by J. B. Havens
“It’s a skill.”
Pierce and Jordon had him well in hand. They got him to his feet and were forcing him down the steps.
“Rook, they ready? We need to roll out.”
“Find their clothes. I’m not taking them outside naked in the freezing cold.”
I was ashamed I hadn’t thought of it myself. Some cabinets were hanging on the wall, above a long counter littered with pieces of rifles, ammunition, and empty take-out boxes.
I found some clothes inside the cabinets. I wasn’t worried about whether the pants, shirts, and coats I pulled out originally belonged to these girls; they just needed layers of warmth. I didn’t find any shoes, but the van was just downstairs so they wouldn’t be walking around in the snow.
“Here. This is all there was.” I pulled my tactical hood down, easing the tight, hot feeling it created. One of the girls gasped when she saw me, maybe not realizing that I was a woman or in response to the scar on my cheek, or both. Who knew? Attempting a smile, I handed the clothing to the girls. “Rook, I’ve got this. Meet us downstairs.”
He took my meaning easy enough, realizing the girls probably didn’t want a male audience while dressing. They were still shaking and weak. I felt out of place and strange as I helped them pull shirts over their heads and zip up their coats. They both managed their pants easy enough.
“Come on, we have to go.” I knew they didn’t understand my words, but with my hand gestures, they got my meaning well enough.
We marched downstairs and they climbed into the waiting van without needing to be told. Rook was at the wheel, waiting for me.
I was the last one out the door. “Jordon, Jones, Pierce—go with Flynn; Rook and I will follow in the van. Stay the fuck together.” Jordon and Pierce hauled Anton up higher between them where he was sagging. “Put him in the van; I don’t want you to risk being seen on the street with a fucking hostage.”
I slid open the side door of the large passenger van and stood to the side while they tossed him in. The girls flinched from the back bench seat. The middle seats were missing and Anton landed in the empty space with a hollow thud. “Sorry girls, no choice,” Rook spoke over his shoulder, before translating for me. They nodded in silent response and I climbed into the van.
I sat on the floor near Anton, keeping my rifle trained on him. I really didn’t want to kill him, but he didn’t know that. His eyes were wide with fear, showing too much white. I bet a man like him wasn’t used to such treatment.
“How does it feel, Anton, the bite of bonds at your wrists? Hurts, doesn’t it?” I spit at his feet, disgusted with men like him who hid like snakes under rocks in every corner of the world, just waiting in their slimy burrows for the perfect victim to present themselves. Never thinking beyond their own vicious greed.
“Mic, he can’t understand you,” Rook cautiously said. Maybe he was picking up on my mood, I wasn’t sure.
“Oh no, he understands me well enough. Maybe he doesn’t understand English, but he gets my meaning. Don’t you, you bastard?”
Anton’s eyes were empty pools. They showed nothing in their depths except hate and rage. We backed out of the driveway, and like responsible citizens, closed the garage door behind us. The bullet holes were hidden and safely tucked away.
All through the drive back to the safe house, I kept watch over him. Occasionally, I checked on the girls. My chest swelled with emotion, knowing that by breaking in that door we had saved these girls from a lifetime of terror and torture. At that moment, everything we’d done up to this point felt right. Steel might be gone from the secret files, but we were not done—not by a long shot. Steel was alive and as strong as ever; and we were finally doing the work we thought we’d been doing all along.
Chapter 18
Nickoli stood in the shadows of the brothel, watching the SUV follow the van. If you didn’t know what you were looking for, you’d never spot the tail. Well done. He trusted Matthew with his life, but he hoped that Steel could live up to the reputation they’d gained. If he was discovered helping them, his life would be forfeited.
His career came with a few perks, one of which was being able to infiltrate nearly any building. The bouncer at the back door fell quickly after a well-placed strike to his jugular. Grunting, Nickoli drug the big man behind the dumpster, ensuring that he was well hidden. Swiping the keys from the man’s belt, he opened the back door and entered a long dark hallway. The little bit of light came from sconces spaced too far apart along the walls. Spooky shadows lengthened the corridor, adding to the sense of horror he felt in this awful place.
