Jay grinned at him. “You do it your way and I’ll do it mine.”
Avery laughed and opened the door, pushing through. He was halfway into the room when he smelled blood. The room was very warm with the fireplace going and the door closed. Light spilled from a fixture overhead, pouring down on the white carpet, which was inexplicably red. He took two more steps around the bed and saw David Swey lying facedown in a thick pool of his own blood.
“What the hell?”
Even as Avery turned, pulling his weapon, he knew he was too late. The barrel of a gun was pressed tight against the back of his neck. He couldn’t see Jay, or anyone else for that matter. A hand reached around him and took the gun from his hand.
From out of his sight, Jay yelled once, the sound low and agonized.
“Take him to another room and have your fun there,” Savage said. “We’ve got work to do in here.”
Avery tried to turn, and the barrel pressed tighter against his skin. His heart began to pound. “Just tell me what you want.”
“Take off your clothes. All of them.”
Avery’s hands shook, but his mind was racing. He had another gun. He just had to get to it. It was under his coat and tucked into his waistband at the small of his back. It would be unseen by his attacker even when he took his coat off. He could reach . . . He began to put his plan in motion, shrugging out of his trench coat and allowing it to fall to the floor.
He wished the attacker would say something, but he didn’t. The barrel of the gun was very steady. His own hands were shaking. Had the gun not have been pressed so tightly against his neck, he wouldn’t have known his assailant was there. He couldn’t even hear him breathe.
Unbuttoning his shirt, he went over his movements, acting them out in his mind before he began to shrug off his suit jacket. As his arms went down, lightning fast, he put his hand on the gun—but it wasn’t there. It was gone. He came up empty. His jacket fell to the floor.
“Tell me what you want.”
“I don’t like repeating myself. Get it done or I’ll do it for you, and you won’t like the results.” The voice was implacable.
Avery stripped, feeling more vulnerable than he ever had in his life. He found himself shaking. He went to work every single day in the middle of cops, surrounded by them, and felt superior. He got a secret thrill out of outsmarting them all. He brought his victims here to this mansion out in the middle of nowhere and did whatever he felt like. He was master here. He could force those little brats to do anything he wanted, and there was no one to stop him. No one could shake their finger at him and tell him how wrong he was.
“Get on the bed, right in the middle. You like that mirror so you can admire yourself. Go ahead and look your fill.”
Avery stretched out on the bed, getting his first glimpse of his captor. To his shock, there were two of them. By the door there was a smear of blood, but Jay was gone, as if he’d never been there in the first place.
“No, kneel up facing the headboard,” the scariest-looking of the two instructed him. He had a pair of handcuffs and he snapped them tight around Avery’s wrists and then attached them to the headboard of the bed, just as Avery had done to numerous children. Then the man put something around his wrist, right over his pulse.
His attacker was a big man with plenty of muscle and the deadest pair of eyes he’d ever seen. Avery had been considering taunting his attackers, but he changed his mind. The other one, the blond, was studying the pictures Avery had blown up and put on the walls of his room. He liked to see himself, and he liked to force the little kiddies to see what was coming to them.
“I’m really good at what I do, Avery,” Savage said. “Just so you know, I was taught in a school in Russia. The Russian likes to tell you about that school, doesn’t he? There were four schools, but he was involved with the school the instructors all liked to call the ‘experiment.’”
The tone was casual. Not a hint of emotion. His captor walked into his sight, tall, all muscle, bald head. In his hand he held a short three-foot whip.
“Most people don’t realize the pain inflicted by a whip has nothing whatsoever to do with how long that whip is, but you know, don’t you, Avery?”
Savage walked over to the wall to study a photograph of a young girl, no more than eight, her back torn and bleeding with whip marks crisscrossing her skin. “They call me Savage, but I can see you just might rival me for that name.”
The other one came into his view, and in his hands he held up a rubber plug; it was thick and long, with beads climbing up to the place where the flared end was.
“Savage, we forgot something. He likes this one in particular.”
“Thanks for reminding me, Ice,” Savage said. “I wouldn’t want to miss any of his favorite parts.”
Avery opened his mouth to protest, but the one called Ice shoved the terrible thick string of beads halfway down his throat so that he was gagging and choking.
“That’s right, you want it nice and wet,” Savage said. “Look at that picture you have right in front of you. We’re going out of our way to re-create it for you. In the meantime, you be thinking about names. Russian names. And addresses. Think about them as well. And don’t forget the collector. He’s very, very important to us. That would be a very good name for you to remember. That, and Terrance Marshal’s latest address.”
Avery tried to shake his head, but Savage pulled the beads from his mouth, and he coughed and spit to try to clear his injured throat. Savage caught him in a powerful grip and thrust his head toward the bed. It jerked his arms horribly.
“Allow me, Ice. You know I don’t give a fuck, don’t feel a thing when they scream or bleed. Well, that’s not true.” Without preamble he slammed the rubberized point deep and kept pushing, uncaring that he was tearing through the man’s insides. “I’ve got this right, don’t I, Avery? I’m following the series of pictures you took and put on your wall to enjoy. This is the kind of shit you like, right?”
