True Justice

by Morgan Kelley

  He opened his mouth.

  “We’re seizing your files.”

  The man went pale.

  “You fucked with my wife, Commissioner. Had your men come at me, I would have just kicked their asses and called it a day, but since you want to play dirty,” he said, moving closer. “I’ll show you dirty. I have more power behind me. Know who Gabriel Rothschild’s favorite agent is?”

  He swallowed.

  “No.”

  “Let’s just say you put the godmother of all six of his children in danger.”

  He went white.

  “I’ll see you in Hell. I’m the Devil, and it’s time to pay your dues. Your reign in Vegas is coming to an end.”

  He stuttered.

  “How’s your wife? Is she missing?”

  Those two sentences said it all.

  “Get me to my wife and Ivan. NOW!”

  The man rushed him to the holding cells. It was clear he was visibly worried. When they entered the cellblock, Ivan was in one cell, and he’d had the shit kicked out of him.

  “Are you okay?” Ethan asked.

  “Her. Worry about her! They were focused on Elizabeth!”

  That said it all.

  If he was a mess, she’d be one too. Then he turned and saw her. There, on the floor, was his wife, and she was in a straightjacket, battered, bloody, and bruised.

  Ethan Blackhawk went insane.

  Absolutely insane.

  He grabbed the commissioner by the suit and slammed him against the wall.

  “You’re dead,” he hissed. “You touched my wife. You had your scum rough her up. It’s on, Commissioner Raye. It’s on. Welcome to your end.”

  The man called for a guard.

  “Open the cells. Whoever did this is in deep shit!” he said, trying to cover his ass.

  A guard came running.

  When Ethan got to his wife, she wasn’t moving. She was out cold, and she was restrained.

  Ivan came limping into the cell. He dropped beside her.

  “I couldn’t get to her. They worked her over pretty hard. They pistol-whipped her. That’s all I saw before they dragged me away.”

  Ethan pulled the straight jacket off her. Her arms were cuffed behind her back and it looked like they’d kicked the shit out of her.

  “KEYS!” he roared.

  A guard tossed them to him.

  Ethan set her free.

  “Baby, come on, speak to me.”

  Her eyes fluttered.

  “Is Ivan okay?” she asked.

  “I’m good, Elizabeth,” he said. “We’re good now. Ethan got here.”

  She sat up, and her head really hurt.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “Cops are assholes,” she muttered.

  Wilcox came in.

  “Sir, we need to go out the back. The media is swarming. They are all over the place. I can get you both out of here without them seeing Elizabeth.”

  “Give me the keys to the ride,” Ivan stated. “You’ll have to carry her,” he said. “They worked her shoulder pretty good. I could see her through the double glass. They made me watch.”

  Ethan was furious.

  No, furious didn’t cut it.

  He was ready to hurt an asshole—big time.

  Wilcox picked Elizabeth up and held her as they prepared to head out.

  “Lead the way,” he said. “I’ll get her out.”

  Ethan followed.

  He stopped in front of the man.

  “Who were they?” he asked. “I want the cops’ names. They’re going to jail. I’ll have my agents pick them up.”

  He rattled their names off.

  Reluctantly.

  “She physically assaulted them!” he said, defending them. “They’re a mess.”

  Oh, they would be with the devil in a few minutes.

  “Be afraid, Commissioner. You won’t see me coming for you until it’s too late. It’s war. I’m going to bury you.”

  Blackhawk headed out.

  When he was gone, the commissioner lost it. He headed straight for the two cops who were getting patched up in the other room.

  “I said detain and make her miserable. I didn’t say leave marks all over her!”

  The cops looked worried.

  “She fought back.”

  “Jesus! Good help is hard to find!” he said, heading out. This was one more mess.

  More importantly, Blackhawk brought up his wife.

  That was bad.

  Very.

  Very.

  Bad.

  As they went to go outside, Ethan stopped them. Oh, this wasn’t over. The commissioner allowed his cops to besmirch his wife’s reputation.

  They’d called her a killer.

  It was far from over.

  It was only beginning.

  “We’re going out through the front. The commissioner wanted to play a game, so we’re going to play it. I’m sorry, baby,” he stated.

  Normally, he wouldn’t flaunt his wife being a mess.

  This time, he’d get her justice.

  Heading out the front doors, the media surrounded him. They’d seen Elizabeth going in, and she didn’t look the same going out.

  Immediately, the questions began, and they aimed right at police brutality.

  He’d let them run with it.

  Wilcox carried Elizabeth to the vehicle while he fielded questions.

  “What happened in there?” one reporter asked.

  “My wife was physically assaulted by two LVPD officers. She was restrained and beaten.”

  There was a gasp.

  Oh, this would keep the commissioner busy.

  As would this.

  “She was investigating here in Vegas on behalf of the FBI, and they ignored that she told them she was on duty, locked her in a cell, and physically assaulted her.”

  He told them the two cops’ names.

