Destruction (Out for Justice Book 4)

by Reese Knightley

  “No.” The guy behind one bar shook his head.

  Alex went to turn away. “Wait, let me see that again?”

  Alex held up the photo again.

  “Okay, yeah, he was here, he just looked different than that picture. Had a beanie on his head,” the bar owner said, wiping at a spot of water from the bar. “He was in here yesterday. Had a cup of coffee.”

  Alex thanked the guy and stepped outside. He spotted a group of girls dressed for the night and headed that way. They walked an eight block radius. One after another, he stopped and questioned each person he came across as did the others.

  “Yeah, I seen him,” one gum popping girl said.

  “When?”

  “Last night. He was talking to Heather,” she replied.

  “Heather?”

  The girl blew a bubble and pointed to a group of girls standing on the next block over.

  He touched the mic in his ear. “One block over. We need Heather.” He listed off the street names nearest to him and the others converged.

  It took two minutes to find and sequester Heather away from her group.

  “I don’t know anything!” she argued.

  “Please, Heather, if you know where he is, tell us. We’re only trying to help him.”

  She eyed him for a long time. “He was nice to me,” she whispered.

  “He’s a nice man. We’re here to help him.”

  She told them about a Moss Street address. “But I didn’t know there were two addresses on Moss Street until today.”

  “Do you know what they are?”

  She nodded. “I asked a few of the girls if they knew the address and I wrote them down.” She looked worried. “I didn’t think of that before.” Heather handed him a folded up piece of paper. I was keeping this in case Ned came back.”

  “Thank you, Heather. We’ll give it to him!” he said and jogged toward Reggie and a waiting dark gray van. It was the only vehicle they could rent that fit them all and the gear they’d brought. The team jumped in.

  Roscoe called law officials on the way to the first location. It would be best if the unit stayed together and the assistance of local police would help them hit both addresses at once.

  Changing from street clothes into all black attire, they jumped out of the van when it pulled to a stop in front of a large, two story house.

  “Phoenix is on site at the first Moss Street location,” Roscoe said into his cellphone. “I repeat, Phoenix is on site.”

  “Roger. I’ll inform the chief of police,” the dispatcher said.

  The cops rolled up with lights flashing.

  Roscoe nodded at Seth, who cut the electricity to the house. The place went completely black. Which was perfect, really. Spreading out, they ran across the grass and fanned out, surrounding all exits.

  Alex pulled on his night vision goggles. Roscoe gave the signal and Storm kicked the back door hard. It slammed open with a violent crack. Night vision goggles gave the men inside a greenish glow as they scrambled.

  Several suspects opened fire and Alex rolled and came up shooting. The knife wound from last month was cinched tight. It still pinched, but the pain fueled his focus. Wounding the first guy in front of him, he shot the next one in the chest before dodging for cover behind a large wall unit.

  A suspect ran past and Rush stepped out and took the guy down with a hard jab to the kidney. The medic zip-tied and gagged the guy.

  A short burst of gunfire echoed from what looked to be a large den, but the shooting ended shortly after. The suspects left alive or standing scrambled and ran for it. He jumped up and went after them. The perp in front jabbed a knife at him. Alex grabbed the man’s wrist, applied pressure, twisted, and took the guy to his knees. As he spun, the man’s wrist snapped.

  Across the room, Wild went berserk. Frost joined in and the pair took on several men before both Storm and Noah were there helping with the beat down. He bent down to secure the perp on the floor, but heard movement behind him.

  Lunging up out of his crouch, Alex whipped his head around and snap kicked the man coming at him from behind. The move was high and caught the guy dead on the chin, snapping his head back with a loud crack, the gun thumping to the floor. The guy with the broken wrist struggled to get back into the fight and Alex kicked the perp in the chest. The guy toppled and Rush dodged in to zip-tie the guy’s hands.

  A suspect dove for the loose gun and swung it toward Rush. Alex shot the perp in the head and then stepped over the body before retrieving the weapon.

