BLOOD RETRIBUTION Read online

  LUCAS KNOX:

  BLOOD RETRIBUTION

  By

  Blake Hudson

  Second Edition

  Copyright

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the author, as allowed under terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author's rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  Copyright © 2017 Blake Hudson

  All rights reserved.

  Warning

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. British English spelling and slang is the dominant language in this publication, unless inappropriate to a character.

  For all the latest news, competitions and interaction with fans and the author join us at the Lucas Knox Series Facebook Group.

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  http://www.blakehudson.co.uk

  Dedication

  Lucas Knox: Blood Retribution is dedicated to my beautiful wife Stephanie. Her unique humour, warm-hearted kindness and humility not to mention love, has brought happiness, joy, laughter and blessings to my life. A life that started when I was lucky enough to have her accept me into hers.

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to thank friends and family for their massive support, words of encouragement and belief they have shown.

  To my beta readers, their views and ideas have improved and helped my writing, in no order thank you.

  Claire Boyle, Kathy & Tony Cini, Lisa Taylor, Andrea Kingi, Zara Duggan, Carla Mullins, Kelly Clare, Patrick & Carrie Wyman, Elizabeth Richie, Hazel Pescatore, Sarah Torpey, Margarita Lebron Vazquez, Moe Murphy, Julie Hewitt, Coryelle Kramer.

  The editing team Stephanie, Claire and Maralyn: you have been my angels.

  And thank you to all the people who joined the Lucas Knox Series FaceBook group.

  About the Author

  Blake Hudson is an English action adventure/romance writer. He was born in Birmingham England, raised in Worcestershire, and now lives in the Costa del Sol, Spain. From a humble background, he originally aspired to be a film score composer after his studies in audio engineering. After years of working in the audio world as a technician, he then joined the TA alongside his work and served one tour in Iraq.

  Returning home and having a change in life’s direction, Blake found himself in the highly challenging and stressful work as a HGV driver around the City of London. After this, he was soon ready for relocation to a slower and more peaceful way of life, so he moved to Spain with his beautiful family to pursue his new dream of writing the stories he wanted to read. This was made possible with the added confidence and belief from his wife, bestselling author of the Afterlife Saga, Stephanie Hudson. She inspired him to overcome his dyslexia, as she had once done.

  Blake started with his first venture into the world of action adventure novels, with Lucas Knox: Blood Retribution Book 1 of the Lucas Knox series.

  Contents

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Contents

  Chapter 1 - The Voyeur

  Chapter 2 - Southern Shindig

  Chapter 3 - Thoughts

  Chapter 4 - The Nest

  Chapter 5 - Diablo & Son

  Chapter 6 - Deposit & Brief

  Chapter 7 - Naked Misery

  Chapter 8 - Lunch with a Bang

  Chapter 9 - Knock Backs

  Chapter 10 - Dani

  Chapter 11 - Drive Two

  Chapter 12 - Juggernaut

  Chapter 13 - Old Friends

  Chapter 14 - Chase & Scrape

  Chapter 15 - Stitch

  Chapter 16 - Fishtail & Tux

  Chapter 17 - Fine Dine

  Chapter 18 - Splash & Grab

  Chapter 19 - Truth or Bull Crap

  Chapter 20 - Isabella Raid

  Chapter 21 - Corpse

  Chapter 22 - Hurt

  Chapter 23 - Blood Retribution

  Chapter 24 - Burnt NEST

  Word from the Author

  Chapter One

  The Voyeur

  Sunset on the Mediterranean. It was August and it seemed the heat of summer would never end. The mile-long empty beach, with jagged cliff faces at each end towering like giant bookends. The N-340 coast road ran alongside with a gravel pull in the length of the pebble and sand beach. Small waves rolled ashore from the calm rich red and orange stained sea. The whole sky looked as if the God's themselves had set it alight.

  A darkly dressed figure of a man was leaning back against his Bonneville 1200HT Bobber motorcycle. Black frame, wire wheels, burgundy fuel tank with that classic name adorning it, Triumph.

  He stood watching over the beach, his gaze only interrupted as he looked down to shield a cigarette from the warm breeze. Cupping his hand as he lights, taking a long drag, he steps forward lifting his face into the radiant setting sun. There was something poignant yet transient about it all. It reminded him almost too vividly of a moment etched on his soul.

  Coarse, hot, dry powder sand, the painful grit of it wet between his toes in his boots. A sand that turned rags to sandpaper as they wiped endless sweat from dirty tan lined skin. How he’d dreamt of what he saw before him now, swimming or just falling into the rolling waves.

