Vendetta Road Page 2

  She had a face most men would fight and die for—at least him. High cheekbones. Large eyes. A mouth made for kissing. Lips to wrap around a man’s cock. Just like that his fucking dick reacted. On the street. Looking at a fully clothed woman. The proverbial girl next door. What the hell?

  He dropped his hand over the front of his jeans, just to make sure he wasn’t having some kind of a hallucination. He was shocked when nothing ever shocked him anymore. He didn’t have natural erections. That had been beat out of him a long time ago. There was nothing whatsoever normal about him and sex. Nothing.

  He forced his hand away from his jeans and took another long look at the woman. Her rib cage and waist were narrow, accentuated by the tight bodice. The skirt flared out, drawing attention to her legs. She had gorgeous legs. He could almost feel them wrapped around him. Hell if his erection was going away anytime soon, not when he was having fantasies like that about her.

  She hesitated at the crosswalk but then turned to walk back toward a man who seemed to be calling out to her. He thought he was a breast man, but the way her perfect ass swayed with that white floral skirt was enough to change his mind.

  Her hair glowed in the sun, so shiny it hurt his eyes. Dark, cascading down her back, it was thick and just wild enough to ruin that good-girl vibe she had going on. She shook her head at something the man said to her and started to turn away, back toward the street. The man, dressed in an impeccable suit, grabbed her arm and jerked her back to him.

  Ice felt it then. The glacier. That blue well deep inside him, glacier cold, so cold it burned. Need was there—the need to kill. It was . . . overwhelming. It swept over him like a tidal wave, yet deep inside he was frozen. He took a step toward the edge of the sidewalk. Cars rushed by, but he hardly noticed them. Time had tunneled. Pulled him into a cold, dark place he was all too familiar with.

  A whistle pierced through the glacier, the sound causing a long, jagged crack to penetrate that deep, dense blue. That note shook him out of his head, and Ice glanced away from the couple. His twin, parallel to him, was already at the crosswalk and headed toward him with the green light. Shit. He’d just made the biggest ass of himself in the history of mankind. His brother was already as worried as hell, and this little episode wasn’t going to take any pressure off.

  Their quarry was a good block ahead of them. Storm had dropped back to cover him. He gestured toward them and started walking. He couldn’t help stealing a glance at the couple. She continued to shake her head. The suit was angry, glaring at her. Making demands. She refused. Good for her. Money didn’t make up for lack of character. He should know. He had more money than he knew what to do with, but character? Not so much.

  “What the fuck?” Storm hissed, falling into step beside him. “We can’t lose them.”

  They picked up the pace, winding through the crowd to catch up with the two men they followed.

  “I wasn’t planning on losing them,” Ice muttered, pulling his cap down farther to shadow his face. “I knew you were on them.”

  “A woman? You almost blow this hunt over a woman? You need to get laid, Ice, we can pick up a dozen women when we get this thing done.”

  Ice looked at his brother for the first time, letting him see how close he was to losing his shit.

  Storm scowled and shook his head. “You go, I go. That was the deal we made.”

  “We were seven years old when we made that deal,” Ice reminded quietly. He risked another look at their prey. They were separated by quite a few people. One group of tourists kept stopping in the middle of the sidewalk, and the crowd flowed around them. Because they were close and looked alike, Ice slowed the pace again, staying behind the photograph-crazy sightseers. “Neither of us thought we’d live to see ten.”

  “You go, I go. That’s the deal,” Storm insisted.

  “Why do you have to be so damn fuckin’ stubborn?” Ice asked, keeping his voice low.

  “I’ve always followed your lead, and that’s what you’d do,” Storm answered with a careless shrug of his shoulders.

  Ice couldn’t argue with that. He would have done the same. “Don’t know, Storm, I’m getting to the point I could be dangerous to everyone.”

  “Savage is dangerous to everyone, not you. You always choose the right thing to do whether or not you want to do it. Dying isn’t the right thing. We’ve had this conversation multiple times now. You’re in a bad patch. We both get them. Fortunately, not at the same time.”

  That much was true, but damn it to hell, he didn’t want to go out hurting innocents, and he thought more and more about just killing a bunch of fucking pedophiles in public. Lining them up and mowing them down. Sometimes he dreamt about it. He couldn’t seem to get any relief anymore. Not from booze. Not from women and not from hunting the bastards who stole and violated children.

  Mostly, he detested that the men in front of him were upstanding citizens. They had money and prestige, just like the others in the ring Code had discovered online. Auctioning children. They were accepted in society, but he wasn’t. He never would be. Never. He was a biker. In a club. Those riding with him were his family, and he would fight and die for them. For his colors. He would never be accepted by society, but they invited monsters into their homes and allowed them around their children because they were dressed properly and they didn’t say fuck in front of anyone. They just did it behind everyone’s back—with children.

  One was a doctor. Dr. Hank Bernard. Married with three girls of his own. The problem was, he preferred little boys, the younger the better. Then there was George Durango. He owned a string of spas and retreats for celebrities. He ran in big circles. Bill Churchill was a prominent judge, one with an eye toward moving up in political circles. Paul Bitters was a very respected fire chief. He knew every policeman in his district by name. When he spoke, everyone listened to him. Russ Jarvis and Billy Kent owned a chain of grocery stores together. They’d been boyhood friends and continued to be partners. Most people thought they were a couple. It suited them to let others think that.

