Chapter 63

Two hours after Justice’s plane had touched down at a private—meaning seedy, rundown, and secluded—airstrip in Mexico, she stood inside a nearby hangar with her team.

Landing on the dilapidated runway had been bad. But their prospects of getting into the ranch were even worse.

Which was why the mood inside the hangar—a rickety metal structure so dented and rusted it looked like a toddler having a bad day could kick it down—was tense.

And awkward.

Dada’s informant, boyfriend, baby-daddy, Juan, had followed through on getting them onto Walid’s estate. Well, some of them.

Victor and Tony.

Problem was, they had to pose as mental-air-quotes-around-the-word entertainers.

Turned out Walid got off on pain—specifically, inflicting pain, then watching pain inflicted by men having sex, sadomasochism. He was some kind of fucked-up torturer-voyeur. Guess she shouldn’t have expected the morals bar to be too high with this guy.

He had a routine. Torture captives. Down to business. Live sex show anyone?

She should be grateful that Juan had done anything. Grateful that they knew for sure where Sandesh was and that at least the talent, Tony and Victor, had a way to sneak through the security.

But she really didn’t like it.

Victor seemed at ease in his black speedo. Guy could roll with anything.

Tony hated it. Not for modesty. Conceited idiot. In the gym, he’d been known to break into a spontaneous striptease. He’d Magic Mike you until your eyeballs bled. But wearing a leather jock thong, even with the sex toys tool belt—a pronged collar and some other handy devices attached to his waist—to a potential gunfight was scary as hell.

“I don’t get how strippers do this vulnerability thing,” Tony said. “I feel so fucking exposed.”

He moved his hands around, trying to find some place to rest them. Not happening. Not with what he was wearing. A heavy gold chain around his neck and the leather jock thong that created a W of his ass. The front sock part practically carried the imprint of his thingamajigger. Classy.

Not that she’d looked.

Okay. She had. But it was unavoidable. Still, she hadn’t said a word to him. Not one uncomfortable word.

“What are you complaining about?” Gracie said. “I wish this guy preferred women. At least you’re not being entombed inside a gaudy Mexican Cadillac.”

Entombed. Not a good word choice.

“Hey,” Victor said, smoothing a hand over his contact’s lime-green Cadillac. “Don’t knock the car. That space is ingenious. Took me forty minutes to find the thing, and that was with instructions on where it was.”

Gracie didn’t look impressed. Justice wouldn’t have been either if she’d had to ride stuffed into a secret compartment that made up the car’s back seat. But Gracie was the only one small enough. Sucked to be a shrimp.

Justice would provide cover from atop a nearby hill. Not a shrimp. And she was the best shot anyway. She’d have to hike through the woods tonight to get there. Which meant she’d be dropped off a few hours before everyone else.

“Don’t sweat it, Gracie.” Tony swiveled his hips. “You couldn’t pull off the male sex-appeal part. Besides, the guards probably have your photo—probably have most of the Parish kids. I never let the media near me. I’m discreet that way.”

“Please,” Gracie said, “I’m never photographed. And you’re like a hermit. No one is even sure you exist.”

Tony smiled. “Yeah, I’m fucking bigfoot.”

“You’re big something,” Victor said and winked. Tony flipped him the bird.

Victor had no mercy when it came to flirting with Tony. But he was a great addition to the team. He was all kinds of connected, gutsy as hell, and smart. And devoted enough to Sandesh that he hadn’t hesitated when asked to help.

“Does everyone know their part?” Justice couldn’t help her nerves. This whole thing seemed too risky. “Do you know what we do if it doesn’t work?”

Everyone turned to look at her. Yes, this wasn’t the first time she’d asked. And, yes, she did understand that Dada had gone to a great deal of trouble to arrange this, but…

Tony fingered the thick gold chain around his neck. “Look, Walid is on a sex, drugs, and torture bender.”

Justice cringed. She needed to get to Sandesh. She couldn’t stomach the thought of Walid getting his groove on by torturing him and then doing some hard-core, live-sex-show shit.

“I don’t get why either,” Tony said.

