Desolation Road

by Feehan, Christine

  “No, they did not,” Code said. “In each case, Robert Barnes-Holden Sr. accused Scarlet Foley of murdering the poor, helpless male. She was investigated, brought in for questioning and released. There are photographs of her looking directly at Robert Barnes-Holden Jr. I got the original digital from the newspaper file and enlarged it. Cops say she has an airtight alibi. She was a hundred miles away. Take a look at that girl’s eyes.”

  Absinthe stepped close to the table and looked down at the eight-by-ten black-and-white glossy on the table. He found himself looking into Scarlet’s eyes. She was looking back, deliberately taunting him. A little shiver went down his spine. This was a game of cat and mouse. Scarlet wasn’t the mouse any longer. She’d spent three years in prison. She hadn’t been idle in those three years.

  “What did she do when she got out?”

  “She applied for a passport and left the country. She was gone about five years and when she came back, she worked in a library about a hundred miles from her hometown,” Code replied while the photograph was passed around and the Torpedo Ink club members studied Scarlet’s eyes.

  Absinthe walked around the table again, this time making a circuit of the entire room, needing to remove the pent-up energy that made him feel like a caged tiger. He knew that was coming from Savage, but his own demons had twisted up with Savage’s now that he knew what his woman had gone through.

  “Were you able to follow her trail out of the country, Code?” Czar persisted.

  “Trail started getting murky,” Code said. “Took some time to work it out. She got better and better at hiding it. She went to a series of instructors. The first couple seemed to be expecting her. I looked back at a couple of women she was in prison with. The really tough ones that might have befriended her, especially if she was a fighter and they believed her story. They would have told her who to go to if she wanted to learn how to take care of herself.”

  “True enough,” Czar said. “Absinthe says Scarlet is very intelligent. She would know that if she kept going up that ladder, she would find people who would teach her the things she would need to learn if she wanted to know how to kill and get away with it. She would move from one person to the next, getting a name. Is that what you’re thinking, Absinthe?”

  That was exactly what he was thinking because it was what he would have done. He would have read books. He would have gone from place to place, person to person, seeking out the underbelly of society, the people who would know what they were doing. He was positive that was exactly what Scarlet had done. She’d been young, but she’d been driven. She would have been careful to compartmentalize so that only one person might know the next one she studied under. No one would ever guess her ultimate goal.

  “Do you have the names of the people she trained under? Can we get an idea of her skills, Code?” Steele asked.

  Code hesitated, always a bad sign.

  Absinthe paused his pacing and turned back slowly to study the man who always got them any information they needed.

  “You aren’t going to like this. None of you are.”

  “I haven’t liked a damn thing you’ve said so far,” Absinthe admitted. “Why should I start now?”

  “She spent her last year training under Adrik Orlov.” Code dropped the name like a bomb because it was one. Adrik Orlov had gone to one of the schools Sorbacov had created, the one Gavriil had attended, and he’d risen fast, just the way Gavriil had, as one of the top assassins for his country. He was used by Sorbacov to interrogate prisoners because he was very good at disassociating and, like all of them, knew the techniques that caused the most pain, prolonged life and consciousness.

  Once free, he made his way to Thailand and lived far away from others. He didn’t seek out company and anyone with any sense didn’t seek him out. He was known to be hard on women. He never kept a woman for very long, making their life too miserable for them to want to stay with him. He did train fighters, but his students didn’t always survive their training. Adrik had a very bad reputation. Torpedo Ink had come across him more than once in their travels when he was working or they were. They respected one another, but kept their distance.

  “Gavriil?” Czar turned to his birth brother. “You spent the most time with him.”

  “A dangerous man,” Gavriil confirmed. “But you all know that. He just wants to be left alone. I know what that’s like. We all do. He isn’t a bad man. He doesn’t know how to operate within the rules of society, and he isn’t a team player. You cross him and you’re not going to live very long, but that’s pretty much saying the same thing about any one of us here, me included.”

