Page 5 of Run

“This won’t do you any good,” he gasped, hoping like hell his ribs weren’t cracked. “I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”

“Stop lying and help me to help you. It’s clear you want a way back into your organization. I have the contacts to make it happen. You could come in from the cold. No more freelancing. Your slate would be wiped clean, and your government would welcome you with open arms. Isn’t that what you want?”

David kept his head down, groaned something nonsensical, and went over his plan of escape until he could carry it out without thinking. He’d only have one chance to make this work. He didnotwant to waste it.

“What did you say?” Henk pressed. “Azzo, you hit him too hard. I told you I needed him to talk.”

Azzo didn’t reply.

“My friend, tell us where the girl is, and this will all stop.” Henk sounded as though it pained him to see David beaten.

Yeah, right.Not as much as it pained David.

He mumbled something, making sure he included a woman’s name, one he’d plucked from thin air.

“That’s it,” Henk said eagerly. “Speak up, and I promise you I will help you to get back into the job you love. Vindication will be yours at last. All you have to do is reach out and take what I’m offering.” With clear impatience, Henk took that final crucial step toward his prey.

And his prey struck back.

With an almighty kick upward, the hook flew out of the floor as David’s feet connected with Henk’s Scotch glass. It shot straight up in the air. Clutching the chains above him, he used his upper body strength to swing his legs in a showy soccer kick. His aim was perfect, hitting the glass and sending the shattered shards straight into Azzo’s face and throat.

The big man wailed as his meaty fingers clasped his throat, blood running through them. Henk didn’t react. Instead, he gaped at Azzo.Untrained idiot.David lifted his knees to his chest and looped the chain between his ankles around Henk’s neck.

Henk clawed at the chain, clearly forgetting he had a gun that could neutralize the threat to him within seconds. Using the struggling man’s shoulders, David launched himself upward and unhooked his wrists before somersaulting over Henk in one smooth motion. The sound of hisold friend’sneck breaking was loud in the empty room as, together, they toppled to the floor.

It took only a second to relieve Henk of his gun. One more to shoot Azzo between the eyes. Then, it was a matter of aiming at the door, ready to deal with anyone who heard the shots and ran inside.

No one appeared.

Obviously, Henk had assumed two men were enough to deal with him. Calmly, David dragged Henk’s body toward him and searched his pockets. He found the key to his restraints—along with a phone, a money clip, and the fob for Henk’s car.

After freeing himself, he limped behind the bar and smashed what bottles of liquor remained before taking one to douse the dead men.

“We were never friends,” he told Henk’s body. “I don’t have friends. But if I did, I wouldn’t choose a drug-dealing snitch as one of them.”

Pressing his hand against his side to give his bruised ribs some stability, he made his way to the back door. As he pushed through it, he struck a match from a book he’d found on the bar, lit the remaining matches, and tossed the whole thing back at the bodies. The sound of the hungry flames followed him out into the fresh air.

Smashed bottles, used condoms, and spent syringes littered the cracked concrete surface of the parking lot. Shadows from the surrounding tower blocks blocked out the sun as David crossed to the silver Porsche sitting in the middle of all that garbage.

With disgust, he climbed into the vehicle, every bruise on his body protesting as he curled into the narrow space behind the wheel. “You couldn’t have had a nice spacious SUV,” he grumbled, “or at least something that didn’t scream you were compensating, could you?”

It was a testament to Henk’s reputation that his Porsche was still in one piece and right where he’d left it. The Bijlmer, as the locals called it, hadn’t got its reputation as one of Amsterdam’s most dangerous areas by chance.

A quick glance around told him that doors had been shut and curtains pulled, probably at the sight of Henk’s car. There would be no witnesses to his taking the Porsche—none that would speak to the cops, anyway.

Clenching his jaw as pain began to register, he pulled out Henk’s phone and dialed the London office of Benson Security. There was no reply. Cursing himself for not memorizing Callum’s cell number, David called the only cell he had committed to memory—Elle’s. It went straight to voice mail.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as the bar’s fire alarm started to wail.

Quickly, he typed out a text message to Elle—knowing she’d check that during a meeting, whereas she wouldn’t answer a call.Urgent. Several interested parties after you. Call me. David.

No reply.

In the distance, he heard sirens. It was time to get out of Dodge. But first, he gave the office line and Elle’s number one last try. Nothing. With no other choice but to hit the road, he put the car in gear and headed for the nearest train station. From there, he’d catch a train to Schiphol and then the next flight to London. He’d never been more grateful that the flight between the two cities was often less than an hour long.

As he drove, he called the final number he knew from memory and almost sagged with relief on hearing the voice on the other end of the line.

“Lake Benson.” The English accent was crisp.