Riddick almost lost them, twice. 'Chris,' or whoever he was, had some serious skills when it came to losing a tail.
Pretty sure he didn't learn that in the drug testing business. Maybe in the drug dealing business.
"I don't get it, where're we going?" Dallas asked after the pair had zigzagged through the complex for fifteen minutes, slowly working their way toward the docking stations. They'd taken every back route imaginable, and at the moment were traveling through a large, empty hallway beyond the backstage dressing rooms. With the evening shows still hours away, only the emergency lights illuminated the hallways.
Chris glanced back over his shoulder. "We're getting out of here. You're in trouble, Dallas. Serious trouble. Your mother sent me to find you. I can't say any more because we're being followed."
Rick just stopped himself from scoffing and giving away his position, just behind the last corner the boys had rounded--his back pressed against the wall so he could just peer around it. He'd stayed far enough back to always keep a corner between himself and the two boys he followed and he hadn't made a sound. Damn—this Chris kid wasn't just good, he was extraordinary.
"What's my mom's name?" Dallas asked, stopping and jerking his arm from the shorter man's grasp.
Chris turned sharp eyes on him, then jerked his head around, taking in their surroundings. "Run," he ordered, tone clipped.
"What?"
"Get the fuck out of here, now!"
From out of nowhere, Chris pulled a handgun. The sight of a weapon sent Dallas sprinting in the other direction. Riddick only just faded into the shadows as the kid came barreling around the corner. To his surprise, Dallas halted just feet from him and turned to look at him.
The two stared at each other for a drawn out second.
There's no way he could've seen me. No fucking way.
After a second of hesitation, Dallas concluded Riddick didn't pose an immediate threat, and tore off again at a dead sprint.
Within seconds, a firefight muffled by silencers started just down the hall. One glance told Riddick Chris was outnumbered and outgunned. Not that it mattered. The kid ended a life with every shot he took.
Leaving Chris to fend for himself, Riddick trailed Dallas away from the flying bullets. It might've been some misplaced paternal instinct that drove him. Maybe the kid reminded him of Cam, or maybe he'd just gotten soft in his old age. Or more likely—maybe he felt he had a better chance of survival heading away from the guns.
You just keep thinking that, Dick, and maybe it'll come true.
Jogging around another corner, Riddick found the boy getting the shit knocked out of him by three men who all wore the same clothes, yet no identifying badges or pins.
For a short moment, a burst of anger gave the boy an advantage in the scuffle, but a rifle butt to the temple put him down quick enough. Dallas laid still on the ground, completely separated from his wits.
Let them take him. Don't you fucking step out there, Dick. Just think about who he looks like. Leave him. Leave him for dead.
"I guess it's true what they say about Casinos," he rumbled, materializing from out of the shadows in dramatic style. He cocked his head at the men who jerked around to look at him. "You fuck with the house, and they'll take everything you have."
They didn't intend to let him walk away alive, or to draw unnecessary attention to themselves with gunfire. The first one jumped forward, raising his gun to take Riddick down the same way they'd dealt with Dallas. It'd worked on a boy of good size and strength. Why not a man in his late forties?
The heel of Riddick's right hand smashed into the man's nose with a satisfying crunch, while his left instinctively reached for a shiv he hadn't carried in years. In the same motion, he dropped under an oncoming blow and pivoted, sweeping the man's left leg and dropping him onto his back.
Pulling a knife from the soldier's belt, he chucked it at an opponent ten feet away. The hilt hit him in the face, distracting him long enough for Riddick to surge to his feet and engage the man standing five feet away. Except, leaping to his feet was too fast a move for his cold muscles to endure. A twinge in his back nearly put him on his knees. He had to drop and roll away from a blow that glanced hard off his shoulder, numbing his right arm before sending it into a frenzy of pins and needles.
Stupid. Stupid and sloppy, expecting his body to respond like it used to—when he was in his teens and twenties. Riddick cursed himself for forgetting his limitations. He couldn't force himself to move so fast before his muscles were limber and ready.
Fortunately his mind required no such luxuries. Before he'd even finished his roll, he started loosening the knot of his tie, jerking it from around his neck once he'd regained a crouch, turning to meet the blow he knew strike at his head, a free end of the cloth held tight in each hand.
The fabric length wrapped like a snake around the man's forearm, and Rick tightened the cinch mercilessly. A slight shift of weight, a slight turn of momentum, and the man in black sailed by, crashing head-on into the wall with a loud crunch.
Riddick's coat came off in a flash, and he sent it flying at his final opponent, who'd just begun to recover his senses after the knife-hilt hit him in face and broke his nose. The jacket landed on his head, giving Riddick time to hook the tie around the back of the man's neck and plant a knee squarely in his diaphragm, doubling him over. Slipping behind the man, Riddick pulled the man off his feet with the tie, and once on the ground used the leverage generated by his own weight to strangle the man until he stopped struggling and grunting for breath.
Pushing the man off of him, Riddick rose to his feet and looked around for more, but his eyes couldn't penetrate the shadows like they once had. He had to listen, use his other senses to feel if danger lurked just beyond his line of sight.
There'd only been three of them. Nevertheless, he felt fatigued standing over them. Riddick hadn't aged badly, proof he might indeed be a subspecies human, benefiting from increased lifespan, but playing ball with his sons hadn't done much to keep him in tip-top condition. Breathing hard through his nose, he noted that point mentally, just as Dallas started to groan.
The boy slowly rolled over onto his stomach, the heel of his palm coming to rest against his forehead. With a great deal of effort, the kid levered himself to his feet. The broken shades on his nose fell away, revealing his true nature.
Rysen eyes. Black, bottomless, and dull.
Funny. Riddick didn't remember Dom's eyes looking like that. They'd held the spark of life—just no soul.
Dallas reached out in front of him, seeming to grab at the air while taking a step forward. It took Rick a minute to process the odd behavior, but soon it clicked. The kid couldn't see. He'd gone blind after getting hit in the head.
Curiosity almost got him in trouble. He let his mind wander, and almost too late he realized Dallas had stopped moving and held his breath to listen, see if he stood alone in the hallway.
The boy's fist almost took his head off.
"Nice moves," Rick admitted after a quick slip to the side of Dallas' punch, his fists up in case the kid took another swing. "Quick. Precise. I guess I should've expected that from a guy like you."
Dallas didn't even turn his head to look at him. His face had gone ashen in a hurry after his attempt to lash out. "You don't know me," he said shortly, before his knees buckled and he dropped to all fours, his back and shoulders heaving with each breath.
Riddick sighed, one hand going to the back of his neck to rub at a strained muscle. He'd have to contact Ron and make up an excuse for leaving while gathering Dallas up and getting the kid out of there without anyone seeing him. Good thing he knew exactly how to duck every security measure the Casino had.
He wished he'd never fucking left the house that morning—but at least he'd finally found a sane use for that goddamn tie.