Outlaws by Matt Rogers (phonics books TXT) 📕

Which made the guy crumple, because he hadn’t been bracing for a two hundred plus pound weight slamming down onto the small of his back. He was leaning just far enough into the car for his throat to smash against the sill, which eliminated any chance of offering resistance, because you can’t aim a gun when you’re gasping for air and paralysed by the pain. He fell away from the sedan in literal agony, hands flying to his throat, convinced his airways were restricted and he was on the verge of death. King had landed alongside him, and opted to take the man’s terror away by pivoting onto his side and slamming an elbow down against the guy’s forehead. It was a move he’d practically perfected, and it turned the lights out like clockwork.

King scrabbled to his feet, threw open the rear driver’s-side door of the rented sedan, and hauled the unconscious man to his feet. He threw him over one shoulder, stepped forward, and dropped him across the rear seats, where he splayed with all four limbs going in separate directions. It was crude but efficient.

King rounded the hood, repeated the over-the-shoulder manoeuvre with the other guy, and dropped him on top of his friend, both of them mutually disoriented. You don’t stay unconscious for long, so they were both coming too, but they were concussed. They were fundamentally useless.

King collected their weapons and threw them through the now-open passenger window.

The driver was already out of the sedan. He levered to his feet in the middle of the street, took off his sunglasses, and placed them on the driver’s seat. He was short, fat, and older than he looked.

King said, ‘Thank you. If you want to keep that money, then you never saw me.’

‘Saw who?’ the old guy said with a reassuring wink.

He swaggered away from the scene, and didn’t look back once.

King had found him on the street and offered him five grand to drive up, sit there, and act confused.

Money well spent.

He got behind the wheel, reversed a few dozen feet, and turned the nose of the rental car into the laneway beside the apartment complex. As soon as the sedan was off the street, he pulled into the shadows under the lee of the awnings and stamped on the brakes. The glove compartment popped open all on its own, and King reached across the centre console and fetched the four rolls of duct tape he’d picked up from a hardware store.

He’d yet to find a more efficient way to restrain a resisting foe.

He got out and set to work tying up his two hostages.

Two down.

Two to go.

61

Slater was dead inside.

There was no other way to put it.

He thought he’d felt dread before. He thought he knew what it meant to be totally, overwhelmingly crushed. Now he realised he’d never come close. He’d never reached the bottom of the barrel. He’d been down in the depths, but there was a world of difference between what he’d experienced in the past and what he experienced now. It was worse than learning of Ruby’s death. It was worse than anything.

Because Alexis was here, in front of him, her face open, her eyes trusting.

And he was going to have to ruin her life.

He stood up. She backed off a step, confused by his brashness, and then she saw his eyes. They were wet, but he hadn’t teared up with sadness.

It was rage.

She said, ‘What is it?’

His face softened. He said, ‘I’m so sorry.’

She stared at him, uncomprehending.

He said, ‘This was all a mistake.’

Silence.

He said, ‘I need to go back.’

It didn’t compute. ‘What?’

He pointed to the laptop. ‘All this was futile. The accounts were just the beginning. They’ll have us surrounded within days. They run the country, Alexis. They’re all-seeing, all-knowing.’

She took a shaky step to the nearest armchair and put her hand on top of it to steady herself. The blood drained from her face. ‘Will…’

‘I communicated with them,’ he said. ‘They said, if I came back, they wouldn’t touch you. You can go back to your old life. You can pretend none of this ever happened. You can still … have a life. I can’t.’

He refused to reveal the truth.

If she knew her family’s lives hung in the balance, she would carry that paranoia forever. She didn’t deserve the burden.

He would shoulder it.

All of it.

He always had.

Her face had collapsed, but she was still able to bottle her emotions. She said, ‘What about everything we talked about? What about us?’

He said, ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Will.’

He took a step backwards. Away from her. Getting closer to the door.

She said, ‘No.’

It’d make it a thousand times harder if he left her with a good impression. Internally he was broken, destroyed, torn to pieces. He couldn’t let it show. If she had fond memories of him, she’d be more likely to try and throw herself back into his world — whether she was looking for him, or information in the wake of his death. It was the hardest decision of his life. He could see the love in her eyes, and below that, the horrors of betrayal.

She said, ‘Please, Will. There’s a way through this. You know there is. Don’t give up. Please.’

He tried to respond, but couldn’t.

He took another step back.

Her face contorted, and her shoulders slumped, and she had to put both hands on the chair back to stop herself from crumbling.

He said, ‘I’m sorry. There’s no other choice. There’s no point us both dying.’

She couldn’t answer.

He said, ‘If you love me…’

She looked up.

‘…live a good life. Do the things you want to do. Make it worth it.’

‘Where has this come from?!’

She screamed the last two words.

He shut himself off. Emotionally, mentally, spiritually. The more he tried to explain, the more it would hurt.

What could he say?

If we keep this up, your family will die. Innocent people will be butchered. People who have nothing to do with this. And then they’ll probably get us, too, to top