by J. B. Havens
“Answer me. Who is the buyer?” Mic shouted close to Anton’s face. Her voice sounded far away to him, muffled as if through fabric.
She raised the hammer high and, as it descended, his hearing came back with a jerk. The heavy tool struck the Russian on the inside of his kneecap; the impact of steel against bone was horrendous. Anton’s kneecap collapsed and twisted to the side. He was screaming in pain now, as fast as he could draw breath.
Slowly, his shrieks faded to whimpers and groans of pain. His breathing was rapid, bordering on hyperventilating.
“Now. You can answer me or I’ll do your other knee.” Mic held the hammer by her side. She was calm and still, patiently waiting for an answer.
“Fine.” Anton paused, trying to breathe through the agony. “You will… all… die.” The pain made his voice stutter and break. “Yusef. He was buyer.”
“Fuck!” Rook shouted. “Mother fucker.” Not waiting to hear more, he ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
As rapidly as he left, Rook returned, attaching a suppressor to his pistol. His purpose was clear with every determined stride he took closer to Anton.
“Rook! Wait…” Mic didn’t get the words out in time. The gunshot wasn’t loud, just a soft pop, and Anton slumped forward. The hole in his forehead was nearly hidden by the blood and damage already done to his face.
Rook turned on his heel. “I need to call Nickoli. This just got more complicated.” He nearly ran up the steps with Mic right on his heels.
“Well, at least we got a name. Before things got ‘complicated’.” Flynn air-quoted the word.
“That’s one way to put it.” Jones pulled his hat low and also went upstairs.
At a loss for words, Jordon climbed the steps. All he knew at that moment was that he was damn glad Rook shot the bastard—there were few people who were as deserving.
Chapter 21
“What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?” Nickoli was waving his arms and shouting at Rook. I stood back near the basement wall, out of the line of fire. Anton’s slumped body was still lashed to the chair, growing ever colder.
“It was necessary.” Rook shrugged, clearly unconcerned with his friend’s temper. “For more reasons than those two girls upstairs.”
Nickoli glared at him. A look passed over his face like there was more he wanted to say, but chose not to. He turned and proceeded back upstairs, mumbling under his breath. I waved the others upward, grateful to be out of the basement.
“It was going to happen either way,” I chimed in, defending my teammate’s action. “Either we did it or Yusef would.”
“Yusef? Buyer was fucking Yusef?” Nickoli spun around and put his fist through the kitchen wall. “Dammit, Matthew!”
“I suspected it from the beginning. You know as well as I do that he has a thing for girls like these.” Rook pointed to the girls, who were huddled together on the couch, apparently unable to sleep with the screams emitting from downstairs. They were clinging to each other in this sea of anger.
“Go home. Leave this alone.”
“No.” Jordon’s voice stopped us all. Glancing at his face, I could see that he was very serious. His jaw set and his feet planted. “We came this far. We’re not giving up now.”
Nickoli turned his icy blue stare to Jordon. “You know killing Yusef won’t keep girls from being sold? It is way things are here. There is no changing it.”
“Maybe, maybe not. But we mean to try.” I pushed away from the wall I was leaning against and stood next to Jordon. “This is what we do. This is who Steel is. Deal with it.”
“I have no problem with you ridding world of Yusef; it is what will happen when you do. Someone will take his place. Mob is like food chain; the big fish are at top and little fish are near bottom. You take out top fish and whole food chain needs to be restructured.”
“Fine, I see your point. We don’t want to leave a street war in our wake. Why not take out as many fish as we can?”
“Kill mob? Whole mob? It is not possible. Tell her she is crazy, Rook!” Nickoli was beside himself, pacing back and forth. The big man was shaking the floor with his angry steps.
“He’s right Mic, we can’t take them all out.”
“Fine. Then what do you fucking suggest? Go home? We can’t do that.”
“No. But I have an idea. Here’s what we’ll do.” Rook began laying out a plan—risky and bold—just the way I liked it.
