“Guys, this one isn’t going to be easy.” John didn’t immediately touch the check Lucello had placed on the table, instead looking seriously at every member of the Bison team.
“The Collector is a psychopath who enjoys killing, and judging from that nightclub, he knows how to build complicated mechanical traps.
Wherever he’s keeping Elena is probably filled with the same kind of shit, which means one careless step could get somebody killed.” John paused before continuing, “So if anyone wants out, say it now.
Nobody here is going to hold it against you.” Except for Orion, everyone on the Bison team had family waiting for them at home, and John never forgot that fact before accepting a dangerous contract.
Sander had a granddaughter approaching middle-school age, Kisch had a wife and children, while Talia supported a younger brother who was preparing for college and was the greatest source of pride in her life.
“I’m in,” Sander answered first, his usual lazy expression disappearing.
“I’d rather put this bastard in the ground than spend the next ten years wondering if my granddaughter might someday cross paths with him.” Kisch and Talia raised their hands almost immediately afterward, both accepting the risk as well as the two-hundred-thousand-dollar share they would receive if the mission succeeded.
Orion naturally had no objection.
In fact, beneath his calm expression was a small amount of anticipation because he hoped the Collector might turn out to be something more than an ordinary serial killer.
If the man possessed some abnormal Life Level or mutation, Orion might gain Special Energy from killing him.
“All right.” John finally picked up the check and slipped it away before turning toward Lucello.
“Last question.
How exactly are we supposed to find him?” “I think I can get you there,” Arkin suddenly said.
Everyone turned toward him as he slowly rolled up his sleeve.
His forearm was covered with numerous scars, some old and others far more recent, but several had clearly been made deliberately rather than caused by the Collector’s traps.
Arkin ran his fingers across them before explaining, “When he kidnapped me, he stuffed me inside a trunk, so I couldn’t see where we were going.
Every time I counted to a certain point, I cut another mark into my arm, and I used different marks whenever the vehicle stopped or made a major turn.” John leaned forward slightly.
“If you blindfold me and drive from where I was taken,” Arkin continued, “I can reconstruct the route from the timing and turns.
I might not remember every street name, but I can get us close enough to recognize the place.” Orion glanced at the scars with a little more respect.
Arkin might have been a career thief, but his survival instincts were exceptional, especially considering that he had thought clearly enough to record the route while trapped inside the Collector’s custody.
Someone without that level of composure probably wouldn’t have survived him in the first place.
“Good enough.” John pushed himself out of his chair.
“Everybody gear up.
We leave in thirty minutes.” The team moved into the armory and began selecting the equipment they were most accustomed to using.
Orion looked across the racks while silently admiring what John had managed to collect over the years; there were enough rifles, pistols, protective equipment, and ammunition stored behind the reinforced glass to equip far more than five men.
Whatever else John had been doing since retirement, he clearly hadn’t lost his military contacts.
Kisch, as the team’s heavy-weapons specialist, pulled on a full set of heavy ballistic protection before selecting an M249 and the ammunition he intended to carry with it.
By the time he finished, his entire combat load weighed well over sixty pounds, yet the large man moved as though he barely noticed it.
The nickname Bull suited him perfectly.
Talia chose lighter body armor and removed an M40A5 sniper rifle from its rack.
After checking the weapon, she fitted her low-light equipment and prepared the rest of her gear with quick, familiar movements.
Her job was precision rather than volume of fire, so compared with Kisch, everything she carried seemed almost minimalist.
Orion and John made nearly identical choices.
Both had spent years in Naval Special Warfare and were most comfortable with familiar carbines, sidearms, body armor, communications equipment, and practical assault gear rather than anything exotic.
Lucello watched from near the doorway and nodded slightly, apparently pleased that nobody treated the target as an easy kill simply because he was technically one man.
That attitude was one reason John’s team was still alive.
They prepared seriously whether the opponent was a heavily armed criminal or some idiot car thief because experience had taught John that even a seemingly harmless enemy could kill a veteran who became careless.
Everyone had someone they wanted to return home to, which mattered far more than looking fearless.
“Hey, Drunkard,” Kisch called while lowering his protective face covering.