  “Jesus, fuck,” Rush whispered at him, moving in to secure the still living suspect next to the dead one. “Thanks.”

  Before he could answer, another guy lunged, but Frost was there and brought up a meaty fist and took the guy down with one swipe. Seth took out another suspect that was gunning for Frost’s back. The throat jab left the man gasping. Seth took protecting Frost fucking seriously.

  Alex spun and prowled down the hall, hearing noise from the kitchen. On the floor in the distance, legs stuck out of the kitchen door. With his gun up, he swung a quick look around the corner.

  The room was empty. He stepped over the body in the doorway and silently moved back into the hallway he’d come from and further into the belly of the three level house.

  Seth and Frost brought up his flank and pointed to the stairs. One pair of stairs went up and one went down. He nodded, the pair went up and Alex went through the door to what looked to be a basement.

  The house and basement were pitch black and he was glad for the night goggles.

  The glow of the eyes caught his attention as he slowly took the stairs downward. The smell was musty, not sickening. Although he could smell sweat and urine, he thought perhaps they had a bathroom down there.

  He kept his gun aimed out front, one hand cupping, the other for balance. Several people came into view as they huddled down, trying to hide. Muffled coughing, labored breathing, and a sniffle or two sounded in the room. There were shuffling bare feet as people scurried to hide.

  Two figures stood close together in what was clearly a hostage situation. Yanking the terrified young boy with him, a man, bigger than the boy he held as a shield, swung his gun arm left and then right as if straining to see into the darkness.

  As the suspect’s arm swung, Alex ducked low, dodging the appendage. He came up and punched the man hard enough to break his nose and disarmed him in the next second. The boy scrambled away without making a sound. In fact, none of the victims had made a sound. Probably trained to know that noise would mean a beating. He reached down and roughly cuffed the groaning man and left him rolling on the dirty concrete floor. Allison’s voice came through the mic.

  “Upper levels are secure. The cops are handcuffing suspects,” she whispered. “Fear, I’m coming down, don’t shoot me.”

  “Get your asses down here and help,” he said, pressing the mic.

  Movement on the stairs brought down Rush and Allison.

  “Don’t get your shorts in a bunch,” she hissed back, and he smirked in the darkness.

  “Lights coming on,” Rush said and Alex pulled down his goggles as the light flickered on overhead.

  He spun, gun raised, taking in the area. It was a fucking crudely made brothel. When the light went on, victims darted away into the cubby holes. Rope hung stretched across the ceiling with large, dark blankets hanging down to section off small beds. Each section had a cover affording privacy.

  “If any of you motherfuckers have paid to be here, you better come out with your hands raised or so help me, when I find you I’ll put a bullet in your head,” Alex growled loudly between his teeth.

  One moment later, he saw a pair of hands come out from behind a hanging blanket and a man followed.

  “I was just…I was -,” the guy stammered.

  “Shut the hell up,” Allison snapped and moved in quickly to secure the john’s hands behind his back and shoved him at Rush, who read the guy his rights while walking him to the stairs.<
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  Three more men came creeping out of the blankets and were cuffed. One tried to run for it, but Alex pounded the fucker into the ground with one blow.

  The ambulance and community rescue had been called in along with CPS when children as young as ten were discovered in the blanket-covered bunks. Alex took up a spot against the wall, his handgun holstered, but he held the semi-automatic Rush had tossed him earlier.

  The victims wore fearful and somewhat awed expressions and kept darting looks his way. A few of the braver girls whispered a thank you to him. The boy taken hostage told the local police that “the man with the deep voice and smoke eyes” had saved his life.

  He closed his eyes for one brief moment when they completely covered one of the girls with a sheet. She hadn’t survived to see another day. She’d died in this shit hole.

  He didn’t move until the last body and person was removed. He checked every single face. He turned away then and made his way up and into the massive living room. The low table and a few of the chairs had been shoved aside and suspects were cuffed and sitting in a line. Each one had tape over their mouths.

  “But this is my investigation!” His gaze was drawn to the local police chief standing with three detectives holding the phone to his ear. “Yes, sir, Mayor Thomas, I understand.” The police chief turned and handed the phone to Roscoe.

