Chapter 8
After a good three hours of searching the Area 51 desert terrain for Becca with no luck, Sterling wind-walked to the Nevada mountains and the underground headquarters for the Renegades. He entered Sunrise City with murder on his mind—Damion’s to be precise. He charged through the facility, and with a few inquiries, went straight for his target in the “war room,” the Renegades operation center.
Kicking the door open, he found Damion sitting at the conference table with Caleb and Michael on either side of him, along with four other high-ranking Renegades. One look in Sterling’s direction and the room seemed to get the message. No one dared any “welcome homes,” and Caleb motioned for them all to leave. Everyone stood and quickly complied, except Michael, who considered himself Caleb’s personal bodyguard, which was fine with Sterling. He and Michael had their personal battles, but they were friends at the core. Michael and Caleb were about the only two people he would trust if his life depended on it right now. There was a time not so long ago, when Damion would have been included on that short list.
Sterling stepped out of the doorway to let the four other men pass, as he waited for Damion, adrenaline rushing through his limbs in anticipation of his approach. The instant Damion was within reach Sterling grabbed him and flung him onto the conference table.
Michael arched a dark brow as Damion slid to a halt between him and Caleb. “Bad mood, Sterling?”
“Bad mood doesn’t even begin to describe it,” Sterling said, already stalking toward the table.
“What the fuck, man?” Damion demanded, starting to get up.
Sterling jumped on the table and was on top of Damion in a flash, grabbing a handful of his shirt again. Pumped up on anger and fear for Becca, Sterling had Damion against the wall in another blink.
“You fake, Mr. All-American, do everything by the book, piece-of-shit traitor, with your GI Joe haircut and morals of steel,” Sterling ground out. “You gave her up. You gave me up.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Damion demanded.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know,” Sterling warned. “Because that’s only going to piss me off more, and you don’t want to do that right now.”
“Wow,” Caleb said, pressing them apart with an assist from Michael. “What’s this about?”
“Damion handed Rebecca Burns over to Tad Bensen. That’s what the fuck this is about.”
Damion glared at Sterling. “You handed that woman over, not me.”
Sterling lunged at Damion. “You lying sack of shit.”
Michael cursed and shoved Sterling to the table, blocking his view of Damion. “Take a breath, man. Let’s figure this out.”
“He’s Zodius,” Sterling seethed, enunciating every word tightly. “And you know me well enough to know I wouldn’t make such an accusation if I wasn’t dead certain.”
Michael narrowed his gaze before he stepped aside to glance at Caleb, but not without maintaining a handful of Sterling’s shirt for good measure. Sonofabitch. Sterling was going to kick Michael’s ass, too, if he didn’t let him go.
“This is insane,” Damion mumbled furiously, talking to Caleb, who had his hand pressed to his shoulder, holding him immobile. “He’s crazy. He was hurt and delirious, and I’m not taking the fall for his stupid, daredevil mistakes that got that woman killed.” He glared at Sterling. “Stop trying to prove you’re as GTECH as the rest of us before you get someone else killed.”
Fury exploded in Sterling at the reference to Sterling’s limited wind-walking ability and a few other shortfalls that only a handful of people knew existed. Sterling lunged forward, managing to land a blow on Damion’s jaw, before Michael and Caleb could gain control again.
Michael held Sterling against the table and looked over his shoulder at Damion. “Why did you go there, man? Seriously why?” He returned his attention to Sterling. “That shit he just said doesn’t matter,” Michael said, shared understanding in his gaze, the feeling of being an outcast. While Sterling had a few limitations, Michael had a few extra assets that scared the shit out of people. “You’re both pissed and saying things you don’t mean.”
“Oh yeah, I’m pissed,” Sterling agreed. “I have never risked anyone’s life but my own, and I’ve damn sure saved a hell of a lot more than him.”
“Oh Jeezus, Sterling,” Damion said. “Why don’t we get out our dicks and measure them too?”
Sterling kept his gaze locked on Michael. “Maybe you should remind him I’m as good at taking lives as I am at saving them.”
“I said meet me at the upstairs window,” Damion yelled behind them. “Why the hell did you go out the back door? And why the hell did you hand her over to the Zodius without a fight?”
“Oh, that’s priceless,” Sterling said in the midst of a bitter laugh as Michael moved from between the two of them. “You were at the window. You think I don’t remember that? And we both know you were on the back porch, that I handed Becca to you.”
“You came out the back door before I ever made it to the window.”
Anger uncurled in Sterling, calmer now, more calculated. “Your lies are going to get you nice and dead, Damion.”
“I am not working for Adam,” Damion insisted vehemently, his chin lifting in Michael’s direction. “You were undercover inside Zodius until only a few months ago. If I was working for Adam, wouldn’t you know?”
“A lot can happen in a few months,” Michael stated.
Damion made a frustrated sound. “I am not working for Adam!”
“Why didn’t we hear about any of this until now, Damion?” Caleb demanded.
“Because it was done,” Damion said. “For all I knew Sterling was dead, and I wasn’t going to throw accusations at a dead man you considered a friend.”
