My new burner phone has received its second awakening from its slumber on the wooden coffee table in front of me. The first ping was forty-eight hours ago, letting me know to get my ass to Anchorage, Alaska and to have a full Venetian carnival costume to wear.
Been there, done that, way ahead of them.
I was told a second message would be left on the 17th of December, today, and to be dressed and ready for a night of wicked debauchery.
Only reason it’s now pinging me is because the location and time of that fucker’s event is being revealed.
I snatch it up and look at Hazard first.
“We’re all ready to do what it takes. We’re gonna help you bring her home,” he responds to my anxious look.
I survey the room. My brothers and Phoenix are sitting around on couches or the floor, and I know this to be true. Faces look back at me in loyal support. I have a part to play from here on out.
I check the phone and skip to the location details. “We have coordinates.” I immediately forward the text to Joel, who is on standby.
Ping!
He’s quick.
Joel has the exact details for the pick-up. It’s an abandoned stone church on a beach in Juneau. There’s a link and map attached.
Joel: You got this Edge.
I think I’ve earned a fan. I silently thank him for his confidence.
Slade’s phone then pings. He snatches it off the coffee table and reads his message.
“Who?” My throat ceases up and it comes out all rough. I’m so wound up, my patience a tightrope I’m trying not to fall off. This is the day I get Whisper back.
Slade lifts his eyes to me. “Adam. He says coordinates are for a pick-up only. Final destination will be a private property on a lake in Fairbanks. There’s a 9:00 p.m. kickoff. Be armed, and he’ll handle the rest. He’s revealed a further set of coordinates. I’ll forward them to Boxer.”
It’s gold, this information, and the head start we need, even if it is only by a few hours. I know Boxer has asked that Slade keep him in the loop. I don’t give a shit if he doesn’t trust me. I give a shit what our endgame is.
I study the map we’ve got spread out on the table, and line up the coordinates Slade reads out.
Fucker’s chosen a remote place surrounded by frozen land, a lake and trees. Don’t know what is there though. Map’s not that detailed.
We’ve already investigated all forms of transportation, and there’s no way this lot can be choppered in without giving up the goose. There’s no time by ground to get there ahead of me and set up.
That leaves one other way. Tandem skydiving at night, and these guys are crazy enough to pull it off too.
Ping!
Joel sends the link for the property with blue prints of the interior. I send back a request for assistance with organizing skydiving transport. I know he and Boxer will make it happen.
I hit the link up, and cyberspace is very accommodating, showing all the photos of the property’s interior. It’s a luxury home built of solid western red timber with all the bells and whistles.
This is gonna take some more planning. I run my hands roughly through my hair, tugging at the strands in frustration.
Fucker is dead tonight.
There will be no chance for Cezar to use a get-out-of-jail-free card. He’s greased enough palms with enough cake; he knows how to work the system. I’m leaving nothing to corrupt lawyers. There’s gonna be no OJ-repeat-performance.
Ain’t. Gonna. Happen.
This is a man living a fucked-up fantasy under a pseudonym.
The man is an enigma.
But he is flesh and blood. He bleeds like the rest of us.
We are to meet at 7:30 sharp this evening. It’s now nearly 4:00, and the sun has shut up shop. We need to get onto the modified plans ASAP.
We all huddle around the computer and talk strategy, which now includes tandem skydiving onto a cleared area and hiking back to the property, so they need to get moving.
We have enough men here who were trained in the military and can work that shit with their eyes closed.
There is a lot of harrumphing and eye-rolling going on between Slade and Phoenix at the mention of who is gonna strap Phoenix to their chest. Slade is mumbling one thing under his breath at Phoenix, and she is grumbling a whole lot of something else, which resembles a lot of sass, while we all try to carry on talking and strategizing.
It ends on a stink-eye from Phoenix, and a deep sigh of resignation from Slade. My take on all of it is Phoenix doesn’t do well with heights, but Slade has been there, done that before. Phoenix isn’t gonna let the team down no matter what, so she is in, no matter what, and she isn’t letting some behemoth of a man tell her otherwise. To which Slade replied, “Damn woman.”
Discussion over and out.
If this weren’t such a serious time, these two would be hilarious. The sexual tension is actually making all of us shuffle in our seats. The babe with the dreads and cool tattoos is giving Slade, the man-mountain, a steep uphill climb for his money.
