Cheyenne McCray - [Lexi Steele 01]

by The First Sin

  Schilling laughed again. “Go to your Sire and tell him you were punished for being disobedient and not obeying a Master when he told you to fetch a glass of water.” He leaned in close. “Say anything else and I’ll make sure you have a real punishment.”

  “Yes, Master.” Sick SOB.

  He slapped one of my breasts before he turned and headed for the men’s room. His chuckle had me wanting to run up behind him, wrap his own whip around his throat, and strangle him with it.

  When he disappeared behind the swinging door of the men’s room, I pulled my top up for yet another time that night and winced at the feel of the material sliding over the welts.

  Now I really had to hurry. I looked both ways and went for Strong’s doorknob.

  The lock was standard fare. I was confident that, if Strong had an alarm, another device Martinez had built into the collar would keep the alarm from activating.

  Picking the lock was, thankfully, a breeze. I eased the glass door open before closing it behind me and stuffing the tools into my bikini panties again. I was so damned glad I hadn’t put them in the top half of my suit. I locked the door.

  Desk, shelves, art—everything was some form of glass or crystal, with the exception of the white chairs and carpet. If anyone came in here, there would be no place to hide. Except maybe in the shower in the bathroom that led off from the office. As long as no one looked in there. Even then, the shower was made of glass block.

  I hurried around the desk to his pristine white computer, with a screensaver of a bound girl being whipped. It was the first picture in a slideshow screensaver with lots of women in different positions—

  And then I saw myself, hanging from that hook, blindfolded, with Donovan whipping me.

  I wanted to pick up the crystal paperweight next to the computer so badly that I shook with the need to smash the screen.

  Asshole, asshole, asshole!

  The picture changed to another woman and man, and relief at not seeing myself anymore helped me focus on my job.

  It took me only a few minutes to download the entire hard drive’s contents. Now I could let the geeks worry about cracking any codes.

  My cheeks burned at the thought of anyone at RED seeing that screensaver. I’d have to convince Taylor to handle this one himself, and to discreetly remove that particular photograph before his geek squad got a hold of it. Still, it was going to be embarrassing as hell having him see me like that. Donovan and I could remove it, but it might show up on a more intensive search.

  I slipped the port with the hard drive back into the lower part of my outfit and started to the door. I looked over my shoulder and saw my footprints in the once perfectly smooth carpet that must have been vacuumed by one of Strong’s maids.

  What could I do to cover my tracks? And do it in a hurry. My blood raced and my face felt flushed.

  There. The book closest to me on one of the nearby shelves might do the job. I grabbed it and ran to the desk, maintaining the same footpath. I leaned over and started dragging the book behind me, through the carpet, removing my tracks. Unfortunately, if someone was paying attention, it looked like something had been dragged on the floor.

  Never mind. Maybe he wouldn’t notice. But I didn’t have time to set the book upright on the shelf, and I needed to back out of the office, erasing the rest of my tracks. Strong would just have to lose a book, and I had to hope he didn’t miss it.

  After listening to the door to make sure everything was quiet, I unlocked the door as quietly as I could, then re-locked it after I covered the rest of my footprints.

  After a quick glance around, I hurried to the ladies’ room. I was just about to lay the book on the counter when I caught a glimpse of the title. Screw the Roses, Send Me the Thorns by Philip Miller and Molly Devon. I almost laughed. From everything I’d read, this was a classic BDSM book.

  Female voices came toward the ladies’ room and my heart pounded as I looked for someplace to hide the book. I dashed into one of the stalls, set the book on the toilet tank and plopped down on the seat.

  The girls were giggling and talking about Master Strong and Mistress Danica, and how they couldn’t wait to get back to them. After two toilet flushes and water running in the sink with more giggling, the girls left.

  I held my hand to my chest. Close, close, close. I got up and looked at the book lying on top of the toilet tank and I smiled. The tank lid was a little heavy and scraped when I moved it, but I opened it wide enough to drop the book in before it grated shut.