****
Yusef clutched the glass in his fist, the vodka sloshing over the side.
“If that fucker is not here within hour, I want him brought to me,” he ordered his second-in-command.
“Understood.” Dimitri left the room, presumably to carry out his orders.
Vibrations from Yusef’s pocket had him cursing under his breath. He was not in the mood for any bullshit. The number on the display had him swiping the screen.
“Da.”
“I was delayed. There was minor problem with one of packages.”
“If you do not deliver in one hour, your head will be on my wall.” Yusef hung up the phone, shoving it across his desk. When Anton made the delivery, he would be taught a lesson. You did not fuck around with him, not if you wanted to keep all your limbs attached to your body.
“Dimitri! Get back in here.”
“Yes, sir.” The small dark haired man stood calmly by the door, awaiting instruction. He would remain there until told otherwise. His suit was tailored to compensate for his broad shoulders and ever present shoulder holster.
“Anton just called. He was delayed. Delivery should be in one hour. Prep rooms for my guests. I want them ready after I have conversation with Anton.”
“Of course. Right away.” Dimitri left the room, calling for a maid.
Yusef opened the envelope holding the pictures of the girls. Beautiful and young— fresh. Just the way he liked them. He knew it was a vice. He didn’t gamble or drink excessively. He collected girls like some men collected wine. His wife was for breeding his legacy and for appearances; beyond that, he couldn’t stand to be in the same room with the hag.
Stroking a finger down the face of the girl with short hair, he let his mind wander. Imagining all the things they would do together. Grinning at his luck, bloated with power, Yusef never questioned why Anton’s voice sounded different. His only thoughts were of his prizes and the pleasure they would bring him.
****
“This is insane. Even for us.” Flynn spoke over his shoulder as he drove through the darkened streets. We’d waited until dusk to begin our crazy plan. Darkness was always better for deeds such as this.
“Yes, but… it’ll work just fine. I can be a good actress when I need to be.” I opened the compact and dusted more powder on my cheeks and nose. My now straight blonde hair hung down just past my shoulders. Just like the girl in the photo. I’d painted my lips bright red and darkened my eyes with layers of eyeshadow. In low light, I could easily pass as her. “Besides, all I need to do is get you guys in. He won’t have a chance to realize I’m not his girl.” The thick make-up covering my scar felt strange, my newly healed skin very sensitive. I didn’t know how girls did this every day of their lives.
This is why I never wear make-up… too heavy.
“Just keep your mouth shut and you’ll be fine.” Rook had pulled his hair back tight and changed. I could see him slip skins before my eyes, going into character with practiced ease.
Pierce smiled at us. “You guys look great.” Jordon was shrugging his shoulders, trying to settle the leather jacket on his frame, while I kept running my tongue over my teeth, worried I’d get lipstick on them.
“Just follow the plan and everything will be all right,” I said, checking my make-up one last time as the van slowed. “Here, someone better tie me up.” I held up a long white zip-tie.
“My pleasure.” Jordon grinned, taking the opportunity. His hands were warm against my own, his fingers brushing my stomach as he tightened the plastic strap.
I was cold in this stupid get-up they had me in. Leaning close, he whispered in my ear. “When this is all over, I might just do this for real.” I blushed before I could stop myself.
“Don’t fuck around,” Rook snapped at Jordon, hitting him on the back of the head. “She needs to be scared. This won’t work if she goes in there with wet fucking panties.”
“Just trying to relieve the tension. Don’t be a dick.” Jordon tightened the tie, binding my wrists together. “Sorry. Can’t leave you wiggle room. This has to be convincing.”
“I know. I trust you guys not to let me get raped and murdered.” I wiggled my ass, trying to get the short black dress to cover it more. My bare legs were stretched out in front of me, looking very long between the short excuse for a dress and the tall red heels. The dress was very short, but had long sleeves, covering my tattoos. The stitches on my thigh were in plain sight, but short of taking them out days early, there wasn’t much to be done about them.
