The Devil's Daughter

by Ophelia Bell

  Reaching Karl, I ask, “How did the team miss this asshole?”

  “There are mannequins in several of the aircraft made to look like pilots. No one questioned the astronaut suit sitting in the thing. For all we knew, it was just another dummy. Fucker must’ve snuck in sometime yesterday when the museum was still open and has been biding his time ever since. One of our guys caught him as he was climbing out.”

  “Any idea who he is?”

  “He didn’t give a name, but he’s not exactly being cooperative. I hope you’ll have some idea.”

  He pushes open the door to the rotunda and points toward the side where the old Apollo 9 module rests on a pedestal. Rounding the large metal craft, I see two other members of the security staff dressed in tuxedos waiting to one side, and neither of them are the twins. I don’t see anyone else.

  Confused, I start to turn to Karl. As I do, a dark blur comes toward me from the corner of my eye, followed by a sudden, sharp pain to the back of my skull, and then everything goes dark.

  37

  Baz

  When I get back to the upstairs conference room we geared up in earlier, I head to the counter where I left my laptop case, but when I open it, my laptop is gone. My heart drops into my gut. This gives me the answer to our question without even needing to search, and it’s so fucking clear now I feel like banging my head on the wall.

  Apart from Ben and myself, only one other man had keys to this room tonight: Karl Thomas.

  I dig through my memory for any red flags, but he covered his tracks well, and over half the men on our staff are ex-military, which means they’re only as trustworthy as the size of their paychecks. Drake pays well, but that doesn’t mean someone else didn’t come along and offer a better deal.

  I rush back down to find Ben, and when I enter the pavilion, a voice more familiar than my own drifts over from just behind the decoratively lit planter near the stage. I jog around it to see that Mom has Ben pinned once again, unable to escape. I move in to rescue him when I catch sight of Drake’s table. His chair is empty, and a quick scan of the room doesn’t place him anywhere in it.

  “Brother, where’s Drake?” I ask, sure Ben will have the answer, but when he shoots a panicked look toward the table, he just curses.

  “Mom, I’m sorry, but we’ll have to finish this conversation later.”

  I give our mother an apologetic shrug, then follow my brother to the table. “I thought you were keeping an eye on him.”

  “I was. He was on stage not two minutes ago, then headed back to the table. I turned my back for a second. Where the fuck would he go? He knows it’s probably someone on our security staff.”

  “Restroom?” I ask, knowing the answer.

  Ben shakes his head. “Not without me—I made him promise. Does this mean you found something?”

  “Didn’t have a chance to look. Someone stole my laptop.”

  He frowns. “We locked up when we left. Are you sure?” But then he comes to the same conclusion I did and lets out a string of vile curses. “Fucking hell.”

  We both roll up on Elle, deep in conversation with her sisters. She looks up in surprise, her face immediately drawing tight with worry. “What is it?”

  “Did Drake say where he was going?” I ask.

  “Karl came and said they caught the guy. Shouldn’t the two of you be with him?”

  “If that were the truth, we should,” Ben grits.

  “It’s only been a couple minutes,” Mason says.

  “Which way did he go?” I ask.

  My question spurs the brothers into motion. “He headed for the rotunda,” Maddox says, tossing down his napkin and standing. “If your second is compromised, you have to assume more of your team is too. They can’t have gotten far, though. We’ll spread out. Mase, you go out the back—check outside and text me if you see anything. Meet up in the rotunda.”

  Elle grabs my hand just before we rush off. “Please make sure he’s okay,” she says, eyes wide with fear.

  “Will you be okay without us in here?” I ask.

  “She’ll be fine with me,” Arturo says. “Leo will stay too.”

  Leo offers a solemn nod and stands. “You guys know what you need to do. I’ve got the room covered. If anything happens, you’ll hear from me.”

  Sam stands, a determined set to his jaw. “Let me help.”

  “You don’t need to do that,” I say, not sure where this show of solidarity is coming from after all the animosity between us.

