Avenging Angel [Tales from the Lyon's Den 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Cara Covington

  Chapter 19

  He probably thinks that his not being here, that making us hang in a kind of mental limbo, is going to make us even more frightened.

  There’d been no sign of Torres, and of the muscle she’d seen so far, only one man had looked familiar. But then, the only time she’d seen several of his people was that night, months ago, and she’d been terrorized and then drugged shortly after.

  Now, when Marcia looked back on her behavior where Sérgio Torres was concerned, she had to wonder what the hell she’d been thinking.

  Of course, the bastard had played her over those weeks after she’d first met him. He’d acted kind, almost gallant in his treatment of her. Yes, he’d expected sex from her—that was what the game had been all about, and she had chosen to play that game. He’d paid well, given her extra money or gifts, and in return, she had given him complete access to all of her, and maybe once or twice his true colors had blinked through for a moment, making him treat her just a bit rougher than he usually did. Those handful of “transgressions” had always been followed by abject apologies and expensive little trinkets.

  As for her own behavior at the time, she’d responded to his demeanor. She’d appeared quiet, respectful, what she understood now as submissive, even though she hadn’t understood the true meaning of the word or the role. All Torres knew of her was just what she’d allowed him to see. If she was smart, that could be her greatest advantage now—if she could swallow down the impulse to puke in his presence.

  She and Daisy had been pulled from the car and then dragged through a dark warehouse—the very warehouse she’d been delivered to the night she thought she was taking a step into a bright and shining future. Well, in a sense you did just that because the outcome of that night eventually brought you to Ramón and Clint.

  The driver had been joined by a man she was sure she’d seen before. They pushed her and Daisy into a small room and shut the door behind them.

  This room appeared to be a small office of some sort. The door they’d been shoved through was made of wood and frosted glass. Through the glass, she could see the silhouette of one of the men, clearly standing guard. Inside the room, an overhead fluorescent light burned, the same kind of dull lighting there’d been in the corridor. No window, no other door gave hope of escape. This was an interior room, likely used for storage. There were a couple of overturned crates, an old desk, and even a steno chair missing one wheel. Metal shelves supported a number of boxes, some books, a few items she didn’t recognize, and a spool of twine.

  The amount of dust coating everything told her no one had been in this room for a very long time.

  “You think the man that had you in that cage Ramón rescued you from—that bastard Torres—is the one who’s behind this.” Daisy stood close and spoke quietly.

  “Yes, I do. And I think this—leaving us to sit and stew—is just another one of his stupid fucking head games. He liked to play head games, among other things.”

  “You played along with him before because it was the best thing to do under the circumstances.” Fortunately, she’d told Daisy most of her life’s history. Her friend never judged her. Not once.

  “Yes, I did. And yes, then that was the best way to get by.”

  Daisy tipped her head to the side. “Is it your plan to play them this time?”

  “Not the kind he’s expecting. He thinks women are useless objects without a spine or a brain. He’s in for a hell of a surprise.”

  Daisy grinned. Then her smile faded. “How long do you think it will be before they come for us? Our men, not that asshole.”

  Marcia thought of the chip embedded on her leg. There hadn’t been time to tell Daisy about it, and she didn’t want to risk doing so now because if she was overheard, that prick would likely order that tiny piece of plastic Robert Jessop had embedded in her ripped out. “I have no idea, but I know they will come. I have no doubt about that at all. We’ve been captive for what…a half-hour now?”

  “I think it’s been at least that long. I’m worried about Rory. If that jerk behind the steering wheel had been a proper villain, he’d have told me Rory was dead. But bloodied? On the floor of the garage? I doubt my Rory would have been on the floor for even a minute after they stole the car. He’d have played possum and then gotten to Chris. But still.”

  Marcia was looking at the array of junk inside the room. The twine could be used as a weapon. She wondered what it had actually been used for. She looked around and saw a few of boxes had been secured with the twine. Maybe there are scissors someplace.

