Desolation Road

by Feehan, Christine

  “Hello, Judge Calloway.”

  Although the voice was very soft and musical, it jarred him out of the world he was used to floating in. He knew that voice. It haunted his nights. He turned his head slowly, reluctantly, uncertain if he was hearing things or hallucinating. She sat in the chair that had always been empty beside him, looking every inch a queen with her vibrant red hair and her vivid green, all-too-intelligent eyes.

  “Scarlet.”

  “This music is incredible.”

  “It’s my favorite.”

  “I can understand why. I learned Italian very early, and just hearing the way they sing the words makes me want to weep.”

  “Me too,” he agreed. Of course she would know Italian. She was brilliant. He’d known that just looking at her those days in court. Hearing her speak. Looking at her records. She was a teen, but she hadn’t been shaken by the prosecuting attorney or even her own double-crossing attorney. Not the testifying doctor or the friends who had deserted her.

  It should have been Robert Jr. who had gone to prison, not this intelligent girl. She looked around the room with appreciation. Holden’s boy would never have appreciated the masterpieces there, let alone the opera.

  “Which one of these paintings did you purchase with my incarceration?”

  She asked the question so mildly that he didn’t even bristle. Her tone was just curious. Almost admiring. She looked at him from under the veil of her long lashes and then transferred her attention to the many paintings he had up on his walls and ceilings.

  “The Picasso. Who gets the chance to get a masterpiece such as that one?”

  She studied the painting. “Le pigeon aux petits pois. Amazing. This was stolen in 2010? Correct? I have to agree, it would be difficult to resist. A private collector offered it?”

  He nodded. “Yes, but still, Robert Jr. was a worm of the lowest intellect. I knew after I acquired this painting that I had to curb my addiction. I’d gone too far. I let it get out of hand.”

  She sighed. “Yes, Judge, I’m afraid you did, and it cost me my entire family. You may as well have participated in the rape and murder of my sister and my parents right along with Robert, Beau and Arnold. They gang-raped a young teen. She was a virgin. Did you know that? She was like a little fairy princess. I loved her more than life.”

  She fell silent for a moment and continued to look at the masterpiece painted in 1911 by Pablo Picasso and taken from the world by a single thief in 2010.

  “I had nothing to do with that, Scarlet. I just took the money. It was wrong, but it was only the money.”

  She sent him a little half smile. “You know better. You’re no better than Robert and his friends. His father got him off over and over, allowing him to continue to do worse and worse things to women, and all of you saw it happening but were too greedy to stop him. That makes you accessories. You know that law. I know the law. I had thought to burn the painting as part of your punishment.”

  At his gasp she shook her head. “Don’t worry. It’s too beautiful. I can’t deprive the world of something that incredible. You, however, have to pay for what you did to my family.”

  “Did you kill them? Was Holden right about you?” Calloway couldn’t imagine it. Not even now when she sat right there in the room with him looking so calm and sweet, exactly like a little librarian.

  She gave him a little smile. “Yes. One by one. I will kill Holden too. This persecution of me has gone on long enough. He started it by allowing his monster of a son to continue his crimes without paying for them. Robert’s disgusting behavior escalated.” She sent him another little smile. “I suppose my response has done the same.”

  Shadowy figures began to emerge from around him, stepping out into his theater, just as they might onto the stage of one of the great opera houses. Calloway thought it felt like he was an actor in one of the tragic dramas. The music swelled to a crescendo.

  “I knew you’d come for me one day, Scarlet,” Calloway said. “You were the one I regretted. I should have felt remorse for taking other bribes, but look around you. That money created this. No, you’re my only regret. I knew you would come and I’m glad you have. I’m sorry for what happened to your family and the part I played in it. I was happy when Robert Jr. and his monstrous friends died the way they did. I thought they met with fitting ends. How shall I meet my end, Scarlet?” He took a sip of his wine, determined to go out like one of the most tragic heroes in the operas he loved so much.

  “My husband will place a garrote around your neck and strangle you with it.”

  “You’re married then?”

