WELCOME TO MAX SEC

[lane devito]

2nd Sept – 5.30pm

Lane came to and moaned around the gag in his mouth. A sharp jolt of pain knifed through his head when he tried to move and something warm and pasty matted his hair and glued the side of his face to the pillow. Another groan of pain emerged as he struggled to breathe, trying to orientate himself and figure out what the hell was happening.

The room swam in and out of focus making him feel seasick and he desperately swallowed the bile surging up into his throat so he wouldn’t choke on his vomit. Forcing himself to stay calm he went through the drill of some long ago survival training. Wiggling his fingers and toes, clenching his stomach, he established the only injury he’d sustained appeared to be on the right side of his head. It felt like someone had ripped his ear off and the blood-soaked pillow did nothing to rule that out as a distinct possibility. Pulse pounding, he closed his eyes for a few seconds to quell the panic that threatened to engulf him. He opened them again slowly and blinked, gritting his teeth against the pain. This had to be the work of his father; payback for the accusations and press conference. Well fuck him to hell and back. Lane only hoped Ashanti had found the note he’d left instructing her to contact Dimitri if he were to suddenly go awol. He wasn’t entirely sure just what action the Russian would take but one thing was for certain he wasn’t the type of guy to sit around on his ass twiddling his thumbs. He’d either find Lane or kill his father, preferably both and in that order.

The more alert he became, the worse the pain got. He quickly surrendered his futile struggle against the restraints tethering him to the bed in an effort to conserve energy, concentrating instead on his Spartan surroundings. He was in some kind of log cabin and the only furniture he could see from his limited vantage point was a rickety looking chair and a bedstand. His eyes widened and his stomach rolled at the sight of a selection of knives and scalpels laid out atop a bloodied towel. Fuck. He’d thought Brad Clark was a sadistic bastard but he was a saint compared to his monster father who clearly intended chopping him up into pieces.

…Trust me when I say this; there are worse things than dying my boy, you just need to know where to look..

His father’s words echoed in the recesses of his brain just as the door creaked open and slow measured footsteps made their way across to the bed. The guy, one of his father’s minions no doubt, stood looking at him with a pensive smile on his face before leaning down and gripping his pinkie finger in one hand and his toe in the other.

Eeny
meeny
miny
mo
what will be the next to go?

With a chuckle of amusement the man turned his attention to the array of knives. Picking up one after another he casually inspected them before selecting one that appeared to suit his requirements. Someone else came into the room and the man spoke to his accomplice while casting the blanket aside.

“The boss said either his right pinkie or one of his toes but fuck that.”

Lane sucked in an involuntary breath as the cold hard length of steel was pressed gently against the base of his cock. Afraid to so much as blink lest the blade sliced off his manhood, he stared up at the man’s wildly grinning face.

”I ain't gonna lie to ya pal, this might hurt a little bit.”

Lane’s world faded to black.

[lane devito]

(Several days later) 9th Sept

Nick checked the message on his cellphone, rolled his eyes and let out a sigh. Muting the sound on the soccer game he’d been engrossed in he leaned over and shook Lane awake.

“Who’s Dimitri Reshetnikova?”

Drugged to the eyeballs on Vicodin and Scotch Lane struggled to emerge from the pit of blackness back to the land of the living. Several times he was sorely tempted let go the slender thread of reality and slip right back into the pit of darkness and it was only when he was shaken rigorously enough to damn near dislocate his shoulder that he reluctantly came to.

“Unh…wha?” he grunted, hand reflexively making its way to his ear where the dull throb of pain was gathering momentum.

“Wakey wakey! Time to get with the program man! Who the fuck is Dimitri Reshetnikova?”

A sharp slap to Lane's cheek elicited a groan and did nothing for his piss poor mood. He opened his eyes and ran his tongue around the cotton-wool interior of his mouth, looking back at the other man while playing for time. Finally, after having stalled as long as he could without pushing his luck he reached for the bottle of beer on the floor and took a swig to work some moisture into his mouth.

“He’s Russian, does odd jobs for the VV.” he replied vaguely, “Why?”

He tried not to build up his hopes Dimitri was going to suddenly bust down the door any minute and save the day. Nick’s scrutinizing gaze bore into him like twin lasers so he kept his eyes averted, making a meal out of gingerly dabbing at his ear with a fresh antiseptic dressing.

“He’s got my old man rattled.” Nick replied, watching Lane intently, “Not many folk have the ability to get that fat fuck's drawers in a twist.”

Lane concentrated on the blood-soaked pad and shrugged. “I only met the guy once but I wouldn’t care to get on the wrong side of him.”

“He an associate of your father?”

Lane glanced up and screwed his face up at the guy who’d shown up out the blue claiming to be Brad Clark’s long lost son, “How the fuck should I know? I’m not exactly on the best of terms with the prick or he wouldn’t be attempting to chop me up into byte-size chunks.”

Nick took a minute to digest Lane’s words before grinning back at him. “I guess he ain’t gonna be too thrilled about the sudden demise of his henchmen.”

“He won’t give two shits. Conrad Devito only cares about one person – himself. I’m just glad you offed them before they cut my dick off, I owe you bigtime.”

Nick gave him a covetous look and Lane made a point of turning away to stare moodily at the tv.

“Anyways, I’ve to take you back. My old man ain't happy about Reshetnikova poking around. Says it could complicate things.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Lane murmured, trying to hide his relief.

“We gotta drive up to the north ridge, there’s a chopper waiting, then it’s home sweet home.”

“Nah, I don’t think so. Not my apartment, just in case there’s a welcoming committee. Drop me off where you found me, the Turkish baths. I want to lie low for a while.”

Nick knelt in front of him and uncuffed his feet. “Lie low, where?”

“A friend’s place.” Lane replied, quirking a brow at him wondering if he was really so dense he expected to be be made privy to his whereabouts. The minute Lane got access to a phone he’d call Dimitri to make sure Ashanti was safe and bring the Russian up to speed on what had transpired since his disappearance.