A couple of other neighbors shouted to me, too, and I yelled back at them. The wood railing was rough under my palms as I leaned over the balcony, looked down at the first level, and waved at Marty. When I sat again, I glanced at Donovan, who looked both intrigued and a little amused.
I kicked his shin.
Forget Donovan. Time for the game.
Yeah, nothing like watching “the boys” on a Sunday afternoon and shouting at every good or bad play along with my neighbors across and down the back alleyway. Wasn’t long before popcorn was all over my balcony from jumping up with every wicked good play the Sox made. Donovan and I downed a couple of bottles of Guinness each.
Halfway through the game my voice was hoarse from yelling at the umps, who’d made a ridiculous number of bad calls as far as us Red Sox fans were concerned.
During the seventh-inning stretch I wanted to punch Donovan again for looking so smug with the home game at zero-two, Yankees.
“I could rat you out, you know.” I leaned close enough to catch the masculine, spicy scent that made me want to climb all over him again. And stay there. “I’d have Jerry and the rest here in seconds if they found out you’re a Yankees fan.”
Donovan grabbed my waist and pulled me onto his lap, knocking my chair onto the balcony with a loud thump. He cupped the back of my head and kissed me.
Mmmm. What game?
Something vibrated between us. Ooh, that felt good.
He moved his lips from mine, but didn’t take his gaze off my mouth as he fumbled between us before drawing out his cell phone.
“Donovan.” The irritation in his voice made me smile. He obviously liked being interrupted about as much as I did.
Uh-oh. His expression and his voice hardened. “Steele and I will be there in fifteen minutes. Have all teams ready, but don’t make a move till we get there. Unless necessary.”
My heartbeat picked up. Something big was going down, no doubt about it.
Donovan snapped his phone shut and stuffed it back into its clip on his belt. He rose and set me on my feet. “The van came back to the Diamond Castle and made a ‘pickup.’ I’ll fill you in on the way.”
First thing, Donovan called each member of his special special team while he locked up. I snatched my always-ready duffel with my raid gear and weapons. After we got into the SUV and took off I strapped on my Kevlar vest and armed myself in every way possible.
CHAPTER 40
It’s all in the thighs
May 19
Sunday evening
“A suite in the financial district?” I almost laughed, even though it wasn’t a damned bit funny. “Only the best for Cabot. It’s got him written all over it.”
Donovan and I were hidden in the darkness as we looked up at an office building on Franklin Street, in Boston’s financial district. Donovan’s special team was around us somewhere—who knew. Ghosts and Shadows.
The ten-story building across the street housed multiple businesses—law firms, insurance agencies, investment offices, real estate brokerages, software companies . . . and sex slave auctions?
Takamoto spoke over the comm. “The surveillance team that’s been staking out the Glass House spotted the van when it drove up behind the nightclub.”
The comm was clear, with no static as he continued. “One of the suspects was seen taking the woman from the nightclub, and our agents picked up some of the conversation. The men mentioned bringing the woman directly to the auction tonight rather than to a hold. Anxious buyers.”
Hearing Takamoto’s words brought back all of the sexual and mental abuse Kristin had been through after being auctioned by men like these. It would be so easy to put a bullet between the eyes of every single bastard involved in the slave ring.
And bitch. I hoped that woman we’d overheard at the Glass House auction was here because, if she gave me an excuse, I’d take her out, too.
I had to find out who killed Randolph and make them pay.
“The van drove directly to this office building and parked in the lowest level of the garage,” Takamoto went on in a professional tone. “Van has different plates, but when we checked it out, the dents, scratches, and all other markings on it are identical.”
“Just received verification,” Donovan said into his RED comm. “My men went on recon ten minutes after notification. Top floor is completely dark from the outside but activity inside behind heavy drapes. One naked, bound victim spotted.”
Donovan had a sharp bite to his tone, but satisfaction. “We’re going to take out every sonofabitch involved.”
Takamoto said, “Ready at your word.”
All teams checked in. Green Team was in position on top of the building. Yellow Team covered every fire escape and door shown on the building schematics pulled up on the computer systems in RED’s surveillance van. Orange team had the parking garage. Blue Team was all over the stairwells and elevators. We’d brought in Purple Team to make sure air ducts and any other possible escape routes shown on the schematic were covered.
Donovan and I, along with Red Team—which was the largest team—were taking the tenth floor. Donovan’s men were there already since they’d gone ahead for recon.
The agents’ boots barely made a shuffling sound as we jogged across the tile to the doors leading to the stairs. Blue team had already secured the night guard. Red Team jogged up the stairs to the top floor, not a hitch in our steps.
Blood surged in my veins, kicked up by the adrenaline pumping through my body. I wasn’t even winded when we reached the tenth floor. One agent checked the hallway outside the door to the stairs, then gave us the “clear” signal.
Cabot, be here, because your ass is mine.
Still didn’t know where Donovan’s men were, but they were around, no doubt about it.
The stairwell had led us to a hallway that took us directly to a luxurious reception area. By the large gold-lettered script across the glass behind the desk, this operation had a modeling agency as a cover. Well, what do you know.
