by Shandi Boyes
For the rest of our fifteen-mile trip, I maintain the law. I blinker before turning, stay within five miles of the designated speed limits, and stop at pedestrian crossings.
It’s the most mundane trip of my life.
Who buys a limited-edition sports car to drive it like a senior citizen in bad need of a bus pass?
The only good that comes from my slower pace is my ability to pay attention to other things besides how well my tires grip the wet asphalt.
We have a tail.
The lowness of my tailgater’s ride assures me it isn’t the Feds or a member of the local law enforcement, much less the heat of their glare. I should have known Demi wouldn’t have called until after her fight with Maddox. Who stops an argument to make a call mid-crisis? Not any female I know.
With one plan out the window, I commence another. “Dammit, I forgot my place was being fumigated tonight. Do you mind if we swing by my father’s house instead?”
As her jaw unhinges, Justine’s still wide-with-terror eyes drift my way. “You want to go to your dad’s house?” She cringes out ‘dad’ like most men do when their side dish brings up marriage during their first hookup.
“He’s away for the weekend. Won’t be back until Monday.”
The width of her pupils double. I understand her shock. I pretty much just hinted that we should spend the weekend fucking at my dad’s house. I don’t have a cunt, but even I can comprehend how that would make most women want to close their legs instead of opening them.
“Other people will be there.”
“Oh…” Justine’s throat works through a hard swallow before she asks, “Like who?”
“Ah...” Fuck, when did I lose the ability to lie on the spot? “Friends and family.”
“Oh.” This one is much more approachable than her previous one. “That sounds nice.”
Nice isn’t a word I’d use to describe anyone in my father’s crew, but with Maddox riding my ass, I’ve got no other option but to take his sister back to my family’s compound. It has the means to keep Maddox out long enough that gossip will circulate to my enemies that I took Justine to meet the family.
In this industry, that’s the equivalent of knocking a woman up with your kid.
With my foot once again becoming friendly with the gas pedal, I enter my family’s fortified mansion approximately thirty seconds before Maddox. The window isn’t wide, but it’s long enough for me to request for the goon on the gate to commence full lockdown. That means no one comes or goes without my permission—not even the authorities.
After pulling up to the side of the mansion-like building, I switch off the ignition. “Things are usually pretty rowdy in the main quarters, so we’ll head to the ones in the lower half. It’ll be quieter down there.”
“Okay,” Justine says, hesitantly nodding.
Once I’ve assisted her out of my car, I commence guiding her inside. I can tell she’s uneased about the ruckus we hear more than we see, but I pretend not to notice. She has four older brothers. I’m sure she’s accustomed to the ‘situations’ most men find themselves in late on a Friday night. Even someone as mind-fucked as me prefers the cries of a woman in ecstasy over a wounded soldier being slain.
With my hand on the small of her back, I direct Justine past the den filled with drunken men and half-dressed whores until we reach the hallway that leads to the lower living quarters of the compound. If she was unaware of the lifestyle I was raised in, she isn’t anymore. Men in this industry have no shame. If they want to fuck a whore, they do it wherever they please—including the very hallway we’re walking down.
“Third door on the right,” I tell Justine as my cell phone commences vibrating in my pocket.
My hand is only just hovering above her skin, but I feel the spike in her pulse when we enter my room. It’s a large loft-type space with a separate seating area, mock-up kitchen, and grand bathroom, but the first thing everyone’s eyes zoom in on is the four-poster bed. Although it was purchased as a joke, it’s very much like me—designed for fucking. The handcuff grooves in the thick posts reveal this without a doubt, much less the leather straps that pull out from beneath the mattress.
Although I can drop the gentleman act since we’re behind closed doors, I ask Justine if I can take her coat. I’ve never seen my daughter in the flesh, but that doesn’t make me any less of a father. If Fien is ever allowed to date, I can sure as hell tell you her prospective partner better ask to take her coat. If he doesn’t, he’ll lose more than his fingers.
Justine’s denial blasts through her eyes before she articulates. She’s freaked, although if her scent is anything to go by, she’s more uneased about where she is than who she’s with.
