Locke and Key (Titan Book 12)

by Cristin Harber

  Jesus shit. “What’s your name?”

  “Victoria.”

  Ah, he’d heard her name before. The girl from upstairs. “Victoria…what? Have a last name?”

  “Victoria. That’s it.”

  “Got it. Victoria with no last name.” There wasn’t much time here. “Victoria with no last name, if I give you a loaded gun in the dark, are you going to accidentally shoot yourself, these women, or me?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know what the shit you’re doing?”

  “I don’t want to die. I don’t want to kill you or these girls either.”

  At that very far end of the hallway, Locke saw the faint trail of a flashlight beam flash and go away. The Russian bodyguards were on their way down their passage. “Give me your hand.” He reached into the dark and found Victoria’s outstretched hand then pulled the PSM pistol from the back of his waist and put it in her palm, wrapping her hand around it. With his other hand, he moved her fingers and thumb over the gun. “No safety, no manual slide lock. Very thin weapon. Do you feel that?”

  He couldn’t see it, but he felt her move as she whispered, “Yes.”

  “These triggers don’t take much, but they’re not hair-trigger. Pull back here, and you get eight shots. You won’t need eight shots. You shouldn’t need any. There is a team of good guys on-site. Do not kill them. They are my friends. They are my family. Do you understand?”

  “I do.”

  “Okay, anybody who is not a woman or with a child, not another American, and not on my Delta team—don’t let them through to these girls. I’m going to do the same on the other side. That’s our plan. Sound good?”

  “Sounds like a plan,” she said.

  He nodded. “Thanks, Victoria with no last name…”

  With that, Victoria turned to face the very faint light in the direction he’d first come from. Locke stepped over and around all the women who lay and sat on the floor, and he tried not to think about the hell that they had been through.

  The farther he crept away, the more nervous he became that he’d just left them with a woman he didn’t know, who was holding a gun. But the way Victoria had stood with Cassidy, interacted with Taisia, and pushed Locke to come up with a plan had inspired his trust. Locke had to trust his instincts while still hoping the noise he heard was a giant-ass rat. Or Delta.

  God help them; let that be Delta making their way through the maze of passageways that seemed to be behind the walls of the Mikhailov compound.

  He came to the corner and poked his head around it, not for the first time wishing he had equipment. No sign of the flashlight beam. No sounds of men walking or their voices rumbling. There were other passages and ways to escape the main building. Part of him wanted to protect the women, but part of Locke wanted to go after those fuckers.

  All those girls lined up? Yeah. Big problem.

  The footsteps and the light were back. Three people, from what Locke could tell. He had to assume they were armed.

  The flashlight beam grew stronger as it swept side to side. One of the men repeatedly tapped the wall every few strides, as though they were looking for a door like the one Taisia’s house had.

  Five minutes earlier, their voices had been booming, and now they were just searching. Were they more desperate than before? Locke couldn’t just shoot them, much as he wanted to—wait. The flashlight beam flashed across the hallway, and he squinted. That wasn’t three guards. It was… two guards and a man in a suit. Ivan Mikhailov?

  Holy shit. Delta didn’t have Ivan, and he was trying to escape.

  With twenty yards between him and what were probably the two strongest guards Mikhailov had, Locke readied for war, because the bastard was vengeful. If he saw his women lined up on the ground, it’d be a complete bloodbath. He’d slaughter them all. Ivan Mikhailov had a reputation for vengeance.

  Locke pressed up against the wall at the corner. Ivan was in the middle, and the hallway was so narrow his bodyguards staggered in front and behind as they walked. Locke could take both—he could shoot the first one and then, assuming Ivan jumped back, go after the other. And then he’d capture the FSB jerkoff responsible for all of this.

  In theory, that sounded possible. In reality… Adrenaline pumped in Locke’s veins.

  Their footsteps were upon him. No other options.

  A bodyguard casually rounded the corner, having no idea what was around the bend, and Locke’s best hit landed dead center on his face. The goal was to crack his nose so hard that it would take him out, knocking him into Ivan like a domino.