Avery’s voice gave out after the steady scream, and he could only put his forehead on the headboard and pant. He was already dripping in sweat and then he heard the whistle of the whip before it cut into him. Savage hadn’t been lying when he said he knew how to wield a whip, and he did so, going for maximum pain. He was a very strong man and clearly an expert with the tool. Every time Avery thought he might black out, Savage stopped to give him a rest and then would start again.
“You might want to come up with a name or two, Avery,” Ice said, all friendly like. He perched on the edge of the bed. “He can keep this up all night. The thing is, the skin on your back, butt and thighs is pretty much gone. He’s going to want to turn you over soon. I’m thinking that thing in your ass is going to hurt like hell when you grind it against the mattress, and that whip on your dick is going to send you someplace you don’t want to go.”
Savage stopped swinging the whip and moved to stand in front of Avery so he could lift his gaze and look at him. Savage hadn’t so much as broken a sweat.
“Yeah, I think you need to turn over, Avery.”
Avery shuddered with pain and fear. All he could do was whimper and shake his head.
Ice nudged him. “Don’t piss him off. Seriously, it’s never a good thing to get him angry. Just do what he says. Turn the fuck over and start talking.”
Avery tried to comply, too scared to do anything but obey, but his arms were not cooperating. There was terror in his eyes. They could stay there for weeks and no one would come. What about Harold? Where was he? But he’d already been waiting at the mansion. That meant he was dead as well and there was no one. He’d created this space for himself so he could be alone with his young victims when he chose.
Savage unlocked the cuffs from the headboard and Avery forced his painful body to turn. Savage gripped one ankle and yanked him down, stretching him across the bed. It hurt beyond comprehension. Savage
never changed expression. He simply secured him back to the bed, his legs spread wide.
“You got the name of the collector for us?”
“I don’t know him. I don’t know him. I swear I don’t.” Avery’s head tossed side to side. “Only Terrance knows. Terrance Marshal. He got his brother Richie a job with us. And the Russian. The Russian knows.” He gave the information eagerly.
“Where’s Terrance now?” Ice asked.
“He’s in the wind. He does that the moment something goes wrong. His brother was killed. He took that as a warning, and he disappeared.”
He’s telling the truth, Absinthe said. His voice was abnormally distant. They’d tried to protect him by using a pulse monitor Mechanic had created for them.
“You tell everyone you know the collector,” Savage said.
“I lied! I lied so they’d respect me more!” Avery screamed, his face so red and puffy his eyes bulged out. He couldn’t take his gaze off the whip in Savage’s hands.
“How would I know if you’re telling the truth, Avery?” Savage asked. “You’re an admitted liar.” He swung the whip with expert precision and again, using maximum strength.
Avery screamed until he couldn’t scream anymore, until he was choking and gasping for breath. Savage stopped. “Again, Avery, who is the collector?”
Avery was sobbing, the sounds of numerous children rising from his memories to join with him. He couldn’t stop them. He couldn’t get them out of his mind. He’d enjoyed wrecking them. Wrecking their bodies. It had been such delicious fun. Now . . . he just wanted everything to stop.
“I swear I don’t know. I’ve never seen him. I don’t know him at all.” He was babbling, but he couldn’t stop. He begged Savage to stop. He’d do anything if Savage would stop.
He’s telling the truth, Absinthe said.
Czar swore. They needed the name. If Terrance Marshal was the only one who knew the man for certain, they were in trouble. They wouldn’t find him soon. He had to know by now someone was coming for him. He’d be in hiding. They’d get him, because they’d never give up, but this wasn’t going to end in the way they’d hoped.
Savage and Ice spent another hour with Avery Charles. He didn’t know the name of the Russian. He didn’t know much of anything worthwhile. They got two more names of men in the pedophile ring, but that was it.
Kill him, Czar said. We can’t take a chance this time. We came in as clean as we could, but there might be sweat or something else left behind. We’ll burn this place down. Remove everything from any safe you’ve found, and don’t forget the one in the basement. Take the pictures off the wall and leave them out where they can be found. We don’t want anyone thinking Avery, Harold, Jay or David were good men.
It took another hour to sift through evidence and decide what to leave for the authorities to find. Mechanic and Transporter wired the house to blow, starting in the basement and going room by room so there would be no recovering from the damage. It was a place of horror, and they didn’t want it restored so someone else could create evil in it.
The wind blowing in from the ocean felt fresh and clean on their faces and bodies as they rode home. They took the back roads, riding to try to push away the memories of the children they hadn’t saved, both in Russia and here, so close to where they had their homes. There was no way for the wind to clear the demons of their childhood from their minds.
TWENTY
Ice turned his head to look for his wife. He didn’t like being without her for very long. Standing on their back patio, dealing with the grill that wouldn’t seem to get clean, he was already missing her. She was in the house, saying her last good-byes to the others. As always, the women were lingering. Their men stood around watching them, little half smiles on their faces. He knew they’d give them a few minutes and then one of them would get antsy, usually Reaper, and he’d make his move to collect his woman and go.