I shouldn’t like the thought, but I do.
With Justine looking for any excuse to leave, I stop ignoring my buzzing cell phone. “While I take this call, why don’t you wash up?”
Not waiting for her to respond, I nudge my head to the bathroom door on our right before sliding my phone out of my pocket and dragging my finger across the screen. Since I’m anticipating my caller to be Demi, I don’t bother peering at the screen to check who’s calling. I just growl down the line, “This better be good.”
The voice that responds is much too gruff and manly to belong to Demi. “Where are you? I have current surveillance on the package.”
“Fien?” I ask at the same time Justine whispers, “I think I should head off.” She points to the door like it will magically zip her back to her dormitory that’s almost an hour and a half from here.
“It’s late, and I’ve got to…” Her words trail off when the sound of someone being pounded into submission overtakes her whispered words. It’s clear the people in the room next to us are fucking. The droning “more, more, more” chant bellowing through the paper-thin walls is indicating enough, much less the sound of a headboard rocking and rolling with every thrust.
I’d tell them to keep it the fuck down if Smith didn’t grunt out an agreeing hum. Now nothing but my daughter is on my mind. “How current are we speaking?”
When Justine attempts to interrupt me again, I hold my index finger in the air, rudely asking her to shut up for just a minute. Unless I’ve paid for the privilege, I haven’t had a spotting of Fien since she was born. I can’t sidestep this to walk Justine though a bout of unease because a couple is having a good time in the room next to us. I’m not asking her to join them, I simply need her to be quiet for a second.
My heart thuds in my ears when Smith says, “I’m looking at her now. It’s a live feed.”
“You can see her?” Even though I’m asking a question, I don’t wait for him to reply. “Send me a link.”
When a whoosh sounds through my phone, I drag it away from my ear. Like magic, footage automatically commences playing on the screen. I don’t breathe while taking in the face I’d recognize no matter how grainy the image. I don’t do anything for a good three or so seconds. I just absorb all the tiny features of my daughter’s adorable face as she snuggles into the chest of an unknown blonde. She looks tired, and she’s sucking her thumb like I have witnessed many times in her ransom photos the past twelve months.
“I’m backtracking the surveillance camera’s footprints. I should have a location in thirty or so seconds…” Anything Smith says next is drowned out by the frantic thump of my pulse. Rimi doesn’t have Fien out in the open for no reason. They’re moving her. How do I know this? She’s being carried on a large commercial-size private jet. Rimi would only order that size jet for one reason—he’s going on a long-haul trip.
“I need to know her location, Smith, and I need to know it now!”
A keyboard being punished by tattooed fingers booms down the line along with Smith’s accented voice. “I’m working on it. The fuckers are throwing up a ton of firewalls. I’ve never faced a security system this hard to crack…” His words are replaced with a groan. “I’ll call you straight back.” Not giving me the chance to tell him I’ll kill
him if he hangs up on me, he disconnects our call.
Since our connection is lost, my screen returns to its normal setting, losing me the image of Fien’s sleepy face. I grip my phone to near death, both frustrated and as angry as fuck. It’s good we have a lock on Fien, but how far and few between will that be if she’s taken out of the country?
With my anger at a pinnacle, I forget Justine is in the room with me until she whispers, “I’m going to go,” like it’s impolite for her to depart without announcing she’s leaving.
Believing it’s best for all involved for her to do precisely that, I nod before digging my keys out of my pocket. “You’ll have to take my car. I can’t leave.”
My cell works anywhere, but I don’t have access to a state-of-the-art weaponry room in any old town. This compound isn’t called The Artillery for no reason. Every weapon combination you can think of is here, and I’ve used them all at one stage in my life.
“Oh… umm, that’s okay. I can call a taxi?” Justine suggests like it’s perfectly normal to find your way home after a failed hookup.
Under different circumstances, I would organize her a ride with one of my crew, but since the rumblings of battle are vibrating under my feet, I jerk up my chin like a soft cock for the second time tonight. “I’ll organize a cab while walking you out.”
