by Isabel Wroth
Saint tried not to feel like a pussy, having just taken his first normal, non-shuffling steps from one end of the room to the other. He had made all the calls he was going to make, waiting now for one of the three letter agencies to decide they had jurisdiction.
While he waited, he was coming up with the plan for transport. The van Veracruz had picked him and Damon up in could easily be used to pile the Leviathans into. They could park it somewhere and leave it for pick-up without advertising the former SEAL’s involvement in their capture.
Duke came up out of the lower dungeon area, his previous shit-eating grin now replaced by a tight-lipped glare. Duke opened his mouth, stopped himself, and looked around until his eyes landed on where Ripley was curled up asleep on the couch.
The sight of her sleeping made Duke give a quick huff of relief, then look back at him with a shake of his head.
“The seventeen women who came through your woman’s spa are part of the Leviathan’s human trafficking business. Questioned both of the assholes who have been with the Leviathans the longest, and they both claim that the women were used to case Ripley’s place for Ghost.
“They travel dressed as Saudi Arabian women, avoiding facial recognition software so no one gets wise to what they’re doing, or pins them in a location to put two and two together to figure out what they and the Leviathans are doing. They’re fuckin recruiters, man.
“The women visit at-risk teen shelters, group homes, schools, basically wherever they can get access to kids under the age of fourteen, posing as volunteers or teachers. They get to know the kids, pick and choose a handful, and give a work-up on their details back to the Leviathan in charge of collecting for their buyer.
“Couple of weeks later, six of these dickheads downstairs, go down, scoop up the kids, drug them, and they wake up in a shipping container bound for wherever they’re going. Apparently, Ghost requested all seventeen of the recruiters to help pull off his plan to get to you.
“Because of his rep, no one asked questions. But this is the first time these seventeen recruiters have all been together, ever. They’re staying downtown at the W and have been this whole time.”
Already frowning, Saint’s forehead almost hurt from how he scowled. This made no sense. “The shooting was almost two months ago. Why are the recruiters all still in Austin?”
Duke shrugged and shoved his hands up under his armpits. “None of the Leviathans we have know. And believe me, I wasn’t asking nicely.”
Nasa came over to join them, his face an utterly expressionless mask. Saint noticed he too glanced at where Ripley was sleeping, keeping his voice down.
“Got the photos Ripley took of the women who came to her place and ran them through facial recognition. I found all seventeen of them on an encrypted site advertising high-end call girls all over the world.”
Saint jerked his chin up at Duke. “Himbo got two of the guys to talk. The women are tagging kids as merchandise for the trafficking ring.”
Nasa blinked, frowning like he didn’t understand. “Leviathans using escorts and prostitutes to steal kids off the streets? Are you shitting me?”
Duke shook his head tightly. “All seventeen of them are apparently being put up at the W downtown.”
Nasa blinked, his hands fisted at his sides, and he went back to his computer, fingertips banging the keyboard so hard it was a wonder it didn’t crack. Saint rubbed at his aching jaw while he stared at the floor, trying to put the pieces together.
None of this made sense. He thought going over to the white board would help him think, thought that maybe if he stared at the faces all spread out, he could somehow gain some insight.
“What’s eatin you?” Top asked, appearing beside him out of nowhere.
Saint shook his head, touching on every photograph, every bit of intel gathered. “Ghost was paid five and a half million dollars to take out every single member of Perdition. Five and a half mil would light a fire under my ass if I was a killer for hire. So why wait so long?
“He kills Toad before he even gets here and takes his place, stalking us, getting to know our routines, six to eight months learning our habits and who we have coming in and out of our house. He’s in our businesses, he’s gone on cases to re-capture parole violators, pretends to get in a wreck so he doesn’t have to come to Ripley’s place and risk her recognizing him, then goes back to managing at the Box.
“After all that, he suddenly needs seventeen prostitutes who help put kids and women into the Leviathan human trafficking supply line, to help make his plans work out? Wexler sends the women without questions, they show up, case Ripley’s spa, and it gets shot up the very next day because Wexler is getting impatient to see us dead.
