet bore through the back of his skull near the base of his neck.

He fell next to his partner as if someone had shoved him in the back.

Dak picked up his speed and rushed toward the doors, skirting under the view of huge windows along the way.

When he reached the rear entrance, he paused, double-checked the two guards with a nudge of his right boot, and pulled on the latch.

The door swung open easily, and he stepped inside.

Dak swept the room with his weapon. A couch to the right near a fireplace, a grand piano to the left, and a staircase winding up to the next level exposed no new threat. That wouldn't last long. The next patrol could be seconds away.

He eased the door shut and hurried to the left, past the piano and into a study.

Dak stopped at the threshold where two dark wooden doors led into the room. He checked the left first where shelves filled with books wrapped around a sitting area. He continued his scan, whipping the weapon around to the right.

He froze.

There, behind an ornate desk, sat Mendoza. The drug lord's head drooped onto his right shoulder, a bullet hole through his temple.

Standing next to him, Luis held a pistol with a suppressor attached to the barrel.

Fourteen

Uruapan

Luis sensed the intruder and snapped his pistol up, aiming it at a lethal pair of jade eyes that he'd seen so many times before.

Dak kept the red dot squarely over Luis’ heart.

"Dak?" Luis spoke the word, befuddled. "What are you doing here?"

"We both know what I'm doing here, Luis."

The bitter scent of smoke lingered in the room, hovering near Luis and the dead man, then gradually made its way across the room to where Dak stood.

Luis inclined his head. "Ah. You came to kill me? Is that it?"

"Very astute of you."

The red dot in the sight never wavered from the white button-up shirt his old friend wore. The rest of the ensemble looked exactly like what you would expect a drug lord's lackey to wear—beige linen pants and expensive, brown leather shoes.

"How did you get in here?" Luis asked.

Dak cocked his head to the side. "Do you really have to ask, Luis? How many years did we serve together?"

"True." Luis lowered his weapon; resignation filled his face.

Hesitation crept into Dak's mind, and he didn't know why. "That Mendoza?" He knew the answer, but he wanted to keep Luis talking.

"Yes."

"Why did you kill him? You taking over the cartel? Have you really turned so far to the dark side that this is who you've become?"

"No," Luis said quickly, almost too quickly. He shook his head and repeated the answer. "No. I don't want to have anything to do with it anymore."

Dak searched Luis for the truth. It covered the man's long-drawn face, eyes full of regret, and a hint of deep sadness.

"It was the only way," Luis continued, "to keep my parents safe, my relatives. My cooperation with Mendoza meant they wouldn't be in danger."

"Doesn't sound like you thought that through," Dak said.

"Maybe. Maybe not. But he's