They should just fuck each other’s brains out. I know I’m not the only one thinking it, but for whatever reason, Phoenix is holding out, and that is driving them both cray-cray.
We spend the next half hour on a video call with Boxer and Joel, modifying the plans to match the set-up of this luxury home. We go over everything in detail until we are all comfortable in our roles.
Ping!
Slade’s got another message from Adam, he’s just found out Mathias is another undercover agent he’s been working side-by-side with and not known, from his outside contact. The high-up suits deemed it now reasonable Adam should know he’s got another team player inside.
This is excellent news, especially for Mathias, because I had that fucker’s number on my list after Whisper told me he was a bad guy. All we’ve got to go on is he’s Norwegian so we don’t shoot him accidentally. Great.
Ping!
Another incoming message for Slade. Fuckin’ A. more good news, the location of The Pen will be discovered soon when Adam and the sentinels move the women.
I sure want a crack at The Pen, wherever the fuck that place is, but Whisper is the one I need to protect and rescue. She is my priority.
We have our hands full getting as many females as we can out alive, while apprehending as many of the bad guys as possible. Boxer’s not breaking any rules the high-up suits put on him because he’s kept his ass in Louisiana and we’re technically running our own private show at another location, one Adam was deliberately keeping from his contact because we’re all on it.
Once Adam reveals the location of The Pen, Cezar’s command center in Alaska, this news will keep the high-up suits busy. S.W.A.T. and all the alphabets like FBI, CIA can all get patted on the back for their part in helping to bring down this trafficking ring. We only want to save lives and fuck with the bad guys.
It’s going to be below zero temperatures and dark, and we have to have an escape plan in place after the raid. Joel is working on it and we will be advised later. We are as ready as we will ever be, allowing for the unexpected.
Boxer seems to think we will have everything we need hidden in the locked basement inside this cabin. Hazard and Torque go and look, using the code given to unlock the door.
A few moments later, we hear “What… the fuck?” in unison, as it filters up the stairs. I automatically look toward the sound over my shoulder, while Billy and everybody else gets up for a looksee.
I gather there is a veritable armory and everything we need magically awaiting our fingertips down below, by the sounds of the oos and ahs.
Go figure the coinkidink we wound up in a place well armed. I look back to the screen. “Boxer, whose place is this?”
“Ghost’s.”
Figures. That man is a mystery to me.
“Sounds like the fairy godmother of the military waved her wand and provided. You get this place set up the minute you knew Alaska was in the cards?”
He shrugs. “Ghost is a think-ahead-for-an-apocalypse kinda man, but I added a Christmas wish list of my own to cover as many outcomes as possible, and he has a supplier handy he trusts who slipped in and filled my list out before you all arrived. Figured lots of snow, and chances were the area could be remote.” He shrugs again. “Made sense to fill the wish list out just in case.”
“I gather the basement covers the whole square footage of this cabin?”
“Pretty much.”
Christ.
“I suppose there’s enough skydiving chutes in that there basement?”
Joel is beaming a smile at me.
Really?
“Boxer… things that could be used to go boom. Were they on that wish list of yours too?”
“I think you’ll find the armory can accommodate just about anything you need to do to get Whisper out alive and to incapacitate a bunch of fucked-up perverts.”
The guy loves showing me he is in more control than I want to give him credit for, and seeing me surprised by their ability to keep on surprising me is putting a twinkle in his eye.
I give them an appreciative look that says, Yeah, yeah. You’re the shit, Joel. And Boxer is too.
We’ve all just had a moment and released the tight valve a little that has pressurized our fear of not knowing what Whisper is going through.
An awkward silence hovers between us. Time to cut the chitchat and get ready.
***
Eight Hummers with dark-tinted windows arranged in a convoy are lining the driveway of the Shrine of some Saint-or-other as my cab pulls up, depositing me in the freezing cold night.
Some old lampposts illuminate the way, as more cabs arrive with men dressed in their finest hoity-toity Venetian carnival costume’s spill out of them. They only nod to acknowledge the others.
My cab driver was curious about my outfit. I simply brushed it off as an office Christmas party. I don’t think he believed me. I think he was probably now thinking more kink club.