  “I wonder how long asshole will make us wait.” Daisy was also looking around, wrinkling her nose at the cornucopia of disparate objects stored around them.

  “Likely more than a few minutes. He probably believes we’re in here quivering with fear.”

  “I’m quivering, all right,” Daisy said. “With rage. Christopher is so going to gut this bastard.”

  “I think all four of our Doms will have a hand in that,” Marcia said. “But there’s something about waiting around like a helpless little female that just doesn’t sit well.” Marcia was surprised to hear the words come out of her own mouth. Not that long ago, she’d thought she’d been just that—a helpless female—but at the time she’d been drugged and shoved naked into a cage.

  That’s a clue. The bastard needs drugs or muscle even when facing a woman. Or, in this case, a couple of women.

  “Keeping busy would make the time go faster.” She turned and smiled at Daisy.

  Daisy moved even closer. “What did you have in mind?” Her voice came out even quieter than it had been.

  “We could keep busy seeing what all we have here, first. Maybe we’ll find something that could be useful.”

  “And if we get lucky and find something really useful? Like a gun or a hand grenade?”

  Marcia grinned. “We can either wait, or we can act.”

  “Let’s see what we can discover here, first,” Daisy said. “Neither of us is completely helpless or useless. As much as I have every faith our Doms will find us, I’d rather they find us fighting for our lives than begging for them.”

  Marcia nodded. “They find us fighting, they’ll take over. They find us afraid and begging? They’ll likely want to kill Torres with their bare hands right then and there.”

  “You know it. Not that I would object to his death…”

  “But we don’t want to take any chances that a fucked-up judicial system would end up tossing our men in jail. I agree. Let’s see what we have here. We have to hurry because I really don’t think we’ll have much time.”

  Daisy made a fist, and Marcia bumped it with her own. And then, as quietly as they could, they got to work.

  * * * *

  “You knew I’d asked Jessop to chip Marcia?”

  Ramón had wondered if Joe would be pissed when he found out that he’d asked Robert Jessop to protect Marcia instead of him. Now that he thought about it, the good doctor hadn’t even blinked at the request—and he should have. He very much should have.

  Rather than actually answering the question, Grant posed one of his own. “You’ve been unsettled for the last few days, as if something was off and you weren’t sure what. Did you figure out what it was, yet?”

  “Yeah.” Ramón shook his head because it should have jumped out at him. He’d been so worried about his woman his brain hadn’t been in one hundred percent cop mode. “Torres doesn’t like to give advance notice of a meeting. He usually likes to keep his minions on tenterhooks, at his beck and call. He wanted me there because he believes he can use me, but he wanted some ‘insurance’ that I’d behave myself. He might also have an idea that I’m a cop. We were careful, but one or two of the HPD officers involved in the bust at Leathers did see me before and knew that Clint was working with me on a case. We know that Torres did pull Lance Kramer in for a meeting, and now the man is missing. I’m afraid my cover may have been blown. If Torres knows that, or thinks he does, then taking
Marcia would be his best bet to get out of this situation.”

  “I think you’re right. I didn’t come to any of those conclusions. I just knew you were a Dom worried about your woman. Between you and me, considering the number of Doms who are cousins by marriage, I understand completely. I knew you’d chip her. We’ve got several teams of people, people our superiors don’t know about, spread out across the city.”

  “More cousins by marriage?” Ramón asked his boss.

  “Absolutely. The men from Lusty are no strangers to going to extreme lengths to protect, or rescue their women.” He grinned. “The range of that bug is sufficient that it will ping on someone’s receiver. It’s just a matter of time. We will find your woman. But when that happens, I think you and Clint are going to hate me more than just a little.”

  Ramón stiffened, every muscle in his body tight.

  “Why would we do that, Joe?”

