Page 12 of Exit Strategy
Kurt…
The Hollywood mansion wasn’t the first war zone I had walked into, but it was the most upscale, and the least lethal. I entered the house and immediately heard screaming and ranting. Arik was under a full head of steam and was spouting lines from his less successful films. I knew enough of his filmography to know that the movies he was quoting were the ones that held more or less to the New Eden philosophy, a green and pure earth, all that shit, and had tanked. Critically panned, or the thing that filled him with bile, his Raspberry nominations, and awards.
When I stepped into what amounted to Callie’s recreation area, the scene was shocking. She was face down against the overpriced sofa; blood smeared across it. There was more blood all over the carpet, and it was obvious whose it was. Arik turned to face me, his face a mask of ruddy rage, eyes bulging and bloodshot. He clenched his fists around the base of one of his awards, an angel made of gold. There was blood on it, and the wings were damaged. Had he struck her with that?
I moved quickly, my first instinct being to discount him as a threat and the need to assess if Calanthe was still fucking alive. A human being could take a lot of damage and keep moving. She might have been a wisp of a thing, but that meant she had to be tough, have some core of iron inside her.
She wouldn’t have lasted with Arik Rex otherwise.
I felt him approach me, before I could kneel next to her. She was breathing, ragged, and hitched. She was sobbing. “Callie?” I asked, and she recoiled from the sound of my voice.
That meant she wasn’t dead and didn’t need CPR or the defib machine that hung in the hallway linens’ closet. Arik was filled with the sort of rage that only celebrities seemed to possess. It made sense, really, they were never held accountable for their actions. Men like Arik Rex could commit felonies, and at the end of the judicial system, their victims would end up in jail.
The golden angel struck me in the shoulder, near the base of the neck, and it sounded like Arik was screaming at me like my name was Quintus, or Jenner? I wasn’t sure. I rolled with the hit, away from Callie’s prostrate form, and across the carpet. I needed the space, and a few seconds to figure out what I was going to do.
Draw my sidearm? No good. He was full of himself, and if I shot him, I went to jail. I went to jail for a long time.
I couldn’t strike him, and if I did, I couldn’t leave a single mark on him. A jury would see a discharged Royal Marine sitting across from the man that they loved through two dozen movies, voice-over jobs, and several famous cartoon characters. I would be treated like a third world dictator caught trying to flee his own country.
I rose, adopted a fighting stance, and beckoned for Arik to come at me.
He took a step, and then a second, his eyes glazed with a rage that seemed unnatural. I had seen eyes like that before, but they were buried in the face of a man who had spent months living cave to cave, carrying nothing but a rifle and his own fury, to fight the Western world for invading his country.
It was surreal seeing that same intensity in the eyes of a man who had a personal esthetician on staff around the clock. He brandished the damaged angel at me – a heavy, poorly balanced, misshapen club.
“I’ll destroy you, boy,” Arik hissed through his teeth. I felt the urge to smash those perfectly pearly whites down his throat but knew that couldn’t happen.
“I’m not afraid of a man who cares what the Dees onTMIsay or cried when the Man with the Golden Thumb approved of his pet miniseries,” I said. The taunt struck and he gave a shout and lunged with the poorly shaped improvised weapon. Basic hand-to-hand and self-defense would have served him better than all of the Hollywood choreographers and stunt coordinators had. I struck inside his wrist, forcing him to drop the gold-plated monstrosity to the floor.
There were a half-dozen moves I could have followed the disarming with, but I couldn’t. This was a challenge because I knew I couldn’t leave any marks on him; nothing he could use as evidence of assault. One bruise could be enough. I let his lunge pass me. Instead of any of the throws, leg sweeps, or actual close quarter combat, or CQC, I knew to be effective, I grabbed him by the belt and the back of his custom-fit overpriced polo. He gave a choked scream, and immediately threw an elbow back. I took the hit on the shoulder, a solid one at that.
He twisted to try throwing his Hollywood haymaker at me.
Bad angle, no momentum, but still caught me in the side of the head and broke my sunglasses.
He screamed something too. He could scream all he wanted. What staff was here bunkered down or hid when he was in a rage like this, and no one called the police in this household. That mistake had been made once, and from what I’d heard, that poor woman had been deported to San Salvador. She wasn’t from San Salvador, she was from Wisconsin, born and raised. His lawyers were either just that crooked or just that good, as were all his connections.
I took another blow to the cheek before I could get an arm under his to pull him into a grapple. We both went to the ground, and I took the force of the fall. The glass-top table cracked, and then broke. The glass part had the decency to not shatter until it was already against the floor. Arik flailed, but I stayed wrapped around him and worked until I could loop an arm around his neck, and then pulled him into a sleeper choke hold.
Thankfully, the screaming and ranting stopped, but he kept throwing body blows with his elbows, and kicking. But cut off from breathing, he started running out of steam really fucking fast. His last few seconds of activity was all body tension and clawing at my arm around his neck. At this point, the cocksucker should be graying out, or seeing spots in his vision, all that fury kicking his ass harder than I had. I felt him tremble, flail a few more times, and then he went limp.
I kept the hold for a few more seconds. I had seen a particularly salty American Marine come out of a quick release choke hold like an absolute bear. Later, I found out he liked to fake going limp, and when the hold was released, jacking up the guy who got him down. He was a hell of a wrestler.
I rolled Arik off of me and pulled myself to sit against the sofa.
Callie was still breathing, thank fucking fuck. I contemplated a smoke but decided that wasn’t the best use of my time. I would be better served checking myself and getting her back on her feet, and out of this place. When I tried to move her, she shrieked. It was an ear-piercing sound, but God only knew what sort of condition she was in. I pulled her upright, and her head rolled on her shoulders. Her eyes were closed. The bruises were going to be hideous when they fully bloomed. She guttered out a thick sob.
“Oh, no, love. You’re safe. I’ve got you now,” I said, but I don’t know that she heard me. She went slack in my arms, going unconscious. “Well fuck,” I grunted.
I picked her up like she was a child, surprisingly light in my arms, and carried her out of the crime scene. I was thankful she was light; my neck hurt, and I could feel my back sticky with blood. The table? The award? I wasn’t sure, but it didn’t matter at this point. Forward action, always forward action. I sat her down in the front foyer, in an overstuffed chair that seemed more decorative than for sitting. She had several shawls and stoles in the front closet, and those would be useful for keeping her warm, and hiding her injuries for the time being.
What a fucking arse he was, striking a woman as beautiful as her.Bloody hell, to strike any woman!
Disgusting.
I took one of Arik’s oversized coats meant to fit over his full costume off the back of a chair and pulled it on, concealing the worst of the blood. I needed to get her out of here, getusout of here. I had a plan earlier, and it had seemed like a good plan, but that was before the fight, before several hits to the head, and definitely before there was a woman beaten bloody. Fuck all, what was I doing? There was the Little Free Clinic a few miles from here, but they might recognize her. I couldn’t stay. We couldn’t stay. My mind was starting to chase its own tail.
Forward action. I opened the door, picked up Callie, and carried her out to the sedan. It took almost everything I had to get the back door open and her inside without dropping her or setting her down next to the car. It was awkward as fuck getting her settled in, and once I shut the door, I looked up to see two of the housekeepers standing in the doorway of the house.