  Oh. The collar scraped my skin as I took it off before slipping the hard drive port and lock pick set from my bikini panties into it. I smiled at the thought of what Taylor or Martinez would think about where those things had been. I’d never tell.

  I shut off the camera and the signal scrambler before fastening the collar around my neck. With satisfaction I realized the camera would have recorded Schilling’s face and body. It would make it that much easier to take the slaver down.

  Was he the man we were looking for? Or was there someone above him? I had a good feeling Schilling was a pawn.

  Once I was out of the restroom, down the hall, and back in the room I’d been in with Donovan, I could finally breathe easier. I stripped and took the position we’d agreed on before I left, so that I looked like he was punishing me.

  My belly rested on the carpeted surface of a piece of BDSM furniture so that my head hung on one side and I was kneeling on the other. I was in a position where my butt was up high and blood was rushing to my head. Forever and a day Donovan left me there, and stars started popping in front of my eyes.

  “We’ll see you at the Champagne Slipper next week,” came Donovan’s voice from the doorway.

  “Looks like your slave was obedient while you were gone,” Strong said. “Maybe she’ll need a reward.”

  “I plan to give her one,” Donovan said in a deep, vibrant tone that sent lust spiraling from my belly to that needy place between my thighs.

  After he closed the door, Donovan rubbed my backside when he reached me. “Everything okay?”

  When I rose, my head spun a little from all that hanging down. I worked to bring my mind back into focus and fully turned so that he could see the new beauty mark on my naked breasts. “It would be absolutely perfect if not for this.”

  The flash of anger on Donovan’s face was intense. “Who?”

  It didn’t take me long to tell him in a low voice about the rendezvous with Schilling. The fury on Donovan’s features grew.

  “But the important thing,” I whispered, despite the burn on my chest, “is that I have recorded ID on the sicko.” I pointed to the place where the camera was hidden. “It will make it so much easier to take him down.”

  “Are you all right?” Donovan still looked angry and I felt his rough edges again. “Let’s get out of here.”

  A moment of silence hung between us, thick and heavy.

  “You’re doing all you can do.” I slipped my arms around Donovan’s neck and brought my mouth close to his. “And you do it very well.”

  Donovan cupped my butt and pressed his erection against me. “Or we could stay a while longer,” he said, all deep and rumbly.

  I smiled.

  CHAPTER 20

  Score one for the home team

  April 11

  Thursday night

  Helmets weren’t my style, but Donovan and I couldn’t afford to be recognized when we made the bust. We were camped out in the yacht club in Charlestown, in the old Navy Shipyard. The next wharf over was the USS Constitution.

  The irony. A symbol of freedom parked next to the place where women were being taken out of the country to be used as sex slaves.

  Hidden throughout the area were the rest of the RED raid teams, waiting for that private yacht named Sweet Cherry.

  Ha ha. Funny.

  Not.

  We’d done our research on the Cherry. It was enormous, and could easily hide women in cargo holds that were probably laced with c
hemicals that made it difficult for even K-9s to locate them.

  We’d also done recon on the area, but couldn’t locate the women, wherever they were being held, before the transfer was even made. Of course it couldn’t be that simple, now could it.

  No way was I going to miss this bust, no matter what my ASAC said. I needed to feel like I was doing something productive other than getting my butt whipped. Otherwise, all I had was the sick feeling in my belly at the thought of those girls being auctioned off. Auctioned off.

  The welt across my breasts burned as sweat dampened my skin beneath my T-shirt. Maybe Schilling would be here and I could shoot him.

  What a gold mine the information on and pictures of Schilling had been. Over the past few days our agents had been able to dissect his life down to his penchant for visiting porno sites. How’s that for in-depth research? Plenty of money being funneled to Swiss accounts. Ah, the trails one does leave when one isn’t careful enough.

  And he owned the Sweet Cherry.