  Code, with his mad computer skills, had stumbled across the online auction of a little six-year-old boy. It was Paul Bitters who had him up for auction. He had offered the child to what appeared to be a large ring of pedophiles. Torpedo Ink had anonymously bid on the boy, and at first it seemed as if they might get him. They would have been given an address and the exchange would have been made. Unfortunately, law enforcement had gotten wind of the auction, and Bitters had shut it down instantly.

  Bitters didn’t come back online for nearly three weeks. He sent out an encrypted message: this event was by private invitation only. It was clear the man was nervous and wanted only those he knew and trusted implicitly to show up. He wanted them there in person so he could visually identify each man. Code had managed to break the encryption.

  Torpedo Ink hadn’t had a lot of time to put together a rescue operation. They didn’t just want a smash and grab. They wanted more names. This was no small operation: the original auction had been open to multiple bidders over several states. They wanted to permanently shut it down.

  The club and their women were in Vegas for a very good reason. Their vice president, Steele, was marrying his woman, putting a ring on her finger and making that shit real. Naturally, all members of Torpedo Ink would come to celebrate, to witness the event. No one would question their presence in Las Vegas.

  Ice and Storm flowed with the little group of tourists, fitting in the way they did, so if the two men happened to glance back, which they did occasionally, they would see them as part of the group. Storm had been wearing a ball cap but when he crossed the street, he switched to a panama hat. It covered his distinctive hair. He walked with a bit of a slump to shorten his height.

  Their quarry suddenly turned abruptly and walked straight back toward them. Ice kept walking straight, keeping his head down, while his brother crossed the street with t
he light. A motorcycle roared past, keeping up with traffic on the street. Transporter had Alena, Ice and Storm’s younger sister, on the back of his bike. Her very distinctive platinum hair was tucked up in a helmet. Neither wore their colors.

  “I’ve got them,” Savage murmured softly into his radio. “Switch shirts and hats and come back around. They’ve got a tail checking to see if they have anyone on them. These fuckers are careful.”

  Savage was an enforcer for the club. He was also, along with his brother, one of the scariest men Ice knew, and his club was made up of straight-up assassins. Trained from childhood, each of them knew hundreds of ways to kill. Savage was in a league of his own.

  “We made them,” Alena reported.

  Ice turned the corner the opposite way the two men had gone. Code had narrowed their destination down to two possible buildings on the other side of the block. The lights of the strip faded just a little bit, and a seedier clientele joined those walking along the street.

  Storm continued down the street he’d chosen; it was still close to the road Code had identified as the likeliest goal. The taxi Savage had driven up in was at the curb in front of the two men, and he took his time paying the driver, asking directions as he did so. Russ Jarvis and Billy Kent went right past him without even glancing at him.

  Their quarry’s backup drove past them in a Toyota pickup, giving the two men a quick sign as he did so. Right behind the brand-new Toyota was an old Ford. Mechanic drove the Ford and it was every bit as souped-up as any road rocket out there. Torpedo Ink was out in full force, each member contributing in any way they could, working like a machine together, determined to get the child away from those putting him up for auction.

  “I’m on backup with Transporter and Alena,” Mechanic said into his radio. “We’ll take this driver for you, Savage, and Alena and Transporter will double back to secure the building while I secure the prisoner and wait for you.”

  “Make sure you do. We need one alive,” Savage murmured. Jarvis’s nod to his backup was nearly imperceptible, but Savage caught it. The driver of the pickup believed no one was following the two men.

  “They’re doubling back. Now that they think they’re clear, they’ll head to the live auction. You’re on again, Ice. Let’s take them down fast,” Savage said.

  Savage turned the opposite way the two men were walking, heading for the street corner. He crossed with the light and walked purposefully down the strip. Ice turned the corner behind Jarvis and Kent. He was in a dark navy tee and a dark sports jacket, and a fedora covered his head. Storm remained on the same side of the street as Savage. Ice joined the very small crowd at the crosswalk, ignoring his quarry as they waited for the light. Storm crossed at the light.

  Jarvis and Kent were the first ones to step off the curb, walking fast now, glancing at their watches and picking up the pace. Ice and Storm fell into step behind them, with only two couples between them. Savage crossed back at the next stoplight, falling into step half a block behind Ice and Storm.

  “Backup is ready,” Reaper, their sergeant at arms, said.

  “Van waiting for package,” Czar reported.

  “Medic on standby,” Steele said.

  Absinthe fell into step with Ice and Storm just as Jarvis and Kent turned into the doorway of a massage parlor. The parlor proclaimed twenty-four-hour massages on the doors and windows in gold paint. Ice, Storm and Absinthe were only a few steps behind Jarvis and Kent. Ice glanced up at the surveillance camera. It was no longer recording. Code had worked his magic, taking over the cameras in the building and shutting them down.