  The scent of hot metal, oil and petrol fumes rising from the engine completed the memory of that hell hole on earth. It may have been a long time ago now, but that memory was like having a bounty on your head. And no matter how long you’ve been running, it’s still right over your shoulder. Catching up with you with just the slightest of triggers.

  How far he had come since then and the regiment he was destined to join. Impatiently he took a step as he flicked the cigarette, pulled his shoulders out of their slouch and slammed the memories back where they belonged. In the dark abyss locked away with all the other memories of that time.

  A man with years of flaunting with danger and death. Earning the right to fight another day with blood, sweat and pain. He was not stood here by luck, well that’s what he told himself. No, he was here because men gave their lives. A debt that could never be repaid. And the daily cost of that was living with the guilt.

  Buzzing in the pocket of his cargos signalled an end to the thoughts.

  “Knox,” he fired out after opening the cheap black flip phone.

  “Well that’s a lovely phone manner Mr Knox, do you talk to all the ladies like that?” replied a sweet playful feminine voice.

  “Dani…” He said her name with a warm familiarity reserved only for her.

  “… only to the ones, I treat mean," Knox smirked and waited for what he knew would be a sassy response.

  “Mr Knox, you tease, you are never mean to me. You wouldn’t dare, you value your manhood too much, but I may start to think I am missing out…” she replied with a put-on sigh and you could almost hear the back of her hand hitting her forehead.

  “Come on Dani, less of the Mr, I have told you, you can call me…” Knox was interrupted before he could finish.

  “Sweetheart? I reserve that name for my lovers only. You know that Lucas.” Dani tried to sound serious.

  “Cold… that�
�s cold.” Knox took in a deep inhale of breath through closed teeth like a mechanic when asked for a price.

  “Lucas, you know if you want to be my lover you have to wine and dine me, and well I haven’t so much as seen a box of chocolates let alone three courses and a bottle of fizz.” Dani knew the reaction she would get.

  “It’s lovely chatting as ever Dani, but is there a reason for the call?” And there it was, the reaction Dani knew was coming, Knox, ignoring anything to do with dating.

  “Lucas, you are impossible. I won’t be single for ever you know… As it happens, yes, I am calling to see if you are working.” Dani’s playful tone was replaced with a more controlled one.

  “I have a few irons in the fire, nothing concrete. Why, are you looking to hire?” Knox replied trying not to sound too interested.

  “I have heard a few things on the cyber grapevine, and some of it made me think of you, so if…” Knox cut her mid flow as he heard a pop and a crackle in the distance followed by the building revs of a powerful engine reaching its redline before dropping down and starting the symphonic crescendo once more.

  “Dani, I need to go, can you give me twenty-four hours? I’ll be in touch” Knox said annoyed to be ending the call so soon.

  At that moment, a beautiful deep metallic green convertible supercar pulled off the coast road at speed onto the gravel, skidding as it came to a stop just in front of a small low stone wall. The throttle blipped and burbled as the engine cut, announcing its arrival.

  “For you handsome I will give you forty-eight, now run along and try not to blow anything up." And with that, the line cut dead.

  The sun was almost kissing the sea on the horizon. Already he could smell the jasmine that had all day lain hidden, suppressed beneath the heat. Knox hated jasmine as it reminded him of an ex. Flocks of birds were in quick retreat, pitching their camps on power cables, trees and the terracotta rooftops of the nearby town. Lights were coming on littering the coastline like stars in the night sky.

  Stepping out of the sleek machine onto the gravel was a sight just as stunning as the car. Long bare modelesque legs of a woman, bronzed and sun kissed satin skin, thick wavy dark hair falling just past her shoulders. Dressed only in a perfect bright white swimsuit, so tightly fitting you could be forgiven for thinking it was painted on. She wore it in a way that made it worth every penny of it's sure to be obscene price tag. The gentle curve of her backbone was deeply indented, suggesting more powerful muscles than is usual for a woman of her size. Her behind was almost as firm, rounded but beautiful heart shaped. She was not an ethnic girl, but she had invested a lot of time in her tan. Around her neck, a thick flat designer gold necklace that would scream tacky on anyone else but this siren.

  The whole scene, empty beach, sun setting, alluring girl with her hair dancing in the wind and the abundance of diamonds and gold. It reminded Knox of something.

  Yes, that’s it, she was like a young Monica Bellucci, at home on the big Hollywood screen just as much as modelling the perverse ideas of the high-end fashion houses.

  In a matter of moments, the woman had dropped down from the low stone wall, crossed the expanse of sand and stopped before the water’s edge to tie her hair up. She kicked off her fine strappy sandals and dropped her oversized jewel encrusted sunglasses on top of them.

  She paused, basking in those last-minute beams of orange sunlight before it descended once more into the sea, casting the deserted beach under the cover of dusk. She ran the last few yards into the waves, her momentum carrying her through the shallows before gracefully diving into the cool ocean.

