Christine Feehan

Isaak Koval, known to his brothers in Torpedo Ink as Ice, moved with the crowd of tourists down the Las Vegas strip. He could fit in anywhere. It was a gift, and one he worked on as often as possible. He’d learned early in life that if he chose, he could be invisible, or nearly so, fading like the chameleon into whatever background surrounded him. That gift had saved his life on more than one occasion.

He was very careful to keep several people between himself and the two men he followed. He wove his way through the tourists but was always careful his reflection wasn’t caught in the glass as he passed windows and doors. That was simply a matter of matching steps for a moment. He kept his head down, but eyes up, scanning the crowd, the buildings, and even the rooftops.

Heat waves bounced on the sidewalk, hitting him squarely in the chest. At times it felt as if he couldn’t breathe, but then he’d been feeling that way for some time, even at home on the coast.

His quarry stopped for a moment just inside one of the doors leading to a casino forcing him to stop as well. He couldn’t get in front of them or take a chance they’d pick him out of a crowd if they spotted him more than once. There was a brick pillar just on the other side of the doors of the casino and he paused there to pull out his cell and look at text messages, just the way dozens of others were doing. He glanced across the street where his twin brother, Storm, mirrored his actions but on the other side of the street. Ice was able to keep the two men in sight while studying his phone, and then moving at a snail’s pace with a group of tourists from India.

The two men they followed argued for a moment over something they read on their phones and began walking the strip again. They appeared to be looking for a good time, stopping briefly at the strip joints, as if debating whether they’d go in or not. They never did, and Ice didn’t expect them to. His club knew just about everything there was to know about the men they were tracking down the Vegas strip. They knew for certain that neither man was looking for a night of fun with strippers, prostitutes or women they picked up.

They were coming up to a red light. That was always a danger zone. The two men, Russ Jarvas and Billy Kent, were in the habit of taking the opportunity to look around them when they got to a cross-walk. The crowd pushed together at the stoplights and both men would casually turn and survey those beside and behind them. They often looked across the street to study everyone waiting to cross to their side.

Still, Ice could come up right on them, do them both just as the light changed and walk across the street with the crowd before the bodies fell. He wiped the sweat from his face and kept sauntering. His club needed the two alive long enough to lead them to the asshole they were hunting. He forced himself to put one boot in front of the other.

He was dressed in his blue jeans and motorcycle boots. It wasn’t like he had a lot of clothes to choose from. The tight tee stretched across his chest, damp now with sweat from the unrelenting heat. He fucking hated this place almost as much as he detested the two men he followed. Worse, he couldn’t wear his distinctive colors. That felt like walking down the street naked which would have actually been better than being without his colors.

Sometimes, like now, he thought he might go insane from the chaos in his head. He listened sometimes when the president of Torpedo Ink, their motorcycle club, Czar and his wife Blythe said some things needed talking about no matter how difficult. That was such bullshit. Who did someone like him spill his guts to? And what fuckin therapist would understand what he’d been through? What any of his brothers and sisters had been through?

He could just hear that conversation. How many men did you say you killed? How did you say you killed them? How do you feel about that? How did they fuckin think he felt about that? It would be prison or a padded cell and he’d been locked up most of his life and wasn’t ever going there again. Not ever.

Ice swept off the silly ballcap he was wearing, the one covering his distinctive hair. He wasn’t just a blond, his hair blazed in the sun, platinum, gold, silver, it was all there. He wore it longish, but not like some of the brothers. He wiped at the sweat again and replaced the ballcap. As he came up to the light, he dipped into the brightly colored open tote a woman dangled so invitingly on her arm, lifted a small package and dropped it on the sidewalk just in front of him.

“Ma’am.” He bent down. “You dropped something.”

The older woman turned and her eyes went wide. “Oh no. Thank you. I bought that for my granddaughter.”

He took his time rising with it, angling away from the light and keeping most of the crowd between him and his prey. He flashed a charming smile at her. “How old is your granddaughter if you don’t mind me asking because you sure as hell don’t look old enough to be a grandmother.” He meant it too, he didn’t have to pour bullshit sincerity into his tone.

She beamed at him. “That’s such a sweet thing to say. I’m definitely old enough. She’s eight.” She took the little package and dropped it into her tote, pulling her bag more securely to her. “I really like your tattoo. It’s unusual.”

