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

He paused at the doorway, drew one of his pistols, and looked out into the next room.

Four dead guards lay strewn on the floor.

A man shouted from the top of a staircase dead ahead. The guard was only able to raise his weapon a few inches before a charging Dak unleashed three rapid shots, two striking the man in the chest. The guard lurched forward and tipped over the railing. He hit the floor with a smack and didn't move.

Dak rushed around the next corner, heading for the stairs that led down to the basement; his escape route. Headlights shone into the room through the front doors, and Dak knew that Marco and his men had arrived.

Slowing to a stop, Dak waited at the corner, knowing that the thirty feet to the stairs would give the cartel thugs an easy line of sight. He peeked around and noted the two alcoves along the right-hand wall. The stairs were along the left wall, halfway to the foyer. It wasn’t much, but they would give him a chance to take cover as he advanced.

The front door opened, and footfalls followed by the dozens.

Colorado, Dak thought. I have to get to Colorado.

He waited until the last second, drawing one of the two remaining pistols strapped to his left side, and stepped out.

The charging men didn't have time to stop. They unwittingly sprinted into a death funnel with Dak Harper at the nozzle.

He unloaded on them at a deadly close range. His fingers twitched. The suppressor barrels puffed bursts of smoke. Bullets tore through flesh and skull as Dak took no prisoners, going for headshots to every one of the cartel soldiers. Few missed the target, even fewer missed at least a part of a henchman.

The bodies hit the floor all around him and none of the attackers even reacted until the fourth wave. Even they were too slow as Dak finished the contents of one magazine and drew the last loaded pistol. Ten more men fell as they ran ahead into the deadly hail.

By the sixth wave, the cartel soldiers realized they were being cut down, and they retreated to the foyer to take cover behind the walls on either side. Thirty men lay in several heaps on the floor, leaving a trail of death to the entrance.

Dak felt no remorse, no emotion at the grisly sight. These men had killed innocent people, killed others like them, all without regard. They'd tortured and maimed, helped run deadly drugs to untold thousands, perhaps more.

Their lives, in his mind, were forfeit.

He looked out through the open doorway at a man in a black shirt and matching cargo pants. He stood like a king among pawns, and Dak knew it had to be Marco. He could see the confusion on Marco's face, the lack of recognition at this stranger who had killed so many of his men with such ruthless efficiency.

Dak dropped the empty pistol in his right hand and moved it to support the left, which held his remaining handgun. The AR-15 still had some rounds in the magazine, and he had spares for that, along with more rounds for the pistol.

Marco was barely within range, and Dak knew hitting a target precisely from that far away would be difficult.

The stairs were ten feet away to his left. He could rush to them, but Marco would send his men after him. And because he worked for Mendoza, it was likely Marco could go around and cut him off.

Dak made a quick decision. He fired the pistol at Marco, who abruptly lost the stupid grin on his face and dove to the side of the entrance. Marco's men popped out from cover and opened fire. Dak leaped into the alcove to his right, knocking over a vase in the process. The expensive blue and white pottery shattered on the floor at his feet.

"Oops," he muttered.

He shoved his empty pistol back into its holster and grabbed the flash-bang from his vest. He pulled the pin and waited for the gunfire to cease. When it did, he whipped his arm around the corner and tossed the device down the corridor.

It slid to a stop just a few feet into the foyer and then exploded.

The searing white light flashed through the hallway. It blinded every gunman in the entryway. Dak stepped out into the open and saw the henchmen staggering around, rubbing their eyes. Marco stumbled through the doorway and tripped on the threshold. He fell clumsily to the floor and clawed at the tiles to get up.

Dak plucked the last grenade from his vest and pulled the pin as he stepped over the bodies and headed toward the stairs. Sirens echoed from the valley beyond the open doorway, and he knew the fire department was on their way, along with a few curious—and probably corrupt—cops.

Dak lobbed the grenade down the hallway and rushed into the stairwell. He didn't see the explosive as it rolled to a stop in front of Marco just as the man's eyes began to clear from the blinding light. Dak only heard a split-second "Ah" before the blast killed the cartel enforcer and sent deadly shrapnel through the bodies of the remaining forces.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, Dak looked in both directions, keeping his AR-15 ahead of him, and searched the corridor until he found the boardroom Luis had described.

Dak ran around to the head of the conference table where he assumed Mendoza usually sat and ran his fingers under the heavy wood. He found the button exactly where he would put it if he were a drug lord in need of a quick exit. He pressed the button and the wall behind him slid open, rotating away from the table and into a dark tunnel. Lights flickered on along the cinderblock walls.

He stepped inside and found another button on the wall near the doorway. When he pressed it, the secret door swung closed again.

Dak took a deep breath and swallowed hard. More heavy breaths