Locke and Key (Titan Book 12)

by Cristin Harber

  “Roger that,” Locke said.

  “Nonlethal. You do not have orders to kill unless they take direct action first.”

  “We understand, boss,” Jax said. “We’re not trying to cause an international incident. Even if the prick purchased Locke’s girl.”

  Locke had nothing to say. “If you can’t get there, or her extraction goes wrong, she’s smart. Delta will get there. Take a breath, Locke.”

  “Got it. Thanks, Rocco.” Locke caressed the device in his hand as the call ended.

  Jax gave him a look that said they’d handle their shit no matter what came up. “Sometimes this spy-bullshit crap is a lot more work than I’m used to.”

  “It’s an adjustment.”

  “Let’s do this.”

  The rickety vehicle surged as Jax stepped on the gas pedal. Locke raised the radar-looking gun and pulled the trigger, not letting go. “Did Parker give us a time length on this?”

  There was nobody else on the road, so Locke wasn’t worried about frying anybody else’s brains. Not that they were going to do permanent damage. He couldn’t hear anything, and he couldn’t feel anything. He didn’t have even the slightest tingle of a headache.

  “How do we know if it’s working?”

  Jax looked over at the gun and then back to the road, laying his foot on the gas and surging closer to the caravan in front of them. There were two cars that had been taking turns leading. Both were in their line of sight and within the distance Parker had specified for the device to work. “I guess we keep at it. See if it works. If nothing happens in a little bit, we go through the bag of tricks again. If that doesn’t work, we run them into a ditch.”

  Locke liked that a hell of a lot better than try, try, try again. “Good plan.”

  After another minute, Locke released the trigger, and they watched the two cars for a few moments. There were no exits anywhere on this desolate road, and he checked the map for the next place where the Russian oligarch might find headache medicine and relax after a thoroughly shitty morning.

  They passed a highway sign that confirmed that they were not too far from another exit, where there would be places to sleep off horrible headaches. Locke went back to the gun and pulled the trigger, not releasing it. “I’m just going to pull this baby until the next town. If they don’t pull off, then we’ll change tactics.”

  A motorcycle came out of nowhere and shot right past them, blowing by the three cars barreling down the road. There was enough space between them that Locke was sure that they could continue at this distance without causing much attention, even if they wanted to follow the billionaire off the exit ramp to ensure his party stopped at a hotel. Interesting how little traffic existed between towns. Commerce had to be dead. Their economy was just so exhausted.

  One of the cars in front of them swerved slightly.

  “Did you see that?” Jax asked.

  Locke hummed his response. A few moments later, the other car veered over to the shoulder area and then back onto the main thoroughfare. “I think it’s working.”

  They were fast approaching the exit into the upcoming town when the two-car caravan that carried Cassidy’s purchaser pulled off the main road. Locke took his finger off the trigger.

  “I’m gonna pull onto the shoulder right here,” Jax said. “Let’s give them a minute to pull down the ramp.”

  Locke agreed, and he jammed cassettes into the player, which turned out to be broken. “Really?”

  “All right, long enough,” Jax grumbled. He eased them down the road and into the small town, where they quickly hit a main street and lodging. The two vehicles they had tailed were parked in front, with the occupants long gone.

  “That was fast.” Locke chuckled. “Guess Parker’s headache gun works.”

  “Poor sexual predators need to go nighty night. We should go slash their tires to make sure that they don’t just take a quick nap then rock ‘n’ roll.” Jax pulled into a nearby spot and shifted into park. “Do you wanna do the honors?”

  Locke shook his head. “No, let’s not make them suspicious. They’ve already had tire problems. Their road trip from hell needs to be a string of bad luck.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Go inside and make sure no prying eyes point my way. I’m going to add water to their gas tank.”

  “I feel like we should be earning pseudo Boy Scout badges for this shit. Bill Nye the Science Guy meets How Does It Work gone rogue.” Jax smirked. “Score one for the good guys.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  High-heeled footsteps made everyone in the cramped bedroom fall quiet, but when the housemother walked into the room, her eyes fell on Cassidy.