  Savage was thirty seconds behind the other three. Jarvis and Kent didn’t check in at the desk; instead, they started right down the hall. The hostess ignored them but perked up when she saw Ice, Storm and Absinthe. They had that effect on women. Savage made her nervous as he entered, and she avoided looking too closely at him, which gave him the opportunity to keep their quarry in sight as they made their way down the hall.

  Absinthe leaned toward her, putting his elbows on her desk, and smiling, looked directly into her eyes while Storm went back to the door. “Hey, beautiful. You really need to go home now. It’s late and way past your shift.” He pitched his voice low and mesmerizing. “You just want to get out now as fast as possible.”

  She caught up her purse, frowned slightly and rushed out the door Storm held open for her. He locked the door but left the open sign on so that it flashed right over the words declaring they gave massages twenty-four hours a day.

  Savage was already striding down the hall, keeping Jarvis and Kent in his sights. Ice and Storm followed while Absinthe manned the desk just in case someone happened to come by at that precise time to get a massage. He would be shocked at the locked door, taking his time to get to it, and he’d “suggest” they wanted to go to the place down the street. He was very good at making people believe anything he wanted them to.

  They’d found the nest and no one could get away, not unless they wanted them to. Once Code had narrowed down the possibilities to two places, they had run simulations for each building. They were good at what they were doing—they’d been hunting since they were children.

  Transporter and Alena, after identifying the truck that was backing up Jarvis and Kent, would leave the driver to Mechanic and return to guard the back door. Two other escape doors were built into the parlor as well. One led directly to the shop next door and was usually kept locked, according to the employee Absinthe had chatted up earlier in the day. The second one led straight into the basement. Ice was willing to bet the kid was in a cage in the basement with a camera on him to remind the buyers what they were getting.

  Two guards spun around as they approached. Both were armed with semiautomatics, not the usual equipment for a rent-a-cop. These two were definitely private security, paid for by Bitters. No way would the massage parlor pay for obvious mercenaries. The place was classier than most, but they’d never shell out the kind of money that would pay for these two. That meant there were more mercenaries inside.

  One guard was directly in front of the door, the other was three steps away, just about to start his walk along the halls in order to ensure no one was near the room he’d been paid to keep secure. He dropped back a little farther in order to cover his partner.

  The sentry looked grim as he held up his hand to stop Savage. “You need an invitation to this party,” he said. “Everyone on the list has already checked in. Wait at the front desk, and Tabs will find you a masseuse.” He winked when he said it, but he had turned slightly, just enough that the weapon was pointed directly at Savage’s chest.

  Ice wanted to laugh, but he wasn’t very good at that. He was better at killing. He didn’t so much as glance at the guard in front of Savage. That was Savage’s problem. He moved out from behind Savage, Storm pacing along beside him. They didn’t even look at the mercenary, the party room or anything else. Storm held up a piece of paper with lines drawn on it. He indicated the hallway the second guard had begun to walk down.

  “Hey,” Storm said, holding out the paper. “The room numbers don’t match what that girl wrote on this. She did write down her phone number, but that isn’t helping when we want massages.”

  “That’s not how it works,” the guard snarled and brought up his gun.

  “I’m so sorry,” a female voice came from behind them. It was sultry. Low. Gave promises of sinful sex.

  Everyone froze in place as heads turned to see the newcomer. She was tall with a killer body. Her thick hair was glossy black and curved around her face, kissing her neck with every step she took. Not that anyone was looking at her hair. Not with the amazing rack she had on display. Her curves were full and round, pushing to get out of the simple thin tee she wore stretched over them, with a logo for the massage parlor.

  “This is my first day and I got stopped by a cop for speeding.” She flashed a grin, inviting the
m to be happy with her. “I got off with a warning. Tabitha at the front desk said I was supposed to meet two customers in room four-oh-seven. It should be down this hall.”

  She caught up with Ice and Storm, but kept walking to lead the way, pointing to a room at the end of the hall. Her walk was just as sexy from the back as it was from the front, and the man watching Savage kept shifting his gaze toward her swaying ass. She was nearly up to the guard in the hall. He was trying to pull his gaze away from the two breasts nearly falling out of the too-small uniform she was wearing.

  Ice could have kissed her. Lana was known as Widow to the other members of Torpedo Ink. She often made widows out of women married to mercenaries. She looked sexy as hell and innocent at the same time. How she did it, he had no idea, but she was a thing of beauty. She always had been, even when she’d been a child, being tortured like the rest of them. She’d come back crying, but ready to do whatever it took to escape.

  She walked right up to the sentry as if she were going to walk past him, her eyes staring right into his, a sultry, sexy expression on her face. Savage and Lana stepped into their victims and two blades slammed deep into throats simultaneously. Ice caught the guard in the hall while Lana knocked on a door lightly, opened it and indicated the room was free. Ice hauled the guard into it, took the weapon and handed it to Lana. She rolled her eyes and shoved it onto a massage table. The guard gulped a few times, his eyes wide with shock, choking on his own blood while Storm dragged in Savage’s victim.

  Ice moved into position with Storm, Lana behind them and Savage bringing up the rear. “If the kid isn’t there, we need one alive,” Savage reminded softly.