“After that fuck up, Ghost puts all seventeen of those women up at the W hotel in downtown fuckin Austin to wait around, on Wexler’s dime, while Ghost takes three more weeks to put his plans into motion. He takes me and Damon, in what looks like a convenient opportunity too good for him to pass up, and only gives us superficial wounds. Nothing remotely life-threatening.
“Ghost doesn’t talk about his work like he’s proud of it. To me it sounds like it’s just a job. Like he’s a peon in a rendering facility who could care less one way or another if he keeps his position in the company. He doesn’t ask me about my DEA undercover contact. Doesn’t even threaten me beyond making some bullshit comment about Ripley being a beautiful woman.
“He doesn’t say shit about me putting his brothers in prison, other than to mention it’s gotten Wexler to give Ghost carte blanche to do whatever he wants to us. The only time he cracks a smile to show some emotion is when the compound is burning and all over the news. He’s got cameras down in the utility room where we were strung up, but the second Damon gets free, Ghost doesn’t have anyone even close by to stop us from escaping.
“Why does a guy with his experience, with all the time in the world to kill us off before we even knew he was there, need seventeen women to make his cover story believable? Why leave those women lying around where they run the risk of being arrested? Why pull in the majority of your foot soldiers and let them get caught? It just doesn’t make sense.”
Top’s beard was almost jutting straight out. “Sounds more like Ghost is cleaning his own house instead of ours.” Saint shrugged and waved his hands at the board, nodding when Top finished the sentence for him. “What did your buddy at the FBI have to say?”
“Waiting on him to call me back. I want to put all the prisoners in the van and park it somewhere for pick up. Someplace easy for our guys to vacate without being seen.”
Top grunted, pausing in the process of stroking his beard. His grin was mischievous as hell. “The storage facility. Mrs. Dominguez will no doubt get a kick out of watching the feds swarm the place.”
Saint gave a snort, “No doubt. Heard from the recovery team yet?”
Meeks had taken over watching Gee so that Raid, Pen, Milo, Frankie, and two of Veracruz’s guys could pick up all of their stolen motorcycles.
“They hit the storage facility and got a head count. All the bikes are there and in one piece. They’re getting them loaded now.”
A soft cough came from behind them. He and Top both shifted to look back, finding Wren standing there, twisting her tank top hem around and around her fingers.
“I need to make a phone call to my handler. I need to leave so that when a case finally gets made, I can testify.”
Saint wondered about fate, about that whole six-degrees-of-separation shit. The connections, the chances of Wren ending up in Texas, becoming Ever’s tenant and friend, right under their noses this whole time with no idea who she was or how crucial she was to their current troubles. One tiny woman turned out to be one of the most important cogs in the massive wheel that was the mess with the Leviathans.
Wren had always been shy, but now he knew it was more fear-based, terrified her old life would rear up and drag her down into the hellishness of what she had lived through. Married to a fuck
in hitman. Saint wondered if Wren felt relieved having gotten the chance to tell someone, anyone, about what she had gone through. She looked exhausted. Her skin drawn too tightly over her bones, lips pinched, and her eyes dull with sadness and from all the tears she had cried.
Top answered her, but Saint wasn’t honestly paying attention, his mind rolling all the way back to the beginning.
To Ever.
The Taggart Tornadoes had fought a rival gang merger, unknowingly infiltrated by an ATF undercover officer who was investigating the Tornadoes and the Leviathans for their drug and gun running enterprise. The agent had gotten close to Ever, close enough for a wedding to be arranged.
Then that had gotten all blown to shit, literally, and the Tornadoes had been wiped out. Ever had gone on the run, landing right smack dab in Perdition territory. She wouldn’t ever have come to the Perdition compound or gotten pregnant with Roar’s kid, if not for the friendly insistence of Susan, dragging Ever to a hog roast one night.
