At the top of the stairs leading to the Buffalo Bar’s second floor stood a heavy blast-resistant steel door.
John pressed the buzzer beside it, and after a moment, a narrow observation slot slid open from the other side.
Whoever was standing behind the door recognized him immediately, and several locks clicked before the entrance swung inward.
The second floor was far larger than Orion had expected, occupying almost the entire upper level of the connected building.
There were no exterior windows, and the walls had been reinforced with thick concrete, giving the place more in common with a bunker than a neighborhood bar.
Exercise equipment filled one section, a full boxing ring occupied another, and behind reinforced glass stood an armory containing an impressive collection of rifles, shotguns, pistols, ammunition, and tactical gear.
“This is our team’s base,” John explained as he led Orion deeper inside.
“We also use it as a safe house when a job goes bad or somebody needs somewhere secure to disappear for a while.” At the far end of the floor stood the only enclosed meeting room, and John pushed open the door without bothering to knock.
“Captain.” “Boss.” The three people sitting inside immediately stood when John entered, although their attention quickly shifted toward Orion.
They had already been told that John planned to bring in a potential new teammate, and for people whose lives could depend on one another during armed jobs, this meeting was effectively an interview for both sides.
Combat work was nothing like an ordinary job where one weak employee merely lowered productivity.
A single unreliable teammate could expose an entire position, miss critical timing, or turn a difficult operation into a disaster.
John’s group therefore cared far more about competence and temperament than whether someone had an impressive résumé on paper.
“Orion, meet the team.” John gestured toward the first man.
“Heavy weapons specialist Kisch, callsign Bull.
Our pilot and driver is Sander, callsign Drunkard, and the lady with the knife is Talia, callsign Black Snake.” Kisch was a large, heavily tattooed man with dark skin and thick dreadlocks, casually rolling a large-caliber cartridge between his fingers.
Sander was a short, broad redhead nearing sixty who seemed perfectly content to drink beer during a team meeting.
Talia, the only woman present, wore dark eye makeup and slowly turned a black combat knife between her fingers, giving Orion the immediate impression of a snake watching from tall grass.
Heavy weapons, pilot, and sniper.
Orion understood immediately why John had been so eager to recruit him.
The group had specialists for long-range shooting, transportation, and heavy firepower, while John himself appeared to handle command and coordination.
What they lacked was a dedicated assault operator capable of taking the lead in close, violent situations.
“Guys, this is Orion Locke,” John said, giving Orion a hard slap on the shoulder.
“Former Naval Special Warfare.
Twelve years.” That final detail changed the atmosphere in the room.
All three members had military backgrounds of their own, so merely hearing that Orion had served with an elite unit wasn’t enough to impress them.
Twelve years continuously operating in a high-risk special operations environment, however, was different.
People could survive one or two dangerous deployments through training and luck, but lasting more than a decade usually meant they were exceptionally capable.
“Twelve years?” Kisch repeated while studying Orion more carefully.
His expression suddenly changed as recognition appeared in his eyes.
“Wait a second.
Orion Locke?” Orion raised an eyebrow.
Kisch leaned forward excitedly.
“The Crusher?
The guy they called the Hexagonal Warrior?” John chuckled and pulled out a chair.
“Looks like I don’t have to introduce him after all.” “You know him?” Sander asked, genuinely surprised by Kisch’s reaction.
He knew the heavy weapons specialist well enough to understand that Kisch was usually arrogant about his own abilities and rarely showed admiration toward anyone.
Seeing him react like an excited fan immediately made Sander more interested in their new guest.
Kisch grinned.
“You guys remember Nightmare?” Sander’s expression immediately tightened.
“The Colombian Nightmare?” Even Talia, who had remained almost completely indifferent until now, stopped playing with her knife.
Being Colombian herself, she had grown up hearing stories about the infamous underground fighter and had a very good understanding of how dangerous he was.
“The same Nightmare who dominated those underground no-rules tournaments?” “That one.” Kisch pointed toward Orion.
“Nightmare was considered one of the best underground fighters alive and even won the second Ultimate Fighter championship.
Then the idiot picked a fight with Orion and injured one of his teammates.” Sander looked between them.
“And?” Kisch laughed.
“Orion beat him so badly that people in the underground circuit started calling him the Crusher afterward.
That’s where the reputation came from.
