Wrath (Faith McMann Trilogy Book 3)

by T. R. Ragan

  It was Aster.

  She couldn’t let him get away.

  Trying to keep her footfalls light, she kept a close tail. Aster didn’t realize she was behind him until he got to his car. He turned slowly around, hands in the air.

  Faith stood a few feet away. She didn’t give him time to think about what his next move might be. She aimed low and fired, catching him in the hip.

  He fell backward against his car, grimacing in pain as he reached into his pocket.

  She fired again, hitting his right leg.

  He fell flat against the ground. His gun dropped to his side. She stepped closer and kicked it away.

  He was on his back, faceup, cursing as he rolled to his side in pain.

  She clenched her jaw as she hovered over him, watching his face twist in agony. She’d never felt such hatred for anyone. She wanted to destroy him. He deserved to die. But not yet. “You son of a bitch,” she said as she bent down and searched through his pockets. She found a pistol and tossed it out of sight, then patted him down, checking for more weapons.

  His laughter caught her off guard. He really was crazy. They stared at each other through the downpour. She stood tall and aimed the barrel of her gun at his head.

  “Go ahead,” he croaked. “Put me out of my misery because I’ll never tell you where your precious daughter is hiding out.”

  She blinked to keep her vision clear.

  “You think you’ve made a dent in this billion-dollar business?”

  This time when he laughed, Faith placed a foot on his injured leg and pressed down hard.

  He grimaced. “Haven’t you learned anything from all of this?” he asked. “You can’t stop me. You’ll discover soon enough you’re fighting a losing battle.”

  “Tell me where she is, and I might let you live.”

  “You might as well shoot me now because I’ll never tell you anything. You females don’t know when to quit. You’re all worthless, good-for-nothing whores who don’t—”

  Sirens sounded in the distance. “You don’t know where she is, do you?”

  She watched him closely. “You truly have no idea,” Faith went on. “I’ve been questioning your idiotic men for weeks, and nobody ever mentioned Aster Williams,” she lied, hoping to piss him off.

  His eyes narrowed.

  “You’re not running this show, are you?” Judging by his expression, she’d struck a chord. “Who’s the real man in charge?”

  The sirens grew louder. Time was running out. Frustrated by his silence, she shot him in the foot.

  He wriggled in pain, his face a maze of lines and deep grooves.

  It took every bit of restraint she had within not to put a bullet between his eyes.

  A police cruiser turned into the parking lot. Doors opened. “Put the gun down,” an officer ordered.

  She stared at Aster with regret. She should have taken him out while she had the chance. Slowly she bent down and placed the gun on the ground at her feet. Then she held her hands in the air.

  Rage tried to fire up the engine again, but it was no use. She pulled her knit cap lower over her ears and climbed out of the car. Her legs nearly buckled from the weight. She’d never felt so weak. She thought she might collapse and never get up again. Every muscle felt fatigued as if she’d been lifting heavy weights.

  Miranda hadn’t moved. She stood in the rain, gun aimed at the guy’s head as she interrogated him. “Where are you going?” Miranda asked Rage when she looked up and saw her exiting the car.

  “I’ll be right back,” Rage said. “Does he know anything?”

  “If he does, he’s not sharing.”

  “Are you OK?”

  “I’m good,” Miranda said. “I’m not letting this asshole go anywhere.”

  Rage’s heart was beating fast, so fast she thought it might explode. Her vision blurred as she walked in the same direction she’d seen Faith go. Again she worried she might pass out. She thought of Beast and Little Vinnie. She needed to find them. Not only to give them hell for leaving her but because she needed to make sure they were OK.

  One step at a time, she told herself. One step at a time. She recalled the first time she’d gone running with Beast. She had been winded and wanted to quit. “You can do it,” he’d told her more than once. She pretended he was there now, at her side, encouraging her onward. Over the past few days, as she lay sick in bed, she’d heard Beast talking to Little Vinnie about putting a small army together. Their conversation made sense because as she came around the corner, it looked and sounded like war: bodies everywhere, a constant stream of gunfire, people shouting orders, and piercing screams. Chaos.

  Although her eyes had adjusted to the dark, the heavy rainfall and the smoke hovering around the loading dock made it difficult to see who was who and figure out what exactly was going on.

  Sirens pierced the night as she crept closer. She found a place to hide behind a metal bin, trying to keep out of firing range as she maintained a lookout for Beast and Little Vinnie.

  Faith was nowhere to be seen.

  She heard shouting, recognized the voice of Russell Gray as he appeared from the smoke, barking orders before he ran to the glass doors at the front of the building. He sprayed the doors with bullets.

  Rage covered her ears.

  Glass shattered before he and another man made their way inside.

  The scene before her was surreal.

  A massive figure burst from the smoke, firing a rifle as he made a hasty backward exit out of the loading dock area.

  “Beast!” she shouted as he fell backward over a two-foot railing, landing with a hard thud onto his back.

  He was alive. Thank God. Her heart skipped a beat as she called out his name again. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted a figure on the warehouse roof. A man was wriggling his way out of an escape hatch. He carried a gun.