He had a wealth of tattoos on his arms, chest and back, but she was referring to the three teardrops dripping down his face from the corner of his left eye. Those tears reminded him, every time he looked into the mirror, that he wasn’t human anymore. Everything had been taken from him leaving a shell. An empty shell. The tightness in his chest made it difficult to breathe again. He touched one of the tears as if just remembering he had them.

“Had them for years. You know the kind of thing you do when you’re a kid.”

She smiled at him again. “You still look like a kid to me.”

Now he’d run out of things to say. She was nice. He didn’t live in a nice world. He didn’t know how to make conversation with nice people. He could beat the holy hell out of someone for her. He could kill someone for her if she asked him to. Shit, he might do both, but polite conversation was beyond him.

Of course, there was always the alternative. He could pull out his gun and shoot the bastards right there in front of everyone. The cops would come and there would be a hell of a shoot-out but in the end, he might have some peace. Might. There was probably a special place in hell for a man like him.

He didn’t have the luxury of offing himself via cop because if he killed the two he’d been following for four fucking days in the hottest place in the world, then he would be condemning some little boy to a lifetime of hell. He knew what that was like. Shit.

The woman was talking to him, but he couldn’t hear a thing she said. The crowd moved and he risked a glance over his shoulder. The two assholes were already in the street. He turned back to the street and moved with the woman, angling his head down and toward her as if fully engaged in everything she had to say.

He had a lot he could tell her. Specifically, that he was so fucked up that if he was in a roomful of hot babes stripping for him, he couldn’t get it up unless he commanded it. That was getting damned tiresome. What was the use in having chicks blow him when he had to force his body to cooperate? Yeah, that would make a great conversation. He could ask her advice.

Maybe he should ask Blythe and shock the holy hell out of her, not that much shocked her. She’d taken Czar back and taken the entire club in as if she was a mother hen. He had to admit he actually felt affection and admiration for her when he thought he was long past real emotion. Blythe and her troubled children. He could relate to them. Unfortunately for them.

He walked with the older woman for another block, listening to her chatter on about her adorable granddaughter. When she paused and he had no choice but to fill the silence with words, he talked about his darling ‘nieces’ and’ nephews’. He supposed it wasn’t a lie. They didn’t have to be related by birth. All members of Torpedo Ink were his brethren. That meant their children were part of his life, right? That was how it worked in his world whether it did or not in the ‘normal’ world.

Movement caught his eye as he turned the corner with a little wave at the woman who went straight. A white dress with flowers all over it. Not just any dress. A fuckin sun dress like women wore in the old movies. She was across the street, standing in the sunlight and she might as well have been wearing a halo. She looked so beautiful she took his breath away. He actually stopped walking right there on the sidewalk to stare at her—which was fucking nuts because he was on a job.

The top of the dress was fitted, and she had amazing tits. They filled out the material of the sundress to perfection, pushing against the bodice as if seeking freedom. The front of the dress was tight but gathered around the cleavage line. His palms itched to tug down that fitted camisole and free those mouthwatering tits. His mouth actually salivated. He would stand behind her and slowly pull the material free until the bodice was under those soft curves and her tits spilled into his hands.

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 what-so-ever normal about him and sex. Nothing.

He forced his hand away from his jeans and took another long look at the woman. Her ribcage and waist were narrow, accented by the tight bodice. The skirt flared out, drawing attention to her legs. She had legs. Gorgeous legs. He could almost feel them wrapped around him. Hell if his erection was going away any time 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 his 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 further 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 dammit 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 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 the 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 that 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 be 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 and the original auction had been opened 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 member 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 men and women 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 ballcap but when he crossed the street, he switched to an Irish 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 towards them. Ice kept walking straight, keeping his head down, while his brother crossed the street with the 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 how to kill hundreds of ways. 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 back-up drove past them in a Toyota pick-up 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 back-up 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 was nearly imperceptible to his back-up, but Savage caught it. The driver of the pick-up 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, 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.

“Back up is ready,” Reaper, their Sargent at Arms said.

“Van waiting for package,” Czar, their president reported.

“Medic on standby,” Steele, their VP and doctor 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 a day 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, frowning slightly and rushed out the door Storm held open for her. He locked the door and but left the open sign on so that it flashed right over the words declaring they gave twenty-four-hour massages.

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 believe.