Ice could see Soleil through the glass talking to Anya. The two were laughing and then Breezy, holding what looked like a photograph album on her lap, put a hand over her mouth and began fanning herself with the other one. Immediately, Soleil looked at the book, gasped and took it from her, closing it quickly. The women burst out laughing.
He fucking loved that. His world came right just watching Soleil enjoying herself. She wanted a family, and he’d provided that for her. Brothers. Sisters. A husband. He wasn’t an easy man to live with, but she didn’t seem to mind. She laughed a lot now. She seemed happy and confident, nearly all the time.
She looked up suddenly, her eyes meeting his through the glass, and his heart twisted hard in his chest. She could do that to him, cause a physical reaction that sometimes bordered on pain. He never wanted to be without her. If she was unhappy, his world wasn’t right, which meant he had to be careful that she didn’t realize he would do anything for her. Any damn thing at all. She blew him a kiss and turned her attention back to the women, and he went back to tackling the maintenance on the grill from hell.
He’d put the thing together with a little help from Storm. First time using it and the wheel had come off, nearly dumping all the chicken he’d been grilling—okay, not him. Absinthe had been grilling. He was certain that Storm had worked on that side of the grill until the upper rack had collapsed onto the lower one. That had to be Storm’s work.
It might have been a disaster, but Soleil had been laughing so hard, nothing else mattered to him, and immediately, Absinthe had saved the dinner for everyone by cooking it over the firepit. Ice didn’t mind the ribbing; he was used to it when it came to cooking. Clearly, he was never going to be the best at grilling, but screw the barbecues, he could live without having them at his home. He’d have parties and bring food in.
The evening turned into night and laughter continued, but Ice had reached the point where he wanted to be alone with his woman. She was a little bit tipsy. She never really seemed to get drunk, just like she said, but tipsy sex sounded good to him. More than good. Evidently, he wasn’t alone in deciding tipsy sex was a major perk. Reaper caught up his woman, Anya, tossed her over his shoulder, as he often did when he was ready to leave and she wasn’t cooperating, and strode off with her.
Reaper was generally the first to go and rapidly, the others followed. Steele and Breezy said their good-byes and made their way to his bike, hand in hand. Ice almost envied Steele in that he could walk out and ride away while he was stuck with the grill that kept having parts fall off of it. He was still working on it, trying to figure out why the bolts didn’t line up properly, when the last member of Torpedo Ink was gone, and Soleil wandered out onto the patio.
“This thing is defective, Soleil. Completely, utterly, defective. I should write to the company and complain. Or at least get our money back.” He gave the stupid thing a kick. The wheel wobbled. He cursed. She giggled.
She wrapped her arm around his waist and looked up at him, her smile lighting his world. “Just leave it, honey. You haven’t seen that second little wedding album. Alena brought it with her tonight. She and Lana had it made up for us.”
“We actually have another wedding album?” He liked the first one just fine.
Ice abandoned the grill, leaving it lurched to one side, the top rack lying partially on the bottom one.
Soleil looked back at it and immediately started laughing. “Look, Ice, it’s drunk.”
He glanced over his shoulder, and the damn grill really did look a little drunk. He couldn’t help but laugh, although it was more that she was laughing than how the grill looked that made him want to smile. He wouldn’t have minded shoving the grill into the ocean.
“I think you’re a little drunk yourself, baby,” he teased.
She nodded. “A little. Just enough for a buzz.”
His hand dropped to her ass. He cupped her left cheek and gently began a slow massage. “Just enough for me to get down and dirty with you?”
“Baby, you know me. I go for it. I’d have to say very dirty. I’ve got plans.”
She shivered and leaned her body into his. “I can’t wait.”
He held the door open so she could get inside. Warmth instantly enveloped them. He loved this room. The fire was on in the fireplace, and the entire room was very warm. He pulled her down onto the couch, where they could look out at the sea or into the dancing flames. Soleil did what she always did. She kicked off her sandals and curled up close to him.
He liked her close and felt very lucky that she liked to be touched as much as he enjoyed touching. Truthfully, it was a need. He needed to touch her. Sometimes all he did was drift his fingers over her breast or take one finger and rub the underside. She never protested or slapped his hand away. She just smiled at him.
“They made us another album?” He reached for it. It was far thicker than he’d thought possible.
“Yes.” She ran her finger over the first page. The way she did that caught at him—as if the album really meant something to her. He was grateful for his sister and Lana thinking of it. He wouldn’t have. He was trying to learn the things that meant the most to Soleil to anticipate her needs—or wants.
The first few pictures were taken inside the boutique where they’d bought her wedding dress. There was a variety of pictures of the two of them standing in front of the various items of clothing she had needed. Some of them kissing. All of the pictures were shadowy, and very artsy. He could only guess that Maestro had taken the photographs. He was good behind a camera, and he could make almost any shot look special.
Ice turned the page and his heart nearly stopped. There were a series of photographs of Soleil on her knees, her back to the wedding gown, which was on a mannequin, Ice in front of her, his cock in her mouth. Each photograph was different, taken from an assortment of angles, some so the ecstasy was plain on his face, and others captured that sweet adoration she often got on hers when she went to work on his cock.
Vendetta Road Page 43