  “Listen,” Sam says, “I know he means something to Elle, but so do the two of you. I want to make sure none of you get hurt. It’s got nothing to do with me. Now, lead the way.”

  Ben turns on his heel and starts walking toward the rotunda, Maddox and Mason on either side. Sam’s a few inches taller than me, and only slightly less imposing than either of his older brothers, so I can’t deny I’m glad he’s on my side.

  I spare a passing thought to wonder what the hell happened with Marco. Of all the Santos brothers, the one who’s an actual Navy SEAL is who I’d prefer to have my back in a fight.

  When we enter the rotunda, we spread out. After about thirty seconds, someone calls out, “Over here!”

  The rest of us rush behind the Apollo 9 module. A smattering of dark droplets catches my eye and I bend down, dabbing my fingertip at one. The fluid smeared on my fingertips is red.

  “Nothing in the gift shop or ticket booth,” Sam says, jogging back over. “They must’ve left out the front. There’s nowhere else to go.”

  I stand and face the others. “There are three parking lots. If they’re taking him, they headed to one. Split up and spread out. Sam, stick with me to check the front. Ben, go with Mason to the side lot. Mad Dog, you take the back.”

  I point in each direction, and the other men take off while Sam and I jog out the door, across the plaza, and toward the parking lot.

  “I know this area. There aren’t that many exits to the park,” Sam says. “If I were hoping to make a quick getaway with a captive, I’d park as close to an exit as I could get.”

  “Me too, but we gotta check. If they’re in the side lot, Ben and Mason will catch them.” I fucking hoped they would, anyway.

  We come up empty after jogging down the lane of parked cars. The lot isn’t even half-full, so it doesn’t take long to scan for activity. When a gunshot rings out, we both sprint toward the noise.

  “Take the street, it’ll be faster!” Sam yells, diverting me from a grassy expanse leading around another museum. I follow him to Presidents Way, where we both run full-tilt on the pavement toward the sounds of fighting.

  The second I see the next parking lot, I charge through the trees on the verge, then pull up short and immediately crouch behind the nearest car. Karl Thomas stands in the middle of the lot about a hundred yards away, holding a bound, gagged, and unconscious Drake in a chokehold under one arm and pointing a gun at his head. Ben and Mason flank him, each one standing over the unconscious bodies of Karl’s accomplices. Ben has ditched his jacket and a dark stain spreads across his upper arm, seeping through the starched white dress shirt. Jesus, was he hit?

  “You have no idea how much they offered me to off this asshole!” Karl yells. “Putting in those cameras just proved he deserves it. I’d have done it for less. This fucking rich, liberal dick fancies himself a modern-day Robin Hood—do you have any idea how insulting that is to the people who work for him?”

  “It’s already over,” Mason yells.

  “Who paid you?” Ben calls. “Give them up and we’ll let you walk away, I promise.”

  “You won’t fucking get to me before I pull the trigger. You think I didn’t make arrangements for the money in case I got caught?”

  “And you trust the man you work for enough to believe he’ll pay out if you bite it?” Mason calls back. “Come on, you’re smarter than that. We’re offering you a way to live. Let Stavros go.”

  Ben and Mason both remain still, making an effort not to s
pook Karl now that he’s cornered. He doesn’t see us, though, and when Sam nudges me and tilts his head, I peer over the trunk of the car and spy another shadow moving at a crouch in the direction of the rear lot. Mad Dog evidently came to join us, but is biding his time as well.

  I redirect my attention to Karl, who turns slightly when Mason starts to work his way around. “Don’t fucking move any closer. I’m warning you!”

  “It was Sitnik, wasn’t it?” Ben calls. “The Corluka gang.”

  Karl utters a faint curse, gaze frantically darting between Ben and Mason. Now that he’s facing my position, I have a clear shot, but I’m too far away to risk it.

  A faint birdcall echoes across the lot. Mason’s shoulders relax by a minuscule degree and a smile plays across his face.

  “What the fuck?” Sam mutters, his head whipping to the other side. Two additional shadows lurk among the trees on the verge. I utter a soft curse and yank Sam back from where he’s peeking out from behind the car.

