Quicksilver

by Elise Noble

  Black crouched beside his nephew amongst neatly trimmed shrubbery behind the ugliest house ever built, and considering the gothic monstrosity Black had inherited from his US parents, that was saying something. Pink. The whole damn mansion was pink.

  But they had their plan, and now they were ready to head inside. After running through the sequence of events in his head one last time, Black gave the command.

  “Go.”

  All the doors were secured by electronic RFID locks. Usually in that scenario, they’d simply follow one or two of the occupants and get close enough to clone their pass cards, but with so little time, they’d been forced to use alternative tactics.

  Nate and Carmen went first, waiting until the housekeeper came outside then immobilising her and slipping in through the open utility room door. As soon as they announced their success, Emmy and Ana swung themselves up onto a second-floor balcony and used a glass cutter to carve an assassin-sized hole in one of the bedroom windows. And Black? He’d drawn what should have been the short straw—the back door—but he didn’t even bother trying to bypass the RFID lock. He’d brought one of Nate’s toys, a miniaturised thermic lance, and that baby would cut through anything from steel to concrete. A PVC door? They were inside in twenty seconds.

  Before they went in, Rosie had spotted the girls being led from the third-floor bedrooms down to a room at the back where food was set out on a table. Four of the guards stuck with them while the rest disappeared into the bowels of the house. Nate had reluctantly passed control of his toy cockroach over to Alaric to keep them updated on any other movements, and now their new sidekick spoke up.

  “Black, one coming in your direction.”

  Black gestured to Rafael. Be my guest.

  As the guard passed the alcove where they were hiding, Rafael glided out silently and fell into step behind him. One hand over the mouth, firm pressure on the carotid artery, and the guard crumpled to the floor seconds later. Nice work. The guy didn’t know what hit him. Black jabbed him in the neck with a syringe full of Ketamine before he woke up—that would keep him quiet for ten minutes, and then they’d decide what to do with him.

  “One guard down.”

  And Black quickly liberated his pass card.

  “Two down,” Emmy announced.

  “Three,” said Nate.

  That left four guards, Mr. Two-Bags, and the girls. So far, this had all gone smoothly. Worryingly smoothly. Call Black superstitious, but Mr. Murphy, of Murphy’s Law fame, rode along on every job no matter how well it was planned, and he always put in an appearance sooner or later.

  “I’m missing a guard and a girl from the breakfast room,” Alaric said.

  A woman screamed from the other end of the house. Yeah, that was more like it.

  CHAPTER 34 - BLACK

  “DAMMIT,” NATE MUTTERED over the radio as the sounds of the woman’s scream died away. “I’ll handle this.”

  Half a minute passed.

  “Four guards down. My ears are ringing, and the bitch with him tried to bite me.”

  Thundering footsteps echoed along the tiled hallway as the remaining three assholes ran out of the breakfast room to see what the problem was, and Black’s grip on his Taser tightened. Why the non-lethal weapons? Two reasons. Firstly, this operation had been planned in a hurry, and they didn’t know for sure who in the house was a bad guy. Or girl. Being ninety percent sure wasn’t good enough, and Black didn’t like collateral damage. Secondly, they needed the men around to talk to. If the results weren’t pleasing, they could always shoot them later.

  Black ducked into a room on one side of the hallway, and Rafael mirrored him opposite. Seconds later, two guards hurried past, and each got a Taser to the back for their trouble. Synchronised shooting.

  “Two more down.”

  An angry roar from upstairs got everyone’s attention, and Rafael took three steps in that direction before Black pulled him back and shook his head. Too eager. Emmy and Ana were perfectly capable of dealing with the problem, and the two men had their last target to find. Black pointed in the opposite direction, and Rafael paused for a second then followed.

  “Dime, you and Red look after the women.”

  Dime was Carmen, named for her ability to hit a coin from fifteen hundred yards with her sniper rifle.

  “On our way.”

  Ah, target acquired. Black and Rafael found the grey-haired man in the study, frantically typing commands into a laptop. But as Black aimed a gun in his direction—a proper one this time—he tapped one final key, looked up, and smiled.

