Chapter 2
Turning from the main road, Jax made his way along the serpentine driveway. Sighting the monstrosity in the distance, he shook his head in amazement. He chided himself. He shouldn’t be surprised. He’d been studying the odious man for months. Their luncheon meeting not only confirmed the depth of Davis’s evil but his excesses as well. After spending two and a half hours in the supremely refined golf club, it was as though he’d entered a circus house of horrors, complete with distorting mirrors. It wasn’t that Sherman’s palatial house wasn’t opulent. It most certainly was. However, as opposed to the Coronado Club, which oozed sophistication, Sherman’s home oozed its owner. Everything was oversized and overwrought. Excess was the watchword of the palatial structure and its surroundings.
Telegraphing what he and Serge were likely to see when they finally reached the house, garish flesh-toned statues in provocative poses lined the driveway. If there was a theme to the mishmash of decorative plants, trees, and sculptures, it was large, showy, and superfluous.
As they pulled up to the front of the house, three servants rushed to meet them. The leader of the eager pack bowed low and reached for the door handle of Jax’s rented Porsche before he brought the automobile to a complete stop. A second helper rounded the car and opened the passenger door, ready to assist Serge. The third dragged a luggage cart, preparing to unload Jax’s trunk. It was immediately apparent that to serve in Sherman’s household, one had to be young and beautiful. Which perfectly described the three smiling young boys surrounding Jax’s car. That none of the enthusiastic troupe could have been more than twelve years old was jarring. Accenting their youth was their “liveried” attire. Consisting of a short-sleeved, white cotton shirt open to the waist and tight black shorts, it made the most of their prepubescent bodies.
Jax unwound his tall frame from the driver’s seat and thanked the dark-haired Hispanic lad who’d opened his door and was now standing respectfully to the side. Extending his hand, he said, “Thank you. I didn’t expect such a gracious welcome. My name is Lucas Dubois.” Nodding to Serge, who was standing beside the passenger door next to a truly beautiful young Asian boy, he added, “My friend’s name is Magnus Harris.”
The young boy gazed up at Jax, studying him openly as if sizing him up. Apparently misconstruing Jax’s courteous greeting as an invitation, the youth sidled up next to him and said in suggestive tones, “It is my pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lucas. My name is Raphael, but everyone calls me Raffi. I am at your service, Mr. Lucas.” Glancing at the solemn Asian boy who was standing back, staring at the ground, Raffi said dismissively, “His name is Kato. He hasn’t been here very long and is kind of shy.” Nodding to the blond future-Adonis next to the Porsche’s trunk, Raffi commanded, “Emil, don’t just stand there. Get the gentlemen’s luggage. Now, boy!”
His command was officious, but coming from a four-foot, skinny, prepubescent kid whose voice hadn’t yet changed, it was more amusing than off-putting.
Nevertheless, Emil immediately responded. Gazing up at Jax, he said in a voice tinged with a Scandinavian accent, “Please, sir, if you would. Release the trunk latch so I can retrieve your luggage.”
In seconds, Emil hefted Jax’s matching deerskin Smythson Burlington Holdall bags onto the luggage cart and then reached for Stryker’s upscale Italian Mansur Gavriel weekend bags. Apparently accustomed to fine luggage, he didn’t comment on the expensive gear. When Jax made a motion to reach for a tip, the shy Asian kid off to the side looked horrified and quickly stopped him.
“No, no, sir. Please. We are here at your service, sir. For your pleasure. Mr. Davis does not permit us to accept tips from his guests.”
“They sure as hell better not, in that they are treated to a level of luxury valets at a prime hotel would kill to experience, and these youngsters haven’t yet reached puberty.”
Jax looked up to see Sherman Davis standing at the top of the steps, his corpulent body glaringly apparent in his swim trunks and open Hawaiian shirt. A smarmy smile tugged at his full lips as he leered at the young boys, who’d stepped back and were pointedly staring at the driveway, avoiding their master’s gaze. Davis surged forward, tromping down the marble steps. Reaching for Jax’s forearm, he dragged Jax into an unwanted one-armed hug.
Apparently not seeing Jax’s frown and obvious twisted escape, the garrulous man added in a salacious undertone, “Not that we give them any money. We wouldn’t want them thinking that they are free to roam. Fuck no! But then, why would they want to leave? They have every luxury known to man, much less boys.”
Knowing what the young boys were required to do to earn their “wages,” Jax managed to mask his disgust and instead said in a cultured voice, “I’m impressed, Sherman. Not only do you have an imposing manor but an appealing and clearly competent staff.”
Sherman sidled up next to him, showering Jax with a surfeit of competing odors: sweat and alcohol being the chief contributors to the repulsive stench. In a suggestive undertone, he said, “We haven’t had time to discuss your specific needs, Lucas. Just know that whatever your pleasure or poison, I assure you we can accommodate you.”
He bellowed a grating laugh, adding the odor of chowed meat to the smells emanating from his fleshy presence. When Serge joined them and held out his hand, Jax took the opportunity to put distance between himself and his overbearing host.
Stryker shot Davis a pleasant smile. “My friend Lucas is correct, Sherman. If I hadn’t seen it first, I would not have believed your imposing mansion—or manor, as Lucas described it. Tell me, did you design it yourself? I have to believe so. It perfectly encompasses your taste and, if I may be so bold, your appetites.”
Sherman frowned, as if not sure whether Serge was flattering him or making fun of him. Apparently deciding that his guests couldn’t help but be impressed, he conceded, “I’ll grant you, my home, like everything about me, is writ large.” Patting his overflowing gut, he winked at them. “But a man with my wide-ranging appetites needs a fitting platform from which to fulfill them.”