“Where’s your big baby?” “Always with me.” Sander lifted the edge of his shirt enough to reveal the massive Smith & Wesson Model 500 holstered at his waist.
Since he normally remained with their vehicle and handled transportation or outside support, he didn’t load himself down with the same equipment as the assault team, but he clearly had no intention of being unarmed.
John unlocked a heavy ammunition safe behind the main weapon racks and distributed what the team required.
He kept firearms and ammunition stored separately whenever the base wasn’t being used, partly for safety and partly because the visible armory itself served as a useful demonstration for certain clients.
Once everyone finished checking their equipment, John locked the reinforced armory again.
“All right.
Let’s move.” They headed through the rear entrance and entered the dark alley behind the Buffalo Bar.
Sander crossed to a nearby garage and drove out in an ordinary-looking commercial van with a generic housekeeping company logo painted across its sides.
The exterior looked forgettable, but underneath the disguise, the vehicle had been heavily reinforced to serve as the Bison team’s transport.
Two black Land Rover SUVs were already waiting near the alley entrance.
Several armed men in suits sat inside, obviously belonging to Lucello, and they fell in behind the Bison van as soon as it pulled away.
Their small convoy first headed toward the upscale neighborhood where Arkin had originally been abducted by the Collector.
Once they reached the starting point, Arkin covered his eyes and began tracing the marks carved into his forearm with his fingertips.
Sander drove according to his instructions while Arkin counted silently, occasionally telling him when to turn, continue straight, or adjust direction.
The strange navigation process continued for nearly an hour before Arkin’s entire body suddenly stiffened.
“Stop.” Sander hit the brakes.
Everyone looked outside.
They had reached a deserted section on the outskirts of Monroe, where an enormous abandoned hotel stood beneath the night sky.
The seven-story building was dark from top to bottom, its exterior weathered and neglected, while broken sections of the property suggested it had been abandoned for years.
Even from outside, there was something deeply wrong about the place.
Arkin removed the blindfold.
His face immediately lost what little color it had left.
“This is it,” he whispered.
Nobody spoke.
Arkin stared upward at the dead windows of the building, and the terror in his eyes was unmistakable.
“Hotel Argento.
This is where he took me.” The abandoned hotel was the Collector’s lair.
“Let’s go.” Lucello stepped from one of the Land Rovers, then motioned toward the entrance.
“Lead the way.” Arkin immediately backed away.
“No.
No fucking way.” His breathing quickened as he looked from Lucello to the building.
“We had a deal.
I brought you here.
That was my part.” Several of Lucello’s armed men silently shifted their weapons toward him.
Arkin stared at the guns before looking back at Hotel Argento.
He had already escaped that nightmare once, and being forced to deliberately walk back inside seemed worse than simply being shot in the parking lot.
At least a bullet would probably kill him quickly.
“Arkin, you’re the only person here who’s been inside,” Lucello said calmly.
“You know the layout better than any of us, and more importantly, you know how the Collector thinks.
If we go in blind and he escapes because you refused to help, do you really want to spend the rest of your life waiting for him to come after your family?” Arkin clenched his jaw.
Lucello stepped closer.
“And if something happens to you during this operation, Peters’s foundation will take care of your wife and child.
They’ll have money, housing, education—everything they need.
You have my word.” “Huff… huff…” Arkin stared at the abandoned hotel for several seconds while breathing heavily.
Walking inside might kill him, but refusing Lucello didn’t leave him many better options, and allowing the Collector to remain alive meant his family might never truly be safe.
Finally, he turned toward Orion with anger and resignation written across his face.
“Fine.” Arkin held out his hand.
“Give me a gun.” Orion glanced at Arkin’s damaged fingers and shook his head.
“Your hand’s in no condition for that.” Instead, Orion removed a grenade from his gear and placed it into Arkin’s good hand.
He looked at him for a moment before asking, “You know what this is?” Arkin stared at the grenade, then at the black entrance of Hotel Argento.
His expression hardened.
“Yeah.” (End of Chapter) [Milestone: [Milestone: 10 Reviews = +1 Chapter] Enjoyed this chapter?