Air Bound

by Christine Feehan

  “I’ll go check and see what’s going on,” Ricco said abruptly.

  “The hell with that. I’m not staying here to burn to death,” Leone protested. “I’m going too. No one’s going to disturb Galati and if it’s getting hot in there, he can boil for all I care.”

  Ricco shrugged and started down the passageway toward the staircase. Leone followed, grumbling every step of the way. Maxim let them come within several feet of him before he fired two rapid shots, aiming for the kill, a bullet right in the middle of the forehead, his signature shot. Both went down simultaneously. Neither ever saw Maxim and probably didn’t know what hit him.

  Maxim used a silencer, but still, he remained beneath the stairwell, in the shadows, in case Galati or anyone else heard the shots. He was patient, taking his time, ignoring the two bodies lying on the floor. He allowed the temperature in the passageway to cool just a little, although it didn’t affect him. He kept a bubble of cooler air surrounding him, but he didn’t want Galati to get spooked and maybe kill the boy.

  He found it difficult to think about the boy locked in a room with a man who intended to use him and then kill him. He couldn’t allow his mind to go there, not and be of any use to the kid. He’d been taken from his home and become a prisoner of the state, beaten and trained, shaped into a killing machine, so he knew, more than most, what it was like. He could identify in many ways with the boy.

  Maxim was grateful Airiana wasn’t with him. He had no idea what he’d do to Galati, or what condition he’d find the boy in. Like little Nicia, the boy would be traumatized for life. To have a woman witness such a humiliating and degrading circumstance would only make it worse.

  Nothing moved. No one came to investigate. He slipped out of the shadows, nudged Leone’s body aside with the edge of his foot and padded silently down the passageway. The hatch to the luxury cabin was sealed. He couldn’t go in with guns blazing, he needed Galati to voluntarily open the door, so that he was away from the boy.

  He had to heat the room through the ventilation system. Doing so could spread the heat throughout the ship, but still, even if the crew became alarmed, they wouldn’t think to come to the cabin as the source. They’d be checking the engine room first.

  He located the shaft in the passageway and manipulated the air once again, sending both hot air and condensation into the cabin. The room, although good-sized for a cabin on a cargo vessel, was small in comparison to the passageway and it warmed fast. He could feel the heat radiating from the hatch. He stayed to one side of it, pressed against the wall, allowing the air around him to distort his image.

  The lock spun and the hatch swung open. Galati, naked, sweat dripping from his body leaned out to take a breath. Maxim yanked him into the corridor and threw him up against the wall. Galati’s head hit first, Maxim’s strength was enormous enough to nearly knock him out. Only self-preservation kept Galati from falling, although he staggered and grabbed his head, trying to focus.

  “What the hell?”

  “Hell has come for you,” Maxim snapped and slammed the knife deep into Galati’s throat to shut him up and get it over with fast. He twisted the blade, withdrew it and then stabbed into the carotid artery for good measure.

  His temper had surged forward, a volcano erupting when he’d been taught to stay in control. He was tempted to do a little torture of his own, and he knew more ways to cause pain than Galati had ever thought of, but he never wanted to be that man. He wanted to execute fast and dispassionately. The problem was, he detested men like Saeed and Galati who preyed on children.

  Maxim let the man drop to the floor and left him there, sprawled out naked and dirty, lying in his own pool of blood. Stepping over the body he hesitated at the doorway, steeling himself for what he might find.

  The boy looked to be about twelve or thirteen. He was tied over a rack in a kneeling position. His body was covered in whip marks and bruises. Tears ran down his face, leaving tracks, but his eyes were defiant, furious, filled with hatred, which told Maxim the kid had a chance at recovery.

  “He’s dead,” he announced. “I’ve come to get you out of here. Nicia is alive and I’ve left her with my woman in a safe place. I’ll take you there and get the others.” He spoke softly, seeing the distrust on the boy’s face.