  That seemed all wrong. The housemother held a dress and what looked like a makeup kit and hairbrush. Cassidy’s eyes flitted to Victoria, whose grim face and lips pressed together didn’t bode well. Shit.

  “Is that for me?” Cassidy asked, knowing it couldn’t be.

  “Come, time to shower.” The woman lay the dress on the cot, lining up the hairbrush and makeup, and Cassidy froze, fully awake, wondering what the hell was happening.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” the woman said.

  But someone was. “No. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “If you don’t come with me, someone much bigger will make you. You don’t want that.”

  Nervousness rose as her stomach dropped. “Why?”

  “No time for questions.” She beckoned. “Now.”

  “No,” Cassidy said, her feet growing anchors. Where was Locke? Delta?

  The benevolent-housemother-slash-sex-trafficker act was wearing thin.

  Heavy boots stomped down the hall as male voices carried until two large men with scowls large enough to match their guns flanked the woman.

  “Ready?” the woman asked again. “Come.”

  Fucking hell. Cassidy hated the weak, unknowing feeling and hated that there was ever a time when she had been arrogant enough to think this was an assignment she could pull off without cold fear. But Locke wouldn’t let anything happen to her. That was the only thing she truly believed. Cassidy would go wherever only to come back and put on the dress, though she’d do so slowly, giving Locke as much time as he needed to arrive. “Fine.”

  She unfolded herself from the covers, and a bar of soap and thin towel was thrust into her hand.

  “Take this.” The woman’s thick accent was noticeably stronger now that Cassidy had questioned her. “When we return, you dress in that.”

  The two burly men parted as they walked through, and Cassidy bit her bottom lip as queasiness returned. This was a problem. They were dolling her up for her purchaser, literally, evidenced by the ornate dress lying at the foot of the tattered cot.

  “Um…”

  “Let’s go,” the woman said. “Now.”

  Cassidy shuffled forward, clinging to her bar of soap and threadbare towel. This had to be part of the plan. Titan had eyes on the situation, somewhere, somehow, and they wouldn’t let it get to the point where she was in trouble. They promised, and she would trust them.

  Trust Locke.

  Still, her heart jackhammered in her chest.

  “Faster.”

  “Sorry.” Cassidy stumbled. “Crap. Shit. Sorry.”

  The woman held out her arm, steadying her. “Are you okay?” Her accent softened. “I do that sometimes.”

  The flash of kindness lasted only a fraction of a moment, but it was in that split-second that she believed there was still the chance the woman had a heart. “Thanks.”

  Cassidy didn’t know what that chance would be or when it would appear, but it would happen. Or maybe she was clinging to hope like a fool…

  No. Damn it. God had given her a journalist’s instinct for situations like this, and it might save her life.

  “In there.”

  The bathroom, even under these circumstances, was breathtaking, decorated in a mosaic style with a claw-foot tub, but Cassidy remained unsure of her next
move as the woman turned on the water and awkwardly waited for her to undress and get in.

  She slipped off everything and ducked her chin as the water hit. Oh… The lukewarm water was wonderful, even if the soap didn’t make suds easily. It served its purpose. Her hair and body were clean.

  “Shave, please,” the woman said, handing her a one-blade razor.

  Again, with her stomach in knots, Cassidy mentally chanted that everything would be fine. Titan had a plan, and while the early-morning rousting wasn’t normal, they wouldn’t let her owner take her away.

  “Smooth.” The woman pointed to her armpits, legs, and along her bikini line.

  “Right,” Cassidy whispered. They weren’t dolling her up to be window dressing.

  The cheap disposable razor did as good of a job as it could. She handed it back over and washed off one last time. Cassidy shut off the water, stepping out and into the towel. The woman handed her a comb and deodorant. They couldn’t have a stinky, raggedy sex slave.