A modeling agency specializing in private auctions.
Only that part wasn’t mentioned.
It was dark in the reception area, but dim light filtered through curtains behind the glass doors to either side of the enormous half-moon desk. Donovan and half the Red Team took the right door while I led the other half of the team to the left.
My heart beat harder, but not from fear. It beat from the desire to hurt these people, like they hurt the women who they enslaved. Like they’d hurt Randolph.
Plush carpeting muffled our footsteps as we moved. I held my Glock in both hands. Steady. Not a tremor.
The glass door felt weighted against my shoulder as I pushed the door open. Whisper-silent. Nothing but the best for Cabot.
There was not a single doubt in my mind that this was his operation.
Once we were in, we could hear the voices that traveled through an enormous area that would probably have been filled with offices and other rooms if it were a real agency. Instead, four separate sets of heavy curtains hung to the floor from huge round hoops. Each hoop was the size of a room, attached to metal chains secured in the ceiling. Thick-linked chains dangled from heavy hooks attached to the ceiling in the very center of each circle.
The chains were moving. Some swinging, some turning, twisting.
Male voices came from behind each of the curtained-off areas. My gut seared as I realized each man was listing a woman’s attributes aloud, the words echoing as if they were speaking by microphone.
Then came the computerized voices, just like what Kristin had described.
The hot tingle under my skin grew as hard as pinpricks as I heard the computerized voices saying, “five thousand,” “eight,” “I’ll go ten.”
They were bidding.
The sonsofbitches were bidding.
My jaw hurt from clenching it so hard.
But those assholes bidding would be taken care of. RED had traps for those signals and was able to trace them
back to the source to bust all of these creeps.
The female voice we’d heard at the Glass House said, “Going once, going twice . . . this little beauty is sold to roughman300.”
Oh, I was so going to hurt that woman.
As soon as we cleared the door, Red Team slipped around the four sets of curtains in pairs. Jensen was with me.
Someone pushed the curtain in front of me open, the metal rings scraping along the hoop.
“Police!” I shouted when the first man spotted me. “Hands up!”
He reached for his weapon as he started to dive to the side. I nailed the SOB right in the heart.
Shouts of “Police!” echoed throughout the room, followed by gunshots, screams, and cries of “help.”
Our agents systematically worked through the chaos. If a man had a gun and was pointing it at anyone—take no prisoners, baby.
If a man or woman wasn’t shooting and had their hands up, they’d be taken in for questioning. We didn’t fuck around with anyone firing at us.
Three other agents and I circled one of the curtained-off areas. I inclined my head and Jensen nodded. I held my Glock in both hands and peered around the curtain where I’d heard that woman’s voice at the end of an auction—
As soon as I peered around the edge of the curtain, a woman aimed her gun directly at me. In that flash I saw two men were behind her, along with a naked woman hanging from a chain.
I jerked and dropped to the side as the men and woman shot through the curtain. From my position I held up three fingers to indicate three shooters.
Jensen nodded. The moment the shots stopped, we swung around the sides of the curtain.
In an instant I had my weapon on the woman, and put a bullet into her forehead before she could shoot at me again.
The men dropped as Jensen nailed one in the heart and someone else got the third one in his chest, then shot him in the head for good measure.
Inside the circular curtained area were the three dead criminals, along with computer and photography equipment. A naked woman dangled from a hook at the center of the round area.
I kept low as I worked my way between the sets of curtains. Not even five minutes had passed since we entered the room. I saw Danny shoving Cabot through a door—where a door shouldn’t be.
“Oh, hell no,” I shouted, and bolted for Cabot. “You are so not getting out of this, you slimy, sick bastard.”
Danny tried to push Cabot ahead, but Cabot looked over his shoulder and his gaze met mine. So much hatred filled his eyes, but I could match him and up him a hundred percent, and then some.
Only a few feet away.
I’d have Cabot this time.
I glanced at Danny to see him pointing his gun at me as I charged toward Cabot. I hit the floor and could almost feel the bullet whiz over my head.
Then Danny shouted, and his knees gave out as blood started seeping through his clothing from his chest.
Someone had my back.
“Cabot’s mine,” I shouted, “I’ll take care of him!”
Cabot glanced at Danny before he turned to head through the door into a hidden passageway. That pause, when he looked first at me, then Danny, cost Cabot.
With my version of a battle cry, I dove.
Grabbed both of Cabot’s legs.
Using my whole body weight, I slammed into the backs of his knees.
Cabot flipped over my shoulder onto his back.
His cologne hit me thick and heavy, along with the scent of his fear.
He gave a loud shout when he hit the floor.
I was on my feet before he had fully drawn his gun.
A simple roundhouse kick disarmed him.
His gun flew across the room. Wouldn’t be reaching that puppy. He’d never have the chance.
I grasped my Glock with both hands and pointed it at his forehead. “You don’t deserve to die so easily.”
The clicks of other RED agents’ guns echoed in the room.
“Back off.” I didn’t even look at the agents before I flung my own gun as far as I could. “This is personal.”
My knee connected with his gut and he gave a cry of pain.
But he grasped my fist and twisted it.