Relief crosses Justine’s features. It’s quickly chased by worry. Instead of her heart rate pelting my hand as it did during our walk to my room, mine thuds against her back when I guide her out of my room. My heart rate is so sky-high, I feel seconds from coronary failure.
Partway to the front entrance, my cell phone rings again. I’m so eager to dig it out of my pocket, I almost drop it. I inwardly curse, annoyed by both my fumbling hands and discovering how badly I work under pressure. I didn’t need to fetch a cab for Justine. Her brother is being held up by the goons at the gate. The numerous texts they sent me requesting permission for Maddox to enter the compound assures me of this, much less the quickest peek of his Pontiac parked at the side gate.
Maddox can drive Justine home, allowing me to shift my guilt to a person it shouldn’t have left for even a minute.
After sliding my finger across the screen of my phone, I squash it to my ear. “Are you in?” When Smith whistles out an agreeing noise, I cup the speaker of my phone, then lock my eyes with Justine’s. “Will you be all right from here?”
We’re mere feet from the gate. Even a recently bled virgin would make it out of a house full of vampires unscathed in the distance she has left to travel.
Justine’s chin barely dips an inch when I spin on my heels and race away from her as if she has cooties. It’s a jerk-hat move, but as I’ve said before, Fien comes before anyone.
“Where is she?”
I stop dead in my tracks when Smith replies, “She’s been under our nose the entire fucking time. She’s in Ravenshoe.”
Chapter Seven
Dimitri
As I race for the weaponry room to stock up on supplies, Smith advises why he had trouble tracking Fien’s location. “You know the hold Isaac Holt has on Ravenshoe. His security personnel was never going to let me in without groveling.” He scrubs at his hairless chin while disclosing, “I’m down a dozen favors, and he wouldn’t even let me piggyback his trace. Fucker.”
I’m not surprised. Isaac and I have met before. Let’s just say things aren’t amicable between us, so I don’t see him letting his hacker work for me even if I offered to pay. “Did you ask him to cancel the flight?”
My jaw tightens when Smith’s hum this time around isn’t agreeing. “Tried. The airstrip is privately owned. Hunter agreed to throw up some server blockers to delay their departure. It’ll give us thirty, forty minutes tops.”
Thirty minutes works. I can get to Ravenshoe easily within thirty minutes. “Clover—”
“On his way with Preacher. He’s taking the tank.”
Smith’s reply frustrates me to no end. “We can’t go in heavy. Fien could get hurt.” While weaponing up with my arsenal of choice, I take a moment to deliberate. “Tell Clover to wait. He’s not to make a move until I’ve arrived.”
I inwardly curse again, panicked I’m doing the wrong thing but also aware of how Clover works. He’s a killing machine who craves a massacre no matter the cost. His passion for a bloodbath could get Fien killed. I’d rather lose sight of her for another year than lose her altogether.
“Monitor the situation with Hunter, if circumstances change, patch it through to the Range Rover feed. I’ll take Rocco with me.”
Confident he’ll follow my orders to the T, I disconnect our call, stuff a second colt down the back of my trousers, then hotfoot it in the direction I last saw Rocco. He was the one getting frisky in the hallway when I guided Justine down it.
Rocco drives like a madman, has done two stints in prison, and has a murder count nearly as high as mine, and it was all achieved before his twenty-fifth birthday. His impressive stats aren’t the reason I’m pulling him into this, though. It’s because he achieved all of the above while under my watch.
I needed someone deep in the prison system for future plans. Dirty guards are always handy to have up your sleeve, but they’ve got nothing on true gangbangers. Despite what the warden tells you, he isn’t in charge of anything that happens in the yard. He doesn’t even have a hold on the cells. They’ve always been run by the Cartel.
The sweet smell of sweat-slicked skin streams into my nose when I enter the hallway where my room is located. Rocco is still going at it. I’m not surprised. He only has one whore on the go. He usually has two or three. “I need to get to Ravenshoe in under thirty minutes. We’ll take the Range Rover most of the way.”