  The now constant burning of the welt, but more importantly the fact that he was the scum of the earth for auctioning those girls, made me want to pop his head between my hands like a giant zit.

  Jason Strong—still clean. Like Tarantino, nothing was on his hard drive to implicate him in anything illegal. Strong’s records weren’t as well kept as Tarantino’s—it looked like Strong needed a better assistant or accountant. That was if he didn’t already have an assistant whom he kept tied up. Literally.

  I pushed aside thoughts of Strong and narrowed my gaze, hoping to see some sign of the Sweet Cherry.

  My skin crawled as I tried to shake off last night’s dream. It always changed, morphed. It was never the same. But it left me feeling exhausted, battered, almost hopeless.

  Hopelessness was something I would never accept into my life.

  If I’d ever allowed hopelessness to enter my mind, how would I have made it through those years as an assassin? Watching people die? Killing them.

  The thought of not even knowing who I was killing, or why, made my stomach churn. At least as a sniper in the Army I knew why we were taking out certain targets that were a danger to the US.

  Even as a RED agent I’d been forced to take a life to defend my own, or that of another agent.

  I could live with that.

  It was so much harder to accept the fact that I’d killed in order to save myself from mutilation and death.

  That was something I’d had to live with the rest of my life, and sometimes I understood why people turned to drugs or alcohol to forget their pain and mistakes.

  But I refused to feel helpless. Refused to waste my life, because now I could save others.

  By taking down the sonsofbitches auctioning off these women.

  I swallowed. Like that made my past sins any better.

  Flashes of moonlight and ripples of water in the harbor reminded me of shards of broken glass. Like the pieces that had scattered over my hand when I took the bat to Gary’s truck. My stomach tightened as I thought of what he’d done. But then I thought of Donovan, and suddenly Gary seemed like a part of my distant past.

  Cool, salty air reached me under my helmet’s shield. My M40 sniper’s rifle felt good and solid in my hands as I crouched next to Donovan, one of my many evil twins decked out in black raid gear, as we held our places. I had the added comfort of my Glock in my utility belt, along with my dagger.

  I kept my head perfectly still as I glanced at Donovan from the corner of my eye. Even in shadow and wearing a helmet, so much power emanated from him straight to me.

  My belly tingled and the feeling shot straight between my thighs. Saturday’s sexual adventure had turned into something hot and ravenous that we hadn’t begun to be able to satisfy over the past five days. Just one look and the next thing we knew clothes were flying everywhere, and then we were at it hard and fast.

  Never slow. No, our need for each other was so extreme that he took me up against the wall, on the kitchen table, the kitchen counter, in the shower, on the floor, on a chair in his war room. Come to think of it, we never actually made it to a bed.

  Push away thoughts of animal sex, Lexi Steele. Save that for after the party.

  How could I want him so much, even now?

  Somehow he made me feel safe, untouchable.

  Feelings like that were dangerous. No one was untouchable, and if anyone was going to protect my ass it would be me.

  I glanced at Donovan again in the darkness, sensing even more darkness around him from his anger and fear for his sister.

  My chest ached as I swallowed and gripped my rifle tighter.

  I wanted to take off the helmet and swipe my hand over my damp scalp. Instead I settled for wiping away a bead of sweat rolling down my cheek.

  Two times large yachts glided into the harbor and the thrumming of my heart vibrated through me. Neither had been the Sweet Cherry. They hadn’t even come close to matching the description, in case the name had been painted over.

  Every now and then Donovan or I would break the silence, keeping our voices low as we spoke into the comms and gave status reports to the other teams—the status reports were basically nothing. It wasn’t necessary to tell anyone to maintain position because not a RED agent would move until the order was given. Even the K-9s wouldn’t twitch a muscle.

  Tonight we’d taken out most of the lights when we arrived, so our teams were even more difficult to see in the darkness.