  “Because I want you and Clint to leave the rescue to us and go hit Torres hard. He took your property, as you warned him not to do. I think you need to dig down and find the bad-ass villain that Ramón Estévez is supposed to be and unleash that beast on his Torres’s ass.” He stepped forward and lowered his voice. “Torres is the man we’re after, the head of this particular criminal organization. But we have reason to believe he’s got other worse connections—and some evidence—on a bigger scum bag in the Middle East.”

  “Now? You want us to—” Ramón couldn’t speak the words. You want us to turn our backs on our woman. He looked at Clint. His partner’s jaw appeared locked, as if he was forcing his mouth not to say what his brain was screaming.

  What Joe had just ordered him to do was tantamount to deserting the woman they loved. They had told her, in every way they knew how, that they would always be there for her. And now…

  “Yes, now. He’s still at his apartment. From what we can tell he is dining sumptuously on steak and lobster prepared by his chef. He’s got at least two men on guard out in the hallway, but only the chef is inside the apartment with him.”

  “You’ve got eyes and ears on him.”

  “Yeah, since we found out his connection with that Middle Eastern slime ball who, unfortunately, I cannot name.”

  Ramón looked from Joe to Clint. What his boss was asking them to do felt impossible. “Do you know what you’re asking of us?”

  “Yes. I’m asking you to do your jobs at the worst possible moment.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Peter called just before you did. He said Ortiz finally gave up something that is going to be the end of Torres. We’ll have that information in just a few hours. We’ll have him in a vise, and he’ll have to use his Middle Eastern connection to save his ass. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’ll be his instinct to do so.”

  “Fuck, Joe.”

  “You’re not thinking, Ramón. You’ve studied the man. Chances are damn good that Torres doesn’t have the women with him right now. He’s likely going to go to them when he’s good and ready. You know as well as I do he keeps his nest clean. I can see that bastard making Marcia and Daisy wait. Wherever they are right now, his men are there, and I’m damn sure he would have ordered hands off. Those men will obey because they know defiance means death. This is your chance to corner him, and it will give you a damn big bargaining chip if something goes wrong and we don’t find them.”

  “If he believes I’m a cop, he’ll dare me to do something I shouldn’t.” Ramón didn’t know how to put it any plainer than that. How badly did his boss want him to act the part he’d been playing for so long?

  Joe met his gaze, and Ramón understood in a heartbeat that what he thought his boss was telling him to do without saying the words was exactly what Ramón wanted to do.

  “In the end, this is what is going to happen. You squeeze Torres, bloody him up a bit. We take him in. He makes a deal with us for the evidence he has on the new target. The AG will make the deal…Torres will either return to Mexico and lay low, believing he got away—or he’ll reach out to our new target and try to blackmail him.”

  “And the new target will likely have him taken out.”

  Joe shrugged. “We have an embed, and information will reach that target that Torres never outed him, that we screwed up the case and it got dismissed. But this is a man who never left any associate alive. We can’t see he’ll start now with that bottom-feeding piece of garbage.”

  Ramón sighed. He didn’t know exactly who this new target was, but he had a pretty good idea who it could be. There was more at stake here than the case they’d been building against a man who dealt in human slaves and drugs.

  “Who’s going after the women?”

  “We are.”

  Ramón turned at the familiar voice. His jaw dropped, and he nearly, very nearly, went with his instincts. It took every bit of his will not to lash out. Clint, he saw, wasn’t doing any better.

  “Let me make proper introductions. Chance Carter is with the HPD. He’s been working undercover with the vice squad on an op targeting Torres. The man you knew as Lance Kramer is actually Damion Quest. He’s with…” Joe tilted his head to the side. “Let’s just say he’s with the federal government and leave it at that. He, too, has been working undercover…but Torres was never his end game.”

  “I’ll be going along as well.” Christopher Lyons stood, hands on hips, and dared anyone to object to that.

  Ramón pointed to Chris. “Him, I trust.”