  That was Gavriil, short and to the point. Absinthe had the same opinion of Adrik both times he’d run across him. He just wanted to be left alone. He worked hard when he worked. He didn’t talk much. He kept to himself. He took on the occasional student if they could pay or if they worked for him in some capacity. No one stayed around him long because he expected them to work the way he did, using the same brutal conditions he’d trained under.

  “A year?” Transporter said. “She lasted an entire year training under him?”

  Code nodded slowly. “It appears so. She returned to the States and took a job a hundred miles from her hometown as a librarian, and a few months later the first of the frat boys, Beau Cabot, died an ugly death.”

  “How?” Reaper asked.

  “Someone went into his home, taped him to the bed, shoved sawdust down his throat, packed it in deep and taped his mouth closed and waited for him to suffocate. His parents were sound asleep in the other room. They never heard a sound. Found him the next morning.”

  “Classic,” Maestro said. “An easy one. Where did the sawdust come from?”

  “His father’s a cabinetmaker. Right out of his very classy, high-end workshop. Not a single sign of a break-in. No tampering with cameras. Not at the shop. Not at the house and they live in a gated community and have security everywhere,” Code said. “The cops looked hard at the father and his employees, especially because the son was a screw-up and constantly got good workers fired. Frat boy also made very costly mistakes. The father didn’t want him working there, but the mother always made it the employees’ fault and insisted her husband fire the workers.”

  “They found nothing that could connect Scarlet to the murder?” Lana asked.

  Absinthe glanced at her sharply. He knew what she was thinking. Scarlet had managed to slip past them. Neither of them knew how she’d done it. He still hadn’t figured it out.

  “No. The cops assured both Cabot and Holden Sr. she couldn’t have been involved. They’re wrong,” Code said.

  Absinthe’s heart dropped. If Code found some trail leading back to Scarlet, the police could find one.

  “Your reasoning?” Czar snapped.

  “Several.” Code picked up the eight-by-ten photograph. “Her eyes when she looked at the Holden kid. She was taunting him right back. She believed absolutely those boys raped her little sister. She knew they did. Something they did. Something she saw that no one else did, but she knew, and she was telling him she was coming after him. He thought he was too out of her reach, but he didn’t realize what he’d unleashed. He should have. There were three of them that night. Scarlet was drugged when they’d tried to rape her. She fought them off, managed to get a knife and nearly killed them. But no, the suffocation is one of the many ways we were taught. But both the other boys are dead too.”

  Absinthe thought those were all very good reasons. He was glad none of those were reasons the cops would be able to trace the killings to Scarlet. “How did the next one, I presume it was Arnold Harrison, die?”

  “Two months later, Harrison was found in a bathtub. Again, very fancy mansion. Lots of security guards with dogs patrolling the very ritzy neighborhood. Mommy and Daddy were home entertaining their club friends including Robert Barnes-Holden Sr. Whoever killed him was in the house when they were all downstairs. The maid found him the next morning. He was hung upside
down over a tub full of water on a pendulum-type device. He was hog-tied, hands and feet tied together behind his back. Again, his mouth was taped shut so he couldn’t yell out. He controlled the pendulum. If he didn’t hold the trigger balanced, his weight dropped his head toward the water. He was looking straight down the entire time.”

  “Total mindfuck,” Gavriil said. “Adrik loved those.”

  “Eventually, the kid slipped up, and his nose went under. He struggled to right himself, but of course he couldn’t. Every bit of the device was made from pieces from the art gallery the kids’ family owns, right down to the pulleys and screws. Again, security all over that gallery. Paintings there are worth a fortune. Absolutely nothing on camera and no prints anywhere,” Code said. “You have to admire this girl.”

  “Was Scarlet looked at for this murder as well?” Steele asked.