  “What if he’s got backup?” I ask. “Ben and Mason are sitting ducks.”

  “I don’t think it’s backup for him. That birdcall is something my brothers used to do when they played paintball,” Sam says, creeping around the side of the car again, then sprinting low to the shadows behind the next. He crouches at the rear bumper of an SUV, peeking around the side for a moment before coming back, grinning from ear to ear. “This is about to get interesting.”

  The next few moments are a blur as something small, black, and lethal goes singing through the air. Karl lets out a yelp and drops to his knees, releasing both Drake and the gun as he flails at something between his shoulder blades. Drake’s limp body slumps to the ground and remains motionless. Please god, tell me he isn’t already dead.

  Ben wastes no time sprinting toward him. He kicks the gun aside, then lands a solid punch to the side of Karl’s head, knocking him down. Karl rolls onto his belly, a knife jutting out of the center of his back as he struggles to crawl away.

  Sam and I both emerge, running toward him and blocking his path. He scrambles, tries to rise, and turns to stumble the other direction, only to find a wall of Mad Dog in his way. The only way left is toward the verge, so he makes a solid attempt to flee in that direction. I keep my hand on the grip of my gun, but I don’t think I’ll need it, and I’m not wrong—Karl picks up speed, and none of us move to intercept. Ben’s the only one who breaks rank, squatting to check Drake’s pulse.

  “Thank fuck. He’s alive.”

  I’m relieved, but also too entertained watching Karl’s attempted escape, because the second he appears to think he’s home-free, two tuxedo-clad figures step out from the shadows.

  “Fuck yes,” Sam says, then lets out a hoot worthy of a battle cry.

  Marco Santos does no more than stand there, legs wide and arms crossed, blocking Karl’s retreat. Karl skids to a stop, wobbling on his feet. I hear him mutter a prayer as Marco steps closer, his equally imposing partner keeping watch at his back.

  “We don’t need you alive, you know,” Marco says. “We already know Miles Sitnik hired you to kill Drake.”

  “Please,” Karl says, falling to his knees once again. “I’m already dead because I failed. Corluka will torture and execute me.”

  “I’m thinking we’ll wait until the man you tried to kill comes to and decides what we should do with you. If he wants you alive, we’ll let you live. If not…” Marco shrugs. “I’m sure any one of these guys is more than happy to put you out of your misery.”

  Karl lifts his arm to reach for the knife in his back once again. This time he manages to snag the hilt and yank it out. But before any of us can react, he raises the blade to his throat, and in one smooth motion, slices. Blood gushes into his collar, and a second later he falls to the side, crumpling like a marionette with its strings cut.

  “Fuck,” Sam mutters. “That was metal, but also really fucking disturbing.”

  In the distance I hear voices, and one in particular sends tingles through my body. Ben’s head jerks up at the sound of Elle calling our names, but he doesn’t move from where he now rests on his knees, Drake’s head in his lap.

  The crowd of our extended families comes rushing down the hill, followed by the curious gala attendees. Leo tries to corral them, and most of them stay at the edge of the lot, but our own group doesn’t stop.

  Elle rushes to Drake’s side and drops to her knees. I take a few steps closer, and I’m about to crouch to rest a hand on Elle’s shoulder when Mason’s fiancée brushes past.

  “I’m a doctor,” Callie says. “Let me take a look.”

  Before she can shine her little pen light in Drake’s eyes, he lets out a deep chuckle. “Pretty sure that asshole’s beyond saving.”

  Callie doesn’t miss a beat, glancing back at Karl’s unmoving body. “Yeah, but there are two other assholes who aren’t. Follow the light.”

  She proceeds to check him out, including asking him some inane questions like what year it is and who the president is. He jokes around, but gets the questions right. When he sits up, accepting Elle’s embrace, Callie shifts her attention to Ben.

  “You need a hospital,” she says, pointing at his bloody arm.