  Beast pushed himself to his feet and appeared to have no idea someone was looking down at him, making him a target.

  “Beast!” Rage shouted for the third time as she ran his way. “Watch out!”

  When he finally heard her, he turned toward her. “What are you doing here?”

  “On the roof!” she shouted, tears mixing with the rain as she threw herself between the shooter and him, knowing what was coming next, welcoming the sting of the bullet as it tore through flesh and pushed her against Beast’s massive chest. She would miss him. She’d had months to come to that realization. He was the only person who had ever loved her unconditionally. He loved her for who she was, with all her flaws and baggage.

  Death was coming faster than she’d imagined. She could see it, feel it, taste it, and she welcomed it. She peered into Beast’s warm eyes, glad to have it end this way instead of lingering too long in a hospital bed surrounded by pitiful, sorrowful looks.

  The pain left her body, and in that moment she felt weightless and whole again. She thought of her little boy. Callan had given her life meaning. He was happy, and the thought cheered her immeasurably.

  She’d made the right choice in saving Beast.

  In his eyes, she saw only love—nothing but love. How beautiful, she thought, to realize what life was all about in that particular instant before death. No judgment, no silly games, no wondering about what came next . . . just love.

  As he held her close, she felt the beat of his heart, rhythmic and strong against her ribs as she took her last breath.

  Stunned and confused, Beast looked from Rage’s round, wide-open eyes to the shooter standing on the roof.

  He heard movement directly behind him. A shot rang out.

  A bullet struck the rooftop shooter squarely in the chest, sending him toppling from the roof just as a string of police vehicles pulled in. The shooter landed with a thud on the windshield of the first cruiser in line.

  The car door opened. Detective Yuhasz looked from the dead man on his windshield to Beast and then to Kirsten Reich, standing a few feet behind him, the one who had landed the fatal shot.
Yuhasz ordered her to put her weapon down, which she did. Another officer cuffed her and put her in the back of his cruiser.

  Detective Yuhasz shouted orders to his men before he disappeared inside the building.

  With Rage’s limp body cradled in his arms, Beast carried her over gravel and dirt, across the empty street, and to the back of the truck, where he could get her out of the rain.

  His thoughts were everywhere and nowhere.

  This couldn’t be happening, Beast thought. He’d known this day would come, and yet it couldn’t be here and it couldn’t be now. Her face was gaunt and pale, her eyes shadowed by life and death.

  This was not acceptable.

  This was not real.

  Anger enveloped him. He could feel it fold its wrathful tentacles around his organs, strangling his heart, crushing his spirit and will.

  With one arm, Beast rolled the trailer door upward. He set her down, stepped inside, then scooped her up again with bloodied hands and carried her to the front of the trailer where he slid down, his back pressed against the siding, until he was seated, holding her all the while. The heavy rain sounded like battering rams above his head.

  “Rage,” he said, knowing there would be no answer.

  She was gone.

  He gently closed her eyes, kissed her forehead, then simply held her and told her everything he loved about her: the love she held for her son, her wit, her sarcasm, her ability to call him on all his bullshit. And as his thumb brushed lightly over her cheek, as he took note of the hollowness there, reality set in. She’d been so sick of late. Watching her, knowing she’d been hiding her pain from him, caused his anger to turn to something else.

  She’d died on her own terms. She’d died saving his life.

  And for the first time in a long while, maybe ever, he wept.

  A woeful sound came from his throat. A sound he didn’t recognize as he shed tears for all the pain she’d been forced to endure in her short life. He cried for all the happy times they’d shared, too, and for all she’d done to bring him back to life after he’d lost his wife and daughter. Rage had no idea the difference she made in so many lives. And he knew his world would never be the same.

  TWENTY-ONE

  “A confrontation between citizens and human traffickers became full-out warfare last night at a warehouse located in East Sacramento. Although it has yet to be confirmed, we’ve been told that a dozen businessmen allegedly involved in criminal activity were meeting there to discuss a recent string of arrests.

  “Citizens have been taking it upon themselves to report suspicious activities, which have resulted in a high number of arrests this past week. Retired US Army Reserve Captain Bo DeLuc and retired Commander Charlie Ward, along with Russell Gray, the father of Faith McMann, and others, many ex-military, had reportedly planned to gather information on the group they consider to be part of the upper tier of the sex-trafficking hierarchy. But things got out of hand quickly after three children were brought to the site. No names have been released, but it’s believed Lara McMann was not among the group. Aster Williams, the Sacramento businessman purported to be one of the ringleaders, was said to be in attendance when the first shot was fired. At this time many are speculating that Faith McMann-mother, schoolteacher, and, according to some, a vigilante-was behind this latest devastating event that has left five dead, two in critical condition, and six injured. All three children are safe. We’ll keep you updated as more information comes in.”

  Dad shut off the television.

  “Five dead,” Lilly said as she helped Faith bandage her hand, keeping her pinkie and ring finger wrapped together in a makeshift splint. “And poor Rage,” Lilly said, looking to Faith’s dad for comfort.

  “Are they going to put Mom in jail?” Hudson asked from the hallway.

  They all turned his way.