Caleb considered him a moment, then released Damion and indicated the door to Michael. “You and Damion leave Sterling and me alone.”
Michael cast Sterling a warning look before releasing him. Sterling stood rock steady, his eyes locked on Damion. “She’s not dead. But I can promise you this. If anything happens to her, I will kill you.”
Several tense seconds passed before Damion pushed off the wall and walked away without another word. Neither Sterling nor Caleb spoke until the door to the war room shut behind Michael.
“He’s not lying,” Caleb said softly.
“The hell he’s not,” Sterling said. “I saw him hand her over. I don’t care what your damn Spidey senses tell you.”
“I know you believe that,” he said. “I know you’re not lying, and I wouldn’t need my ‘Spidey’ senses to know that, because I know you. But I can tell you without any question, you both believe what you’re saying is the one hundred percent truth.” He paused a moment. “I thought you were dead.”
Sterling ran a hand through his hair and sat on the edge of the table. “Yeah well, I should be, and she will be, if I don’t find her and find her fast.” He recounted the past few days, including Becca’s ICE addiction and ending with the details of their escape. “I have no idea what happened in that section of Zodius City, but Becca and I were the only ones who were conscious.”
“Were they dead?” Caleb asked from the spot where he’d perched against the wall.
“No clue, and there wasn’t time to spare to find out,” he said. “And it can’t be a toxin, or Becca and I would have been affected.”
They talked a few more minutes, and while debriefing was necessary, Sterling was once again feeling that “ready to climb out of his own skin” sensation. He needed to be out of here. He needed to find Becca.
“She’s personal to you?” Caleb asked, watching him closely.
“Yeah,” he said. “She’s personal.” There was no reason to deny the truth he didn’t quite understand. Not only would Caleb sense his feelings, Caleb was the brother he’d never had. And Becca mattered to him more than anything had in a very long time.
Caleb pushed off the wall. “We’ll find her,” Caleb promised.
But would they find her before it was too late to save her?
***
Sterling left Sunrise City near ten o’clock, early for Vegas, especially on Friday night, and he planned to use every second he had available to find Becca. With a few phone calls to both his street team and various outside contacts, he determined that ICE had gone underground, dealt through some sort of private club system.
When the words “private” and “money” were involved, Sterling, or rather his bounty hunter who did anything for the right price, knew where to go. By ten thirty, Sterling was exiting the elevator of the Magnolia Casino, one of the biggest moneymakers on the strip, and followed a cushioned, red-carpeted path. Expected, he entered the security booth, where a front windowpane overlooked the casino. Computer monitors lined walls and hung from the ceiling.
In the center of the room stood Marcus Lyons, the head of security for three of the largest casino resort operations on the strip. Tall and athletic with dark hair, he wore the same black suit as his staff, but with a blood-red tie that said, look at me, I’m George-freaking-Clooney. Whatever got the guy off, as far as Sterling was concerned. The man was connected like a lightbulb in this city. That’s all that mattered. And the man would be king as far as Sterling was concerned if he led him to Becca. With a lift of his chin, Marcus motioned to the office in the back of the booth, and Sterling followed. Shutting the door behind him went without saying.
“What was so urgent?” Marcus asked, turning to face him.
“I have a client who wants a large stock of ICE,” he said. “He’s willing to pay premium plus. And don’t tell me you don’t know what it is. This is worth too much money to play games. He wants what he wants, and he wants it tonight.”
Marcus studied him a long moment. “If I give you this information and you make a contact, I want a piece of the action.”
“If I make a contact?”
“I’ve got a location, and that’s it,” he said. “But it took some serious bullying to get it.” His lips lifted as he added, “I like to be prepared for occasions such as this one. But if you go to this place, opportunity may or may not present itself. But I’ll have someone nearby. Someone watching. I’ll know if you make contact. I’ll expect to be paid.”
“I’ve always paid, and paid well for information,” Sterling said, legs in a V, arms crossed. The Renegades had deep-pocket funding, in part, from Renegades like Michael and Damion, who were born with silver spoons. “Why would that change now?”
“What’s your ‘take’ on this deal?” Marcus inquired, a keen look in his blue eyes.
He hesitated intentionally, playing the negotiation game expected of him. Not an easy task when he wanted to shake Marcus until he told him what he wanted to know. “Fifty Gs.”
Marcus arched a brow. “I’ll take thirty.”
Sterling snorted out a laugh and fixed Marcus in an “are you whacked” look. “And the real number is…?”
“We both know you didn’t tell me your full price,” Marcus countered. “You lowered the number. I want thirty, or you get nothing from me.”
Sterling whistled, putting on a show. “That’s steep, you greedy sonofabitch.”
“Not when you’re talking about stockpiling something as hot and impossible to find as ICE,” he said. “So take it.” He folded his arms in front of his chest. “Or leave it.”
“I get the location now. Tonight.”
“I get a retainer now, or no deal,” Marcus countered.
Sterling sauntered over to the desk and hiked one hip up on the edge. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash secured with a clip and tossed it on the desk. “That’s ten. I figured that would be enough to get you one of those fancy manicures you like so much.”
Marcus laughed, noticeably relaxing. “I don’t know who’s a bigger asshole. You or me.”
