Madness (Revenge Series Book 3) (16 page)

Cubby unfastens the door hidden in the belly of the plane and pulls it back. The fresh air floods in, awakening my tired eyes and stirring the adrenaline inside my blood. I’m ready to get this over with.

Cubby leans down head first, checking to see if the coast is clear, and then he jumps from the plane, his gun drawn. He turns, looking at all points around him, and when it’s clear, he motions for me to get out.

I stand as much as I can in this damn cargo hold and jump through the opening. It feels good to be fully upright. I twist at the waist, cracking my spine, and roll my neck. Cubby does the same, and then we take in our surroundings. His contact gave him the location of the auction tonight, so now we just need to figure out exactly where we are so we can get there before it’s over.

Due to the heat surrounding the underground, auctions never last long. An hour at most before it’s dismantled and any merchandise left will be shot or transported to another auction. The life of a slave is not a glamorous one, and many of the girls die within a year of being captured if they are not sold. Tragedy at its finest.

“We need a car,” Cubby whispers, yanking me back to the present. “Let’s look over there.” He points to a steel building across from where we are.

“Come on,” I reply, moving toward the structure. I crouch down slightly as I run toward the structure. The night has almost overtaken the sky, but there is still a little sun left. We won’t be fully guarded by the night and will need to watch our backs.

It only takes a few seconds to make it to the building. I press my back to the unforgiving steel and wait as Cubby follows suit. I look left then back to the right, checking again if the coast is clear. Then I motion with the end of my pistol, and we begin to step alongside the building.

Adrenaline goes from a slow boil to a surging ocean in a mere second. My body is tight, ready for anything as we make it to the edge of the building. I take a deep breath and extend my arm, my pistol in front of me, ready to fire. The door is wide open, and the dirty air is motionless.

My gut starts to stir, knowing someone is in here and will be popping out very soon.

I take another slow, calculated step deeper inside, scanning every inch of the darkened building. Cubby’s prediction was right. Our salvation lies on the opposite side of the room where a Jeep is spotted. Hopefully, it will get us out of this place.

Just as I step forward again, a rustling on my right triggers me to pivot, pointing my gun in that direction. A man stands just as he fires his weapon. I duck down, and Cubby and I separate, looking for cover. I hunch down behind a loose piece of steel. The bullets ping off the metal; luckily they are not armor-piercing rounds.

He stops to reload, and I stand, ready to fire as Cubby pops up from the side, pressing his gun to the side of the man’s head.

I slowly walk over to them, looking around for more men to pop out of nowhere. Cubby stands behind the guy, his hulking size adding that much more terror to the situation. The man concedes, dropping his weapon and holding his hands up.

“Are you alone?” I ask, hoping like hell he understands English.

He only looks at us.

I swallow down the desire to plunge my Bowie in his skull and look up at Cubby.

He just smirks. You would assume a man of his stature and physical ability was only used as muscle, but Cubby is a genius. He is fluent in many languages, Bengali being one of them.

It does come in handy as an international criminal to be fluent, but that isn’t my thing. I only know Russian and English. I’m not stupid by any means, though. I have street smarts and the ability to predict the criminal’s next move.

“Are you alone?” Cubby asks in the man’s native language.

“Yes,” he answers.

“Do you know where the men took the girl?” I ask, waiting for Cubby to translate.

The man is sweating, frantic to answer the question the right way. If he was smart, he would know that, once we get what we need from him, I will shoot him then move on. It’s a no-win situation.

I don’t have time for this. If this motherfucker doesn’t concede soon, I will lose the fine thread of patience I currently possess.

Expelling an irritated breath, Cubby reads my agitation and threatens him. I have no idea what he’s saying, so I watch as the man’s eyes tear up. The unpleasant smell of urine passes through the air, and I look at Cubby, who leans to the side and down while keeping his gun trained on the man’s head.

The corner of my mouth lifts up, and I give Cubby an impressed nod. Now I really want to know what was said between the two.

Cubby jerks the man to the side, pulling him over to the truck. “Come on. He’s offered to show us the way.”

The man is still whimpering as we all pile in the Jeep and drive out into the muggy summer night.