  They all began writing it down.

  “What are your plans?” another asked.

  “We will be filing a police brutality lawsuit against the LVPD and Commissioner Jeffrey Raye, immediately. Both cops will be arrested and charged with assault on a federal officer. We will have an attorney contacting them shortly.”

  Yeah, he was going to find an ambulance chasing one who would drag this shit mess out for years. Oh, if Jeffrey Raye wanted to play, he’d play.

  “Is your wife going to be okay?” one reporter asked. This was so unlike the Blackhawks that the media was clearly worried about her.

  “I don’t know.”

  He went with that to stir the pot for the commissioner.

  With that, he ignored the rest of the questions and headed toward the vehicle.

  “Back to Sky Villa,” he said, turning off his phone. Callen would see the news, and he’d likely flip out.

  It had to wait.

  Now it was time to worry about his wife.

  The rest…it was on his back burner.

  * * * G R E Y S O N C R O F T * * *

  Vine Street

  Las Vegas

  It took two tries, but he’d managed to narrow down the houses on that big ass street. When they sent him and Heath out to find the man’s base, he thought it was a waste of time.

  Only, he’d learned something.

  He liked Vegas, and that it wasn’t a waste.

  They narrowed it down, and while Heath was out playing babysitter to Greyson Croft, he had pinpointed the man’s base.

  Or so he thought.

  Gamble began taking pictures.

  He knew the bosses would want the most information on the location as possible.

  He’d do his job.

  As he sat there in his ride, he saw the man heading into the building.

  He took some pictures of him, and he zoomed in on the man’s keypad. He rapidly took pictures of each button he pushed.

  The code was now his.

  The man went in, looked around, and seemed to focus in Gamble’s direction.


  He slid lower into the vehicle, and when the man disappeared, he headed out of there.

  His mission was done.

  Now to get it back to the bosses.

  It was a job well done.

  * * * G R E Y S O N C R O F T * * *

  Vegas

  This was bad.

  The shit was hitting the fan.

  When he’d found out that the man was fired from the FBI, by his call, he was in a panic. He’d had no choice.

  He knew too much.

  His boss had planted him in the sex trafficking ring so he could watch it, but little did he know he was helping himself to some of the goodies.

  Pussy.

  He couldn’t resist.

  He’d been lured in, and now he was helping Rosemary do her business here and in other cities.

  He’d cut out the man’s tongue to keep him from screaming as he tortured him.

  He needed to know what Robert Lee had told the Blackhawks.

  He needed to know if he was safe, or if he needed to bail.

  Vegas was on the cusp of blowing up, and this didn’t look good for him at all.

  It was time to take out anyone who could pin him to this. If Lee didn’t lie, he’d be safe.

  Did he trust him?

  He wasn’t sure.

  He’d have to wait and see.

  It may be time to cut his losses and disappear with Rosemary.

  If he didn’t, he could be dead next.

  * * * G R E Y S O N C R O F T * * *

  Viktor Marchenko’s

  Lair

  He knew he was being watched, but he simply didn’t know by who. Once he found out, he’d make sure he handled it and fast. There was no way anyone was going to get the jump on him. Were the Feds moving in?

  Was it a cop?

  Maybe it was his supplier. He hoped it wasn’t her. He’d let her live, and he would regret it if she was playing some game. He’d end her before she knew what was happening.

  Then again, he might be a tad bit paranoid. It was part of the game.

  All he knew was who it couldn’t be.

  It couldn’t be his brother.

  He’d killed him.

  He loved that part of this the best. His murdering, bastard brother was gone, and he was the LAST Marchenko male to carry on his father’s legacy. While his brother Maximillian had lived with their father, his mother had told him he was his favorite.

  He believed her.

  She tried so hard to make him perfect for his father.

  And she had.

  So, maybe, just maybe, he was worried about nothing.

  Inside his spacious home, he headed toward the room that he loved best.

  His playroom.

  Inside, he checked on his pets.

  That’s what they were. They were there to greet him when he came home, keep him company, and make his life good. His job was to keep them alive.

  Barely.

  Opening the box, he saw the one floating in her watery grave. He would have to get rid of her soon. She was beginning to bloat. Soon, she’d split open and be a hot mess.

  Tonight, he’d dump her.

  He had the perfect place.

  Heading toward the closet in the room, he opened it up. Inside, he found his favorite one cowering in a corner. She was blinded by his own hands.

  Now she couldn’t run.

  She couldn’t escape.

  “Hello, pet,” he said, making her cower even more.

  The second she whimpered, he grinned.

  And got hard.

  It was time to play with his pet. She was his favorite. She was submissive, but she’d fight after a point. She was beautiful, and she looked so damn young.

  That got him off.

  He loved that best about her. Out of all her attributes, it was definitely the fact that she looked like a child.

  She was perfection.

  He knew he’d never find another one he could love more than this one. She was his treasured toy.

  He headed toward the bed and began stripping.

