Vengeance Road Read online

  “Not in the half hour it will take to get this done,” Transporter objected.

  “How do you know? It could happen in the first few minutes of exposure,” Maestro informed him knowledgeably.

  “You’re so full of shit,” Transporter said. “I read a book on that—”

  Maestro cut him off. “You’ve read a book on everything, but if whoever wrote the fuckin’ book didn’t really know shit, then quoting them makes you look bad.”

  “I’ve got movement,” Preacher said.

  Every eye went to the glass back door. A man stepped out, scratching his crotch as he walked to the other side of the wide patio and spit over the wrought-iron railing. His eyes were on the boat anchored between the two properties, but more toward the estate.

  “Donk,” Preacher identified. “We hit the mother lode first time out. Nice hunting, Steele. All that work you did paid off.”

  Elation burst through him, but Steele held it in check. They had yet to see Zane. Until they did, they had no way of knowing if he was alive, dead or sold to some pedophile. If Donk was there, for certain Bridges was as well.

  “Mechanic,” Steele spoke into the radio. “Donk has eyes on Lana. Tell her to keep him occupied. When he starts to turn away, we’ll let her know. In the meantime, you try to pick up sound. We need to know as close to the real number how many are in that house.” He hesitated. It hurt like hell to even express his worry, but it had to be said. “Or if Zane is there.”

  Zane. His son. He wouldn’t be able to face Breezy or himself if he couldn’t get his boy out of the situation. He wasn’t leaving the child behind.

  “Steele.”

  Savage’s voice was low, but it brought him up short. Steele looked around at the others on the roof. The building trembled. Just a little. “I’m good,” he managed, and picked up the binoculars to sweep the area.

  Ink hadn’t moved. He was so still he could have been a carving. Steele knew he was concentrating on reading the impressions the wildlife surrounding the house was giving him. It had been Ink who had drawn out the original tree that represented Czar in their colors. That sturdy trunk with the many roots. The seventeen branches represented the survivors. In the original drawing there had been eighteen branches. The crows were the children they had tried so hard to save—Steele had tried so hard to save. The skulls rolling in the roots represented the men and women they had killed in order to survive—or the ones they had killed to exact vengeance for those children who had never left their prison.

  Steele felt the weight of that sacred ink on his back. It was there for a reason, to remind all of them they were stronger together. They were now. They moved in complete sync, each knowing what the other would do, what he—or she—was capable of. They had counted on one another since they were very young children. Now, grown, having run countless missions alone and together, they didn’t make mistakes and knew with absolute certainty that their brothers—or sisters—would be there when they needed them.

  He didn’t take his gaze from Donk. The big man gripped the wrought-iron railing and leaned forward as if that would give him a better view of the woman tanning herself on the boat. He turned and called out something over his shoulder.

  “You get that?” Steele asked.

  “He asked for binoculars,” Mechanic reported from his position on the boat.

  “Nice,” Transporter said. “Lana is an absolute work of art.”

  “You know I am,” Lana said softly.

  “Where’s the music coming from? You have a radio on board? Or an iPod? Are you using a radio so she can communicate?” Steele asked.

  “She doesn’t need a radio on board,” Mechanic explained. “I didn’t want to take a chance of it slipping into the water, or if they had really good binoculars, they’d see it. We have her player on so Lana can sing if she thinks any of them notice her talking. Having her iPod would seem more normal.”

  “Don’t talk,” Steele advised. “I don’t want him making you.”

  “Sweetheart, he isn’t going to be thinking about your Lana, not when he has a hot redhead just a few yards away. He’s going to be thinking how he can get to me,” Lana said with absolute confidence. “I like being a redhead. I think it suits me.”

  The door opened, and Favor trotted out. He had two pairs of binoculars and he rushed to the railing, handing Donk a pair, already putting his to his face. He nudged Donk several times.

  “They’re on you,” Preacher reported. “Stay still, Lana. I’ll tell you when to move.”