  He cut the ropes digging into the boy’s wrists. His hands were swollen and bruised, nearly purple. Galati had deliberately used a harsh rope to hurt the boy more.

  “Flex your fingers to get the blood back into your hands,” Maxim instructed over his shoulder as he went to the hatch to watch down the corridor. “Shake your arms out. When you can hold the knife, I want you to cut your ankles free. We could have company any minute.”

  He wanted to give the kid something to do to help himself and at the same time, by giving him a weapon, show he was no threat. Still, he kept an eye on the boy.

  “He has two bodyguards,” the boy said. He spat onto the bed several times and then reached for the knife. “They’ll kill you for him.”

  “He’s dead and so are they,” Maxim said. “And we have to get the hell out of here. Do you have any clothes?”

  “My name’s Benito,” the boy said and tried to stand. He groaned and nearly fell.

  Maxim didn’t make the mistake of trying to help him. “When we get to the safety zone, remind me. I have some ointment that will help in my bag.”

  “My clothes are on the sink. He said he likes to keep them for a memento.” The boy turned too-old eyes on him. “He was going to kill me.”

  “I know. He’s dead,” Maxim reiterated for the third time. The boy was in shock but trying to fight his way back. His alarm system nagged at him. They weren’t going to get a clean exit, the boy could barely walk.

  Benito staggered over to the sink and turned on the water, rinsing his mouth repeatedly and spitting. Maxim pretended not to notice the tears still tracking down the boy’s face. He wanted to kill Galati all over again. He thought of himself as a monster until he ran across men like Saeed and Galati and those who supplied them.

  “We’re going to have company in a minute. Get dressed,” Maxim repeated, keeping his voice low and confident. “Keep that knife close, you may need it, but don’t do anything unless I give the okay. Do you understand? We still have to get the others free. I need you to stay quiet and obey me.”

  For the first time he looked the boy in the eye to show he meant business. Benito dragged on his clothes, or tried to. Clearly every movement caused pain. Maxim had no idea how long the boy had been tied in that position, but judging by the swollen purple bands around his ankles and wrists, it had been awhile. The boy had been caned and whipped, the cuts deep. Pins and needles had to be horrendous, but he valiantly struggled into his clothes.

  Maxim nodded approvingly when he picked up the knife. “You’ll do, Benito. Stay close to me no matter what happens. Behind me,” he added. “We’ll get out of this alive, but I might have to kill a few people for that to happen.”

  Benito nodded. “All right by me,” he said. “Kill as many as you’d like.”

  Maxim entered the passageway first and headed toward the opposite end where the stairs would lead down to the next floor. That was the engine room, and below that was the cargo hold where he was certain the other two girls were being held.

  Movement behind him had him spinning around, his gun tracking. The boy bent over Galati, stabbing down with the knife several times, his face a mask of hatred.

  Maxim remembered rage. Deep down he still felt it and in certain situations, such as this one, it welled up like a volcano, impossible to suppress. He understood rage. He moved up behind the boy and gently caught his wrist, stopping the movement.

  “He’s dead.”

  “Not dead enough,” Benito said, and spat on the body.

  “Dead is dead. You’re indulging yourself,” Maxim kept his voice harsh. “I need you one hundred
percent if we’re going to get those girls free. If you can’t control yourself, you’re of no use to me—or them.”

  Benito straightened up slowly, wincing as he did so. “I’m with you.”

  Maxim nodded and slowed his pace. They were going to get caught. The air was moving again and sending him all kinds of messages, none of them good. He had planned to take the boy to Airiana and leave him in the relative safety of the empty luxury cabin, but Benito needed action to bring him back.

  “Good. We’re about to have company. They’re coming down the stairs now and we don’t have time to reach the stairwell. Hug the side of the wall and let’s make it to that passageway just ahead.”

  Benito tried but there was no way he could double-time it. Maxim glanced toward their destination, saw they wouldn’t make it, and he signaled Benito to halt, waving him against the wall. Maxim took up position in the center of the passageway, once more distorting his image to look vaguely like Ricco. The two crew members ascending the stairs would see who they were prepared to see, at least until they got close.