.*.*.*.

August 22, 2015 9:51 p.m.

We inch our way from the side street and into the dark alley behind a restaurant. I quickly wipe the blade of my Bowie on an old piece of cloth found on the ground then tuck it back into my sheath.

We abandoned the Jeep and the man moments ago. For his contribution to our mission, I rammed my knife deep and hard in his chest, killing him instantly. It could have been a lot worse if he chose not to cooperate.

The auction is happening in the basement of the restaurant, which tells me the business is merely a front. The building is huge from the outside, easily three stories. The top two floors appear to be apartments, and the main level is the restaurant.

The alley is free of cars, but it doesn’t concern me. Typically, the buyers are met at one place then taken to an undisclosed location. This helps keep the police from tracking the locations and gives the buyers equal time spent viewing the merchandise. It’s a very well planned and sick business.

Cubby takes the lead as we slowly creep through the back entrance. The smell of Curry and grease encases me as we stand at the threshold to the kitchen.

I look to the side and note a long, bleak hallway. I motion with my gun for Cubby to follow me, and we both take slow, calculated steps into the tunnel of darkness. A creaking noise comes from below my feet as I inch my way deeper into the hallway. There is nothing to the sides of us. No doors, pictures, window—nothing. The only thing that exists is a door at the end of the tunnel. Like a creepy horror movie location, every inch of this feels dangerous, which confirms we are in the right place.

My gut stirs with a random concoction of emotions. Each one is fueling me with intensity. My jaw is clenched, and I know it will be hard to see what is happening to Josslyn, but succeeding with the retribution is of the utmost importance.

I look back one more time at Cubby, and he nods, telling me he’s ready for whatever happens behind the door. I turn the rusted knob then slowly pull the door back. I press my back to the wall and slowly descend the stairs, gun drawn. My shoes crunch the grit covering the concrete steps as I make my way deeper into the lair. There is only a muted orange glow coming from the bottom of the stairs and the smell of desperation dripping down the filthy walls.

Cubby’s heated body is flush with the wall, his shoulder brushing against mine, and I can feel that his muscles are poised and ready to kill, just like mine.

Left is the only option we have after we come off the last step. I keep my back to the wall and move around the corner slowly. I peek around the other side of the wall and see a man standing against it. He’s strapped with a machine gun, and by the bulge displayed down by his ankle, he has a gun tucked there, too.

I silently tell Cubby about the man, and he nods once. Unfastening the button on my suit jacket, I pull my Bowie knife from its sheath and tuck my pistol back inside the holster. I swallow down the adrenaline and pull myself out of the safety of the stairway. When I round the corner, I’m not slow and calculating. I get to the man in three large, aggressive steps. He’s stunned only a moment before he reaches for his gun.

I lunge forward, plummeting my knife expertly between the ribs on his side and straight into his lungs. I only smile as he withers to the ground with wide eyes.

I stand behind him and wrap my hands around his fat neck. With a violent jerking motion, his bones crack and he goes limp in my hands. I find a door adjacent to where he was standing, and Cubby reads my unspoken words, clearing the room before we both drag the dead man inside. Then we continue our way through the dungeon-like chamber.

The dirty air is stagnant. There are at least six rooms off this corridor. Josslyn may be behind the doors of one of these rooms, but the time and risk it takes to search them would be too great. I have to trust she is alive and fighting for every breath she takes. I can’t think of what she’s experiencing right now. I can’t let it fog my mind and skew my judgment. There is nothing I can do to help her right now, and why should I help her? Yet, my instincts are telling me I should go to her. My mind and gut are being pulled in opposite directions. I don’t want to leave her here, but she is here because I need to find Stravinsky. Why do I keep toggling back and forth with my thoughts? I find it distracting that I have to keep reminding myself that she is my bait.

Cubby grabs my arm and pulls me inside a room where a girl is restrained in a chair. She’s young, probably yet a teenager, and blindfolded. My gut is plagued with fury beyond my mind’s comprehension. I knew what this was about when I worked with Stravinsky, and I even helped scout the girls, but I never stepped foot inside the auction. It was Boris who did that. He was the one who would break them in if needed, and he was the one who would present Stravinsky’s merchandise. I may be a lot of things, but a rapist and molester are not among them.