  “Yes, recently. He insisted he take care of this one for me while I sit here and enjoy the opera. I do love this music.”

  “You must, one day, go to Milan and see it in person.”

  “I have on three occasions,” she admitted.

  He was proud of her. He’d known all along she was worth saving. His one mistake. He closed his eyes as he felt the garrote tighten around his neck. How amazing that he hadn’t known the man was behind him. Or that the lethal weapon had been slipped around his neck like a noose of justice already. The bite was unexpectedly hard and fast, cutting off oxygen, taking him out of his fantasy world and into the realm of reality so that he realized he was actually going to die.

  He dropped the wineglass and it fell to the floor, shattering, the red wine spreading out in an ugly stain, the pattern looking to his blurred vision like the outline of a dead man. His legs stiffened. His bladder let loose. That humiliated him, but he had no control. None. The thundering heartbeat in his ears drowned out the sound of his beloved music and his lungs burned and burned for air. He tried to fight, weakly reaching back to try to get to his executioner, but it was already too late, and he was losing consciousness.

  Absinthe made certain Calloway was dead before he let the man go. “You all right, miledi?”

  Scarlet nodded. “Yes, he wanted to justify his part in all this to himself. He just took the money. He was a judge, Absinthe. The law holds others accountable during the commission of crimes, yet he refused to be accountable, and he’s a judge.”

  Alena wrapped her arm around Scarlet’s waist. “He wanted to think he was better than Holden or even Robert Jr. because he has good taste in art. He’s a snob, babe. Give up trying to figure these guys out. I stopped trying to figure out society a long time ago. Blythe keeps giving us lessons, but nothing makes sense to me.”

  “Me either,” Ice agreed. “I say the word fuck or I prefer a Harley to a car, and no one wants me around their kid, but they let some asshole dressed all nice in the door and he’s all over their kid. They don’t even notice because he goes to church or he’s got money. Go figure. I don’t get it.”

  “Who’s next?” Savage asked. He glanced at his watch. “We don’t want to blow the time here. We’ve got to hit four more tonight.”

  Scarlet glanced up at him. “My original defense attorney. He was definitely in Holden’s pocket. He rolled over for him. I’ve wanted to visit him from day one.”

  “Yeah, well, someone else did that for you,” Absinthe said. “You must have mentioned that to Adrik.” He watched her closely. He didn’t know how to feel about Adrik. She couldn’t change her past any more than he could. He was grateful that Adrik had chosen to return to Thailand after getting out of the hospital.

  Scarlet shook her head, looking shocked. “I didn’t talk to Adrik about my plans to go after Robert Jr. or the others. I wasn’t certain if I would continue with the attorneys or judge later on either. I hadn’t made up my mind.”

  “Someone not only killed your defense attorney and the prosecuting attorney who was in Holden’s pocket, but also the medical examiner who testified in court about your injuries and the boys’ as well. Each of the men were tortured and the true facts were pinned to their chests. They were strung up in their homes, each with a little card that said they were a wedding present to you from an admirer,” Absinthe said. “Code received the detail
ed photographs and Czar agrees with me, it had to be Adrik just from the way they were killed. The bodies have yet to be found, but as soon as they are, we will run out of time on our end. Holden will hole up and the cops will come looking to talk to you. You’ll need to be home with an airtight alibi.”

  “Where’s Adrik now?” Scarlet asked.

  “On his way to Thailand, according to Code. He was given the choice to join the Trinity chapter of Torpedo Ink, but he declined, said he was a loner.” Absinthe kept watching her face.

  His wife was gorgeous. Absolutely beautiful. She might fool others, but she didn’t have a poker face, not to him. It was clear she wasn’t asking about Adrik because she wanted to go chasing after him. Steele was right about their women. Absinthe had to come to terms with the fact that he still hadn’t gotten to a place where he thought he deserved having Scarlet love him. He couldn’t quite wrap his mind around it.

  What the hell are you doing in there? Partying? We don’t have all night. Code has drained Holden’s bank accounts and will rescind the contract on Scarlet, but you have to get to him now before he’s warned the others are dead. The timeline has been moved up.