Waving an expansive hand at the mammoth house that looked like it was modeled after a nineteenth-century Tara, he said, “But I’m not being a good host. The last thing we want to do is stand out here in the sun when we could be cavorting in a water-based playground that puts the Coronado Club poolside to shame.”
Lifting a commanding hand, he frowned at the three boys, who were regarding him attentively. “You—Raffi and Emil, help Kato take our guests’ luggage to their rooms. Mr. Dubois will be in the Harvest suite and Mr. Harris in the Hunter suite.” As the boys moved toward the enormous fifteen-foot high entrance, Davis added, “Gentlemen, please follow these young men to your quarters. After you have had a chance to relax and change, I hope you will join me on my terrace. I promise you, whatever your pleasure in terms of food, drink, pharmaceuticals, or company, we will provide it.”
After changing into casual attire, Jax went next door to talk with Serge. Pointing to the virtually invisible sound blockers, Serge indicated that they could speak in normal tones. “I’ll outfit your room in a minute, Jax. I knew you would want to connect with the rest of the team.” Pointing to his handheld monitor, he said, “I’ve got Greg and Mick on live, ready to report. The guys indicated that Viviana wanted to rest, so I haven’t caught up with her yet.”
Jax frowned and directed his question to Greg. “Fill me in, man. How’s she doing? And Commander Bannon, don’t pull any punches. I saw her expression when she spotted Sherman and Gus. The terror on her face confirmed what we already know. Those two despicable men are truly the evil pair who first abused her.” Jax choked back the bile rising in his throat at the thought and corrected himself. “Abuse is much too tame a word to describe what those animals did. To be specific, Sherman Davis in particular repeatedly raped an eleven-year-old child.” Blowing out a hard breath, he focused on Mick. “You know her best, Detective. Is she up for what we’re planning tonight?”
When Mick O’Reilly hesitated, Jax knew he had good reason to be concerned. After a long moment, the usually irrepressible Irishman said carefully, “I won’t shit you, boss man. You saw her crumble when she recognized those motherfuckers. I know Greg would agree. If we hadn’t both been next to her like white on rice and you weren’t three tables away, she likely would have collapsed.” No doubt seeing Jax’s rigid frown, O’Reilly quickly added, “But, Jax, I promise you, in seconds it was like she’d rammed a steel spike up her back and was again the Viviana we all know.” As if reconsidering his optimistic report, Mick shook his head and said softly, “Although, I gotta tell you, I don’t know how the hell she can actually face him.”
Jax breathed another hard sigh. “Yeah, Mick, you of all people know what we’re asking her to do. It’s more than anyone should have to do.”
Before Jax could continue with his concerned assessment, Mick interjected, “I’ll tell you why I know that Viviana will take him on, Jax—take all of them on. It’s because you’re there. Seriously, man. That steel spike I described is you. When you made eye contact with her, she became the Vivi we all know and love. The Viviana who could take on the Dark Knight himself and send him scurrying off to hell with his tail between his legs.”
Jax nodded in agreement. “I saw her recover, Mick, but we can’t kid ourselves. We are asking her to confront an evil that she’s spent her life trying to forget. All I can say is at this time tomorrow, Sherman and his evil cohorts will be on their way to a hell that even the Dark Knight couldn’t survive.”
While Serge went to outfit Jax’s room with his high-tech gizmos, Jax headed for the pool area. He stopped for a moment on the second-story walkway to observe the scene below. Sherman hadn’t exaggerated when he indicated that the Coronado Club poolside couldn’t compare to his bacchanalian playground. The obvious question was why the hell would the club want to? The Olympic-sized pool was surrounded by multiple levels of terraces, all featuring canopied lounges and refreshment stands. As with the rest of the complex, excess was the organizing principle. It didn’t take Jax’s expert eye to identify the various refreshments being imbibed by the frolicking revelers below. Drug paraphernalia, a variety of designer drugs, and bottles of alcohol decorated the tables and countertops alongside trays of food. While he’d expected the makeup of the participants below, the reality was gut-wrenching.
Adult men and women were plentiful. Under ordinary circumstances, they might have been any poolside celebrators, enjoying the setting sun and plentiful intoxicants. Dressed in casual clothes or swimming suits, they were in contrast to the youngsters romping playfully among them, all of whom were naked. Shoving at the fury roiling in his gut, Jax sucked in a deep breath, forcing himself to study the young people cavorting below. The boys all resembled the trio who’d greeted them in the driveway. The only difference was that compared to the liveried threesome, all of the boys playing in the pool were naked. As were the bevy of young girls. While some of the older boys and girls sported incipient pubic hair or budding breasts, most of the children were clearly that—children.
Serge came up beside him. Gazing at the scene below, he muttered, “Jesus fucking Christ, Jax.”
Jax nodded in agreement. “You can say that again, my friend.” Motioning to his host celebrating vociferously below, Jax was circumspect. “He doesn’t look as though this hideous reality he created is about to come crashing down, does he?” At Serge’s agreeing snort, Jax met his gaze. “Ready to send our host and his companions to meet their maker? The one that resides in the deepest levels of hell?”
Serge’s heartfelt sigh was audible. “Yeah, Jax. We’ve taken down some reprehensible pieces of human shit, but, buddy, these assholes compare to the worst of the worst.”
Jax agreed. “Yes, they do. But they have gone a universe too far. They made a critical mistake. One that, for the rest of their sorry lives, they will pay for. They put themselves in my crosshairs, which as any of the reprobates we’ve sent to hell and back could’ve told them, is the last place they would ever want to be.”