  God, if she didn’t know help was coming, this process would be hell, and—Cassidy caught sight of the woman’s face, and she seemed to be upset too. Until she caught Cassidy watching her. Then her features went to stone.

  “Good. Finished,” the woman snapped in accented English. “Now, follow me.”

  They padded back to the room, and the other girls simply watched in silence. Cassidy wanted to promise them it would be okay, that her friends would come soon to help. But instead, she tried to focus on how she should act, which was nervous and not overthinking.

  Not that she wasn’t actually nervous. Where was Locke?

  The other girls continued to stare as though they couldn’t tear their eyes away from the impending doom. Cassidy supposed that other girls left to meet their owners and likely never came back.

  She looked down. What a dress. The fabric was heavy. It was embroidered and made from yellows and golds, cinching around Cassidy’s waist.

  “If you listen,” the house mom murmured, “it will go better. That’s how these men work.”

  “Russian men?” Cassidy whispered, surprised to receive any advice.

  She hadn’t gained much intel on the network of buyers, other than what she had gleaned from the girls and, even then, only the basics—where they were from and how they’d arrived on-site. But how did the Mikhailov network spiderweb? Titan couldn’t defeat the whole process unless they cut off all the heads.

  The woman shrugged. “You need to know that to survive. Listen. Don’t fight it. Try to relax.” She turned her, dragging her out of the room, where the others couldn’t see them, the rough treatment making Cassidy trip—and the woman carefully rested her hands on Cassidy’s shoulders. That was when she saw the tears welling in the woman’s eyes. “I’m sorry. This should not happen to you. I thought I could save you. Them.” The woman tore her face away, and Cassidy was shocked, so confused she couldn’t comprehend what was happening.

  The heavy-booted steps of the armed men came down the narrow hall, and the woman stepped away, moving back into the room and returning with makeup and a hair tie, as though nothing had been said.

  A knot lodged in her throat. She didn’t understand who this woman was, but Cassidy knew they were getting close to being ready for her to meet her buyer.

  “Why?”

  “Shhh.” The woman hushed her like she was a baby, and all signs of emotion and connection from before were gone. Then she went to work on her makeup.

  It felt odd having someone prepare her face and hair and choose such a foreign, formal way of dress. When she was done, the woman offered Cassidy a small mirror as though she wanted her to see the work she had done before shipping her off as property.

  Cassidy blinked at the reflection, not recognizing the made-up smoky eyes and pouty lips. She turned to the woman, unsure of what to say, so she didn’t say a word.

  “Remember what I said.”

  Gee. Fuck you, and thanks. Cassidy nodded. “I don’t want to do this.”

  Her eyes stayed on Cassidy’s, faltering, but she took a breath. “Let’s go.” The woman turned her head, her hardened edge softening. “Come now.”

  Together, they walked into a hall, and one of the burly guards who snarled and stank hurried toward them. Cassidy shrank back. Even the woman did, but they had a quick back-and-forth in Russian. Nothing Nicola had taught Cassidy was useful. The woman and the guards argued, and the conversation escalated.

  “It’s time,” the woman said.

  “What’s happening?” Cassidy asked.

  No answer. No, no, no. She didn’t like this one bit.

  She tried again. ““I’m sorry. I’ll listen. Follow directions. Everything you said. If you can just tell me what is happening.”

  “If they cannot come to us, we will have you delivered to them. Simple. You’ve been bought and paid for.”

  “I’m sorry?” Cassidy blanched.

  The woman shooed her away. “It’s time for you to go to your new home. Go.”

  The guard stepped to the side, and the woman pushed her through an alcove. The hallway had been so dark, and now bright lights blinded her as though she were merchandise on display.

  Head held high, eyes as wide as she could make them, for no other reason than to see what was going on, she walked to what was a raised apparatus. A platform. A stage.

  “That’s her,” the low masculine voice growled. “That’s mine.”

  “Nродан.”

  Sold. Cassidy knew that word. Nicola had taught it to her and said she hoped Cassidy never heard it.