  “Nobody’s going to jail,” Faith said, hoping it was true, just before her cell rang. “It’s Detective Yuhasz.” She held up her good hand, asking for silence, before picking up the call.

  After she ended the conversation, she asked Mom and Dad if they could watch Hudson for a couple of hours. The detective wanted to talk to her in person.

  Fifteen minutes later, Faith was in her car headed for the police department in Auburn. So much had happened last night. It was difficult to concentrate. She couldn’t stop thinking about Rage, who’d been so determined to live to see the day Lara was brought home.

  “Stay safe” had been the last thing Faith had said to Rage. If only she’d known that would be their final moment together. She would have taken the time to let Rage know she never could have accomplished so much in such a short time without her help. Faith would have told her how special she was, a compassionate soul who would be sorely missed when she was gone.

  So much chaos last night, Faith thought. Smoke, rain, gunfire, and shouting. If Rage hadn’t shown up when she did, Faith wouldn’t be here. It broke her heart to think of the moment she and Dad found Beast in the back of the semitrailer cradling Rage’s lifeless body.

  A squirrel skittered across the road in front of her. She hit the brakes. Her tires swerved. Once she had things under control again, she remained calm and kept her eyes on the road.

  It was difficult to concentrate knowing Rage and two of Kirsten’s friends had died. At times like this she wondered how much longer they could keep up the fight. Although arrests had been made and Aster Williams was in custody, it seemed the enemy was winning. How could they not be? It would take years of extreme focus and diligence to take these guys down.

  Two of the five dead were on the list. Both recruiters and drug dealers, according to Richard Price. Two others were in critical condition: one of Aster’s elite, and Victoria, the woman she’d dragged to the side of the building.

  For the first time in a long while, Lara wasn’t her only concern.

  Faith had tried not to express worry in front of Hudson, but the truth was she had no idea if Detective Yuhasz would handcuff her and order her locked in a cell. It had happened before, and she imagined it could happen again. Two wrongs did not make a right. She knew that. Laws were put in place for a reason. She knew that, too. And yet she also knew that nothing the detective could say this morning would stop her from continuing her search for Lara.

  The rain had stopped, but the roads were still slick from last night’s downpour. It didn’t help that people drove too fast on Auburn-Folsom, making it a danger to bikers, pedestrians, and other drivers. There were two cars ahead and one behind her. The forest-green Nissan directly in front of her kept braking. She held her good hand tight around the wheel and did her best to keep a safe distance away.

  The car behind her, a silver Honda Civic, sped up, passing her and the two cars ahead at the same time a truck was coming from the opposite direction. Panicked, she pulled as far to the right as she could without going into the ditch. The Nissan in front of her did the same.

  A horn blared as the truck passed by in a rumbling blur of watery spray. Faith waited a few seconds for the Nissan to continue on. When the car failed to move, she started to merge back onto the road. She wouldn’t have given the Nissan another thought if it hadn’t pulled out in front of her just as she was about to pass.

  “Son of a bitch!”

  She slammed on her brakes.

  Her car fishtailed, but she managed to stay on the road.

  Pulse racing, she looked at her rearview mirror and saw a line of cars approaching. Riled by what had just happened, she pulled to the side of the road again, deciding to let them all pass.

  Up ahead she noticed the Nissan had pulled to the side again, too.

  Something wasn’t right. She stared ahead, tried to get a glimpse of the driver. This was getting weird. She grabbed her cell from inside her purse on the passenger seat. Before she could zoom in and take a picture of the license plate, the Nissan took off, tires squealing before getting traction.

  The car disappeared. She counted to ten before merging back
onto the road.

  She jumped at the sound of her ringtone.

  She was definitely losing it. Every nerve was shot. She hit the green “Call” button on her console and said hello.

  There was breathing on the other end.

  “Is anybody there?”

  She was about to disconnect the call when she glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the same damn Nissan pull out from Horseshoe Bar Road and merge onto Auburn-Folsom Road.

  He was back.

  Focused on the road ahead, the caller all but forgotten, she sped up to fifty-five and then sixty, figuring she’d lead the asshole right to the Auburn Police Department.

  The road became much narrower the farther she went. Sidewalks and ditches were now a steep embankment.

  The Nissan sped up, too, staying uncomfortably close.

  By the time she passed Newcastle Road, the speedometer had reached seventy. Her heart pounded, the adrenaline rush making it difficult to think. Up ahead a car pulled out of one of the developments, forcing her to slow.

  Bam! The Nissan hit her from behind. She jerked forward, her chest hitting the steering column. She swerved into oncoming traffic, then yanked the wheel back the other way.

  Her car did a 180. The engine stalled. Panicked, she turned the key. Nothing. She looked up and found herself facing the driver. His big eyes, dark and fearless, stared at her. Who was he?

  She remembered the gun in the glove box. She leaned over to open the compartment.

  Bam! Again she was jolted forward, her splintered hand caught between her chest and the steering wheel. She screamed out as intense pain swooshed through her body. About to reach for the glove box again, she noticed how close the Nissan’s back wheels were to the embankment. Tires squealed as he put on the gas and came at her again. She used her good hand to grip the steering wheel and waited for impact.