  He walked fast, covering the distance quickly now, bending air continuously so that it shimmered in waves, the distortion all around him.

  He needed to kill these men silently. They were from the engine room. He could smell the heavy fuel oil on them. The air carried the scent of sulfur clinging to their clothes. Evan Shackler-Gratsos didn’t believe in saving the environment, just in adding more money to his coffers.

  Evan had complete deniability of course. He owned the ships, he didn’t run them. He’d recently inherited them from his brother. Nothing Maxim had found could tie Evan to the human trafficking ring—not yet.

  Maxim continued toward the stairs and the two men coming up them.

  7

  MAXIM had scoped out the engine room the moment he’d come aboard, knowing he would have to stop the ship. Both men had been working there. The blond, sounding Swedish, had talked incessantly about having the captain provide a woman for them to use on their journeys. The other, who looked as if he might be from Indonesia, hadn’t spoken much.

  It was the Indonesian man who spotted him at the top of the stairs. The Swede was still talking and hadn’t even looked where he was going. Maxim kicked the Indonesian hard in the face and as he went down, he shot the Swede. The Swede fell hard, rolling on the metal stairway, landing on the Indonesian.

  Maxim followed up his advantage, shooting rapidly to prevent the Indonesian from calling out for help. He dragged both bodies down the stairs and shoved them out of sight in a small storage closet. He didn’t bother wiping up the blood, but called the boy down to him, using a thread of sound.

  They passed the engine room and went straight for the cargo area. It was huge, with containers everywhere. Benito took the lead, hurrying up to one of the containers and thumping on it, anxiety on his face. A heavy lock on the door prevented them from opening it. Maxim smashed the lock and pulled back the heavy door.

  Heat blasted him and with it an appalling stench. It didn’t stop Benito from rushing inside and flinging himself into the arms of a girl no more than fourteen. She hugged him hard and reached down for the younger child, a little girl of about six or seven. She pushed the child behind her.

  “It’s okay, Lucia,” Benito assured. “He killed them all. I saw him do it. And Nicia is safe. She’s still alive.”

  Lucia stared at him with too-old eyes. She was the oldest of the children and she’d taken the role of the adult. The family resemblance was strong between them—they had the same features.

  Maxim beckoned them out of the box. “Bring whatever is important to you. I’m going to stash you in a much nicer and safer place.”

  “We don’t have anything important,” Lucia said. “They made it very clear to us that we wouldn’t ever leave the ship.” There was disbelief in her voice.

  Maxim couldn’t blame her, but time was slipping away. “If you’re coming with me, we have to go now. I need my hands free, so if the little one can’t keep up, you’ll have to carry her. And you need to be absolutely quiet. Do you understand?”

  He used his most commanding, intimidating voice.

  The children nodded. Benito took the hand of the youngest child. “This is Siena. She’s six. We were all taken together. They’re my sisters.”

  The child had Benito’s huge dark eyes, as did Lucia. Siena’s hair was long and thick and hung in curls and waves. Maxim could see why the three children had been targeted. All of them were beautiful and would catch the eye of predators like Saeed and Galati. He knew that the children and women chosen for the high-end “special” clients had to be disposable, which meant no one would come looking for them.

  They were often runaways or had no other family once their parents met an untimely death. A long-lost uncle might come forward and claim them. It was easy enough, with the amount of money exchanging hands, to forge the necessary papers. Once the child or children were in the “uncle’s” possession, no one would ever look again. Scoring five children at once would be cheap and easy and a huge boon for the seller.

  Lucia hung back. “The man who came to get us after our parents were killed in an accident said he was our uncle. His name was Ricco. He brought us here.”

  “Ricco’s dead,” Maxim said grimly. “He wasn’t your uncle. It’s a ploy often used by human trafficking rings.”

  Siena began to cry at the mention of her parents.