Thin, threadbare carpet silenced his footsteps. There were doors placed evenly on either side of the hallway. Using the stolen keys, he checked each one. Naked women of every shape, size, and age were behind the doors. Some were covered in bruises; others stared blankly at the dingy walls within, needle tracks on their arms, empty liquor bottles on the floor. These women did anything they could to numb the pain and humiliation they were subjected to daily. They lived in a nightmare and he couldn’t blame them for wanting an escape.
As much as he wanted to help the girls, he was there for a different purpose. The hallway made a sharp left ahead. Hugging the wall, he listened carefully. The last thing he wanted was to run into another bouncer or employee. Quickly popping his head out, he saw no one in the hall.
There were only two doors in this section, one on the left beside him and one a little ahead on the right. The wooden door on the left was heavier, very different from the other standard interior ones. Light was spilling from the crack underneath. Creeping closer along the wall, he could hear a woman speaking. He was unable to make out the words, but the lack of response told him she was on the phone.
Grasping the brass knob firmly, he softly twisted it. It was unlocked. Opening the door a crack, he looked in. Lauren was at her desk, phone to her ear and her back to the door. Fate was smiling on him this night.
Slipping inside, he closed the door behind him. The click of the lock was loud, causing her to spin around quickly. The wheels of her chair squeaked lightly.
“Who the hell are you?” She hung up the phone and stood. The faint yellow lights of the lamps did little to hide her wrinkled and spotty skin. Heavy lines drew her mouth down severely. A once beautiful woman had been ruined by drugs, drink, and hard living.
“I am Death.” Shock, then fear, crossed her face as he pulled the length of piano wire from his pocket. Her mouth popped open in a scream that his fist cut short. He smashed another punch into her face, knocking her back into her chair. She sat there, dazed—blood leaking from the corner of her mouth.
Rounding her large desk, he quickly got into position behind her. Twisting the wire around his gloved hands and slipping it around her throat, he pulled upward, his muscles straining with the effort. Killing someone this way wasn’t as quick as it was made out to be by Hollywood. Even as she kicked and thrashed, he kept the wire tight. Blood began to leak out from where the wire was cutting her. She didn’t make a sound. A black high heel bounced across the floor as her feet slipped and fought for purchase. Sweat beaded on his brow; his hands were aching from the bite of the wire through his leather gloves.
Her struggles weakened, then ceased altogether. He kept the tension, counting backward from one hundred. Unconsciousness didn’t always mean death. Glancing down briefly at her face, it had turned blue and her tongue was hanging out of her red painted lips.
Releasing the wire, he pulled it free from where it had dug deeply into the flesh of her throat. Small droplets of blood ran down her neck and chest. The fabric of her purple silk blouse absorbed the blood easily. She was as grotesque in death as she had been in life.
Stuffing the wire back into his pocket, he wiped the sweat from his brow and straightened his jacket. Cautiously opening the door, he ensured the hallway was empty and quickly left the same way he’d came in. Silent and unnoticed.
Back on the street, he strode purposefully into the night
, putting as much distance between himself and the brothel as possible. Her body could be discovered in minutes or hours. He’d taken a big chance going in blind with no backup and no intelligence. Spotting a storm drain, he dropped the stolen keys inside it. He’d do the same with the wire in a few blocks.
Making a left, he kept up his pace. This street was lined with apartment complexes; one was his. Crossing the small snow covered courtyard, he entered the building and took three flights of stairs to the top floor.
Entering his small apartment and locking the door behind him, he immediately stripped his clothes off. He threw them in a pile by the door to be burned later and strode naked to the shower.