  Czar sounded annoyed, so Absinthe didn’t make a snappy comeback. None of them did. They all recognized that tone. He was royally pissed with Adrik. The man might have made what he saw as a gesture, sending Scarlet a wedding gift by killing three of the men responsible for her incarceration, but it only called attention to her. Torpedo Ink always ensured reasonable suspicion fell on someone else. They couldn’t do damage control on this one.

  “Let’s move,” Transporter said.

  The team did, keeping Scarlet in the center. She and Destroyer were new. They didn’t know how the team worked yet and the others looked out for them, although Absinthe didn’t think Destroyer needed anyone looking out for him.

  Robert Holden Sr. tossed back the last of his scotch using the last glass made of Irish cut crystal his wife’s father had given them on their wedding day. It had been in their family for a hundred years and she had fussed endlessly over it, reminding him continually not to use it unless it was a special occasion. He thought tonight, their anniversary, was a very special occasion. The scotch burned down his throat and felt like a furnace in his gut. He threw the glass as hard as he could into the stone fireplace, watching it hit the rocks and shatter, just as he had the other five glasses. The crystal splintered in all directions, scattering pieces across the hardwood floor to pick up the rolling flames of the fire, reflecting them all around the room.

  He hadn’t turned on lights because he didn’t need them, not with a full moon shining through the thick walls of glass and the sliding door leading to the enormous outdoor pool. He swam laps nightly to stay in shape. He prided himself on his body, something his soon-to-be ex-wife couldn’t say. She’d grown so complacent about herself. Putting on the pounds, waiting an extra week or two to color her hair, forgetting her Botox injections.

  He was going to have to call his “security” company after his swim tonight and see what the holdup was on his wife’s accident. She’d filed for divorce, but she hadn’t yet made out a new will. He was still the beneficiary of her life insurance policy. He would still inherit everything if she died before the divorce went through. That had to happen.

  Robert slid open the door and walked out to the pool in his sandals. Dropping his short robe on the lounge beside the pool, he kicked off his shoes and walked naked to the deeper end. Few men his age had his body. Women appreciated his looks. He got stares all the time. He didn’t really need his cow of a wife. Just her money. That kind of bank account opened so many doors, paved the way for anything he wanted or could conceive of having.

  “Hi, Robert.”

  Robert spun around at the sound of a soft, very gentle voice. A man’s voice, but it somehow made its way right inside of him. Penetrating deep. The man was tall. Very good-looking. He wore jeans that rode low on his hips and a thin leather vest that was open over a chest that was all muscle. There were scars, a multitude of them stretching over his abdomen and running down his narrow hips. His hair was messy, his eyes a strange crystal blue.

  “Who are you? What are you doing here?” Robert demanded, suddenly very aware he was absolutely naked and vulnerable. In spite of that soft, gentle tone, this man felt dangerous. Lethal even.

  “Name’s Absinthe. My club’s Torpedo Ink.” He half turned and showed his club’s colors, a tree with skulls buried in the roots and ravens in the branches. The top rocker proclaimed Torpedo Ink and the bottom said Sea Haven– Caspar.

  Triumph burst through Robert. He didn’t care about the indiscretion of penetrating his security or even how it was done. A club had found Scarlet Foley, and by the looks of this man, it was a very scary outlaw club. The little bitch hopefully got what was coming to her and now she was going to be delivered into his hands. He was going to make certain she suffered a long time before he sold her into human trafficking to live out the rest of her life in the worst places possible.

  “I presume you’re here about Scarlet Foley.”

  “Solokov.” The voice was very mild.

  “I’m sorry?” Holden frowned.

  “Scarlet Solokov. Her name is Scarlet Solokov. Not Foley. She’s married.”

  “I don’t give a fuck if she’s married or what her name is, the price is still the same. Did you come to collect the fee or not?”