Ice and Storm fell into step behind Savage. 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 they would 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 usually was 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 uniform 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 massage parlor 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 further 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 them 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 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 was child, being tortured like the rest of them. She came back crying, but ready to do whatever it took to escape.

She walked right up to the sentry as if she was going to walk past him, her eyes staring right into the guard’s, a sultry, sexy expression on her face. Savage stepped into his victim 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 on 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.

Ice gave him one look and then stepped close to the door, his lock pick out. He was very quiet as he took care of the rather flimsy lock. Those inside counted on their guards just a little too much.

He and Storm each stepped to the side of the door leaving Lana in front of it. She hovered her palm a whisper from the door, her hand as steady as a rock. Ice admired her, the way she could go from soft, sweet woman to kill mode just that fast. They’d counted on her when she was just a beautiful, dark-haired child and she’d always come through. She still did.

She held up her fingers. Six men down in front by where they knew there was another exit and four more guards. One on either side of the door. One up high, on a small balcony behind a curtain. One by the exit on the other side of the room that led to the alley.

Savage indicated for Ice and Storm to take the guards out on either side of the door. He would take the one at the far exit and Lana would take out the one behind the curtain. She was the most accurate when there was no clear shot.

Each had the men they were going to kill. Paul Bitters was the man selling the kid so he would be last to die. They needed to know where the kid was. “In position,” Savage reported.

“In position,” Reaper said, waiting at the exit directly behind the seller and the buyers.

“Have your package, Savage,” Mechanic said, indicating they had taken the driver of the truck and were holding him, so they could extract more information about the ring and move up the chain to the even bigger fish.

“Transporter and I at back door,” Alena reported.

“It’s a go,” Czar commanded.

Ice glanced over his shoulder one last time and then at his twin. Storm. His heart clenched. Abruptly he shoved open the door, stepping through, as he turned and fired through the wood at his target. Storm moved with him, back to back, a practiced move they’d done hundreds of times. His gun blazed as well. Lana was right behind them, stepping in front and to one side to give Savage his shot. She fired three times at the curtain. Savage calmly pulled the trigger and all four bodies dropped to the floor nearly simultaneously.

Savage reached back and closed the door behind them and strode down the aisle toward the six men. “Gentlemen.” He greeted them softly.
There was no child in the room. Bitters hastily tried to get to the computer projecting the image of a small boy in a dog cage sitting on the floor holding a blanket to his chest. The four guns went off a second time and Jarvis, Kent, Bernard and Churchhill dropped to the floor with a very loud thud.

Torpedo Ink used silencers, but silencers only muffled the sound of a shot. The gunshots still could be heard if anyone was close. Bitters looked hopefully toward the exit that was directly behind him. George Durango edged closer to Bitters.

“I’ve got money. Whoever is paying you, I can double it,” Durango said.

Ice shot him through the heart and for good measure shot him a second time between his eyes. Durango fell into Bitters who automatically caught the falling body and then dropped it with a small squeak of fear.

Ice and Storm moved together right past Bitters to the computer. “Where is he?” Ice snapped staring up at the screen. “If you don’t tell me the first time, that man right there, standing in front of you is going to take you apart piece by piece. No one is going to come save you. The back exit is ours. The alley is ours. The front desk is ours. The cameras are not working. Where is the kid, Bitters?”

Storm worked on the computer, using a few keystrokes to allow Code to break in. It wouldn’t take long to find the boy on their own if necessary. “Code’s in,” he said.

Bitters looked around at the dead bodies as if he couldn’t believe what happened. He was clearly still in shock. Killing nine people inside the room had taken less than a full minute. He took two steps back and held up his hands. “If you want him, of course I’ll take you to him.”

“We have a team that will pick him up. You’re going to tell us where he is,” Ice reiterated.

Savage had shoved his gun out of sight and pulled out a wicked looking knife. The blade caught the lights from above and gleamed, drawing Bitters eye. Savage had no expression on his face and his eyes were flat. Cold. Dead. It was very clear he could do exactly what Ice had said he would do.

Bitters looked to Lana. She was a beautiful woman, elegant and classy. “Please, I don’t know what’s happening.” He took another step back.
“Look over your shoulder,” Ice suggested.

Bitters turned, his face a mask of fear. Reaper, Savage’s older brother filled the doorway, looking like the grim reaper. Bitter’s frightened gaze jumped from man to man. It was impossible to say which was scarier.