  Three friggin’ hours and the yacht still wasn’t here. Donovan and I knew our information was good. What we’d overheard at the Glass House—we had no doubt that tonight Schilling and his cohorts were shipping the women out.

  Right?

  Using the yacht—an interesting way to move the merchandise. And a swinging, exclusive party above deck. High-class human trafficking. Whaddya know?

  One of the RED agents constantly monitored the Coast Guard’s communications to make sure they hadn’t gotten to the yacht before us. Hadn’t heard a thing, though, and we would have.

  The ache in my legs and lower back begged me to move so I could stretch. Hell if I’d break position.

  A brilliant spot in the distance, diamond-bright on the water. Adrenaline made my muscles sing, chasing away aches and fatigue.

  “Target in range,” came Special Agent Fowler’s voice. The high-powered scope Fowler used was designed by RED’s technology department.

  “Target name confirmed,” Fowler said. “Sweet Cherry.”

  About damned time.

  We still didn’t move. Donovan and I didn’t even look at each other.

  My blood pumped double-time as the yacht sliced through the water. Closer. Closer. White lights looped in long strands above the deck, so bright it seemed like stars had converged in that one place.

  The closer the yacht came toward us, the tighter my grip on my sniper’s rifle, and the more adrenaline flowed through me. I was so ready to hurt these pricks.

  Soon the decorations, smorgasbords of food, and even a five-piece band were easy to spot. Yeah, a party. Smart. Wonder if the partyers would have a clue what the bad guys intended to store belowdecks?

  Where were those partyers? Where were the girls?

  I flicked my gaze around the dock and didn’t see the silhouette of a single agent. We were a part of the night. Every one of our agents came from branches of the military or government or clandestine agencies, and every agent was trained to be invisible.

  RED had men and women who were former Special Ops, Navy SEALS, Secret Service, government spies, or trained assassins like me. RED recruited only the best.

  The yacht slid through the water like a cutter through glass. Almost ready to dock.

  Hurry. I was going to start blowing shit up with my M40 if my body got any hotter. No one could accuse me of patience being one of my virtues. I only practiced it out of necessity.

  I thought the yacht would never come to a stop, and my chest ached when I finally let air out in a rush. The scr
aping sounds of the Sweet Cherry docking made my spine crawl, but better that than all the waiting.

  A man aboard the Sweet Cherry shouted orders in Swedish. I squinted and got a good look at him. Other men scurried to follow his orders as they secured the yacht.

  “Limos arriving and parking near the yacht club,” Fowler said through the comm. “Looks like the party’s about to start.”

  Were the girls in those limos with the partyers? Maybe hidden in the trunks, drugged and kept in enclosed crates with only airholes to breathe through?

  The burn in my gut nearly sent acid washing up my throat.

  “Civilians out of the limos and approaching target,” Fowler said. “No sign of any cargo.”

  Donovan growled loud enough for me to hear. I knew he was thinking about his sister being among the “cargo.”

  Male laughter and female giggles broke the silence. It wasn’t long before eleven couples approached the yacht. Most of the women leaned against the men they were with as if for support. A few of the women stumbled like they were already drunk. But the giggling didn’t stop. It was as if laughing gas had been given to every woman.

  Then I saw the guns in the bright lighting cast from the strings of lights. The men on deck were armed with weapons in holsters—which didn’t really surprise me.

  But the male partygoers—they wore holsters, too. Why would the men need to be armed?

  Something crawled down my spine.

  I frowned. Not right. The whole party setup wasn’t right.

  The women kept giggling and it was obvious the men were keeping them on their feet.

  More armed men appeared on deck, and started gesturing and talking.

  The women’s slightly dazed expressions as they giggled made everything snap perfectly into place.

  The female partyers were the auctioned women.

  When I looked at Donovan, I saw he’d pushed his helmet back. By his expression when he looked at me, it was obvious he was on the same mental path as me. His gaze snapped back to the couples on board, and for a moment I saw hope and fear mixed with fury on his features.