  Roscoe gave the guy a nod and a kind look before he took the phone and placed it to his ear. “Yes?” Roscoe listened. “Very good, sir.” Roscoe ended the call.

  “We question them and then hand them over to Chief Himes and they will hold them. If we have any further questions, Chief Himes will make the suspects available. Agreed?” Roscoe spoke directly to the police chief, giving the man the respect due his position.

  “Yes, agreed.” Himes shook the hand Roscoe offered and took his men and headed outside to wait.

  Noah, Seth, Allison, and Rush took care of the victims and gathered statements.

  Roscoe turned to the rest of them. “The local sheriff raided the other Moss Street address. There’s no sign of Lash or Caleb.”

  Alex spun and lifted the first perp, who wiggled and tried to get away. With a fist to the back of the guy’s shirt, he frog marched the man into the kitchen. Wild moved in alongside of him and shoved the door closed. Alex slammed the suspect into a chair.

  Storm was already in the corner, arms folded over a massive chest, and next to him, big and menacing, stood Frost. Roscoe headed across the small room and leaned casually against the kitchen counter.

  Alex yanked off the tape and the man gasped, blinking up at him. “Where’s Vladimir?”

  “I don’t know,” the man spat.

  Alex replaced the tape over his mouth and smiled. The guy’s eyes grew wide when Alex crushed his boot on the man’s nuts. The screams were muffle beneath the gag. “I can do this all day.” He studied the guy. When the man stayed silent, he continued the pressure. After several long minutes, he was satisfied the man knew nothing about Vladimir’s whereabouts.

  Next, he withdrew a picture and ripped the gag off the crying man’s mouth.

  “Where is this man?” he demanded.

  When the man tried to turn his head, Frost stepped forward and fisted the suspect’s hair and yanked back his head.

  “Look at the fucking picture,” Frost growled.

  Alex shoved a picture of Micah in front of the guy’s eyes. The guy said nothing.

  He pulled out a picture of Caleb. “What about this boy?”

  “I’ve haven’t seen either of them.” The man spat blood but Alex jerked back and dodged the spray.

  Storm growled and slapped the tape back in place. Alex stepped up and marched the suspect back to the front room and shoved him at a waiting officer. “You can take this one out to Himes.”

  And on it went. There were eleven suspects total and he had zero results until the eighth one.

  “Yes!” the guy screamed and he didn’t even get to use one torture technique, damn it.

  “Yes, what?” He narrowed his eyes at the perp.

  “I don’t know anyone in the pictures you just showed me, but I can show you where most of Vladimir’s other properties are.”

  “Enlighten us.” Alex narrowed his gaze and the man swallowed.

  “He’s got places in Juneau, here in Anchorage, and also in Fairbanks,” the perp replied, sweat dripping down his brow. “Can I get a deal?” the guy begged. “I’ll be dead anyway, but a deal might get me a few more days.”

  “Dead?” Frost frowned.

  “Yeah, Vladimir’s new second-in-command won’t let me live after I’ve spilled my guts.” The guy shuddered.

  “Second-in-command?” Frost asked.

  “Mez.”

  Fuck. He blew out a hard breath and held Roscoe’s gaze. “With Petrov dead, Vladimir has put Mez in his place.”

  “It appears so,” Roscoe said.

  “I guess that answers the questions… Mez is still alive and working for Vladimir,” Frost agreed.

  “Hang on, let me call Himes and see if we can get a deal,” Roscoe told the suspect and made the call.

  “Okay.” He looked back at the perp. “What’s your name?”

  “Tom Mendez.”

  “All right, Tom Mendez, here’s your one chance,” Alex said. The guy would probably end up in WITSEC if he testified and helped them bring down the Lakhonin operation. Sometimes they had to let the smaller fish swim in order to catch a shark.

  Roscoe hung up the phone. “Chief Himes is contacting the District Attorney. I’ll make sure you have a deal, but you have to tell us everything and then you’ll be taken into protective custody when you leave here,” Roscoe told Mendez.