“In the basement, but you’ll never get into his cage without me. There’s a device…”

Ice’s head snapped up. “You fuckin’ put a device on the cage? Like a bomb? You put a fuckin’ bomb on the cage of a six-year-old boy you’ve been molesting for two years and now he’s too old and you want to sell him? You put a bomb on that cage?” He stepped closer. He could kill the bastard with his bare hands.

“You don’t understand,” Bitters said. He straightened, putting on his public face, the one he gave to the cameras and made everyone believe.

“This boy, these children, they’re sexual beings. They want love. They want what we give them. You need to open your mind. I was born to love children. To teach them.” He gave that exact rhetoric to the other pedophiles on the website they all visited. Maybe he’d said it so many times he believed it.

Ice hit him hard. He was wearing a thin pair of gloves like his brothers and Lana. Beneath the gloves they wore finger prints that didn’t belong to any of them. He shoved a knee into Bitter’s chest when his body went down like a felled tree. Ice hit him a dozen times, smashing teeth and his nose, and breaking his cheekbone.

“Ice is losing it, Czar, with good reason,” Storm reported.

“Ice,” Czar said softly in his ear. “We need information. Back off for a minute.”

Lana put a hand on Ice’s shoulder. “Get him up, brother,” she said softly. “Don’t get any blood on you.”

Ice glanced at her over his shoulder and took a deep breath to still the beast crying out for more blood. More death. Reluctantly he stood up, jerking Bitters with him.

Bitters wiped at the blood but it kept coming.

“We’re at four minutes and counting,” Storm reported. “Move it along.”

“You hear that, Alena? Bomb on the cage. Check it out. Code says the kid’s in the basement,” Savage said and took a step toward Bitters.
Bitters let out another squeak and held up his hands in surrender. “I’ve given you the kid. I can give you the code to open the cage. You can have him. I don’t need money for him.” He mumbled his statement and coughed blood.

Savage slapped him hard. The blow was so strong, Bitters rocked back and to his left. Stumbled. Nearly went down. Blood sprayed across the floor.

“You can’t do that,” Bitters said, grabbing his face and holding with both hands. “You have to arrest me.”

Ice looked around the room at the dead bodies. “This look like law enforcement to you? We want to know who the man is that sold the kid to you in the first place. He killed the boy’s family and took him nearly out of a crib in order to have him without repercussions. He didn’t want anyone looking for the boy. He’s established quite an MO with his kill families and grab the kids. He’s a supplier. That’s what he does for sick fucks like you. Who is he?”

Bitters glanced up at the camera and then shook his head. “I don’t know him.”

“You really aren’t of any use to us then, but we have to be certain.” Ice flicked a quick look at Savage. “Transporter has the truck waiting and the Demons have a small chapter here. They’re flying under the radar. They lent us their garage for a few hours.”

“I’ll get the information we need from one of them,” Savage said. “Ice, you’re with me on this one. Between the two of us we can get anyone to talk.”

“Wait, wait.” Bitters held up his hands again as if he could ward them off.

Lana moved close and Bitters grabbed at her. She caught his wrist, twisted and he went flying off his feet. She retained possession of his wrist while grinding one foot into his throat. She caught the syringe Savage tossed to her and slammed the needle into Bitter’s neck. His eyes rolled back in his head.

“Now I need another shower,” Lana said and dropped the dead weight of Bitter’s arm. “He’s disgusting.”

Savage reached down and hauled the man up easily. He put him on his shoulder, so the body dangled like a rag doll. “Leave the computer and all the evidence Code collected on these men. All of it. He has plenty of copies. He’s chosen several news outlets to leak the evidence to. Burn your clothes. Everything. Lana, you’ll have to get rid of the shoes. There’s blood on them. Use the routes given to you.”

“Damn it, Ice,” she glared at him. “I love these shoes.”

“Sorry, hon, I’ll buy you another pair,” Ice said. He slung his arm around her. “Really. He just pissed me off. I needed to kill that fucker, so it’s a good thing you and Storm were here to give me a cooler head.”

“Me too,” She said. “I needed to kill him too, but we need to find the one killing families and taking the children.”

“Remove all evidence,” Czar said unnecessarily over the radio.

“Package is in our custody,” Alena reported. “Poor baby is scared out of his mind.”

“Sedate him if you have to for transport. We’ll take care of him,” Czar said. “You all need to get out of there clean.”