  The flashlight dropped, rolling. Their only light source was pointing in the wrong direction. He couldn’t see shit. But he surged forward. Locke stepped on the knocked-out bodyguard as he punched the other. The man on the ground didn’t grab him. No arms reached up, and no legs kicked out. The man was out cold. Sweat poured down Locke’s back, and he sucked down a deep breath, high on the satisfaction.

  Ivan was a high-value target, but the other man was more dangerous. They both needed his focus. Locke’s mind raced as adrenaline pumped. The two men yelled in Russian, and he had no idea what they said. But he triangulated their locations in the dark. Locke took a swing and hit the guard’s neck. Growling and biting, the man warred back.

  It was too dark for the guard to use a weapon with Ivan nearby. But Ivan might be armed, and he wouldn’t care if he killed either of them. They had to keep moving. Locke swung his leg down and dropped the guard. They rolled on top of Ivan, who groaned as two men weighing easily two hundred pounds of muscle apiece slammed on top of him.

  Locke reached for the gun at his waist as the other man reached for his. Eyes adjusted to the dark, it was a move they both knew, and they rolled back and then surged forward like battering rams, out of breath, knocking the other’s shooting hand.

  The man wrapped his fist around Locke’s neck, choking off his air supply, tearing his fingers into his throat as though he were going to rip his esophagus out. Motherfuck. He couldn’t breathe. Stars popped behind his eyelids. Locke drilled his knee into the man’s groin—oxygen.

  He gasped, falling over to catch his breath.

  Ivan rolled, scurrying on his knees, and Locke launched, hooking his ankle and pulling him back. “Not going away.”

  They rolled to the side. Locke crawled on top of Ivan, wrapping a chokehold around his neck as they rolled over—

  The cold barrel of a gun froze Locke. The guard had it pressed to his temple, and Locke’s free arm dropped as though loosening.

  “Let him go.”

  He bucked, twisting with Ivan, grabbing the blade from his boot and slamming his fist back. The gun went off. The knife lodged in the guard—his ribs, judging by the sound and feel—and a hot burn from the discharged weapon seared across Locke’s forehead into his hairline. His ears rang. The shot still screamed in his ear.

  He had no hearing other than the resounding, aching boom that echoed in his head, and still, he fought to find the fallen weapon. He swung his free hand onto the floor, no idea if the guard was dead or alive.

  “Stay still!” a woman yelled.

  Locke couldn’t make heads or tails of what was happening in the dark. He couldn’t let go of Ivan, and he didn’t know where the other gun was, but he wrenched his grip on Ivan even tighter. The bastard still fought as Locke yanked again.

  The abandoned flashlight moved and was directed his way, then the stabbed and knocked-out men on the floor, and went back up to the woman’s face—Victoria—and returned to him as Ivan thrashed again.

  “Stay still, you fuck. You horrible, horrible, awful fuck,” she cried. “You fucking ruined my life.”

  Locke’s ears rang and hurt, but he heard every word of that. She knew exactly who Ivan was, and she had a gun trained on him—while Locke held him. Not ideal.

  “Victoria, I’ve got him.” Locke sat up. “It’s okay.”

  It was then that Locke noticed she held the flashlight and the gun in a way that onl
y a professional would know. The woman was trained as much as she was a victim. He had no idea about her past, no idea what she had been through or where she had come from. But she had the strength to put the gun down if she wanted to.

  “Victoria, listen to me,” Locke said. “You are better than this piece of trash.”

  With the flashlight off her face, she was just a beam of light and the barrel of a gun. She sniffled, and he heard the hiccup of a tear. The weapon did not waver.

  “I’m going to stand up. I’ve got him. He’s not going anywhere,” Locke said.

  “Don’t move. Don’t let him move. He can’t move. He wouldn’t let me move. He can’t move.”

  Locke jerked the chokehold on the man, who suddenly seemed to realize that the woman in front of him was going to fucking kill him. “I should let her, you sick fuck. Whatever you did to her, you deserve it.”

  Noises shuffled behind Victoria, and beams of light came into view.

  Delta. Somebody from his team was there to help defuse the situation. Thank God.

  Locke barely saw the outline of another man move next to Victoria as she tilted to look from Ivan to the Delta man. Still, the gun didn’t move from Locke’s direction.

