Sweet Revenge

by Christy Reece

  Always aware of his surroundings, Dylan felt a strange chill zip up his spine. He took another glance around the room, careful not to settle on anyone in particular. In a shithole like this, if you made eye contact, you were in trouble. His quick scan gave him an update: eight men and three women in the room with him and Armando. Most of them were doing their own thing—a couple playing pool, one man throwing darts. One man in the corner was getting a not so discreet blow job from a woman, while another man leaned against the wall and watched, probably waiting his turn.

  Dylan turned away. Yeah, he’d definitely been in classier joints.

  Still, that feeling of being watched, being considered, lingered. There were eyes on him. He shot another glance at Armando, who dropped his gaze quickly, almost guiltily. What the hell?

  They came at him from both sides. Two men, about Dylan’s height but muscle-bound and thick-necked—men who could be used as cautionary tales against steroids. Neither of them rushed him; they just came toward him slow and menacing. Their blank, soulless eyes left no doubt of their intent.

  Dylan didn’t bother to look at Armando for help. The man had set this up for some reason. Had his cover been blown or was this a test? At this point, nothing mattered other than surviving the next few minutes.

  As if taking a leisurely swallow of his beer, Dylan lifted his glass and, in a flash, slammed the heavy mug into the face of the man on his right. Knowing that’d take him out of the fight for only a few seconds, Dylan immediately whirled around to the other man. With his right arm, he blocked the meaty fist headed toward his head and followed with a left hook to the guy’s jaw, a hard kick to his chest, and then a punch to his groin. The guy staggered, giving Dylan time to handle the man he’d tapped with his beer mug. Twisting halfway, he side-kicked the guy’s already bloodied nose and then slammed a controlled fist into the man’s throat. A harder hit would have killed him … a kill wasn’t his intent. That’d bring attention no one wanted, especially an undercover LCR operative.

  With one man down, he turned to deal with the other one, but not before a thud to the side of his head almost brought him to his knees. Ignoring the pain, Dylan made use of his bent knees, grabbed the stool in front of him, and whirled. He saw the guy’s eyes widen in terror a split second before the stool slammed across his face. Blood spurted and the man fell to his knees, grabbing his face and neck where the wooden legs had slashed deep crevices. The creep hadn’t been pretty before and was even less so now.

  With his breath settling down, Dylan became aware of the dead silence in the smoke-filled room. All eyes were on him, and even through the fog, he could see the grudging respect in the patrons’ expressions. If nothing else, at least these vermin wouldn’t try to challenge him, too.

  Turning back to Armando, Dylan wasn’t surprised to see the wide grin on the man’s face. Apparently this had been a test, and judging by the man’s pleased expression, Dylan had passed.

  Raising a brow, he asked, “So, are we going hunting now or you got something else to throw at me?”

  Guttural laughter exploded from Armando. Slapping Dylan on the back, he called out, “A round of drinks in honor of my very good and talented friend.”

  More shouts of laughter and a few “hear hears”, and then, as if nothing unusual had occurred, each person went back to what they’d been doing before. Dylan noted that the man who’d been waiting for his blow job was now being serviced. The two men he’d knocked out were silently pulled out the door. And life, in all its disgusting wonder, went on.

  Armando gave Dylan another hardy slap on his back and pulled out a stool for him. “I knew you were going to be able to handle yourself, but, man, you did better than I ever expected.”

  Taking a swallow of his beer, Dylan shrugged. “You want to tell me what that was about?”

  “You graduated, my friend. That’s what it was all about.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I told the boss man about you.” Armando thudded a fist against his own chest. “He values my opinion above all others. This was your final exam before I introduce you to him.” He grinned again, revealing small, slightly yellowed teeth that reminded Dylan of a piranha’s. “Soon you will meet him.”

  Though showing no emotion was Dylan’s normal expression, it was more of a struggle than usual not to react with elation at the news. Yes, dammit, yes! He was going to get close to the son of a bitch.

  With a jerk of his head, Dylan nodded. “Good.”

  “Ready to go hunting?”

  “No.”

  The gleam left Armando’s eyes. “Why not?”

  Dylan knew he was taking a risk here, but he believed it was the right move to make. Being a pushover and a follower didn’t impress anyone, even scumbag human traffickers. “I kicked the shit out of those two pieces of vermin. A couple of weeks ago, I brought you two prime pieces of ass that sold at a damn fine price. I sat through auctions that made my dick so hard I could crush a rock with it and didn’t take a fucking thing for myself. That’s enough. If your boss wants me to work for him, then it’s time to move forward. If not, I’ve got plenty of other options.”

  A flash of anger came into Armando’s eyes but was quickly doused. He had wanted an underling—a buddy to pal around with and play his sick games with him. Instead, he had gotten an equal. He nodded. “I’ll call the boss. See when he might be available.”

  Unable to sit beside the creep any longer or suffer the stench of bad cigarettes and body odor, Dylan stood. “Call me.” With those words, he took his time walking through the bar. He could feel eyes on him, but he had no concern that he’d be confronted again. He’d earned his place at the bar; more importantly, he’d earned his place with Reddington.