  The two men watched her for some time, then put their glasses down and faced each other. Across the distance it was impossible to hear them, or read their lips, but Mechanic could pick up not only what they were saying but other sounds in the house.

  “At least three other male adults,” Mechanic said. “Two upstairs talking. One downstairs heading toward Donk and Favor. I’m betting Riddle. Donk told Favor to get him a drink and Favor said no way he was leaving so Donk could have the bitch to himself.”

  “That’s you, Lana,” Transporter said. “The bitch.”

  “So happy someone finally noticed,” she replied, and then sang a few words to the song on her playlist. “I’ve worked at perfecting my bitchiness, but none of you seem to get it. So disappointing.” She sang those words to the melody of the song.

  Steele waited for Mechanic to tell him he heard a child’s voice, but it didn’t happen, and the silence seemed to stretch out endlessly. He knew the others were feeling it as well, because they were not slinging their usual banter around as much as normal. The air was fraught with tension, so much so it felt like a breaking point.

  Donk suddenly shoved Favor, slamming a meaty palm into him, rocking his friend.

  “Donk’s pissed because he wants a drink,” Mechanic reported.

  Steele’s gut tightened. He’d seen Donk like that a few times. Wound up. He liked to hurt things smaller than him. He had taken advantage of every girl they brought into their trafficking ring, volunteering to train them. He was brutal about it. That was the man Bridges had given his daughter to when she was fourteen.

  The members of Torpedo Ink had refused to take part in any kidnapping or training of girls for the prostitution ring, or ones they sold to the ships. They’d tried to disrupt the various chapters, but they’d never managed to catch Donk and kill him. They’d had to be careful not to hit their own chapter repeatedly.

  If Donk couldn’t beat on his girls and fuck them repeatedly, he got nastier and progressively antagonistic, looking for a fight. Favor recognized the signs and stepped back, away from his friend. He turned toward the house just as Riddle emerged.

  “Favor’s calling to Riddle to get them beers. Riddle’s giving him shit.”

  Riddle was clearly shaking his head and taking steps toward them. Donk spun around and all but roared at the man. His arms waved up and down and he lowered his head as if he might charge like a bull. Riddle hastily turned and headed back inside.

  “You’re doing great, Lana,” Steele said. “Don’t fall asleep on us.”

  “No worries. It’s a little too hot here for me. I like our coastal weather. I’m never going to complain about the fog again.”

  Keeping his eyes on Donk, Steele tried distracting her. It wasn’t fun to lie out alone right in front of the enemy, particularly if he might be able to identify you. It was what they did, and Lana was a pro, so maybe his guilt was still weighing heavy on his mind.

  “Lana, Breezy told me that Bridges used to beat her once a month during the time she was riding with me. When she belonged to me. She was afraid for me because she knew I’d go after Bridges.” It occurred to him that Breezy was smart enough to time those beatings with her monthly period just so she had evidence in case Steele had noticed, but he never had, because he was a selfish bastard. Damn him. Why had he reacted like an idiot? Why hadn’t he pulled her
into his arms and held her? Thanked her for having his back.

  There was complete silence. Mechanic was clearly absorbing what he had said. The others waited for Lana to weigh in. It took a couple of minutes.

  “She knew the Swords would expect you to be okay with Bridges beating the shit out of his daughter,” she mused finally. “If you retaliated, she thought they’d hurt you. Maybe even kill you.”

  “I would have killed him,” Steele conceded. “She probably knew that.”

  “Most likely,” Lana agreed. “And then the others would have gone after you.”

  “But she should have told me,” Steele reaffirmed. He believed that wholeheartedly. She should have told him. His head hurt from trying to understand what was the right way to handle Breezy’s reticence. He could plan a battle against an enemy whose numbers were far more than his team’s, carry it out and never so much as blink, but knowing the right thing to do with a woman he loved, that was completely different—and much more difficult.