  “Locke,” Ryder’s Aussie accent called. “Seems you have yourself a handful, yeah?”

  “Nothing I couldn’t handle,” he grumbled. “But since you’re here…”

  “Sweetheart, my gun is pointed at them. Do you want to drop yours?” Ryder held out his hand to Victoria. “Put it in my hand, and everything will work out.”

  Victoria sniffled, and her teary voice said, “No.”

  Ryder hummed as though contemplating what she had said. “I promise you, mine works as good as yours.”

  “But he never hurt you,” she said, her voice breaking.

  Ryder shifted, engaging the safety on his weapon and dropping it to his side after a show of standing down. “Hell…” He turned to her. “You’re right.”

  “I am?” she whispered.

  Ryder rubbed a hand over his face, shaking his head and cursing. “Yeah, you are. And that makes this so much harder. I’m really sorry.” In one fast move, he grabbed Victoria, disarming her and hugging her to his chest as he slipped the weapon away.

  Locke could take a deep breath as somebody behind Ryder tossed him a set of plastic ties to cuff Ivan.

  Once he had Ivan secured and on his feet, Locke looked over at Victoria, who quietly sobbed in Ryder’s arms. He didn’t blame her for one second. He’d probably need a gun physically pulled from him too in certain situations. There were some pains in life impossible to understand and accept unless another person walked you away.

  A flashlight was handed to him, and finally, Locke had eyes on who was there—Ryder and Trace. He flashed it down the hall to see Luke. “Hello, Delta. Where’s the rest of you? Upstairs?”

  “Brock’s upstairs running through all the intel we found with Jax,” Trace said. “Colin has Mikhailov dudes tied up and ready to talk to. I don’t know where anybody else is. But this place is huge.”

  Taisia then came forward in the hallway and walked up to her father, ignoring all the Delta guys and Locke. Once she’d stepped over two bodies and was practically nose to nose with him, she glowered. “I may never forgive you, and I may never forget, but I will survive.”

  Ivan muttered, “Stupid girl. All of this, and they can’t keep me. You think anything will change? Never.” He spat on the floor. “Run and hide, Taisia. Whatever you had to do with this, run and hide.”

  Locke knew they weren’t making an arrest, that the Russian government would not do a thing about Ivan Mikhailov and didn’t care that he ran a prostitution ring and even maybe a pedophilia ring. Ivan was an influential man in their government and would be a useful man if what Alex said panned out.

  Delta-team guys were ghosts. There would be no record they set foot in Russia, and even if Ivan wanted to make accusations that Americans had come in, he wouldn’t be able to prove it.

  At the moment, Brock was upstairs, overseeing the destruction of anything that could prove that they were there, all while they were data mining and collecting intel on anything that would help them find other traffickers. All Delta wanted to do was dismantle and disrupt the system.

  Maybe Locke should just kill Ivan. They’d killed his bodyguards, but they did so while attacked. Victoria would never be able to charge Ivan with rape or whatever it was that he’d done, but maybe these other girls would.

  Their purpose was to bring girls home, to save them from a life of hell. And bonus, they could keep Alex Gaev from selling intelligence to the Russian government or having Ivan Mikhailov use it as an insurance policy to protect his new trafficking business out of the US. Locke hadn’t quite figured which thing Ivan intended to do—likely both. Either way, the information wouldn’t be sold.

  “I’m out,” Locke said to Trace.

  “Where you going?”

  He flashed the beam up and down the hall, but the women were mostly gone, as was Taisia. “To find Cassidy.”

  “Brock says team meeting when we’re done rounding up the pieces of shit.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  Locke handed Ivan to Trace as though the man were a sack of garbage and went in search of his woman. He owed her a shower, normal clothes, and apparently, a pizza.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Cassidy’s first undercover assignment with Titan was done. She’d washed away all signs of the makeup from earlier and spent far too little time in the shower. With a towel knotted at her chest, Cassidy padded out of the bathroom in Taisia’s palatial mansion and watched as Locke jumped off the bed. He’d promised he would be there when she got out, but the idea that he waited for her, eyeing her as hungrily as she felt in the shower, made her bold, even if they had places to go in short order.