Whispering, Cubby says, “This is taking too long. We need to find Stravinsky’s buyer and get out of here before we are seen.”

The girl whimpers in the background, distracting my thoughts. All I can think about now is Josslyn in this very situation. And I can’t. Her face shouldn’t pass through my mind.

“Hey.” Cubby slugs me in the arm, getting my head back to the current moment.

I shake my head and picture my family—my brother’s face blown away, blood pooled under his disfigured frame. I think about my daughter, innocent and violated beyond imagination. I see their bodies, the people I was supposed to protect and didn’t. All at the hands of Stravinsky. For my family, I must forget anything except the massive and festering rage intertwined within my blood.

My face darkens and my eyes slant as the evil persona morphs over me, transforming me into the man I need to be. I’m now the killer, the hunter in search of his prey.

“The auction ring will be down the hall; that is the only place it can be. I will go out first.” I remove my gloves and straighten my black suit. Luckily for me, every inch of me is in black; otherwise, you would see the bloodstains. “I will pass enough to be able to locate the buyer.” I hold up my hands and then run them through my hair, fixing it to look like I haven’t slept in a cargo hold of an airplane.

“What should I do?” Cubby looks annoyed yet willing to help.

“Get back to the Jeep and wait for me. We both can’t go in there. It’s too obvious, and I’m dressed more for the role. I will track the buyer then meet up with you.”

Hopefully, we can do this quickly and quietly. I simply need to spot the buyer, lurk in the shadows, and have Cubby tail him to wherever he departs from. Then we will exit this godforsaken place much as we came in—stashed in a cargo hold. Only, this time, we will head to Russia, my home turf.

“Here.” Cubby hands me a small metallic circle. I smile, knowing exactly what it is. “Slip this on him somewhere so we can track him. It’s synced up to my phone.” Cubby pulls it out of his pocket and waves it to me.

“Always prepared, my friend,” I commend as I put the GPS tracking device in the same pocket as the needles. Then I step from the room.

Cubby shakes my hand then pulls me in for a hug, appearing to get sentimental.

I take a moment to collect myself, pulling a deep breath in and trapping it in my lungs until the burn is too much to bear, and then I allow the air to pass powerfully through my mouth.

I turn toward the girl shivering in the seat and pull the blindfold from her eyes. She is ghostly white and terrified. Tears drip like a leaking faucet from her crystal blue eyes. She can’t be more than eighteen years old. The disgust floods back in.

“What’s your name?” I ask her.

“Tatiana,” she sputters through broken, sad lips.

“Where are you from?” Cubby asks, sensing she is native to Russia.

“Saint Petersburg.” She is shivering uncontrollably now.

If she is sitting in this room, she is still waiting to be bought, and I can’t allow her to be here any more than I will. Josslyn is a fighter. She knows how to keep herself alive, but this girl, she is just starting life. I can’t have it start like this.

I pull my knife from the inside of my pocket, and she starts to sob when the blade comes close to her skin. I lift my finger to my lips, motioning for her to be quiet. I wait for her to calm down, and then Cubby comes behind her as I cut the ties. His eyes are confused for a moment until he understands what I am doing—saving this girl before she is left to live a very short and miserable life.

I get down on her level and look deeply into her eyes. “Tatiana, this man will help you get out of here. Just do what he says and listen to every direction if you want to stay alive.”

She nods, and I pull an old, button-down shirt from a pile of clothes on the floor, handing it to the girl. She quickly secures it around her body then falls next to Cubby’s giant side.

“See you out there, brother,” he says, grabbing the girl’s arm before stepping from the room.

When the door closes, I feel the guilt rise. I should be doing the same for Josslyn. There’s a ninety-nine percent chance Josslyn will go to Stravinsky’s buyer. Yet my mind is thinking of that other one percent. If she’s sold and moved elsewhere, I will have to make a decision, and I’d like to think it would be following Stravinsky. However, knowing that she’s here, I’m not so sure I can make that choice. Regardless, if she’s sold to someone else, I will find her. It may not be tonight, but I will find her.