“I like to think we have our own brand of assholeness,” Sterling said dryly. “You’re the suit-wearing, talk-down-to-you, and then bust-your-wallet-in-the-balls, kind of asshole. I’m the dirty-boxing, back-alley kind of asshole.” He pushed off the desk. “Now where am I going?”
“When do I get the rest of my money?”
“When I get the ICE.”
Marcus considered a moment. “Don’t fuck me over, Sterling.”
“Back at you, asshole,” Sterling replied snidely. “You have my ten grand.”
Marcus considered a moment then he said, “Nebula,” naming the newest addition to the club scene, located inside a competing casino property. Marcus gave Sterling’s attire of jeans and a T-shirt a once-over. “You might want to make sure to blend with the crowd. It’s not your typical Vegas hot spot. This place is more leather and chains than denim.”
Dryly, Sterling replied, “And here I thought you might come with me.” He shrugged. “Too bad.” The tension between them evaporated. Despite all their mocking exchanges, they almost liked each other. They’d done too many of these deals together not to respect each other’s value. “Later, Marcus.”
“Bring us both back some money, Sterling.”
Sterling waved as he exited, ready for action.
***
To hell with changing clothes to fit into some goth-themed drug bar. By eleven thirty, Sterling was standing in the far corner of the smoke-filled, three-story portion of the Empire Tower Casino’s Club Nebula, nursing a beer for show and thinking of that moment when he’d handed Becca over to Damion. It had been Damion, he was sure of it.
Nonchalantly, he tilted back his beer again, studying the far corner by the bar where two punkers—one with a Mohawk and the other with a spiked ’do—were talking with a woman. One of the punkers partially blocked his view. A glimpse of long black hair and he set the beer down with a thud, waiting for a better line of sight, hoping like hell it was Becca, which was insane. He was making himself crazy. The place was crawling with goth-black hairdos.
“Hey, sugar,” came a purring female voice, as a raven-haired beauty shoved up close to his chair, nuzzling her ample breast on his arm. A dealer… that was the buzz in the bar. The ICE dealers were hot chicks that sized you up and decided who they offered the drug to. Apparently, the dealers sampled the goods, because this one had Clanner eyes. They weren’t black, but they were darn near it; the pupils were dilated, the dark ridge around the eyeballs wider. He wondered if Becca’s eyes would look like that after a few more doses… if they already did. If she was even alive.
He forced a smile, reminding himself that any amount of ICE he could get was important to Becca and for their scientific team. “That’s sugar pie honey bunch to you, darlin’.”
“So,” she said, wrapping her arm around his. “Want some heat with your ICE?”
“Depends,” he drawled, his gaze going toward the bar, trying to find his mystery woman again, but his view was still blocked. Reluctantly, he flicked his attention back to his ICE babe. “You gonna share a little ICE buzz with me first?”
“Whatcha gonna give me if I do?” she asked, stroking his arm.
He flicked another look toward the mystery woman just in time to see her profile. Becca. It was Becca. He stood up.
The woman clung to him, blocking his view. “Where you going?”
“Beer goes right through me, baby,” he replied, untangling himself only to find Becca missing. Damn it.
He charged up to the bar and into the face of the bartender. “The prim little black-haired princess who was standing here… where did she go and with who?”
“I’m not a baby-sitter,” the man said.
Sterling reached over the bar and yanked him across it. The man’s eyes were wide, dilated, and filled with panic. “Headed out the back door with two of the regulars.”
Fuck! Sterling dropped the man and shoved his way through the crowd before cutting down the side hall past the restrooms. He burst through the steel door exit and into a back delivery area for the hotel, a loading dock to his right. A muffled voice reached his ears, cut
ting through the sound of the churning industrial fan inside the warehouse.
Easing under the open entrance of the dock, Sterling surveyed the dimly lit warehouse, but saw nothing. A stealthy GTECH leap and he was on top of the ten-foot-high dock floor. To his left, stacked pallets stretched in long, neat rows, as far back as they were high, the concrete floor that separated them shiny and clean.
Sterling inched past several stacks of pallets to his left and found the last row, where he went still, colder than any hit of ICE could make him. Becca was backed into a corner with the two men who were crowding her.
“Quid pro quo, baby,” one of the men said to Becca. “Pull that shirt up, and show me what you got. You give me some of you, and I’ll give you ICE.”
Sterling bolted into action. The only person touching Becca was him.
Chapter 9
Sterling was behind Becca’s attackers in five seconds flat. He grabbed a handful of both men’s shirts and flung them into a stack of pallets.
“Thank God, Becca,” Sterling said, shackling her arms, ready to hug her just to prove to himself she was real.
“Don’t touch me,” she hissed with such unexpected vehement anger, he almost released her. “I know you’re one of them. I saw proof. Damn you, I know.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I saw pictures…” Her lips were trembling. “Of you and Adam. Tad showed me.”
He really hoped Tad had died on that lab floor. “Not only are Caleb and Adam twins, but—”
“He had wolves with him! You had wolves with you. It was Adam. You with Adam.”
Storm That Is Sterling Page 7