  “Would it be totally inappropriate to say—”

  “That thank fuck, we are finally alone.” Locke grabbed her like a starving man and ravenously pulled her close, his hungry mouth sinking over hers before she could utter a word of agreement.

  Near-violent arousal overtook Cassidy, flooding her bloodstream with a lustful appreciation for his thick arms and talented tongue. But more than that, the familiar hold was like coming home. He’d hugged her half a dozen times since the ruse was up, but this was carnal and predatory. He wasn’t holding back now but giving them both what they needed: each other.

  “Do you know what you do to me, Mister?”

  He tugged on her lip. “What do I do to you, Beauty?”

  A blush hit her cheeks. Of course, she’d have to answer the rhetorical question. “Turn me on.”

  “And?”

  “Mmmm.” She grew wet as he dropped his mouth to her neck, letting his teeth rasp and his hands travel to her bare bottom under the towel. “You give me very good dreams.”

  “I like that.”

  “When I’m awake too,” she said.

  “I like that better.” He moved to her ear, and he whispered, “Have you touched yourself and thought of me?”

  “Yes.” Her quiet voice didn’t matter for the loud quake of excitement rushing across her nerves at the admission.

  Locke groaned. “Mmm. Good, baby.”

  Her nipples ached, needing him against her ultra-sensitized skin, and her pussy lips clenched in anticipation of what she knew would come. The memory of his wet tongue sliding across her slick folds had her hips squirming as if they had a mind of their own. He brought his mouth back to hers, delving his tongue deep.

  “If we talk like that, then you kiss me like that”—she pulled back, knowing they had places to be—“I can’t promise that I’m good for getting to meet your team on time.”

  He tore off his shirt, putting rippled muscles and broad shoulders on display. “What makes you think I care?”

  Cassidy bit her lip, flushed with desire that bloomed deep in her stomach. She stared at Locke, whose tattoos, scars, hard abs, and serious, com
e-to-me smile made her pleasure all the more vibrant. “I assumed you had manners.”

  He laughed, and his corded muscles danced under her palms. “Not at a time like this.”

  “Good to know where our priorities lie.” She scraped her fingers down his abdomen to the top of his pants, mischievously dancing her fingers over the button fastener.

  “We’ll be on time.” He ran his hands through her damp hair as she unbuckled his pants. “We’ll be quick. C’mere.”

  “In a minute. Something I need to do first.” She just wanted enough time to wrap her lips around him as she stroked, to feel the hot-steel length and the silkiness of his heated flesh.

  “I promise.” Locke tugged at her hair, urging her off her knees. “I’ll take my time with you later. Nice and slow, for days, Cassidy.”

  “I believe you, baby.” She slid her hand over his heavy erection. “But I need something from you too.”

  With a push, she urged his powerful thighs apart and settled to her knees, feeling her arousal slickening her sex as she readied to taste his precum, lick the thick shaft, and fill her mouth with the man who adored her.

  He was perfect. Just the visual made her dizzy with want. When this hard-on pushed inside her…? Mmmm. Cassidy gripped him at the base and sucked the bulbous head into her mouth, running her tongue along the underside of his crown.

  “Damn.” Locke sucked air. His thighs flexed, and his groan tore through the air, vibrating all the way to her clit.

  His heavy breaths made her want to take more of him, and his near-failing restraint made her mouth water. “Mmmm.”

  “That. Mouth.” Locke’s hips lifted. “Beauty.”

  He ran his hands over her shoulders as she let him fill her mouth, slipping back into her throat.

  “Good girl. Take my cock”—he groaned, leaning back to watch—“deep. Fuck. Suck it. Goddamn.”

  With every dirty word, she grew wetter. This was just like she dreamed. Just what she touched herself to—Cassidy kept a fist wrapped around the base of his dick and closed her eyes, relishing his heated, smooth skin working against her lips. She massaged his sac and then slipped her hand between her legs as she kept bobbing her head. His hips started to flex with her rhythm, and her fingers fluttered. Cassidy moaned at it all. His fingers kneaded her shoulders, her lips swelled around his pumping erection, and oh, now the bud of her clitoris—