With the use of the cane, I walk toward the seventh Hummer, as two men apiece are ushered toward the previous six SUVs, when the masked, tuxedoed driver waiting by the eighth car catches my eye. He motions to me discreetly with a hand signal I know only too well. We used it in the Special Forces. It was unique only to my team. I should know; I fucking made it up.
Adam?
I arrive at his Hummer, leaving the last two men access to the seventh Hummer. Adam gives me a bow. “Sir, my name is Nicu and I need to pat you down, as per the invitation protocol.”
We are all to be known as Sir for the duration of the evening. No names revealed. No masks removed. Our lives kept hidden.
This is a game they take seriously.
I spread my arms for him, and whisper under my breath when he steps into me, “Glad you’re on the right side, or I would’ve had to kill you, my friend.”
This gets me a little grunt in return as he pats me down, like all the other drivers are doing. He knew the clothing I would be dressed in, aiding him in making sure I got in his vehicle.
Adam, of course, knows I am gonna be packing, and finds the knife hidden in my left calf holster and the small handgun holstered on the inside of my right calf, and breezes over them with a practiced hand. He finds the ragdoll inside another pocket and keeps moving his hands over me.
My OTT outfit is excellent camouflage, with its baggy pant legs and layers of clothing. I’m eager to get in the car, so we can hopefully talk freely. My passenger door is opened and I take a back seat, letting in the night’s cold breath.
What I’m not prepared for is the interior light revealing an attractive, athletic female, her face partially turned away from me, in nothing more than her birthday suit, hooker stilettos, and black lace panties, shivering.
I move the tip of my cane under her chin, angling it up slightly. Her eyes are totally void of emotion. I must look a sight in this get up. Her face is beautifully made up, her lush red hair piled high on her head, all sexy Bridget Bardot style.
“Please, allow Rose to entertain you.” Adam shuts the passenger door and cranks the heater up.
Anger rises temporarily inside me, because this was the bitch who cut Whisper’s tongue. And then I look a little harder.
Familiarity hits me.
My head voluntarily cocks from one side to the other as my eyes try to accept who I think is on the back seat with me.
What the fuck?
Her makeup is a mask in itself. Smokey grays and blacks spread out over her cheekbones, her eyes thick with makeup.
Ruby?
I glance at Adam in the mirror, his masked eyes giving nothing away to this woman, but he sees something in my look and cocks his head ever so slightly back at me. He sees recognition in my eyes.
My shock and confusion fight with me, knowing what she had to do to Whisper, but here sits a victim who was stolen under our club’s protection. And from the looks of her, she’s seriously broken.
Damaged.
Whisper had said she was damaged.
Whisper made me promise to save her.
I need to be sure my mind isn’t playing tricks on me. I don’t know how safe it is to talk now. Are the SUVs being monitored? I decide to err on the side of caution.
“Nicu, does every car have the pleasure of such fine naked tits, or am I the lucky one?” I wasn’t born in the South, even though William ended up living there, but I can crack a pretty good accent when I try.
“Yes, every car has a female in attendance as naked as Rose. You are allowed to touch, but no intercourse. You don’t want to ruin the night’s plans.”
Of course we wouldn’t.
I want to roar at Adam for allowing Whisper to be naked in another car in front of a couple of fucked-up perverts. Why didn’t he make sure she was in this car?
“Sir, there is one exception. She will be on display for every man attending tonight when you all arrive at the final destination.” Adam makes me wait to hear more. “Her name is Whisper, and she is Cezar’s trophy, the one to win.”
To fucking win?
Knowing she’s not naked in one of these Hummers is a relief, but that does not mean she is better off.
I don’t pay Ruby any more attention. I want to cover her up and hate knowing she has two men in this car capable of saving her right here, right now, but we deny her that. Instead, she’s being driven toward one fucked-up night.
“Rose will now serve you a glass of the finest French champagne.”
Of course she will. Only the best for us damned souls.
“Sir, Rose is here for you to take advantage of, if she pleases you.” Adam knows I won’t touch her, but he has to appear as though he is attempting to keep me entertained. This only makes me believe more we are being listened in on.
All I can think about is the motherfucker who has Whisper and what I’m going to see when we arrive. I take the glass, but don’t drink what Ruby offers me. I know she expects to be touched. It’s what she’s used to.