  A nervous smile, but there was no mistaking the sentiment. Why was the prick so pleased?

  “Hands in the air.”

  The man’s hands rose, shaking.

  Black had spent many years practising his Italian accent, along with French, Arabic, German… The list went on. After the fourth or fifth language, learning new ones got progressively easier. In case the cameras dotted around the house were also wired for sound, posing as a Sicilian seemed sensible, and he’d brought a special gun along too—a .22 calibre pistol he’d liberated from a Mafia soldier a couple of years ago and hung onto just in case it came in useful someday. Well, today was that day.

  “Turn off that laptop. Take the damn battery out,” he told Rafael, then focused on the older man. “Tell me about the girls from the warehouse. Where are they? All of them, not just the few you have here.”

  “I-I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Non dire cazzate.” Don’t talk bullshit. “The car outside left our warehouse with four of your soldiers and a girl in it right after they burned the place so they could escape. So, I’ll ask again; where are the girls?”

  “Why do you care?”

  “Because you destroyed our business, and now you owe us.”

  “I’m j-j-just an employee.”

  “Then take us to your boss.”

  “H-h-he isn’t here.”

  “Where do we find him?”

  “I don’t know. He only ever calls me.”

  “What’s his number?”

  Rafael pushed a paper and pen towards the man, but instead of reaching for it, he clutched at his chest. A strange gurgling sound bubbled from his throat, his mouth dropped open as his face twisted in pain, and he keeled sideways off the chair.

  Black and Rafael looked at each other. Well, shit.

  “A heart attack?” Rafael asked.

  “I’m not sure.”

  Could the man be faking? Black passed his gun to his nephew and knelt beside the man’s prone body, feeling for a pulse. Nothing, and he wasn’t breathing either.

  Fuck.

  “We have a slight technical problem,” he muttered into the radio.

  “Tell me you didn’t shoot the target by accident,” Nate said.

  “Didn’t have to. I just asked a simple question and he died all by himself.”

  Emmy burst out laughing.

  “It’s not fucking funny.”

  “I know, but…yeah, it is.”

  That bloody woman. More than once, Black had wondered why he married her, but deep down inside, in a part of himself he pretended didn’t exist, he loved that warped sense of humour along with every other part of her.

  “Okay, plan B. We need to interrogate the guards and the women.”

  Emmy, Ana, and Carmen would tackle the difficult part—talking to the girls. Over the years, Black had got better at deciphering the female psyche, but crying still freaked him out and the number of times women said one thing and meant the complete opposite confused the hell out of him. He’d far rather deal with seven overgrown gorillas in suits.

  “Battle of the sexes,” Emmy said. “Let’s go.”

  Half an hour later, they’d ascertained from the prisoners that after getting into a fight last night with the dumpy asshole sporting the black eye, Corazon had departed before sunrise with another of the guards, heading for an unknown destination. Getting the gorillas to talk hadn’t
been a problem since they were all cowards at heart. Yes, the mansion was operating as some sort of brothel, and yes, the fuckers knew the girls were being held against their will. But they barely had one functioning brain cell between them, and none of them managed to shed much light on the logistics of the operation.

  Now they lay on the floor in a neat row, hands and feet bound with rope rather than Blackwood’s usual flex cuffs as Black considered what to do with them.

  Before he made a decision, Emmy appeared from the hallway, leaning against the doorjamb in what a casual observer might mistake for a relaxed stance. But she was pissed. Black saw it in her eyes. She surveyed the room, her gaze pausing for a moment on the light fixture he’d smashed to destroy the hidden camera.

  “How’s it going?”

  “These guys don’t know much.”

  “Then you don’t need them anymore?”

  Black looked back at Rafael, who shrugged and shook his head. Nate had disappeared to hunt for security camera recordings.

  “No, we don’t need them.”

  Without another word, Emmy removed Black’s silenced .22 from its holster with one gloved hand and fired two rounds into each man’s head, pausing to reload after the fifth. She saved the dumpy guy for last and shot two into his crotch first. He died with his mouth open in a silent scream.

  Emmy placed the gun on a nearby piano and smiled.

  “We can go now.”

  “What was that all about?”