  “It’s just a flesh wound,” he replies, rising to his feet. He starts to sway, and I’m at his side, arm around his waist before he can fall to the ground. He looks deathly pale beneath the stark lighting of the parking lot, his face coated in a sheen of sweat. “You know I hate hospitals, hermano.”

  “Just let her take a look, okay?”

  I ease him back to the pavement, where Callie helps him out of his shirt. Maddox squats on his other side and proceeds to rip the expensive fabric into strips.

  “Looks like the bullet went straight through, but you’ve lost some blood. It’s clotted well, though, so cleaning and bandaging will likely be enough,” Callie says.

  “I’ve seen worse,” Maddox agrees, glancing up at Leo, who joined us a moment ago and now stands between Celeste and Toni.

  Callie takes the proffered strips of shirt and ties a makeshift bandage around Ben’s arm, then Maddox and I each take a side and support his lightheaded ass while we make our way back up to the museum.

  Ben resists after a few steps, muttering Drake’s name as he tries to turn around.

  “Right behind you,” Drake says. I glance back to find him bracketed by Elle and Sam while the others move on ahead of us.

  “He’s checking out my ass, you know,” Ben says blearily.

  “And a fine ass it is,” Drake retorts.

  Only Arturo and Leo remain behind, phones to their ears as they stand over Karl Thomas’ body. His accomplices have roused, but someone had the foresight to bind them in the craziness, so they’re not going anywhere.

  Knowing Papá Flores, he’s calling his fixer in to help dispose of a few bodies. For once, I’m happy not to be involved in that part of his business, but if either Drake or Ben had been hurt worse—or killed—I’d have already executed them all myself.

  Most of the guests begin to leave once they’re assured it’s safe and there are no gunmen on the loose. Soon it’s just our large group left in the pavilion. Callie urges Ben to hydrate while she tends his wound, then redirects her attention to Drake, who holds an ice pack to the back of his head. She shines her light in his eyes once more.

  “You must have a pretty hard head. I don’t see any sign of a concussion, but you need to be vigilant for the next twenty-four hours. If you feel nauseous or dizzy, develop a headache, or experience confusion, get yourself to a hospital pronto, do you hear me?”

  “He hears you, doc,” Mason says, pulling her away to allow me and Elle to sit. I look into both their eyes, relieved that my twin seems to have regained some focus and energy. He’s munching on a dinner roll while Drake nurses a can of soda.

  “Now that that’s over, are we moving back to the penthouse?” Elle asks.

  “It isn’t over,” I say, and both Drake and Ben share equally grim loo
ks.

  Elle frowns. “But the assassin is dead. And Miles Sitnik was here all night and didn’t make a move. You don’t still think he’s the one who was paying Karl, do you?”

  “Right before he died, Karl admitted to working for Corluka,” Ben says. “We’ve probably only slowed them down, but it’ll give us time to regroup. We aren’t moving back to the penthouse anytime soon, though—the yacht is a more defensible position, especially since it’s not stationary. We should have Theo take us somewhere else when we get back.”

  Drake slips his phone from his pocket. “I’ll have him begin making preparations now. We’ll set sail as soon as we’re back on board.”

  38

  Elle

  “Hey, Bean.”

  I’m exiting the restroom when I hear the old nickname my three oldest brothers use for me. Marco is leaning against the wall of the corridor. I smile, then close the distance for a hug.

  “You made it,” I say, squeezing him tight.

  “And in the nick of time, it seems. Jake and I had just parked when we heard the gunshot. It’s the first time being late turned out to be a bonus.”

  “You saved him,” I say, tears springing to my eyes.

  “Hey, now.” He bends down to eye-level, eyebrows raised. “Seems to me it was a team effort.”

  “I’m just glad you showed up when you did.” I take a deep breath and hug him again.

  “Me too, though I’ll admit it doesn’t feel quite right letting Flores take over. Something like this should be handled by local authorities. Doesn’t the man have a family?”

  I grit my teeth, anger threatening to bubble forth. “Do you even know what they did? That man put cameras all over Drake’s penthouse. In my bedroom—my bathroom.”