“Sir, a chopper is waiting for us about a half hour away. In the meantime, Cezar has requested I play you some Dean Martin Christmas tracks for the short drive.”
Of course the crazy fucker would think Christmas songs would be appropriate.
I feel Ruby flinch when “Let It Snow” starts its perky introduction. I look over to see her bury her back against the leather seat, like she is protecting it.
“You don’t like this song?” I goad her a little. “You tell Daddy here why you don’t like some harmless Dean Martin song.”
The look she sends me is defiant, because I am teasing her.
“Sugar, you got me all curious now. I bet you’re gonna tell me anything I want to know, simply because I ask. We’ve already established I’m allowed to touch you. Do you want me to touch you?” I lick my lips and snap my teeth at her, watching the fear in her eyes as I slide right up next to her all cozy-like, pushing the glass of champagne to her lips while grabbing the nape of her neck, forcing her to drink it. “Isn’t that right, Nicu? You won’t intervene if I start touching this beautiful young lady?”
“No, sir.”
I take the glass away from her lips, release the hold I have on her neck, and slide a little away from her.
“I’m only gonna ask one more time, and then I am gonna start touching in places that is gonna hurt you. Why don’t you like that song?”
Her mouth opens and shuts, and she looks terrified to talk.
“Why isn’t she talking, Nicu? Cat got her tongue?”
“She has had it cut out, sir.”
Those words just screeched to a halt in my head.
My mind does a double take.
What did he just say?
Our eyes meet in the rearview mirror again. There’s pain buried in his eyes, because he’s been helpless to stop what has been going on inside Cezar’s walls.
I reach over and use my gloved fingers to pry her mouth open. She doesn’t resist. My anger catches up to me.
I.
See.
Red.
I take important seconds to calm the beast within, raging at me to let it free and start fucking people up.
“So she’s no good for a blow job?” I release her mouth, acting pompous and unimpressed, and turn my head to stare out the window. “I’ve seen enough. Daddy is waitin’ to get his dick hard, and this one isn’t doing it for me. I need a more specific… stimulus. A whore is a whore. I can get a dozen of her served up to me any day of the week, and with a tongue attached. I’m not paying good money for a naked bitch in a back seat.” I’m playing the part of a difficult son of a bitch to hide my rage.
“No, sir. I understand.”
Ruby twists her body, her only answer she’ll give me, until her naked back is revealed.
“Oh... my. You’ve been branded.” I sound perverted and excited.
Inside, I want to punch a motherfucking hole in a wall.
What the fuck has been going on in that place?
“Did your master cut you to this song?” I’m even starting to creep me out with this role I’m playing.
She nods, still facing away from me, her head bowed.
I quietly snap a photo of her back. I made sure to put my phone on silent before I left for the Shrine of Saint what’s-his-face. She is none the wiser to my actions. These scars are new; they haven’t quite finished mending. This was done recently.
“Daddy is gonna love playin’ with you.” If she could have spat on me, I know she would have turned her pretty head and done so. She’s still got fight left in her after what’s happened to her, and she’s gonna need it to get out in one piece tonight.
“Sugar, show daddy those big eyes of yours.” She turns her head and looks over her shoulder. I snap some photos of her. I see the hatred for me underneath her surface. No matter what she’s been forced to do to Whisper, she’s also a victim.
She loathes me calling her sugar, so I keep doing it. I need Ruby to be angry. Anger will make her stronger to get through tonight.
“Sugar, you concentrate on facin’ those titties and that pretty head of yours to the window again. I don’t need to see your face no more for a while.”
I turn off the interior light, placing us in darkness, and send a couple photos discreetly to Hazard of her face and back while more DM croons away, and then I delete those messages.
There’s no time to count Ruby’s breathing as a win, because we got a long way to go yet. I’ve got a promise-list to fulfill for Whisper, and it’s gonna get bumpy.
I’m about all Dean Martin’ed out by the time we arrive at the private airfield. Another song starts playing while we sit parked close to two AgustaWestland AW189 choppers waiting.
My impatience to board the chopper and get within touching-distance of Whisper is at war with being the hunter and not the prey.
My screen lights up with a code from Hazard, which equals “we’re all in place, just let me know when.”
Hell. Motherfucking. Yeah.