Leaning forward under the pounding spray, he let the water wash over his body. He doubted there was any evidence on him, but it was always better to be safe. His knuckles ached slightly and red lines crisscrossed his palms. He’d garroted people before, but this was the first time he had killed a woman. First time he had struck one also. If there was anyone deserving of death, it was Lauren, but he suspected that her face would be burned into his memory for a long time.
The hot water began to run cold; shivering, he turned it off and got out. As he dried himself and dressed, his mind wandered back to that night with Matthew. He’d gotten there in time to save his friend’s life, but not his heart. A piece of them both had died on the concrete that night. A slice of their souls, never to be recovered. By being only a few minutes late, Nickoli had not prevented the taking from Matthew of something that could never be replaced. It was not just any girl that was killed that night; the woman was Matthew’s lover. The relationship was secret, known only to himself. She died while Matthew had lived, and Nickoli would always carry the guilt.
Chapter 19
Beatrice paced the cabin impatiently, checking the clock every few seconds. Each time she looked at the white face, she was surprised only minutes had passed and not hours.
Fisher had been gone for most of the day. That morning he’d been ordered to D.C. to report to the Secretary of Defense. She hadn’t heard from him since that morning when he’d called and told her he’d landed safely. That was more than ten hours ago.
The door opened, stopping her pacing and sending her rushing to him. He shut out the cold wind blowing inside and opened his arms wide in greeting.
“I was getting worried when I hadn’t heard from you.” Her face was pressed against his broad chest, his hand cradling her head.
“I’m sorry. I got stuck behind an accident on the drive back from the airport.” He sat on the couch and pulled her down into his favorite place for her to sit—his lap.
“Are you going to tell me how it went or is it so bad you’re going to try and distract me?” She leaned back a little, trying to get a good look at his face. Exhaustion had drawn lines on his brow, which she smoothed with her fingertips. He wasn’t smiling, but neither was he frowning. She took it as a good sign.
“Seeing how I’m not on my way to prison, I’d say it went pretty well. I won’t give you a play-by-play, but they are going to leave Mic and the guys alone, and I am officially retired.”
“What does that mean for this place? And their cars and all their things?” She knew Mic loved her Jeep, she’d hate to see her lose it in light of everything else too.
“I have a friend who runs a shipping business in London. I’ll have him send us some containers, and we’ll load all their stuff up into a few of them. I think I know how to get word to them to pick it up or ship it elsewhere from London.” It would be a complicated logistical nightmare, but it was the least he could do for them.
“You’re just full of surprises. What about us?” Fear tickled the back of her throat. Her home was gone, as far as she knew Fisher didn’t have property anywhere. They’d have to start from scratch.
Shifting her weight to the side, he reached into his pocket and handed her some folded papers. Curious, she opened it and saw it was a map of Northern America.
“Pick anywhere. Where have you always wanted to go? We can be old and buy an RV and travel or buy a little house somewhere. Between my savings, some investments, and my pension, I’ve got plenty of money.”
Her shocked gasp filled the cabin. Anywhere?
“What about you? What are your ideas?” She had a few of her own but wanted to hear his first.
“As long as I’m with you, I’m happy. It’s going to be an adjustment for me, and I hope you can be patient when I'm less than courteous. The military has been all I’ve known for all of my adult life, it’s going to be hard not having to get up and put on my uniform.”
“I don’t think you could ever be irate or grumpy with me.” She kissed his cheek, the whiskers already returning from his shave this morning. “I’ve always wanted to see the redwoods. Let’s start there.” Smiling into his eyes, Beatrice felt lighter than she had in days. The future was in front of them, and she wasn’t about to waste it. Her only sorrow was that she wouldn’t get to share it with Bea. She hoped to see her again one day. A thought struck her—if Fisher could get a message to them, maybe she could as well. Determined to reunite with her niece one way or another, Beatrice surveyed the map, plotting their course. Before they started their new life, there were some things she needed to settle with that girl, whether Bea liked it or not.