  Quest shrugged his shoulders. “Fine with me. But I won’t watch your ass at the expense of the women.”

  Chris raised one eyebrow. “This won’t be my first rodeo, Mr. Quest. One of those women belongs to me, and if you did watch my ass at the expense of her, or Marcia? I’d gut you, cock to chin, without a single qualm.”

  “If we’re done going over the finer points and trying to decide whose penis is the biggest, I’d like this op to get underway,” Joe said. “Right now.”

  Ramón nodded. Then he turned his attention on the newcomers. “Fair warning. Our goal is going to be to get there just as you’re about to start the big finale.”

  “Knock yourself out,” Carter said. “More professionals are always welcome.”

  Chapter 20

  If there’d been time, they would have evacuated the floor Torres was on. The man had installed security measures in his penthouse apartment but didn’t have eyes on the entire building. Definitely a small-time operator. Thanks to superior technology, they knew where the man’s two bodyguards were and where Torres was.

  It had been a very fast ten-minute drive to the bastard’s apartment building. HPD detectives manned the stakeout, and a van parked half a block away monitored the apartment electronically.

  “The mark is a very noisy eater,” the cop on duty in the van said. “He’s slurping his lobster. It’s disgusting.”

  “And so is he.” Ramón had already shown his badge. He inhaled and swung for the fence. “I need you to have a technical glitch with the sound from now until you get the all-clear.”

  The uniform didn’t even blink. He reached up and turned a knob. “Huh. I seem to be having a technical glitch with the sound. Be careful, sir. I can’t warn you of any last-minute surprises.”

  Ramón hadn’t been sure his request would be tolerated, much less honored immediately. The man said, quietly, “That bastard needs to go down. My wife and I are members of Christopher Lyons’s club. We like Daisy. A lot.”

  “We’re rather fond of the other hostage, ourselves,” Ramón said.

  They nodded to each other, Dom to Dom, the FBI agent and the uniformed cop. Ramón turned and headed, with Clint, into the building.

  The elevator arrived almost immediately. Once inside the car, they pulled out their guns and then fixed the sound suppressors—an unexpected gift from Quest—into place.

  Ramón and Clint each wore earpieces and would know the moment Joe and the team located Marcia and Daisy. They both reached up and turned off their own transmit buttons.

  Ramón had t
o put his woman out of his mind and fix his focus on the moment. For what came next, he would need all of his ice. They watched the floor indicator light, and being icy, they went in hot.

  Everything came down to seconds. One, elevator door opens. Two, both men out, guns raised, targets made. Three, wait for the targets to begin to raise their weapons, providing legal justification. Four, fire.

  The sound suppressors on their guns muted the usual blast of their rounds significantly, and they counted on the excellent soundproofing in this very expensive building to do the rest.

  Five, kick the weapons away from the downed assailants then take the door. Clint reached out and tried the doorknob. If there was a problem within, the guards would need fast entry.

  They thought they’d have to kick open the door or maybe even shoot off the lock, but the door opened quietly and easily under Clint’s hand. Six, seven, eight and eight was sweet. Eight was where they burst into the target’s dining room.

  They caught him mid-forkful, a ridiculous bib around his neck to protect him from the butter currently dripping off the piece of lobster dangling from the tines.

  “I warned you what would happen if you touched my property.”

  Ramón saw it, that flash of fear. Though Torres quickly got it under control, Ramón could smell it, and like any predator, the aroma of his prey’s terror became ambrosia and an immediately addictive scent—almost as appealing in its way as Domspace.

  “I do not know what you are talking about. How dare you…”

  “I’ll clear the hallway,” Clint said. “Don’t kill him yet. I want a piece of that.”

  Clint holstered his gun and returned to the door. Ramón knew what his partner was doing because this op was planned down to the finest detail. He would drag both of Torres’ guards inside, use his foot to kick their discarded weapons across the threshold, and then shut the door quietly—ensuring it wasn’t locked.