  “These motherfucking spunk-maggots have been abusing the girls for months. Most of them can’t remember a day going past when they didn’t get raped.”

  “And the one on the end?”

  “He used to choke them too.”

  Rafael’s breath hitched. “What about Cora?”

  Emmy blew out a breath. “There’s one girl in particular who knows more than the rest, and mentally, she’s tough as fuck. Hallie. I spoke to her separately, and she reckons at least two of the girls are suffering from Stockholm syndrome. It seems Cora talked to her too. They made your sister go with clients, but Hallie reckons only one of the guards touched her and there was something odd going on between the two of them.”

  “What do you mean, odd?”

  “Cora slept in his room at night, but she told Hallie he never touched her. Hallie thought that was weird, but Cora was happy with the arrangement because she wanted to stay away from Chad.” Emmy waved at the fucker whose dick she’d destroyed. “The freak had a creepy obsession with her.”

  “Does Hallie know where Cora went?”

  “Nope, just that Cora and Leandro, the other guard, weren’t here when she got brought down for breakfast this morning. But apparently girls getting moved isn’t unusual.”

  “So we’ve got nothing?” Rafael asked.

  Black shook his head. “We still need to interrogate the man whose phone she used last night, and we have a laptop to examine.”

  “Two laptops,” Nate said from the doorway, holding up a computer. “This one runs the security system.”

  “And we’ve saved five girls from a whole world of hurt. But it’s time to go.”

  They filed out of the room, and Black pulled the door closed behind them. It locked automatically. In the lounge, Emmy briefed the girls to stay where they were for an hour, then leave and call the cops. A simple enough task, but one Hallie couldn’t deal with, it seemed, because she ran along the hallway after them as they headed for the door.

  “Please take me with you.”

  After the morning’s events, Black could feel the tension crackling through Emmy, but she still mustered up a smile for the blonde.

  “You’ll be fine, I promise. Just wait with the others.”

  “But I don’t have anywhere to go.”

  “Your family?”

  She shook her head.

  “I’m sure the police will find somewhere for you to stay when you explain what happened.”

  “I may have a tiny problem with the police.”

  “What kind of a problem?”

  “An outstanding warrant.”

  “What for?”

  Hallie chewed her lip for a moment, then eyed up the guns they were carrying. “Uh, murder? But I swear I was framed.”

  “We’re gonna need a little more information than that.”

  “It’s kind of a long story.”

  And one they didn’t have time to listen to while standing in a house where Black’s wife had just executed seven men. Murder? Hallie didn’t look like a murderer, but if there was one lesson Black had learned in life, it was that appearances could be deceptive. Still, Hallie had to be desperate if she’d risk going with a group of mystery marauders rather than waiting for the authorities to arrive. Perhaps she was telling the truth? Emmy had spent the most time with her, so he decided to delegate.

  “Valkyrie, make a decision.”

  “Ah, fuck it. Come with us and tell the story later,” Emmy said to Hallie. “We’re leaving now.”

  As they passed the study, Black paused to flick a coin onto the old man’s back. In Mafia-speak, that meant the attack was the settlement of a debt and would serve to muddy the waters further.

  Then they were outside, stuffing their masks into their pockets before they scaled the wall between the garden and the beach. They’d tossed a thick blanket over the spikes to avoid impaling themselves. Rafael hoisted Hallie up to Black, who lowered her to Nate on the other side, and when her feet touched the sand, she sucked in a lungful of sea air.

  “Ohmigosh. I haven’t been outside in over a year. Freedom smells like salt water and flowers.”

  Freedom? Maybe. She’d seen their faces now, so if this story she had to tell wasn’t fan-fucking-tastic, she’d signed her own death warrant. Meanwhile, Black’s radio crackled, and Alaric spoke.

  “I realise the timing sucks, but Marisol just got another message from Cora.”

  CHAPTER 35 - CORA

  “WHERE ARE WE?” I whispered to Leandro as we walked towards our new and hopefully temporary home.

  What was it with rich people and houses? They had so much money, yet they couldn’t buy taste? The place looked as if a blind toddler had gone crazy with Lego bricks, boxes stuck together at strange angles and accented in a sickly duck-egg blue. The colour matched the enormous wrought-iron gates that had closed silently behind us after we drove onto the property.