****
Anton struggled against the zip ties binding his wrists tightly together. The movement just caused him more pain and frustration, tightening the restraints to the point they were cutting into his wrists.
He found himself forced into a position of weakness and it grated on his nerves. He was a powerful man, and whoever these people were, they were going to regret this with every drop of blood in their worthless bodies.
“We’re here,” the driver announced. They spoke in English no doubt assuming he didn’t understand them, but he understood every word. Arrogant Americans that they were, never considered he’d taken the time to learn English.
The van bumped slightly as it pulled into a garage. He heard the door roll back down completely before someone opened the sliding door. It was the tall, somewhat familiar looking, dark-skinned man who had been in the front. His eyes were flat and cold, but Anton got the feeling they saw right through him.
The girls were taken out and away before rough hands reached inside for him; jerking him out and slamming him against the side of the van. His arms ached from being tied behind his back, and he had an urgent need to use the toilet.
The small woman seemed to be in charge as she directed the care of the girls, speaking just out of his earshot to the dark-skinned man she had called Rook. There must be a commander he’d yet to meet, he doubted a woman could lead these men.
What kind of name is that?
She turned her head toward him suddenly, it was almost as if she’d heard his thoughts. An unfamiliar chill of fear raced down his spine, tightening his muscles with the need to run. The look in her eyes reminded him of the way lions looked at their prey. He did not forget that female lions did the hunting, and at that moment, he felt very much like a gazelle.
“Take him to the basement,” she ordered. “I’ll attend to him shortly.”
The man she’d called ‘Rook’ and a tall lanky man in a cowboy hat grabbed him by the arms and towed him into the kitchen. The girls were sitting at the table, steaming cups clutched in their hands and hate in their eyes. The younger of the two spit at his feet as he was pulled past. He hadn’t bothered to learn their names, just the price they would bring. When he got out of this, he’d make sure he raped and killed the whores—it was not more than deserved.
The door to what he presumed was the basement opened wide, and the darkness swallowed the small amount of light from the kitchen. His hands trembled in terror, much to his shame. Clenching his fists together, he raised his chin in mock confidence. When the delivery failed to arrive at Yusef’s home, the ruthless mob boss would come looking for him. He hoped he survived long enough to explain this to Yusef, because
if these people didn’t kill him, Yusef would.
****
I rummaged through the drawers in the kitchen, looking for tools to add to the growing pile on the counter. A meat mallet joined the knives, ice pick, and steel barbecue skewers resting in a haphazard pile.
“This again, huh?” Jordon fingered the pile of implements.
“Yeah. I hope threats will work. If not… well, I have other means.” I think I’d exhausted everything useful in the kitchen. I’d check the garage next.
“I suppose so. I know it bothers you.”
Heat rushed up my face as anger tightened my jaw. “Of course, it fucking bothers me!”
“Let me try something. If it doesn’t work, you can pull off his fingernails or cut off his balls or whatever. Let me spare you some of this burden.”
“What’s your idea then?” I asked as the others came back into the kitchen. “He secure?”
“Tied to a metal chair, blindfolded. He’s not going anywhere.” Pierce answered.
Jordon drew my attention back to him. “You’ve said it yourself, sometimes the threat of torture works better than the torture itself. Let’s put on a show.”
“What do you have in mind?” I was curious to see what Jordon came up with. If it saved both time and scars on my soul, I was all for it.
He pulled open the freezer, throwing packs of red meat into the kitchen sink beside him. “It’s all about first impressions right? Make a grand entrance and be as scary as possible so he’s pissing his pants in fear before you even pick up a blade.” He turned on the hot water and filled the sinks until the frozen packs of meat were floating. “We’ll thaw these out, squeeze out the blood and paint you with it. Add in some sound effects and it’s quite the picture.”
Flynn huffed in disbelief. “This is all well and good for drama class, boy-o, but you really don’t think that fucker is going to be fooled by some blood and fake screams do you? And who the fuck are we supposed to be torturing anyway?”
