Pierre will forgive me for slipping away in the middle of the night without saying a word, and I expect Imogen will too. Maybe it will be a relief to her that I’m not there, given how on edge she seems to be around me lately. Like she’s constantly waiting for me to do something dangerous. To act upon the base desires I have for her. Maybe she’s even convinced herself that she’d want that too. But if she has, then it’s only because she doesn’t know any better. Because if she knew who I truly was, and all the blood I’ve spilled in my need for vengeance, then she would never look at me that way again. And it would be no less than I deserve.
After I land the plane on the disused airstrip, I wait for the headlights to approach and climb out. A few moments later, I’m standing face-to-face with Edgar. He nods in greeting and then hands me the keys to the black sedan he just climbed out of.
I trade him the keys to the plane. “Refuel her for me, and I’ll meet you here same time tomorrow.” I speak slowly, enabling him to read my lips with ease.
“Sure, boss. Everything you asked for is in the car.”
I sign my thanks to him before we part ways. As promised, Edgar has left me a map on the front seat and I study it quickly. Usually I’d thoroughly analyze the area beforehand and commit it to memory, but this tip off came in late last night and rumor has it the occupants of the house I’m headed to are about to pack up and leave soon. That means the girl is either going with them, or she’ll be left behind in the ground. It’s been four weeks since the auction and my stomach rolls at the state I might find her in.
It takes me forty minutes to drive to the compound, an old farmhouse deep in the forests of Appalachia. The house is made even more insidious for its subtlety, appearing more like a run-down homestead than the headquarters of Henry Finch, responsible for most of the meth circulating in the entire state of Kentucky. Generally, I don’t give a fuck about meth dealers andtheir ilk because they rarely find themselves in the unfortunate position of being on my radar.
But when Henry bought a girl at the auction four weeks ago, he landed himself firmly on my shit list.
I’m sure he and his men could, and do, have their use of any number of girls. Those enticed by the money and those who are simply desperate for their next fix. But there’s something about buying a woman at a Brotherhood auction that becomes more than a fucked-up erotic power play. Instead it becomes like some sick, twisted status symbol. Living, breathing proof that he’s playing with the big dogs now. Stupid fuck.
I park the car half a mile from the compound, grab the bag Edgar left in the trunk for me and go the rest of the way by foot, finding my way through the trees and the rusted old farm equipment being eaten up by the tall grass. It doesn’t take me long to find a prime spot for surveillance and to set up my infrared alert system. For the next few hours, all I do is watch them. When dusk falls, I switch to night-vision binoculars and decide I’ll wait for full nightfall to make my move.
One of the quickest things I learn about Henry Finch is his sheer fucking arrogance. He has little in the way of security around the main house—just a few men patrolling the perimeter. The bulk of his security is situated at the exterior of the second barn behind the main house along with only two cameras that I can detect. The barn is reinforced with huge steel doors and has at least six guards patrolling the perimeter. I figure that must be where he keeps his most valuable assets, that being his drugs and his cash. Experience with men like him tells me that Lot17, the girl I’m looking for, won’t be in there. She’ll be somewhere in the main house. Close enough for her to serve him in whatever way he chooses.
Henry Finch seems to believe himself untouchable, and I suspect because most of the people from the local town don’t give a fuck about his operation here so long as he doesn’t botherthem—and he doesn’t. I’m also sure that his cousin being the local sheriff is a big help too.
As soon as it’s pitch-dark, I make use of my night-vision goggles and inch my way to the main house. I encounter the first of Finch’s soldiers when I reach the smaller barn at the side of the house. His eyes bug out when he almost bumps into me, but before he can raise the alarm, I slip my knife into his carotid artery and he drops to the floor, clutching his throat and sputtering. I take his semiautomatic and drape it across my body before moving on, my boots barely making a sound on the grass. When I pass by the barn’s rusting doors, I take a quick look inside and get my first glimpse of the truth behind the run-down facade. A black armored SUV and some false plates sit idly on the floor, waiting to be used.
I dip out of the barn again and head toward the farmhouse, encountering another of Finch’s guards and disposing of him the same way as his colleague. I take his gun too, and hang it across my other shoulder. The door is unlocked—another sign of Henry’s arrogance.
The hallway is decorated in a way befitting the derelict exterior. Floral wallpaper, faded and peeling. A worn carpet, threadbare in places and faded from the sunlight that must stream through the tall windows during the daytime. I suspect it’s a lot like my own house: a mask disguising the true veneer beneath.
A floorboard creaks beneath my feet and I freeze, waiting for someone to hear me. When the house stays still and silent, I head upstairs. There’s life up here. Sounds. Muffled voices. The low hum of a TV. The shuffling of feet. And scents. Gun oil, disinfectant, and a hint of copper. A door opens ahead and a man walks out, locking it behind him before he zips up his fly. He has a smug smirk on his face that immediately makes me want to ram the butt of my knife through his teeth, but I stick to the shadows while he walks into the room next door. Light from the room spills out into the hallway as he leaves it open.
“She’s all yours, buddy.”
Laughter. “Did you leave her conscious this time?” More laughter. It makes my blood boil to hear them laughing while they talk about another human being this way. If I had time, I’d skin every one of them alive. “I like to hear her scream when I fuck her.”
I squeeze the handle of my knife tightly, until the skin stretches taut over my knuckles. Just a few more minutes and I’ll make him pay.
“You sure you don’t want a turn, boss?”
Boss? Is he talking to Finch?
“Nah. She’s got a bit baggy for me now, you know what I mean?” More raucous laughter.
My grip tightens further and I force myself not to go in there and slit every one of their throats. But rescuing Lot 17 is my primary goal. Once she’s safe, then I’ll come back and kill every last one of them.
Another man walks out of the room and pulls the door closed, leaving the hallway in darkness once more. He drags on a cigarette, the amber glow from the lit end highlighting his features for an instant—a jagged scar runs the length of his jaw. He scratches his head, ruffling a thick mop of greasy hair and then flicks the butt onto the floor before stubbing it out with the toe of his boot.
He unlocks the door. “You awake, bitch? Billy has come to play.” He cackles, the sound cut off as the door swings closed behind him.
You’re about to laugh for the very last fucking time, Billy.
I creep along the hallway and gently turn the handle, relieved to feel it move beneath my hand before I push the door open a crack. Billy, the sick piece of shit, is already taking off his pants, and there’s a girl lying on a bed, on top of filthy bloodied sheets. Even with my mask on, I can smell the foul odor of unwashed bodies, blood and cum. The girl is unmoving, but that doesn’t deter Billy.
I slip inside the room and close the door behind me. The soft click has him spinning around, dick in his hand and a smirk on his face. I guess he was expecting one of his buddies. His mouth drops open, and before he can speak or alert anyone to my presence, I shove two fingers into his mouth, pressing his tongue down hard and gripping the underside of his jaw with my thumb. I hold my knife in front of his face. “Speak and I’ll slice you from balls to nose, you understand me?”
He nods jerkily.
“How many men are in the next room? Blink once for each of them.”
He blinks four times.