  “I have the money,” Absinthe replied gently. “And you should care that she’s married. She’s my wife. I’m really pissed that you put out a contract on her. She was already pissed at you for bailing that worthless asshole rapist son of yours out of every crime he committed over and over, but she would have let it go after killing the little pissant. But then you just had to put that contract out on her. That was a stupid move on your part. Didn’t it occur to you to do just a little research before you went that far?”

  Robert’s eyes lifted to the cameras that were trained on his backyard and the pool. His heart had accelerated to the point he feared a heart attack.

  Absinthe smiled at him, but it was more the smile of a predator than one of humor. “Those cameras are useless to you. We took them over. If you’re feeling vulnerable out here naked, we could go inside. Doesn’t much matter to me where we talk. You go ahead and choose. Wherever you’re more comfortable.”

  Robert indicated the house immediately. He had weapons and phones inside. Absinthe stepped back and waved him toward the house. Robert tried to hide his excitement and forced himself to walk slowly. Behind him, for such a big man, particularly one wearing motorcycle boots, Absinthe seemed to walk very quietly.

  Robert took two steps inside, caught the slider and yanked, trying to force it to close as he took several running steps. Immediately he realized two things: the room held several people, and the broken pieces from all the glasses he’d shattered were lying all over the floor and he was barefoot. He yelped and tried hopping, bumping into the coffee table and then the low-slung couch. The couch was occupied by two men who looked exactly alike. They appeared to be eating from the exotic fruits he had laid out in his Irish cut-crystal bowl—part of the set he intended to smash tonight.

  One looked up at him and smiled. “Take a seat, Bobby.” He waved him to the chair opposite of him. “Your foot’s bleeding everywhere. Looks like it hurts. Name’s Ice. My brother Storm. That’s Savage. He doesn’t talk much, and you don’t want him to, so don’t piss him off.”

  He indicated one of the scariest-looking men Holden Sr. had ever laid eyes on. The man obviously shaved his head, had muscles and tattoos everywhere and the coldest, deadest eyes on him. Those eyes seemed to go right through Holden, as if he wasn’t even a human being to the biker. It didn’t escape his notice that there was a very large plastic tarp laid out in front of the bald man and the other one standing, unmoving, next to him, covered in what looked like Russian prison tattoos. Everyone in the room, and there seemed to be quite a few people, wore thin biker gloves. F
or the first time in his life, Robert felt both sick and a little faint.

  He looked around for his clothes. Seeing none, he dropped into the seat opposite Ice and Storm and then tried to find a pillow to at least put over his lap, but even those were gone. There was a faint stirring and Scarlet was suddenly there, looking at him as if he were a distasteful insect she was about to squash.

  “Your son, Robert, and his two friends did a lot of screaming, or at least they tried to. I taped their mouths closed and read books. I spent hours with Robert Jr. He had a lot to confess and seemed to want to talk, but in between his bouts with the clapper and his endless ‘daddy’ talks, I had time to study up on Arabic. It’s a fascinating language. I’m much better at reading it than speaking it, and Robert Jr. made so much noise I really had to tape his mouth for some time. It was annoying, Holden. Not only did you raise a rat bastard of a son, but he was a coward as well. It will be interesting to see what kind of man you are.”

  “You want me to believe that you actually killed my son without the aid of your husband or these others?” Holden couldn’t keep the sneer out of his voice. “Whoring yourself out to a club so they do your dirty work for you doesn’t make you brave.”

  Absinthe caught him by his hair and yanked his head back, slapping him hard enough that for a moment his ears rang. The slap was very casual, and Holden would have much preferred to have been punched. It felt as if the biker had disrespected him, and judging by the grins on the other men’s faces, he had. Scarlet blew her husband a kiss and smiled that same little half smile that was more of a smirk that he’d come to despise when she was in court. The one that told him she knew what was going on, but she didn’t care—that she was already planning to retaliate.

  “I didn’t meet my husband until a year after I killed Robert Jr. We actually had to interrupt our honeymoon in order to take care of this little piece of business. I was going to let it go, but then you sent the other clubs after us and the Diamondbacks were pissed at you and so was Absinthe, and now I am all over again.”