  “Holden Sr. insisted. He threw his weight all over the place. Went to the press. Demanded the cops do their job. Demanded she be put back in prison. Told everyone she was a killer.” Code placed the photograph carefully on the table in front of him, faceup, so he was looking down at her eyes. “Again, there was an investigation. She had an airtight alibi. Dozens of witnesses. She offered to take a lie detector test and she passed it no problem.”

  Any one of them could do that. Absinthe was damn proud of her. More and more he was certain his girl had undergone five years of learning from some of the best, always looking for the right person to instruct her on what she needed. Someone had finally told her about Adrik Orlov and she’d dared to seek him out. Somehow, she’d convinced him to take her on and she’d endured a year of training under him when most students didn’t last six months. She had to have a will of iron.

  “Holden Sr. ended up looking like he was a bully picking on this poor innocent girl who had lost her entire family. She cooperated with the police on both investigations. Her attorney showed up and made a point of telling the press that because Holden Sr. had money and her client didn’t, he thought he could railroad her just the way he had done before. That resonated with a lot of people and public opinion turned very quickly against him.”

  Absinthe could see that. Scarlet was beautiful, small and at times, with her square-framed glasses and little pencil skirts, could look fragile in her librarian persona. He could imagine that Holden Sr. would appear the blustering bully shouting at her when she spoke so softly. She could play that role so beautifully, looking delicate while he shouted and raised his fist, demanding she go to prison.

  “And the third death?” Czar prompted.

  Code nodded. “That would Robert Barnes-Holden Jr. Just as Scarlet was getting into her car and leaving to go back to her sleepy little town, she turned and smirked at Holden Sr. At least that was what he told the chief of police. The chief took a report because Holden Sr. insisted, but by that time, all the cops thought he was a little crazy. No one believed a woman could have killed either of those men. They weren’t boys anymore, no matter what Holden tried to say, they were men and they worked out all the time. They would have overpowered her easily. The cops believed a man had to have committed the murders.”

  Absinthe wanted to shake Scarlet. She deliberately wanted both Holden Jr. and Sr. to know she was coming after Robert Jr. Adrik had to have taught her better than that.

  “Holden Sr. is extremely wealthy, and he’s used to buying his way and his kid’s way out of anything. He owns quite a few properties, but he lives in one that is very extravagant. He likes to show off and bring political friends there. The governor. A senator he knows. A few others he’s backed. He runs in the fast lane. His wife is very decorative, and she was an heiress with a hell of a lot of money,” Code said. “I’m telling you this because their son, Robert Jr, was the golden boy. He was raised to believe he was a prince and could do no wrong. The two other boys were always with him. Literally, they raced cars down the streets when they were old enough to drive. Robert hit an old man and killed him, and his father somehow got him off. He was seventeen when that happened.”

  “Shit,” Ink said. “The little prick did whatever he wanted.”

  Code nodded. “I found so many cases against this boy. His father has a law firm employed that worked nearly fulltime just to keep his son out of jail and out of the press. There must be twenty women who brought rape and assault charges against him, all dropped and settled out of court. Most never got that far, they were too intimidated. The security firm employed by Holden doubles as his enforcement. Those men are, believe it or not, men from the Venomous club. They use scare tactics on anyone who won’t accept his bribe money.”

  “The Venomous club? An MC? He employs them as his security force?” Transporter couldn’t swallow that one.

  “Not exactly,” Code clarified. “The security firm hires the members of the Venomous club to use scare tactics on anyone who won’t accept bribe money.”

  “Great,” Absinthe said. “Is Scarlet aware that Holden Sr. uses clubs as enforcers and corrupts attorneys?”

  “No doubt about it,” Code said. “She’s very informed.”

  Absinthe was so fucked. It was no wonder Scarlet was unhappy with him admitting to being an attorney. Now, when he had to tell her he was in a club, she was really going to hate it and with good reason.

  “So Robert Jr. grew up believing he was untouchable,” Alena mused. “Do you think he was even a little worried after what happened to his friends?”