Susan and Pike wouldn’t have gone down to Nevada to dig into the Tornadoes’ past if Top hadn’t wanted to get answers for Ever about the deaths of her family members. Susan and Pike wouldn’t have wound up dead for having made the Leviathan MC president nervous with their investigation.
Saint himself wouldn’t have gotten involved or made Perdition an even bigger threat to the Leviathans if Susan and Pike hadn’t been killed. They wouldn’t all be here right now, neck deep in some fuckin mystery, compound blown to hell, danger breathing down the back of their necks, sitting on ten Leviathan prisoners sent to help kill them all.
Saint knew without all this conflict and death, Ripley would never have become the center of his entire universe, but it was the most fucked up way to have met the woman. He looked over at her now, heart so full of love he could barely breathe. His muscles tensed with the intention to cross the room to where she lay sleeping on the couch, to wake her up with a kiss and tell her he loved her just because he could.
He made it all of two steps when his phone started to shrill from his pocket, and his declaration got put on the back burner. His lips twisted in a grimace, so ready to be done with this shit, reading the caller ID that told him it was his contact at the FBI.
“John? Yeah. Look man, I’ve got some more intel for you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Ripley woke up with the smell of new leather thick in her nose, a crick in her neck, and a soft blanket pulled up to her chin. It took her a minute to remember where she was, to calm the racing of her pulse as she sat up and looked around for Saint.
The brothers and the commandos were all standing around Nasa’s computer, their backs to her in a solid wall of muscle while they watched what sounded like a news broadcast.
“-we’re watching now Maddison, as seventeen women and one man accused of being involved with a human trafficking ring are being led in handcuffs from the W hotel in downtown Austin. An anonymous source tipped the FBI to say that the women were here at the W hotel, though the reason is unknown at this time-”
Drawn by the familiar voice of the Fox news anchor, Ripley padded across the floor and set her hand to Saint’s back. He turned immediately and wrapped his arm around her, a vicious light of triumph shining in his eyes. He dropped a kiss on her hair and jerked his chin at the computer screen, hugging her to his side while they watched the report.
She watched a long line of familiar faces being marched out of the W in handcuffs, the beautiful women Ripley had hosted in her spa. Most of them looked terrified, but a few looked pissed as hell, struggling against the hold the arresting officers had on them. But it was the male face that had her breath catching.
Saint’s arm turned to granite around her, leather creaking while the brothers shifted and tensed. The look on Saint’s face was a mix of rage and savage satisfaction.
“That’s Ghost, princess. We got him.”
Ripley felt sick, but looking back at the screen, seeing Sam’s smiling face as he marched in handcuffs and shoved into a black and white, she was also relieved. The threat of becoming a serial killer’s next victim was now gone, and the men around her could now rest easy in the knowledge that Susan and Pike would have their justice.
“In other news-” the reporter went on, “the FBI have also taken twelve members of an out of state gang into custody today as well. Wanted for multiple counts of assault, theft, drug possession, and larceny, the men were found attempting to sell stolen motorcycles to a chop shop. They have also been charged with the arson of the fire that destroyed a privately owned warehouse, just outside of Austin. Each member of the gang is currently in county jail, held without bail and awaiting sentencing.”
The faces of all twelve of the Leviathans previously housed downstairs, flashed across the computer screen as the reporter continued to list the charges brought against the gang.
“So it’s over?” Ripley asked, not proud of how her voice shook.
Saint dropped a kiss on her hair, rocking her slightly while they stood in the bosom of enormous male bodies, radiating pride and victory.
“Almost, princess. It’ll be over once the gang is completely disbanded, dead, or in jail. Which wont be long in coming. The Leviathan’s have taken a heavy hit, but Wexler still has some numbers on his side. Ghost is taken care of, so we won’t be looking over our shoulders for him, but it won’t be a secret for long that Perdition took him down.
“There will be other problems to come at us. The compound has to be re-built, FBI will be up our asses for a while as all this shit gets sorted. But we’ll get through it, as a family.”