I rolled with the movement to keep him from injuring my arm. Again.
I flipped and landed on one knee on the opposite side of him.
Yanked my fist from his grasp.
Grabbed his wrist and turned his arm in a hundred-and-eighty-degree angle, and bone snapped.
He screamed, but he still had some fight in him. I could end this easy, but I so wanted to hurt him first.
I was out for blood.
He held his broken arm to his chest as he tried to get up.
I beat him to it.
Drew my knee up to my chest.
Drove my leg down.
My foot connected with his face.
He screamed again.
Through my shoe I felt the satisfying crunch of his nose breaking. My heel had slammed into his eye, too.
Blood poured from his nose onto his white shirt. His eye was already swelling shut.
Again he tried to get up.
I jammed my shoe against his collarbone, and his screams grew louder as it broke.
He tried to get up, but I wasn’t about to let him.
This man was so going to feel pain.
I dropped, driving my knee onto his forearm, and heard another satisfying crack.
At the same time I jammed one fist into his throat, and his screams became strangled.
“There, you sonofabitch,” I gasped. “And I don’t have any goons helping me.”
He was rolling side to side, whimpering and crying.
Mercy for this sick bastard?
No. Fucking. Way.
I pushed myself to my feet.
With all the power I had, I drove my heel down and into his balls.
Cabot started throwing up as he tried to scream and curl into a fetal position.
I came down on his broken collarbone with all my weight.
Gripped his neck between my thighs and squeezed.
I grasped his chin and the back of his head.
Twisted.
Cabot’s neck crunched.
Snapped.
His body went limp.
Silence.
I suppose I should have felt a huge amount of satisfaction from killing the man who had ruined so many lives. But he’d gotten off too easy, no matter how much pain I had cost him in his final few minutes of life.
“Three minutes” I heard one agent break the silence with a laugh. “Hand over the twenty.”
“Thought it would take her five,” said another. “But anyone should know better than to underestimate Steele.”
I kicked away from Cabot, hitting his head with my shoe, shoving his dead, staring eyes away from me.
As I stood, the only emotion I felt was total and complete disgust for the dead man at my feet.
My hands were wet with blood from his nose, my clothes smeared with his vomit. I wiped my palms on Cabot’s slacks and turned away to take deep breaths of air that didn’t stink of his cologne.
I whirled on a group of three prisoners RED agents had cuffed. “Who killed the undercover female agent, Stella Richards?” I asked, using Randolph’s undercover name.
At first no one said anything, but I came at them with death in my eyes and every man’s face went white. They knew I meant business after seeing me take down Cabot.
I was about to jam my boot into one man’s balls when he yelled and pointed behind me. “Danny. Danny Caserta. He raped then killed the bit—the woman.”
Fury seared my body. I kicked his balls. “That’s for starting to call her a bitch.”
As that man was screaming and crying, I walked to where Danny was still propped up against the wall. He’d been handcuffed while I went after Cabot. Danny Caserta scowled at me even as blood spread across his shirt. Guess he wasn’t too injured after all.
“
Death is too good for you, too.” I pulled out the knife sheathed in my belt. “But I’m going to let you die the same way you killed our agent.”
“That bitch got what she deserved.” His look was that of a man who knew he was dead no matter what he said. “She screamed while I fucked her, and cried right before I slit her throat.”
Rage blinded me.
“This is for Randolph.” I reached Danny, grabbed him by his hair, and jerked him down at the same time I rammed my thigh into his face, and he screamed. Then with a little twist and a hard yank I tore off his ear and tossed it aside. Danny started to act freaked-out, the psychological impact of having his ear torn off slamming into him, bringing home the fact that he was a dead man.
I grabbed Danny by the hair, slammed his head against the wall, and slit his throat.
Blood gurgled from his mouth, and in seconds his sightless eyes stared ahead.
When I raised my gaze I met Donovan’s, and he looked like he was trying to hold back a grin. The four Big Men on his special special team were grinning, and looked like they’d never seen a better show.
“Shit, Donovan,” Tiger Manning said. “You weren’t kidding about that little thing.”
I focused my scowl on Manning and he put his palms facing me in a stop signal even as he laughed. “No way I’m taking you on right now, girl.”
“Steele suits you,” Lloyd said with a grin.
Harrison looked at Donovan. “I’ve never seen anything like her.”
Tank shook his head as I glared at the four of them. He said in his deep Southern drawl, “I ain’t sayin’ nothin’.”
I brushed my hair out of my eyes with the back of one hand and blew out a deep breath. It was then that I noticed my heart was still racing, adrenaline still pumping. Felt like I could take down one of those Big Men right now.
“Hey, Takamoto.” I braced both hands on my hips. “Red Sox over Yanks, right?”
“Hold on.” Takamoto pulled out his phone, pressing a couple of keys and obviously accessing the Internet. “Yup. Sox, four-two.”
“Ha.” My lips twisted into a smug smile as I looked at Donovan and held out my hand. “Pay up, Donovan.”
CHAPTER 41
Atonement
May 20
Cheyenne McCray - [Lexi Steele 01] Page 32