  ***

  Locke wanted to kill. His fingers curled into fists, and his jaw was fixed so tight there was the chance lockjaw would set in and Jax would have to take over any further negotiations. Everything should have been cut-and-dried at that point, but it wouldn’t do shit to help if he couldn’t speak.

  Cassidy marched forward with her shoulders back, and come-fuck-with-me bravery emanated from the dolled-up attire. No telling what they had told her. All Parker had leaked to the Mikhailovs was that her purchaser couldn’t make the pickup in person, and the source vendor should transport the woman to London.

  Naturally, Ivan Mikhailov would be pissed because he wanted to showboat the process. The dais that Cassidy had walked out on was quite the step up. But what the fuck ever. They wanted to continue doing business, and by the time they figured out it wasn’t real communication, it would be too late, and Cassidy would be free. Fuck ’em all—Locke didn’t care.

  They might’ve rolled her into some freakish, fancy, homegrown dress and made the woman look like a Russian doll—because what was a high-end sex trafficker without branding and high-quality clothes for their high-end products—but they couldn’t take the feisty redhead out of the woman. Cassidy was a fighter—and she likely couldn’t see him.

  Jax spoke to someone on the side, and Locke stepped forward. Cassidy was called down, and he was sure he heard her growl—until she caught sight of him.

  She gave an audible gasp.

  His eyes warned her that all she needed to do was keep it together. He’d explain later. Damn, how he needed to touch her. Kiss her. He’d never missed her more than he did at that second.

  It hadn’t been that long since he left her side, and he’d imagined waking up next to her. She was so close he could touch her, breathe her in, and yet he wasn’t able to.

  “What else do you have?” Jax asked.

  The man who greeted them, who they’d initially sold Cassidy to, came over, and the two of them began to discuss business.

  “Come here,” Locke called to Cassidy. “You remember me.”

  She nodded hesitantly as she walked out of the blinding lights. They couldn’t break cover. She held her eyes to the ground as she walked over and came to a stop a foot away.

  Locke lifted her chin, inspecting his merchandise for any onlookers, and the connection warmed him from the inside. Even though she was made up and dressed like someone he’d never me
t, he wanted to kiss her. It wasn’t about how she looked—it was the person underneath all the window dressing.

  “You good?” he mumbled.

  “Yes, sir,” she whispered, staying in her role. That was good. You never knew who was listening.

  “Good girl.”

  “I’ll be back.” Jax motioned that he was leaving with the other man.

  “This way.” He led her back to a private area. Locke pulled a pen from his suit jacket.

  “We have a problem,” Cassidy murmured as she rubbed a hand over her mouth, trying to hide what she said.

  “Alex”—he completed her mumble—“is on his way out here.”

  Her eyes went up and down as if to nod.

  “Brock’s people are right behind us. Too dangerous with Alex on his way out to have you here any longer.”

  Somewhere toward the front of the mansion, a commotion rumbled, and the distinct sound of a man yelling “Taisia” echoed in the grand room.

  Cassidy’s eyes rounded. “He’s here.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Bellowing voices echoed from down the hall, and Jax came walking back into the room with more purpose than when he left, accompanied by one of their business partners. Locke held a hand out, shielding Cassidy from stepping forward, and raised his eyebrows, questioning Jax as to what the fuck was causing the ruckus.

  The only feasible reason was that Alex Gaev had just stormed into the Mikhailov mansion, but on a scale from one to stupid, that was mind-blowingly dumb. Locke’s gaze shifted to Cassidy, and a possessive hold clawed in his neck and chest. He hadn’t known her for very long —well, that wasn’t true, he’d known her for years, but most of that time, he’d hated her.

  Now, though, Locke was liable to act as stupid as Alex Gaev sounded. He tried to hear what was happening. If Cassidy had been his woman for years and he couldn’t get to her, yeah, he might sound like that too, making the same wrong decisions. The added complication that there was a child wasn’t something that Locke could understand, but he could appreciate it.

  Jax closed the distance. “Confirmed the visual. It’s him.”