  “Are you afraid, Siena?” Maxim asked, crouching down so he was level with her and would be less intimidating.

  Siena nodded, tears tracking down her cheeks and curls bobbing around her face. She clung tighter to Lucia’s leg.

  “I’ll get you out of here, but you have to be very quiet for me. When I tell you to, I want you to close your eyes and let Lucia carry you. Can you do that for me?”

  The little girl gave a sniff, looked from her older brother to her sister and then gave a nod.

  He felt like the pied piper. He was a loner and always worked solo. More than three people were a crowd to him. He didn’t deal with children—he didn’t know how. He was too gruff and far too rough, yet all three were beginning to look at him as if he were a hero, their savior. He was uncomfortable in that role. He didn’t want any of them admiring him—especially Benito.

  “Let’s move. Stay right behind me, single file. Lucia, when I tell you, pick Siena up and carry her, but only until we’re past whatever obstacle we find.”

  “He means the dead bodies,” Benito said.

  Maxim pinned him with a steely eye. “Your little sister doesn’t need to be any more traumatized than she already is. Right?”

  Benito ducked his head, but he didn’t look remorseful. Maxim couldn’t blame him. The kid was purple from head to toe and had a few open wounds. His clothes might cover up what had been done to him, but nothing was going to ever take it away.

  Maxim couldn’t do more than see to it that they were safe. It was going to cost him this time. The body count would be high. If he left a single person aboard alive, the first thing they would do would be to hunt down the children, kill them and throw their bodies overboard to remove all evidence. He would have to leave a ghost ship behind.

  He signaled to Lucia to pick up Siena when they approached the stairs where the bodies of the two men who worked in the engine room were. “Keep your eyes closed very tight, Siena,” he instructed.

  He tried not to notice Benito kicking the body of the one of the men as they stepped around them. Lucia hissed a reprimand at her brother, but the boy shrugged, unrepentant. Maxim remembered that feeling of rage. Of helplessness. Of knowing a bigger, stronger and much more ruthless man could do anything and get away with it. He’d been beaten and caned. He still carried the scars from whips and even a chain.

  He took them up the stairs past the floor where Galati had held Benito, wanting to avoid that particular place.
Lucia would know what happened there. She might guess, but seeing the bodies of Galati and his bodyguards would only make Benito’s shame and embarrassment deepen.

  He stopped the little parade at the top of the stairs. This was the floor where he’d left Airiana and Nicia. He pushed air down the passageway and circulated it back to him, needing information. Pressing his thumb into the center of his palm, he reached for Airiana.

  Are you okay? Has anyone disturbed you?

  He felt Airiana’s shock. He should have warned her they would have a telepathic connection, but he had other things to worry about. Now he had the children. He still wasn’t certain what he was going to do with them all.

  It’s been quiet. Nicia is very worried about her sisters and brother.

  Maxim wanted to curse. Ricco had killed their parents to acquire the children for the sex trade. He must have received a fortune from Evan Shackler-Gratsos, who had to be the head of the organization. He was a billionaire and little ever touched him.

  I’m bringing them in. Don’t shoot us.

  He almost wished she would. What in the hell was he doing with these kids? He sighed again and signaled them to follow him. They made it down the passageway without incident, and he opened the hatch, blocking the entrance, just in case. He was like that. Always wary, ready for anything.

  Well—almost anything. Airiana was an exception. Her sky blue eyes jumped to his. He’d never had anyone look at him like that—welcoming. Happy. She jumped up and flung her arms around him. His hand of its own volition came up to cup the back of her head beneath the scarf as she pressed her face against his chest. The silk of her hair slid over that sensitive spot in the middle of his palm, teasing his senses.

  “I’m glad you’re safe,” she whispered.

  He could hear the truth in her voice. He was bound to air, and one of the many gifts was the ability to read sound. She was truly happy he was safe—not for herself but for him. He leaned down and brushed a kiss on top of the silly scarf made from his own shirt, feeling a little foolish under Benito’s smirk.