  “North Carolina,” Leandro muttered.

  Why was I still calling him Leandro in my head? For the simple reason that I didn’t want to screw up and call him Leander in front of someone. We’d got this far, and making a mistake like that would be a disaster.

  A man in jeans strode out the front door to meet us. Was this Radcliffe’s equivalent? He was younger, around thirty-five, and he wore his dark hair slicked back in a ponytail.

  “Thanks, Carl. Why don’t you go park the car around the back?” He nodded at the man who’d driven us, more of a pig than an ape since his flabby belly pressed up against the steering wheel and he only spoke in grunts. “So, you must be our newbies? Welcome to the party pad. I’m Nevin, the manager here.”

  “The party pad? You make it sound fun, like I’m not going to be raped every night.”

  He screwed up his mouth. “Rape… That’s such a harsh word. And a comparatively modern concept. Back in the days when women understood their role in life, it didn’t exist.”

  “Their role in life?”

  “To serve men, of course. Modern society’s gone quite mad with all this equality nonsense.”

  Was Nevin delusional?

  “Why the hell should I serve a man?”

  “Because you’re inferior.” He patted me on the hand, and I snatched it away. “Now, now, I don’t mean to insult you—I’m merely stating a simple fact. It’s all down to genes. If you’ve got a Y chromosome, you’re stronger and smarter than somebody with two X’s. It’s only in the last century or two that people have started fighting against nature. Against evolution.”

>   Coming from a man with little chicken legs, the claim that he was genetically superior only made me laugh. I swallowed the giggle, and it turned into a snort that became a cough.

  “Are you sick?” Nevin asked. “We’re big on hygiene here. There’s hand sanitiser in each room, and everyone’s expected to use it.”

  “Not sick, just a little…” Incredulous? Gobsmacked? Amazed that anyone could be so arrogant and so stupid? “Apprehensive.”

  “Don’t worry; we’re all friends here. Once you accept your place, you’ll find you relax more and enjoy the atmosphere. Think about it… No need to worry about earning money or fending for yourself out in the big wide world.” He patted my hand again. Seriously, he was gonna lose fingers if that continued. “And for a woman, you’ve done well in the genetic lottery. We use the ugly ones as maids.”

  Oh my freaking goodness. Was this a prank?

  “Is he kidding?” I asked Leandro as Nevin turned on his heel and marched towards the house, beckoning us to follow.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “He’s a lunatic.”

  “Agreed. But hey, apparently as a man, I’m genetically blessed, so it’s all good.”

  “Shut up.”

  Since our respective confessions last night, dealing with Leandro had become a hundred times easier. I understood his motivations, he understood mine, and we could work together rather than at cross purposes. And, most importantly, I wasn’t alone anymore. Radcliffe had woken us up before dawn, handing Leandro a bundle of my clothes and telling us to be out front in fifteen minutes. Leandro had grabbed a two-minute shower in the way only boys can, then left me in the bathroom to finish getting ready.

  And when he walked out with his towel around his waist, I might have snuck a glance now I knew he wasn’t a complete asshole, and I liked what I saw a little too much. Wrong. All wrong. I shouldn’t be feeling this way, not right now when I was about to walk into hell, part III. I could just picture Nevin with a pointy tail and horns.

  The ride to North Carolina had been a brief respite—well, a twelve-hour respite according to Leandro’s watch. We’d stopped for gas twice and food three times, mainly because Carl the driver ate like a hog as well as looking like one. Before our first stop, Leandro had slipped me his phone, and I’d tucked it into my bra because Radcliffe had given me another stupid dress to wear. A dress and high-heeled freaking pumps. In the car, I kicked the shoes off and sat barefoot. I’d jumped as Leandro rested his hand on my thigh, and it took me a moment to realise he wasn’t stroking my leg, rather he was tracing the PIN for his phone onto my skin. Seven-nine-seven-three. I committed it to memory, and when he and Carl followed me to the bathroom and hovered outside the grubby stall, I locked myself inside and sent a message to my brother.