  She held her breath for what seemed like an age. Knox began to feel uneasy, his eyes darting as they surveyed over the calm still waters. He felt his heart rate rise and the adrenaline begin to flow. And just as Knox was about to run, the sleek effortless swimmer surfaced fifty or so metres out. A smile crossed his face acknowledging the woman’s athleticism.

  Knox slowly made his way down the uneven rough weathered pathway, his eyes flickering from the woman to his footing. Two golden blonde girls out together for their evening run in bikini tops and brief shorts made their way up the pathway, playfully racing each other up towards him. They flaunted their bodies at him as they passed saying ‘Hola’ followed with giggles and smiles. They looked back over their shoulders to see if he would look and respond, when he didn’t, they muttered something in German then picked up the pace and sauntered on up towards the town’s high road where Knox’s motorcycle was parked.

  All the girls did, was leave Knox wondering why it was that they had more prominent pouty lips than most. Was it injections or some other godawful form of self-mutilation?

  Knox shook off the thoughts and turned his focus back to the swimmer. She was still there but now maybe a hundred or so metres further out to sea, treading water for a few moments before she turned to begin heading back to shore. She wasn’t showing any signs of fatigue if anything she raced back faster than she swam out.

  Knox thought to himself that maybe she swam for her school team or at club level. He slowed down his pace when he reached the coastal road, looking up and down the beach’s great expanse of sand, checking it was still deserted.

  No, not quite! Two hundred metres down the road was a black van with two men getting out. Knox had failed to see the van or hear it pull up from his view point above the pathway, as it was secluded by the rock face. Both men were stocky, well-built with short crew cuts, dressed in running gear. Brand new running gear in fact, seemingly innocent at first glance to most people, but not to Knox.

  Years of training and deployment told him this didn’t feel right, a feeling he’d learned to trust a long time ago. That trust had got him out of more scrapes than he cared to remember.

  He walked slowly over to what he could now see was a brand-new Lamborghini Huracan Spyder, quite a vehicle for the woman to handle. Running his hand over the glass like painted body work, Knox felt that it was still warm to the touch. That unmistakable smell of hot rubber, accompanied by the exhaust ticking as it cooled. Not only could the woman handle the beast of a car, she drove it hard.

  Ducking down the side of the Lambo out of sight of the men, Knox watched as the woman emerged from the waves, her white swimsuit catching all the available light as the salt water glistened over her body.

  Knox went on watching, his eyes locked on a vision he had enjoyed watching many times before from afar. But this time, as the darkness drew closer to the rhythm of waves breaking, Knox was the closest he had ever been before. With the tension building in the air he was waiting for her to do something, or for something to happen. Knox didn’t know what, just something different from all the other times this same scene had played out.

  Knox had an instinct that she would end up in some sort of danger. Or was it that the smell of danger in the air was down to his suspicious nature? A stench he could never rid from his nostrils, he always saw danger in every situation and ninety-nine percent of the time there never was any. But for Knox that one percent is what drove him and was now his vocation.

  Knox only knew that he mustn’t leave her, particularly now that she wasn’t alone. The woman stopped walking when her feet met the dry sand, clear of the water rolling majestically ashore. Running her fingers through her hair after she had released it from its binding, she paused, savouring every drop of cold refreshing salty droplets cascading down her tightly toned skin.

  Picking up her sandals and shades, she began to walk purposefully back towards the car with a swagger more suited to a Milan fashion week catwalk.

  Knox checked on the ‘all the gear and no idea’ men at the van. They hadn’t started running or doing anything. Both had half-empty bottles of energy drinks sat on the bonnet. They didn’t talk, they just stood and watched intently. Knox couldn’t blame them, it was something he had watched just as intently countless times before. But their stillness, their manner, would have made anyone watching put them in the category
of ‘bad news’.

  Knox hoped they would soon be on their way and he was just being paranoid, even if every fibre in his body thought otherwise.

  He left his shelter of the car and dropped down onto the sand from the small wall, stooping down into the shadow it cast. He knew that when the woman walked past she would not see him, let alone be aware of her voyeur watching her every move.

  As the woman closed in on the wall, the two men made their move. One jumped into the van starting it up, the other began running at a light pace but soon stepped up his speed. His focus was like a big cat hunting on the African plains with an urgent deadly precision. This was it Knox thought, that one percent coming to fruition.

  The woman had no awareness as the runner swung out in an arc so he would come at her from behind. She wouldn’t stand a chance of hearing his approach on the sand. The pattern had a nasty and all too familiar look to it. The beauty in white, the knucklehead thug pursuer, the van, it had all the hallmarks of a trafficking kidnapping about it.