  “Yes,” Lana agreed, “she should have.”

  They all waited for Lana’s take on it. No one spoke. Living in a society other than their own was difficult when they didn’t know the basics. They had been children making up their own rules for survival. They’d kept those codes because they’d worked all those years under the worst possible conditions.

  The instructors at the other three schools may have been brutal but they’d taught the inmates how to fit in because it had been helpful when they’d been sent on missions. No member of Torpedo Ink had been expected to live. They’d been sent out on straight seduce-and-kill missions. How to use a fork at an upscale restaurant had been deemed useless to them.

  “Were you angry with her?” Lana asked.

  “Yes. He could have done any number of things to her and . . .” He trailed off, the sneaking suspicion coming to him. He didn’t want to voice it.

  Lana did it for him. “Mostly, she should have trusted you.”

  The others were nodding, but Steele knew it was more than that. So, evidently, did Lana. He could tell by her voice. Breezy should have trusted him, and it angered him that she hadn’t. He thought she was all his, but she wasn’t. In Torpedo Ink’s world, they trusted one another to have their backs. They talked things out. They didn’t keep secrets . . . He pulled himself up short. That wasn’t true.

  He hadn’t told the others that Breezy was his one. His only. Reaper had kept secrets, and it had nearly blown up in his face. Everyone had secrets, even them. He closed his eyes for a moment, anger stirring. He’d had a shit childhood. His teenage years hadn’t been so hot. His early twenties hadn’t been anything to write home about. Now he was blowing his one chance because he didn’t know shit. Not one fucking thing about relationships. Relationships were a minefield, far more dangerous than any battle he’d ever been in.

  “This is a difficult call, Steele,” Lana said. “I’ve spent a lot of time with Blythe. She seems to navigate this stuff so smoothly. I would have been angry at my man if he’d done it, but her reasons were to protect you. You wouldn’t have told her and you would have taken the beatings if you thought it would save her from harm in some way. I would have done it. Any one of us would have.”

  That was the truth. Steele’s eyes met Savage’s. Simultaneously, they both shook their heads, rejecting the idea of it. “It isn’t,” Steele said. “It’s not the same thing at all.”

  “Nope,” Maestro weighed in. “Not at all.”

  “Why? Because she’s the female? I’m a woman. I have the right to protect my man if he has the right to protect me.”

  “That’s different and you know it, Lana,” Transporter said. “Breezy doesn’t have our background. She’s . . . I don’t know. Not supposed to get hit. If a man hit you, you’d have him for breakfast and not in a good way.”

  “Thanks for clarifying,” Lana sang to the melody on her playlist. There was a hint of laughter in her voice. “What did you do, Steele? How did you react?”

  Steele hesitated, but he really wanted Lana’s input. He needed to know how to deal with problems of trust that came up between Breezy and him. “I wanted to turn her over my knee and I made that very clear.” A part of him still wanted to go back into the house and do just that. Another part of him recognized the hurt on Breezy’s face and wanted to pull her into his arms and comfort her.

  The others nodded, deeming that an appropriate response. Lana took so long to respond that Steele thought she might not.

  “So, you threatened to hurt her because someone else hurt her and she didn’t tell you. I’m not altogether certain that makes sense, Steele.”

  “It’s not the same thing,” Steele muttered, no longer sure if it was or not.

  “You’re wrong, Lana,” Maestro said. “It’s not at all the same thing. If a man’s woman goes rogue on him and puts herself in danger, he has to make absolutely certain she won’t make that mistake again.”

  “There are probably better ways to make the point,” Lana sang.

  During the entire exchange, Mechanic was relating the conversation between the three Swords members.

  “What better ways?” Steele asked immediately. That was what he was looking for. An answer. A better way. Something to make Breezy want to stay with him always. There had to be a way to make a point without hurting her.

  Again, there was a long silence. “I don’t know,” Lana finally admitted. She sounded frustrated. “You should ask Blythe,” she reiterated.