This ruse relied heavily on the guess that Yusef would want to deal with Anton before heading my way. I had no weapons aside from small knife in my bra. It was terribly uncomfortable, but I’d refused to go in there bare of weapons.
Flynn stopped the van in front of tall wrought-iron gates. “We’re here. Showtime, boys and girls.”
Rook leaned over him and spoke into the speaker-box in Russian, continuing to pretend he was Anton. He was bristling with weapons. Knives were tucked away, along with two sidearms. He knew he’d be searched and relieved of most of them, but hoped they’d miss some.
Jones was back at the safe-house, monitoring all with the trackers and wires that Rook, Jordon, and I were wearing. In the event that I was transported off site, I had a GPS tracker in one shoe and another in my bra. It paid to have friends with access to state-of-the-art technology. Along with the tracker, I also had a wire in my bra that would transmit anything I said back to Jones and would also allow Jordon and Rook to hear as well. They could hear me, but we couldn’t risk a microphone, so there was no way for me to hear them.
The gates swung open, and we slowly drove up the long paved road. To call it a driveway was an understatement.
“Rook, Nickoli gave us good intel, right? We’re not walking into a trap, are we?” We had relied heavily on Nickoli to help us. He had given us this location and what information he had on the layout.
“I trust him with my life.”
“That’s good, because we all are.” I took a deep breath and prepared to let myself be taken captive…again. Memories of Mexico and Julio rushed to the forefront of my mind. I shoved them aside. This was an entirely different situation. I had back-up this time and as long as everything went according to Rook’s crazy-ass agenda. I’d never even see Yusef. Our plan was risky, but solid. There was no room for failure today.
“Pierce, you and Flynn stay with the van. Cover our asses; we’ll be coming out hot.” Rook was taking command. I was window dressing on this mission and not much more. It grated on my nerves, but I knew this was the best way.
The door slid open and Rook pulled me out by the arm, shoving me forward so I stumbled on my ridiculous heels. Jordon followed close behind us, doing very well playing the silent but deadly guard.
We were at the servants’ entrance near the kitchen. A short man with dark hair and an expensive suit greeted us.
He spoke rapidly to Rook in Russian, gesturing wildly with his arms. Rook put both hands out at his sides, attempting to look placating. I couldn’t follow the words, but put it together by the gestures. He wanted Rook to come with him; Jordon was to stay here.
A maid appeared from behind the short man. She reached for my arm and timidly led me away. I kept my head down, using my hair to hide my face. It was taking an embarrassing amount of concentration to keep my feet under me in these stupid shoes. The carpet was thick, and my ankles kept wanting to rock sideways.
The maid was silent, but she kept a firm grip on my arm. Whether it was to prevent me falling or running off, I wasn’t sure, but as my foot slipped again, I was grateful for the support.
She let go of me long enough to open a door. Inside was a small bed, a table, and another door, which I assumed was a bathroom. The room was windowless and as she closed the door behind me, I heard the tumble of the lock. The door looked like wood, but when I tested it with my foot, I found it was deceiving. Ironically, it was steel—a metal door with heavy duty locks. This was a comfortably outfitted cage.
Better than a damp, cold basement…
****
Jackson closed and locked the door on the last container. Inside were Mic’s Jeep and everything out of her house, along with Jordon’s BOSS and his belongings. Between himself, the moving company, and the few remaining guards, they’d packed everyone’s cabins into these three containers in just under two days.
“What now?” Beatrice slid her arm around his waist, her warmth and softness easing him.
“We ship them over to the UK. I sent a message, and they’ll be taken care of. Then…we go on our way.” It felt so final, and it was. Steel Corps as he knew it… was gone.
“Come on, you’ve worked hard. I made us some dinner.” Beatrice tugged him by the hand toward their cabin which was as bare as the others. Only their bed and a few items of clothing remained. Everything was either donated or they were taking it with them.