To the disgrace of the brunette he’s balls deep inside of, Rocco immediately withdraws, yanks his jeans up his stout thighs, then tucks away his cock. After winking at his whining counterpart to ensure her he’ll be back to finish what he started later, he follows me toward a hidden bunker at the side of the compound.
My brutal speed slows a few seconds later when the quickest flash of galaxy black paint gleaming in the moonlight captures my attention. Maddox’s pride and joy is still parked by the side gate. He’s seated behind the steering wheel.
What the fuck? I thought he would have been long gone by now.
My brain is still striving to work out two plus two when India arrives out of nowhere. Her visits have been few and far between the past three months. I don’t know if my almost choking scared her away or the fact Miceli likes smacking his girl around while she gives him head. She would have needed more than a stick of concealer by the time Miceli was done with her.
I shouldn’t relish the thought, however I do.
Something about India rubs me the wrong way. She’s supposed to be an innocent like Audrey, but her eyes reveal she’s nothing close to that. They’re as evil as mine, and it isn’t just a hankering for danger firing them.
“Dimitri, quick. It’s Justine.” To a stranger, she sounds worried. In reality, she’s just out of breath. The only exercise she does is running her mouth. She can’t even tick sex off as strenuous activity. I haven’t bedded her—much to her disappointment—but I’ve heard rumors. “Your father caught her on the way out. He isn’t happy.”
“Col is back?” Nothing but shock highlights my tone. I wasn’t lying when I told Justine he was out of town. I would have never brought her here if I had an inkling he was returning early. That’s just asking for trouble. He has issues with anyone coming between him and his foot soldiers. It’s one of the reasons I focused my search for the culprits of Audrey’s kidnapping closer to home the past few months. There are too many missing pieces of the puzzle for me to believe the Castros are acting alone. They’ve had help, and I’m just really fucking praying it isn’t someone within these walls. If it is, my family name will be tarnished more than it’s ever been.
My gut twists when India nods her head. “He’s sending her to the Gauntlet.”
I curse out loud this time around. The Gauntlet is where my father sends people to die in the most inhumane way possible. Torture. Gang rape. The dismemberment of multiple parts of your body. He chooses his punishment on a whim. There’s no rhyme or reason to his process other than undeniable proof that he’s a madman.
India’s eyes bounce between mine and Rocco’s while asking, “Are you coming? I doubt she has long.”
I jerk up my chin, commencing my lie in a nonverbal way. “Head down. I’ll be right behind you.”
She doesn’t believe a word I’m speaking, but she’s aware she’ll take Justine’s place if she dares to go against my direct order. “I’ll do everything I can to delay things.”
I wait for India to disappear in the compound before racing into the bunker to yank off a dusty tarp from an old minecart. It was stolen decades ago when Bronte’s Peak was blasted into a cliff edge partway between Ravenshoe and Erkinsvale. We call it the Range Rover because it has the tags Clover swiped from my father’s mint condition Range Rover last year.
Although the minecart is a rust bucket, it, along with the underground tunnel my father commenced drilling four decades ago, will get me to Ravenshoe in under twenty minutes.
I considered having my father’s head examined when he unveiled the finished project after too many glasses of port when I was sixteen. Now I’m glad I encouraged his madness. I’ve only used this tunnel a handful of times, mainly to skip prosecution when shit went down at the underground fights we regularly hold on the outskirts of Ravenshoe, but you can’t put a price on having an unknown escape route.
I’ll never use it to hide from my enemies, but you can be assured I won’t hesitate using it to sneak up on them unaware. When you’re storming a compound, the last place you foresee being attacked is from behind. It will leave my enemies clueless while helping my empire grow.
While Rocco fills the Rover’s tank, I yank my phone out of my pocket and call the last person I expected to speak to tonight. Maddox answers two rings later, and even over the phone, I can tell he’s fuming mad. “I swear to fucking God, Dimitri, if you don’t bring my sister out here immediately, I’m going to wring your fucking neck.”