  When he sat, he called for her.

  “Come to daddy, little one,” he crooned.

  She immediately crawled out of the closet and toward his voice like she’d been trained.

  Out of all of them, she was the ONLY one who listened to him. She was his best pet ever.

  “If you make daddy happy, you get a shower and food. Would you like that?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “I bought you two cans of dog food. You can pick which one you would like.”

  She whimpered.

  “Now, come here and pleasure me. I want you to blow me, and then…then the fun will begin.”

  His laughter said it all.

  It would be fun for him.

  Not for her.

  * * * G R E Y S O N C R O F T * * *

  The Titty Corral

  Las Vegas

  Wednesday Late

  Morning

  When they finally got there, Greyson was ready to do it. He wanted to get in, do the interviews, and get out. They had reporters following them, and there was no doubt they were going to get some questions.

  Whenever he went to a strip club, people assumed the worst.

  It wasn’t like he could blame them.

  This was likely going to be one hell of a bust. His wife had done this interview before, and he already knew karma was his for dumping this shithole on her.

  “You ready?” he asked.

  Riley was smiling beside him.

  “Uh, happy?”

  “I’ve missed being a productive member of society. It’s not easy to sit at home all day and do nothing.”

  He laughed.

  “I know. I do it most days.” Then again, he did it with Emma, and they knew how to pass the time.

  “I’m ready. How do you want to play it?” Riley asked. “Good—not quite a cop, and really bad—no longer a cop?” he teasingly asked.

  Greyson laughed.

  That about summed it up.

  “We need to find out who is going to be most likely hanging out with Rosemary.”

  “How will we get that intel? This is a strip joint.”

  Greyson smiled at him.

  “Oh. I’m going to get a lap dance, aren’t I?”

  He laughed.

  “Delilah is going to be pissed. She was just using this lap this morning too. It is a perfectly good lap until I rub a stripper all over it.”

  “Here’s what I do. When I have to do something sleazy, I buy the wife something pretty. It makes her happy, and me less guilty.”

  He laughed.

  “This is Delilah. She eats men for snacks. She picks the remains of cops from her fangs when she comes home. If you think that will even work, you’re insane. That will be a million times worse.”

  Then again, he did like growing their garter collection. That might not be a bad idea.

  “You love every second of her being a man-eater too.”

  Croft had him there.

  “It’s totally hot.”

  Greyson pointed.

  “Let’s get this handled. I have shit to do that doesn’t involve staring at tits that are NOT my wife’s.”

  They got out, and the media swarmed.

  “Are you out getting laid since the wife is pregnant and won’t put out?” someone shouted.

  He wanted to strangle his mother.

  “No comment.”

  “Are you here with your friend to get off with a hooker, Mr. Croft?” someone yelled.

  Riley blocked him, as did Heath.

  They headed toward the door.

  Greyson dropped the cash, and they hustled in to avoid any more questions.

  Someone might die.

  “I hate places like this,” Heath said, looking around. “Do you know the kinds of germs here?” he asked, pulling sanitizer out of his pocket.

  They stared at him.

  “What? I don’t want chlamydia.”

&n
bsp; Greyson shook his head. He headed toward the bartenders and took a seat.

  One was a scantily clad woman and the other a man.

  “You’re Greyson Croft,” she said, leaning over the bar to give him one hell of a tit shot.

  He ignored it.

  If he focused on every woman who tried to get his attention with breasts, he’d be divorced and bored. She wasn’t even close to getting his attention.

  Now Emma…

  “I need some answers. Put your breasts away. Don’t insult me with overly fake tits. I’m married.”

  She looked disappointed.

  “What?”

  “Rosemary Harrington.”

  That was all he said.

  The man moved forward to join the conversation.

  “Your wife was in here a few weeks ago. I talked to her then,” he said.

  “And you are?”

  “Mitchel Hanna. She was looking for answers about some of the people who worked here.”

  Well, this was as good a place to start.

  He was picking up his wife’s trail.

  “Have you seen Rosemary?” Riley asked, getting his attention.

  “Hell no! We saw on the news she was on the run.”

  “Well, she owns this place. How is it still running?” Croft asked.

  “It’s pretty self-sufficient. She set it up that way, I guess. I never knew she owned the place. Honestly, she never let on. We get our paychecks every week delivered by a courier, and we log in and out on the cash registers,” he said, pointing at them.

  Yeah, it sounded like she’d planned for all of this. She’d been ready.

  “Has anyone seen her?”

  He shook his head.

  “No, but you can ask around. It’s a slow day in here. It usually is on Hump Day. Ironically.”

  Greyson rolled his eyes.

  Yeah, he was hysterical.

  “Who’s been here the longest?” Riley asked, taking over. “I mean employee wise.”

  He pointed to a woman on the stage.

  “That’s Danger.”

  They all looked her way.

  “She’s Russian and bad to the bone. She’s not going to talk to you if you are asking questions without a dance.”