  “If he wasn’t, his father was,” Code said. “Robert Jr. lived in a guesthouse on the main property. It’s a multimillion-dollar estate with tennis courts, swimming pools and stables. Seems like Robert Jr. was filled with remorse and had been punishing himself, using a very primitive device on his private parts.”

  A collective groan went up around the table. “A clapper,” Mechanic guessed. “Adrik fucking taught that girl how to make a clapper and get a man to confess every sin he has. That’s just not right.”

  The clapper could have been a medieval torture device, although it was too ingenuous for that. It simply slapped the penis or balls hard, no rhythm, an unexpected but highly anticipated blow that went through a man, the pain excruciating, jarring every organ and bone in his body. Sweat poured from every pore as agony burst through him, building and building as the torture caught up with his brain. Tears would come. There was no way to stop them. Then the pain would gradually recede, and the terrible anticipation would start. When would it happen again? That was almost worse than the actual blow of the wood striking.

  The spring tightened by minute increments as the hours went by, causing the blow to become harder and harder. At first, it wasn’t noticeable, because the initial strikes were so shocking, but as time passed and the torment continued, one had enough time between the blows to realize the slaps were much worse. The time in between was enough to recover so there was no way to become numb to the clapper.

  The clapper was one of the worst kinds of torture to endure and it could be used for days. In the end, most men begged to do anything to get it to stop. A man like Robert Barnes-Holden Jr. would be sobbing and promising anything to Scarlet.

  “That’s what he used, all right,” Code confirmed. “He wore a clapper on his penis and balls, and he wrote a letter confessing his sins to the press. It was very detailed, stating that his father had brought him his first whore when he was sixteen and demonstrated for him how to use her hard and share her with his friends. He chose Arnold and Beau of course for his birthday surprise. Daddy ‘helped’ him get it right. After that, Holden Sr. would bring him prostitutes all the time. That progressed to Robert Jr. and his friends finding their own girls at the college, using the drugs Daddy provided for them until they got their own sources. The letter detailed all sorts of crimes that Robert Jr. committed against dozens of women and men, including the rape of young Priscilla. Because she was one of many, it didn’t seem as if he had singled her out for any special reason. He named his friends as accomplices in every crime and his father as knowing
about all of them and laughing, saying he could easily get them off—and of course his father had.”

  Absinthe could picture Scarlet calmly instructing him to write out a confession of every crime he’d ever committed since early childhood. Apparently, he had done so quite happily to keep the clapper from pounding his bruised and terribly tender penis. “Did he write the letter in his own handwriting?” Absinthe asked.

  “Yes, he did,” Code said. “He made several copies on his own machine from the guesthouse and mailed them to various newspapers and to the police chief from the Holden estate almost a full six hours prior to his death. There were no signs of violence in his home. No signs of another person. After he tortured himself and wrote his confession, he hanged himself in the middle of his living room in the exact manner that Scarlet’s little sister did.”

  By the time she was done with him, Robert Jr. had wanted to put his head in the noose. He couldn’t think straight anymore. It wasn’t uncommon for the recipient of that kind of torture, if prolonged over several hours or days, to be so disoriented they would do anything, including take their own lives. He was deprived of water and, in the end, he would have been babbling, and any suggestion from Scarlet’s calm and reasoning voice would sound good to him.

  “Holy shit.” Czar looked at Absinthe. “You were alone with her. She had weapons on her, and you would have hesitated. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have. I know you. You like her. You would have hesitated, and she wouldn’t have.”

  That pissed Absinthe off. “Don’t make her out to be any different than we are. She’s not. She’s trained to kill, the same as every person in this room. We all have backup, she doesn’t. Even if she’d gotten to me, she wouldn’t have lived through it. If I had killed her, no one would have known. She had every right to go after those men. They took years away from her and then her family, just the way our families were taken from us.”

  The others nodded. Absinthe could see even Czar agreed with him. How could he not when it was the truth?