Gracie waved an explanatory hand. “He’s trying to convince himself life is still worth living and he’s in complete control.”

“Ah the lies we tell ourselves,” Victor said. He sounded as if he’d been there. Lying to himself.

“Yeah, well,” Tony said. “Works for me. Excluding the ball gag and that whip, the tools on your belt will make taking Walid out a hell of a lot easier.”

“If it’s too risky,” Justice said, “stick with the patch.”

The League’s latest invention—a poison patch sewn within a protective tag onto Tony’s G-string. It worked like a nicotine patch. This stuff absorbed through skin.

Meanwhile, Gracie would be tucked in the secret compartment inside the car. She’d break out and get to the control room, where she’d use her cyber skills to take out the fence and run a ten-second, nothing-to-see-here loop on the cameras.

Justice would pack up her equipment and make her way to the back of the property, where Gracie would help her get inside. They’d make their way to the elevator that led underground.

Juan said there were only two guards with Sandesh. Easy peasy.

“Stop looking at my ass, Victor,” Tony said, scratching said ass.

Victor laughed. “Just window shopping, amigo. Trust me. Learned my lesson from Sandman. You all got mad skills, but that ride comes with one hell of a price tag.”

“Fuck off.”

“Speaking of price tags,” Gracie said. “What if I do get found? Shouldn’t I have some kind of cover story?”

“Like what, Red?” Victor said.

“Like maybe you wanted to try and add me to your show, broaden Walid’s experiences.”

Justice nodded. It was a good idea. Except… She looked around the desolate plane hangar, raised her hands. “We’re shit out of eight-hundred-dollar bras, and there’s no Agent Provocateur in sight.”

Gracie’s face heated. She bit her lip.

What was that about? “Out with it, Gracie.”

“Well, I don’t think I’ll need a costume.”

Before Justice could even process what that meant, Gracie was stripping down to her skivvies. And that might have been the sexiest underwear Justice had ever seen. Seriously? Rhinestones?

Justice burst into laughter. Tony sputtered until he began to cough. Victor whistled long and loud. “Damn, Red, if I’d known you were hiding that, I would’ve been nicer to you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Gracie thrust her lavishly tattooed hip out. Great. The last thing Justice needed was for these two to be at each other’s throats.

Justice stabbed a finger into Victor’s chest. Like stabbing chiseled concrete. “Knock it off.”

“Joke.” Victor held up his hands. “Getting involved with one of the Parish clan is as smart as hiring your own hit man.”

“That’s a job I’d be willing to consider for you,” Tony said.

Justice rolled her eyes like a fistful of dice. They came up snake eyes. Enough. “Let’s get to work.”

She bent and took her steel-cased smart pad from her backpack. She punched in the clearance code. The screen showed satellite images of the ranch and surrounding area.

“This is Walid’s home.” They huddled around the screen, though by this point, they all knew the plan and the layout. She just wanted to get them to focus. “The land is fairly open, but there’s a hill lined with trees that I’ll use to set up surveillance.”

She pointed at it, then at the stables—practically up against the fence. “This is the easiest place for me to enter. Assuming Gracie disables the cameras and electric fence, this barn will provide cover for my entry.” She moved her hand from the barn to the old mineshaft. “The home itself is close to seventeen thousand square feet, but three thousand of that is underground, accessed through this old mineshaft.”

“Seems like a Parish kind of place,” Victor said.

Gracie’s head snapped up. “I’m not a bottom dweller. I live in the real world. Got it?”

She waited for him to answer her.

Gracie. So sensitive. Like the guy had any idea of their underground facility. Not everyone got the whole Parish-culture thing.

Thankfully, Victor seemed to have bigger fish to fry. Namely, helping free his friend. “Sure. No problem, Red.”

Gracie opened her mouth.

No. Nope. So sick of this shit. “Gracie, get over it. The guy doesn’t have to instinctively know your issues inside and out. He just has to help.”

Silence. Silence as heavy as ten mastodons encased in ice. Gracie and Tony stared at her. What? They acted as if she’d never stuck up for someone outside the League before.