  “Blythe doesn’t know how dangerous the world is,” Savage contributed unexpectedly. “She doesn’t have the experience to judge when something is potentially life-threatening.”

  “Breezy withheld important information from her man,” Transporter added.

  “From the club,” Preacher put in his two cents. “Lana, they’re getting antsy. Put on a little show to grab their attention. I’ve got them now. One bullet for each, take me three seconds.”

  “Don’t,” Steele cautioned. “We don’t know where Zane is.”

  His anxiety level was going through the roof, when he was always the calmest man. He found it was far different experiencing trauma as the father. When it was his own child. They went after pedophiles as a rule, planning out the rescue of children, both boys and girls. He had never had his heart pound, or his lungs feel raw from lack of air.

  Lana rose up to her knees, her red hair a sheet of pure fire. She tossed her head back and her hair went flying, drawing attention. The men at the railing who had begun talking among themselves turned back, gazes riveted to the woman on the boat. She stood slowly, pulled her glasses off and walked toward the side of the boat, looking at the water.

  Preacher had his eye to the scope of his rifle. His hands were rock steady. The first target was Donk. The big man had always been unpredictable. He would be the first to go. Ink didn’t so much as blink, his gaze in the air rather than on the water or the three men, but his concentration was utterly focused. Maestro had dropped flat, lying in a prone position, a rifle to his shoulder, his aim not on any of the three men but on the door of the house. The others trained their binoculars on the backyard of the estate, that beautiful oasis the Abernathys had created, only to have their son take it over whenever he was released from prison.

  Lana dove into the water, swam around the boat and caught at the ladder to climb right back out. She was naked, beautiful, the water running off her, first in sheets and then drops as she once more climbed on board, mesmerizing her audience. All three Swords members had their binoculars to their eyes, their attention once again riveted on Lana.

  “I hear a female voice,” Mechanic reported.

  Steele held his breath. His son had to be there. He had to be. His stomach was in knots. How many times had he crawled through the ventilation system at their prison when he was a child, stealing medical supplies and sometimes killing one of the adults. He’d never
so much as flinched. He had nerves of steel. It was an often-told joke. He didn’t feel that way now. He didn’t want to exercise caution. He wanted to run to the house and search it, room by room, taking apart those inside until he found his boy.

  “A child’s voice.” Mechanic’s usually steady tone cracked. He cleared his throat. “Definitely a very young child inside. Second floor. On the move with the female. She’s talking low to him and cautioning him not to speak until they’re outside. I don’t think she’s aware that Donk or the others are out there.”

  Steele was grateful he was sitting down. He knew his legs would have given out in sheer relief. “Keys.” He spoke into his radio. “Tell Breezy he’s there. Inside the house. We’ve found him. Don’t let her do anything crazy, like run over there.” That was exactly what he wanted to do—get to the house and take his son back.

  He kept his binoculars focused on that back door. Breezy had shown him pictures of his son, and now he had them on his own phone. He wanted to see his son in flesh and blood. Alive. The relief was overwhelming.

  “Pickup on the move, the small little rocket that was parked in front of the guesthouse. Lizard is driving,” Ink said. His voice was pitched low, but it carried over the rooftop so all of them could hear. He sounded as if he might be in a trance, talking while hypnotized. “He’s making his way to the main house.”

  Steele didn’t allow that information to divert his attention from the entrance. The door opened, and a woman stepped through. She was leaning down slightly and talking. He could see that it was Candy, although she seemed grown up in comparison to the young girl she’d been three years earlier.

  She was laughing, and she reached down. He could see a little hand going into hers. Together they stepped through the door. They walked along the patio and rounded the corner where the flowers formed a small barrier.

  His son. Steele focused the high-powered binoculars on the child. He had a wild mop of tawny hair. His heart ached. Beat uncontrollably. The boy was thin. There was a bruise on his face. Very distinctive. Very dark. Rage burst through him and the monster inside roared.