“What time do you want to leave tomorrow?” Jackson said as he shut the cabin door behind them.
Beatrice paused near the stove, oven mitts covering her hands. “Nine sound okay?”
“Fine with me.” He stared out the window at the large RV parked near the hangar. They were taking the same route as so many other happy retired couples—driving cross-country in their rolling home. Their RV had a few custom additions, though, like a small gun safe and top-level security. It had upped the price, but he could afford it. Good pay combined with smart investments meant that he and Beatrice would be very comfortable.
“It’s going to be okay, Fisher. We’ll see them again. I know it.”
“I wish I had your faith.”
Stepping toward him, she cupped his cheek in her palm. “That’s okay. I have enough for both of us. Now, let’s eat this wonderful lasagna I bought at the store. If it tastes like the box it came in, we’ll just go out to eat.” She handed him a plate laden with the stacked noodles, sauce, and cheese.
“Can’t be worse than MRE lasagna.”
Laughing, Beatrice leaned over and kissed him quickly. “Don’t worry. I stocked the fridge in the RV. You won’t be eating MREs or ready-made food ever again.”
“Just don’t make me fat. Wouldn’t want you to leave me for a younger man.”
“Don’t worry, Fisher. I’m hooked on you.” She patted the back of his hand and dug into her own meal.
Jackson let his mind wander while they ate. He hoped things were okay in Russia. He hadn’t heard anything from his contacts. All was quiet, which made him nervous. It was impossible to know what was going on and he hated being out of the loop. The worry for Mic and his men was ever present in his mind.
He couldn’t do much, but what he could do was make sure they got their prized vehicles and possessions. When they started their new life, wherever it might be, they were going to need a bit of help. An idea began to form in the back of his mind. He would call Liam right after dinner and before Beatrice distracted him. Maybe he’d just take Mic’s choices away and force her hand.
Chapter 22
Rook kept his head down and his hands in his pockets. He followed the short, stout dark-haired man down a hallway. At the end was a richly carved wooden door with crystal knobs. Understated elegance, they called it.
Knocking twice, the man opened the door and he was ushered in. It was all very civilized, like a veneer over evil.
“Thank you, Dimitri,” a male voice said. “Please wait outside.”
The man Rook recognized as Yusef stood slowly. His charcoal suit was tailored carefully over his growing paunch. A he
avy gold watch hung from his wrist and a diamond pinky ring winked in the low light provided by the lamp on his desk.
“You are not Anton.” It was not a question.
“I was sent by him,” Rook answered, concentrating on keeping his accent perfect.
Yusef rounded the desk, creeping closer to him. “Where is he?”
“Dead.” No point in lying, he would know soon enough.
“I see. And my money? My packages?” The mob boss crossed his arms, leaning one hip on his desk. The very picture of patience.
“One package. The other was killed along with Anton.” Rook was stalling, keeping his answers simple and straightforward, dragging it out.
“Explain. If your answer is truth, you leave here with your life. If not, my dogs are hungry.”
Rook knew from experience Yusef was not being glib. When he’d been here years ago, they’d found the ravaged body of a man near a dumpster just outside a dance club in Moscow. He’d been killed by dogs. Large chunks of his legs and arms were missing, along with most of his neck and face.
“Anton was stupid. Made mistake. Girl attacked him with knife she had hidden in dress. He killed her, but not before she sank blade into his gut. He died minutes later; bled out like animal.” His accent was perfect to his ears and it hoped it was just as good for the native Russian.
“I see. And how do you suggest I recoup my fee? I paid for two and only received one. Money is owed to me.” Yusef picked up his letter opener, flicking it under the edges of his fingernails.
“Anton could not have done much with it. It must be at one of his homes.”
It was true enough; the money hadn’t been anywhere on the second floor of the garage, and they hadn’t gone into the house.
“Tell me. How did you come by this information? You look familiar, but I do not remember seeing you with Anton before. He and I have done business many times. I should know you.”