  Armando would be getting in touch with him in a few days, and then, hopefully, he’d be meeting the head slimeball himself. For now, Dylan wanted to go back to his crappy apartment, take another shower, and think about sunshine.

  sixteen

  Reddington’s island

  A gurgle of laughter brought a smile to Jamie’s face. How could she have forgotten how much she loved teaching? Even though there was another purpose for being here, having an opportunity to teach Amelia Reddington was still a delight.

  She tried not to think about what this precious child was going to suffer once her father went to prison. Dwelling on that would do no good. The man had to be stopped.

  Though she’d been on the island for only a week, from what she could tell, Reddington’s family knew nothing about his illegal endeavors. Which really shouldn’t be a surprise, since they were cloistered and isolated from the rest of the world. How did they stand the remoteness? Jamie had never considered herself a world traveler, but at least she had a choice. Reddington’s family was well taken care of and given every luxury. But the beauty of their surroundings didn’t negate the fact that they were prisoners.

  Giselle, Reddington’s seventeen-year-old daughter, was as delightful as her sister. Seemingly content with her life, the young woman acted as if there was nothing odd in not being allowed to leave the island, even for a day of shopping.

  In talking to the teen, she learned that she and her mother perused catalogs and magazines; whatever they wanted was purchased. Deliveries were made once a week, and she had been encouraged to order whatever she wanted, too.

  Jamie had nodded and made appreciative comments, knowing that if she said the wrong thing, she’d be in a world of trouble.

  None of this was really her business. She was here to find the information she needed to bring this man down, not bring the twenty-first century to the island. Technology wasn’t necessarily a good thing, and the children probably were better read for not having the distraction of computer games and cellphones. At some point, though, they would have to join the world. What kind of future would they face when they’d had no exposure to prepare them?

  She glanced over at Amelia. The child was deep into a Junie B. Jones adventure. That series had been one of Jamie
’s favorites as a kid. After Amelia finished, they had plans to walk on the beach and discuss the story.

  So far, she’d been consumed with her job and had done nothing to advance her agenda on obtaining what she’d come here to get. She and Reddington had seen each other twice. Once when she’d first arrived; and the second time had been two nights ago. She had taken a walk on the beach and entered the house from a side patio. He’d been walking down the hallway and had looked directly at her. It had been all Jamie could do not to freeze up, terrified that he would somehow recognize her. Instead, she had smiled and said a soft good night. Reddington had grunted and kept on going.

  Soon she would face the real test. Jamie usually ate dinner in her room, but Mrs. Reddington had stopped by the classroom this morning and invited her to have dinner with the family on Friday night. She would not only be within a few feet of Reddington; she would have to carry on a conversation with him.

  Added to that worry was Raphael. So far, Jamie had seen only glimpses of him, but he was sure to be at the dinner. Would either of the men recognize her? Why was Raphael even here? Was he working for LCR, working on his own, or had Reddington managed to turn a decent kid into a fiend like him?

  No, from what Noah had told her, Raphael had been dealt more than his share of hard breaks. Not only that, he had assisted in her rescue. There was no way he’d turned to the dark side.

  But from what she remembered, Noah had strongly encouraged him to stay out of LCR business. So he was doing this on his own?

  Jamie was struck with indecision. She’d been so focused on being the lone person to find the information, she wasn’t sure what to do now. Should she continue to keep her identity to herself or should she try to get Raphael alone and see if they could work together?

  At that thought, she immediately pulled back. Revealing herself could open up a chasm she wouldn’t be able to close. Even worse, she could wind up putting the young man in danger. She had come prepared for the risk; the last thing she wanted was to involve someone else.

  What more did LCR know about Reddington’s location? McKenna had told her that LCR would never give up. Pain squeezed her chest when she thought about what she was keeping from her sister. Would McKenna ever forgive her?

  After leaving the cabin that spring morning, Jamie had set her plan into motion. It had taken her three hours to get to the airport in Charlottesville. She’d spent much of that time on the phone, getting in touch with people she’d put off contacting. Okay, admittedly, the first half hour had been spent crying and cursing Dylan. But by the time she was at a lower elevation, she had recovered. She had survived worse than a broken heart. When she’d pulled into the airport parking lot, most of her plans had been in place.

  The toughest part of all was visiting McKenna in Paris and telling her that she was no longer intent on going after Reddington and, instead, wanted to return to the States and find a job. The dead silence after she dropped that bombshell had her almost spilling everything. But she couldn’t do that. If she revealed her plans to McKenna, not only would her sister be horrified, but she’d tell Noah and Dylan, and then everything Jamie had done would have been for nothing.

  Once this was over, once she had accomplished her goals, she would apologize and ask for forgiveness.

  “Are you all right?”

  Jamie jerked her head up to see a sympathetic and worried Amelia standing in front of her.

  Stretching her mouth into her best fake smile, she said, “I’m fine. Did you finish your book?”

  “Did someone hurt your feelings?”

  Jamie jerked at the question. “Why would you think that?”

  “Because you were crying.”

