Gangs Aren't My Style (A Black Death Novel)

Chapter 17 - The Undertaker

Gangs Aren't My Style

Book I of the Black Death Trilogy

PART ONE: Tears Fall When You See The Truth

Chapter 17 - The Undertaker

Back at the base, Daniil was clenching his hands in anger and frustration. A glance at the watch clasped around his wrist confirmed that his personal slave should have just arrived at the gang's Los Angeles headquarters. However, even the knowledge that the finest agent within the the gang -the very man heading up the entire operation- was overseeing her interrogation did not set him at ease. As her master, Daniil felt that it was his responsibility to discover the secrets Ally held against him and Black Death. It was for this very reason that he sat alone in his office after everyone else had dispersed to their own rooms, typing away at his computer.

A facial recognition program ran to his left, images of missing girls who would now be around the age of his personal slave flashing across the screen in less than a millisecond. A still image of Ally was displayed on the other half of the screen, red dots flitting over her features as the program attempted to match her facial structure to that of the other women. Daniil knew he was clinging to straws with the search, hoping that the relatives of the girl's original identity might have submitted a missing persons report, but it was one of the last efforts he could think of to uncover her true identity. Even the knowledge of her real name did not immediately narrow down his search because it was very possible that Ally was only a nickname. Paired with the knowledge that she could have originated from any of 48 states across the country, or even further beyond if he had been wrong in his assumption that she was from the main strip of the US wedged between Canada and Mexico, his mission was near hopeless. If only he could discover who she was, then he might stand a fighting chance.

With a sigh, Daniil directed his gaze back to his laptop and continued to type away at the keypad. Even as he hoped against hope for the program to lend him results, he was conjuring other possible paths of discovery that would lead him to the answers he required. It was one of these routes that had him scrolling through a log history of his personal slave's file in the federal database, searching through the nearly meaningless pool of data for an address or name of the person who had created the obviously fabricated file. Daniil was confident enough in his abilities to believe that if he could locate the man or woman who was covering for her, he could also torture that person into spilling everything they knew of her true identity.

Unexpectedly, a floorboard creaked behind him. Daniil slid his pistol from its easy-access holder beneath the countertop of his desk, and swiveled in his chair to point the firearm into the shadows at precisely the location from which the groan of finely crafted wood had been heard, all with one fluid motion. His sharp eyes seemed to cut through even the darkness itself, taking in the emptiness of each floorboard as he sought out the originator of the noise. He found nothing and, after a moment more of scanning the entire length of the office, set his gun on top of a thin stack of freshly printed files. He slowly returned to his work but a deep sense of unease remained hovering over his shoulders.

Daniil had only just counted the occurrence for a fluke when a whistling of air swept past his ear, signifying a disturbance in the room. The few lights left on in the room extinguished, plunging the room into nearly complete darkness. He spun, his hand reaching for his pistol instinctively, but his fingers met only the smooth texture of paper. His gun was gone, but not from the room. It stared back at him from the hands of an unknown invader.

He kept himself from moving, only too aware that the particular gun he was facing had been loaded with lethal bullets. They were a recent invention of the gang laboratories and had been designed to release a deadly poison into the victim's bloodstream. Unless given the actidote, the person affected would be no more than a corpse within a few minutes.

"Who are you? What do you want?" Daniil demanded, keeping his back straight and his stance threatening even though he was still unsure of exactly who and what he was up against.

"You of all people should know the answers to those questions." The voice was raspy and hoarse, and Daniil was fairly certain he had never heard the like despite the figure's implications that they had met previously.

Loud steps echoed through the small room as the man approached, stepping into the glow of the two computer monitors lighting the room. The splash of blue swept over his grotesque features, highlighting the scars that adorned an entire half of his face. A breath caught.

The skin of the affected side had been scorched, and only a darkened sheet of scarred and disfigured sinew had been left to substitute the once thriving and healthy flesh. The identity of the invader was no longer a mystery to Black Death's third in command.

Adam Soverage released a deep chuckle. "Did you really think I would not find you?"

Fear flickered through Daniil's mind for a fleeting moment as he registered his vulnerability and defenselessness. Though, it must be recognized that, like a true leader, he swiftly dismissed this angst and stood to his feet. His shoulders were squared and his back was unbent despite the fact that he had no weapon with which to protect himself. He would go down honorably; he would go down fighting.

A sudden explosion of sound in the room caused Daniil to jump, but it had not been the bang of a gun discharging as he had expected. The sound had originated from one of the computers behind him, whose screen was now flashing in a brilliant display of neon green. At the top of the monitor, a banner read, "Positive Match," in bold, black letters. Below, a still image now rested beside that of his personal slave.

As the two men watched in stunned silence, with even the attacker momentarily forgetting his mission, the two images migrated to the center of the screen. Matching features morphed together, undeterred by their contrapositives slightly differing in age and distinction, and information began to flood the margins of the screen in small print. An entire background and history was spread out before them, but each man only had eyes for one line of the vast report -the line where the female was declared to possess the name of Ally Carter.

"So, you finally figured it out," Soverage muttered, startling Daniil back into reality. "It's just too bad that you will never have the chance to tell anyone your miraculous findings."

Daniil did not register the meaning of the words, still attempting to gather his wits as reality sunk in; he had laid claim to the sister of a gang leader. Then, he began to feel sick to his stomach as he remembered what he had done in punishment when Ally had disobeyed him. He had physically beaten James' little sister.

So lost in his thoughts, Daniil did not notice the descending fist until it was too late. Roughened knuckles slammed into his temple, sending him stumbling back. Stars blanketed his vision before his eyes rolled back into his head and he crumpled to the ground at the feet of his attacker. Daniil was unconscious before his knees hit the floor.