Top stepped up beside them, a proud grin on his face. She saw a look pass between the two men, the pride that straightened Top’s shoulders and made a flush spread across Saint’s face.
“As a family.” Top repeated.
Ripley sighed and turned her cheek to Saint’s chest, watching the news cast for a time, listening with half an ear while the sound of Saint’s heartbeat drummed a steady tattoo against her face.
She inhaled slowly, breathing in the smell of lemons and Saint, comforted by the strength in his arms, by the heat rolling off his muscle strapped body. By the confidence in his voice and the wall of men Saint called his family, standing close by. Shoulder to shoulder.
“Can we go home now?” Ripley tilted her head back to look up at Saint. Utterly melting at the look of longing, of happiness that brightened his eyes.
“Home. Definitely.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
GHOST~
Drip…
Drip…
Drip…
The concrete at his back was cold as ice, cooling the film of sweat that coated his skin. He sat with his feet up on the one bunk of the holding cell, his wrists lay loose on his knees, spatters of blood coated his fine clothes, dripping off his fingertips to the floor below.
He couldn’t help the smirk that curved his lips as his eyes rolled over the carnage surrounding him. It had been pure stupidity for the men of Williamson County to put all twelve of the Leviathans in one big cell. Even more stupid to put Ghost in there with them.
He figured they didn’t know who he was yet, but it was only a matter of time before Saint showed up to identify him. But even then, there was zero proof to make that accusation stick. It was all part of the game.
He was a ghost.
It didn’t look like the cops had connected the dots yet to say that these twelve dead men, and the seventeen women collected from the W, were involved in the same gang.
Every single one of the gang bangers had become a liability, a few of them brand spanking new members who would have had zero loyalty to the club, had they been given the opportunity to make a deal.
Not that he gave a shit about their loyalty one way or the other, but still.
Ghost would have killed the women too, if he’d been given the opportunity. He had been considering it for days now, which is part of the reason why he had been at the W today. Trying to decide in between b
oard meetings with Mr. Al-Jameen’s company (his favorite alias yet) whether or not his ‘wives’ were a liability in the making.
Though truthfully, he would have killed them simply for the pleasure of it. His employers would be pissed to learn he had been captured so easily. Probably even more so once they learned about the twelve dead bangers and the seventeen assets no longer in play. But then, they should have known better than to try and interfere with his work.
He closed his eyes, listening to the steady drip of the cooling blood as it melted off of his warm hands. The monotonous rhythm of the clock hands ticking away. The irritating hum of the fluorescent lights in their cages overhead. There was a distant sound of phones ringing and the low rumble of voices just outside the doors.
It baffled and delighted him to know that the police were so close, a stones throw away, and yet he had been able to annihilate twelve men in under five minutes without anyone beyond those doors noticing.
A new personal record he would have to celebrate later.
Playing with the men of Perdition had been enjoyable. They were a far more efficient team than the Leviathans gave them credit for, and infiltrating them while simultaneously juggling several other identities had been a much needed high. He didn’t typically take such risks, but the job had been growing so stale, he had felt the need to push his own boundaries.
It had pissed Wexler off, but Ghost had taken an extreme pleasure in his little game of cat and mouse with the group of private investigators. Testing them for weaknesses, for flaws in their solidarity. There weren’t many, which is why he had resorted to taking the role of a new member almost a year in advance, and then killing random players unattached to the club to allay suspicion. It had been his own fault for underestimating the second man he had taken from Ripley’s cute little spa.
The prospect.
Ghost hadn’t thought the man, who seemed rather old to have suffered the indignity of the prospect process, would have such skills hidden up his sleeve. Or pant leg, as it were. So new to Perdition, Ghost had stupidly not investigated the man closely enough. And yet he had escaped Ghost’s little dungeon with an insulting amount of ease. Using only a safety pin, that Ghost had failed to find during his search of the two men’s clothing.