  Touching her face, Jamie felt the tears she hadn’t known were falling from her eyes. Great, just what she didn’t need—questions about her stability.

  She took a breath. Well, she had a cover, and it was time to put it to good use. “I guess I was just thinking about my husband.”

  Looking wiser than her eight years, Amelia nodded. “Mama told me your husband went to heaven.”

  Tears blurred her eyes again. How ridiculous—now she was about to start sobbing over her fake husband? Thankful for the box of tissues on her desk, she quickly dried her eyes and blew her nose. Then she smiled again, this time for real. “He’s in a much better place, so I shouldn’t be sad about that.” She gestured at the book in the girl’s hand. “Did you enjoy your book?”

  In a flash, the wise look was replaced with an impish eight-year-old sassiness. “I wish I could get away with some of the things Junie gets away with.”

  Jamie laughed. “I think your mother might have some issues with that.” Standing, she looked down at her watch. “Why don’t you change into your play clothes and meet me on the east patio in about twenty minutes. We’ll walk on the beach and talk about the problems Junie could avoid if she wasn’t so mischievous.”

  With an enthusiastic nod of agreement, Amelia turned and, feet flying, ran out the door.

  Jamie leaned against the edge of the desk and bit her lip. She hadn’t planned on liking Reddington’s family, but other than the man himself, his family was hard not to love. Sarah Reddington was obviously devoted to her children, and though she had a no-nonsense approach to Amelia’s education, she also had a gentle humor and a quiet dignity Jamie couldn’t help but admire.

  Giselle was lovely and kind, Amelia was a delight, and the other child, a little boy named Eric, was a chubby, happy three-year-old.

  To an outsider, the Reddingtons looked like the ideal family. And if it wasn’t for the vile side business Jamie was all too aware of, Stanford Reddington would appear to be the epitome of a devoted husband and father. His ideas about keeping his family isolated and cocooned from the world might seem to be merely the whims of an overprotective and eccentric millionaire.

  But Jamie did know the truth. Reddington had isolated his family on this island for one reason only: to keep the truth from them. As much as she’d hate to see their disillusionment and hurt when that reality was revealed, Jamie knew she had no choice. Even now, the man was abducting and selling people who’d done nothing wrong other than be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  Her course was set. She would do everything she could to minimize the family’s pain, but she refused to back down. Stanford Reddington would pay and, hopefully, so would his vile, disgusting son.

  With her chin back up in the air and her determination reestablished, Jamie headed to her room to change. After their walk, it would be naptime for Amelia. Which meant it would be the perfect time to begin her search.

  Madrid

  Engulfed in his sumptuous leather recliner, Stanford puffed on his treasured cigar and waited for the sale to begin. How he had missed this aspect of his business. Now, after months of lying low and keeping a diligent eye out for any possible infiltrators into his private affairs, it was time to resume life as usual.

  Though the auctions had started up again last month, Stanford had kept himself away. That had been a test. Were anyone watching and waiting, they would have pounced at that time. Instead, the sales had gone through without any problems or concerns.

  The danger had passed. Now it was time to make up for lost revenue.

  After the sale, Armando wanted to introduce him to a young man named John Wheeler he claimed he was mentoring. When Stanford had heard about him, his radar had gone on high alert. What better way for the LCR organization to get to him than to sneak one of their own into his organization?

  Armando had fiercely denied the possibility. The young man had proven himself over and over. Had brought excellent merchandise to the market. Seemed to have a flair for determining quality and price. The other night, he had passed a test Armando always insisted on giving, and from the sound of it, Wheeler had been able to handle himself quite well. Having Armando’s respect wasn’t an easy accomplishment. However, the most important thing, at least from Stanford’s perspective, was that the young man underst
ood the flesh market.

  The endorsement of his trusted employee meant a lot. Armando had been with him for years and had shown his loyalty time and again. However, taking a new man into his organization was too important to leave to chance. Stanford had hired his most trusted investigator and, yesterday, had received a detailed report. When Stanford had read about Wheeler’s impressive background, he’d had to admit that this man might well be a solid addition to his staff.

  Cautious to a fault, Stanford would reserve final judgment until he met the young man in person. He would see it in the man’s eyes, his demeanor. If Wheeler lived up to the hype, Stanford would offer him permanent employment, along with a substantial salary.

  A slight noise below pulled him back to the present. His anticipation zoomed once more. Though he sampled the merchandise only occasionally, he always felt rejuvenated after a successful auction. Sarah had often been the recipient of his fired up libido. By the time he made it home to her, he would be almost overwhelmed with need. Stanford smiled. Even his wife benefited from his business.

  The first piece of merchandise appeared. Dressed in plain white cotton underwear and nothing more, she wore an expression of abject terror. Stanford ignored that. Her emotions weren’t his concern. Eyeing her up and down, he accessed in a few short seconds what she could bring and which of his business associates would be most interested.

  With a slight hand gesture, Stanford indicated that she should be led off the stage. After jotting detailed notes in his journal, he took another puff from his cigar and waited for the next item to appear. Yes, it was definitely good to be back at work.