There were even idiots calling him the strongest close-quarters fighter on Earth.” “Enough.” Orion shook his head with a faint smile.
“You’re making it sound more dramatic than it was.” “Not really,” Kisch replied immediately.
Sander laughed and passed Orion a beer.
“Well, John, looks like you actually brought us the assault specialist we’ve been missing.” In their line of work, having a stronger teammate meant a greater chance of everyone making it home alive, so whatever reservations he had possessed disappeared rapidly.
Talia finally sheathed her knife and stood.
“Talia.
Most people here call me Black Snake.” She extended her hand toward Orion with a serious expression.
“Good to have you.” Orion shook it.
“Likewise.” “Then that settles it.” John stood and lifted his beer.
“To Orion joining the team.” The bottles came together with several sharp clinks, and the atmosphere inside the room relaxed considerably.
John was especially pleased because each member of the group had enough experience and pride to be extremely selective about new teammates.
Orion being accepted without an argument saved him from what could otherwise have become several days of testing and pointless posturing.
After finishing his beer, Sander set the empty bottle aside and looked toward John.
“You said yesterday we had a serious job coming in tonight.
What exactly are we dealing with?” “Relax.” John checked his watch.
“The client’s representative should be here any minute.” As if summoned by his words, John’s phone rang.
He answered, listened for a few seconds, and said, “Yeah.
Bring them upstairs.” After hanging up, he stood and opened the meeting-room door while everyone else settled back into their seats.
A few moments later, one of the men from downstairs entered and stepped aside.
Behind him stood a slender gray-haired man in his forties wearing an expensive tailored suit, followed by a broad-shouldered bodyguard carrying an unconscious man dressed in a hospital gown.
A dark hood had been pulled over the patient’s head, making the already unusual entrance even more suspicious.
“This is Mr.
Lucero,” John said while pulling out a chair.
“He represents the client.” Lucero sat down calmly and looked around the room before offering a restrained smile.
“So this is the famous Bison team.
It’s good to finally meet you.” “Likewise,” John replied.
“Captain John, I should clarify one thing before we begin.” Lucero folded his hands across the table.
“I’m not the actual client.
I’m here on behalf of my employer, Mr.
Peters, and my job is to provide whatever assistance your team requires to complete the assignment.” “Peters?” Kisch frowned before recognition struck him.
“You mean the Peters who owns Greenfield Biotech?” “That’s correct,” Lucero answered.
The room’s atmosphere changed immediately.
Greenfield Biotech wasn’t one of America’s pharmaceutical giants, but throughout northern Louisiana it was a major corporation with research facilities, manufacturing interests, and business connections extending through Monroe and surrounding cities.
Its founder, Richard Peters, was rumored to possess a personal fortune worth several billion dollars.
A man with that kind of resources usually had access to corporate security, private investigators, attorneys, and political influence long before he needed a small mercenary team operating above a neighborhood bar.
Orion leaned back slightly and watched Lucero.
The others had also become much more alert, their casual expressions disappearing almost at once.
If someone as wealthy as Peters had come looking for men like John instead of hiring ordinary security professionals, then whatever happened was unlikely to be legal, simple, or clean.
Lucero reached into his jacket and removed a photograph.
“Mr.
Peters’s daughter has been kidnapped.” He placed the picture in the center of the table.
“Her name is Elena Peters.” Orion’s eyes immediately shifted toward the photograph.
The name had already sounded strangely familiar, and the face confirmed it.
The young brunette smiling in the picture was unmistakably the same Elena who had been traveling with Jay, Jenny, and Rosen only a day earlier.
She had stood beside Orion inside the cannibals’ cabin and followed him into the basement before leaving to get Rosen medical treatment.
Orion’s expression remained calm, but his interest in the job increased considerably.
John tapped his pipe lightly against the table.
“Mr.
Lucero, no disrespect, but if Mr.
Peters’s daughter was kidnapped, why are you coming to us?
That’s what the police and FBI are for.” Lucero’s expression didn’t change.
“The police?” He gave a quiet, humorless laugh and shook his head.
“No, Captain.” Lucero’s eyes gradually hardened.
“My employer’s instructions are very clear.
The people who dared to kidnap Miss Peters aren’t supposed to be arrested.” He paused briefly before finishing.
“They’re supposed to die.” (End of Chapter) 500 = +1 Chapter] [Review Goal: 10 = +1 Chapter]