  Alex flipped a chair around and straddled it, looking at Mendez.

  “Tell me about the locations.”

  Micah

  Squatting on the small stool, he studied his work. The blood carried a metallic-tasting tang and he wiped absently at his cheek when blood flicked against it. Rubbing the knife clean against his pant leg, he leaned back. Vladimir had passed out, again.

  Of course, the crime boss hadn’t been at either of the Moss Street addresses. It took him weeks of tailing the pimp before the man eventually led him to Vladimir. Micah had thought about just apprehending the pimp and digging it out of him, but after what happened with Petrov, he feared the guy would rather die than talk.

  Micah hadn’t waited, he’d swooped up out of the darkness, fighting them silently, deadly. He killed two outright and knocked out another that wouldn’t be waking up anytime soon. He cold-cocked Vladimir, knocking the guy out before he zip-tied and gagged the man. Methodically, he’d searched the house; there were no victims and no further suspects. He removed his phone and photographed every piece of evidence he came across, searching every nook and cranny for any signs of Caleb. He had found nothing.

  He yanked a struggling Vladimir over his shoulder and dumped the man into the trunk.

  He paused for one moment to call the police and report every previous address the pimp had led him to, including this house.

  Driving to the warehouse district address he’d found in a pile of the man’s old bills, he parked in the lot.

  The place was locked up tight. No telling if it was always that way or not. He combed the outside and then broke inside, looking for evidence or a sign of Caleb. Nothing but blood in what he surmised was a kill room, which he carried Vladimir into.

  How fitting. He’d end the man’s life where he’d probably ended a shit ton of people’s lives.

  Standing, he slapped Vladimir awake again and flipped smelling salts against the man’s nose.

  “Wake the fuck up. You don’t get to sleep through this.”

  He stepped back, waving his knife in front of the crime boss.

  “Now let’s try this again. Where is my brother!”

  “I don’t know!” Vladimir screamed.

  “You fucking liar. Where is my brother?” he asked again as he had cou
ntless times over the past several hours.

  “I don’t know!” Vladimir raged and spat at him.

  Micah knew every spot on the human body to stab or slice just enough to bring excruciating pain but not death. He moved in and struck, and then again.

  “Where is he?”

  “I don’t know, I swear there were hundreds of boys, they were sold, killed, given as gifts! It was just business,” the man screamed.

  “You motherfucker. This was personal and you fucking know it. Don’t play stupid now. You took Caleb to get to Rossi!” Micah turned and lifted a pair of pliers and pulled every fingernail from one of the man’s hands.

  It took a while. Vladimir screamed long and loud.

  “Was that how my brother screamed?”

  “No, wait. Wait. I gave him away,” Vladimir said panting.

  “To who?” He stilled, studying the criminal like a bug.

  “I don’t remember,” Vladimir gasped, his head lolling.

  Micah moved in, his knife slicing quickly, his eyes razor focused, the room disappearing, Vladimir screamed and screamed.

  “Mez!” Vladimir screeched. Choking on his own blood, he spat it at him. “Mez has him!”

  Micah’s knife flashed. The kingpin’s eyes rounded, rolled, and then Vladimir fought, yanking against the ropes that attached his wrists to the beam in the ceiling.

  “Where is Mez?” Micah pressed with his knife.

  “I don’t know,” Vladimir wheezed.

  His blade sliced and flashed and after several minutes, he stopped, breathing hard. Vladimir had passed out. He wiped a bloodied hand at his face and fumbled, hands slippery, and lifted the gag back over Vladimir’s mouth. The man would wake up soon enough.

  Exhausted, he dropped to the small stool behind him and closed his eyes. He dashed at his eyes, then wiped at his face, staring down at the blood covering his hands and the knife in his grip. A pair of intense, gunmetal gray eyes swam before his eyes.

  He had to finish this.

  Even if he lost his soul.

  Then he’d be done and he’d go home to Alex and work it out if Alex forgave him.