Twisted Mercy (Red Team Book 4) (11 page)

She pushed the sheet down between their bodies, kicking it free with her feet so nothing separated him from her. He touched her face, laying his palm and fingers flat against her skin. He kissed her temple. He shoved his hand beneath her pillow, circling her head as he moved over her. She gave herself to him so easily, so freely.
 

“Em, if something happens, tell me you’ll take care of my boy.”

She caught his face in her hands. He was glad the dark room shielded him from her troubled eyes. “Oh, Rocco. I will. You know it. But promise me you won’t take unnecessary chances.”

“I promise.” After every nightmare, she was his only salvation, the only thing he truly knew was real. “I love you,” he whispered as he entered her.
 

CHAPTER TEN

Max had two teams to monitor that night. Pete’s guys were positioned at the entrance to the compound, along the road to the warehouse, and all around the warehouse, inside and out. Kit’s team was farther away, in an outer ring around the compound, hidden in sniper stands in the woods.

Max went inside to make sure Pete’s guys were where he’d told them to be. He’d taken an opportunity earlier to inspect the loading site and the shrink-wrapped pallets of heroin bricks—four of them, stacked twelve rows high. He’d stuck an RFID tag beneath the top layer of wood on each pallet.
 

The tags were passive unless paired with the proper reader—readers controlled by Lobo’s agents who were set up to follow the loaded truck once it left the compound. Owen’s drones had the same capability and would be in place as backup in case any of the FBI tails got made or lost their targets.
 

A crude oil truck drove into the compound and pulled around to the warehouse that sat at the back of the property. Max wore his amber night-vision glasses, specially configured with the same camera as his sunglasses. Greer was seeing everything he was.
 

The cavernous room was loud with an idling forklift, thick with the smell of propane fuel as the big rig pulled into the warehouse. The front overhead door lowered. The driver and his passenger got out. Pete exchanged jokes and handshakes with them. He watched as the driver pulled out his phone and opened an app. He tapped the screen a few times, then a mechanical whine sounded as three entire sections at the rear of the crude-oil tank rolled open, revealing an empty cavity.
 

Fuck. Me
, Max thought as he looked at the
giant steel Trojan horse.
 

The forklift made four trips, loading the specially fitted pallets and setting them gently inside the cargo space. The driver and his helper hopped inside and tied them down. In total, the load had a street value of close to two and half mil. Was that the last of Abdul Baseer al Jahni’s dope? Or did Pete have more? Was that what was in the renovated silo? The guys had checked out the warehouse. Eddie even brought her drug-sniffing dog through. It wasn’t being stored above ground.

The driver lowered the hatch, sealing away the Trojan compartment. Pete checked his papers, then the driver pulled the truck out through the rear overhead door. Pete told one of the guys to lock the warehouse down. He and Max walked outside. Five guys rolled out with the truck, acting as escort. Two of them would ride ahead on the route, keeping an eye out for problems. Others were posted along the truck’s route. At no point would the truck be out of Pete’s eyes.

“Impressive,” Max admitted. “But you know, despite the oil reservoirs, a drug-sniffing dog could still scent that junk. That’s a huge shipment to risk being confiscated.”

Pete waved a hand, dismissing his concerns. “It’s a game of odds. This is their third run in the last two months. I could send out smaller shipments more frequently, but that increases my exposure. These two drivers are entirely loyal to me.”

“No one is fully loyal.”

“Even you?”

“Even me. I live for myself. Fortunately for you, my life here is exactly what I want.”

“Well, those two know the dangers. If they get caught, they know I will take care of their family, generously, the entire time they’re in prison…as long as they don’t point the finger back here. And if they fail to deliver the entire shipment, the cost will be the lives of those they love.” Pete grinned. “Leverage is my friend.”

Max locked his jaw. He wondered how loyal the two drivers would remain when they couldn’t remember what colors looked like or how sunshine felt after only a month in the hole. “Where do they go from here?” he asked, forcing the words from his mouth as he fought to cover his reaction.

Pete looked at him. Max kept his expression masked, as if it was only an idle interest from a new club officer. “To a processing center, where it gets cut down and packaged.”

Max nodded. “Well, if we’re done here, I’m gonna have the guys stand down.”

Pete hit him on the back. “You did good tonight. I’m going to be talking to King shortly. Tomorrow, we’ll talk about your percentage.”

Max texted the WKB guys to stand down. He was halfway to the clubhouse when Greer’s voice came over his comm unit.
“Hold your positions and maintain radio silence. You’ve got company out there.”

“Who is it?”
Kit asked.
“Have they been made?”

“They’re kids. Fang’s phantom boys. And no, our guys haven’t been seen yet, from what I can tell.”
 

Max pivoted, heading toward the boys’ bunker. “I’ll check it out at my end.”

“Wait. They’re moving,”
Greer reported.
“Looks like they’re pulling out. Jesus. Fang was right. They’re like ghosts.”

* * *

Max crossed the compound’s grounds to the Quonset hut where the boys bunked. The whole back area of the compound was dark, from the bike garage on. He walked into their unlit building. Narrow cots lined both sides of the steel hull, beds made with regimented perfection. Between the beds were simple pine desks stacked high with books.

He went past the big bathroom to the room at the end of the building. The pedophile, Holbrook, had bunked there. Someone else occupied the space now. The room spanned the end of the building, allowing space for an office and bunk area. The Spartan furnishings had to have come straight out of an army surplus. The steel fixtures looked skeletal in the big room.
 

Something drew his attention outside. Not a sound, exactly. More a shift in energy, like a storm that suddenly became silent and still. He looked through a window. A dozen boys in black hoodies stood outside, watching the window where he stood.
 

A grim chill scratched along Max’s spine.

He flipped an outside light on, then let the door slam behind him as he went out into the quiet storm of little hellions. These punks had managed to bruise Fang Lee and had left a nasty cut on Selena’s cheek, Greer had told him. How did you even fight little monsters like these? And what the hell were they doing here on the WKB compound?

The light did little to give their features a more human perspective. They were pale creatures, of varying heights, dressed all in black. The youngest appeared to be twelve or so. The oldest maybe eighteen. They showed no fear or anxiety or even curiosity.
 

“Who’s your leader?” he asked the blank-faced adolescents.

A boy stepped forward. He was taller than the others. Wider. Older, but still a baby. Tats filled the space where his eyebrows should have been. “I am.”

“You know who I am?” Max asked.

“I do.” He stepped closer. The scrolling blue ink where his brows should have been coalesced into words.
Fear. The Lion.

“Then you know I’m the sergeant-at-arms here on the compound. How about you tell me who you are?”

“I am Lion.” He spoke in a soft voice. Not a weak one, nor a mild one. Just contained.

“Uh-huh. What the hell were you doing crawling around my woods, spying on WKB business?”

“We are WKB business.”

“Not if I don’t say you are. No one moves on this compound without my permission. Try again.”

“Are you denying us entry to our quarters?” Lion asked.

Max ground his teeth. “No.”
 

Lion nodded at the others, sending them on their way. A quick count of boys equaled the number of cots inside. Unless there was another contingent of shadow warrior boys, all were accounted for.
 

“Why were you out tonight?” Max asked when he was alone with the boys’ leader.

“Why were you?”

“This ain’t a game I’m playing. Answer me.”

“We were protecting you.”

Max frowned. “I don’t need a pack of kids to watch my six. Who gave you those orders?”

“King.”
 

Fuck. It. All.
Max nodded. “We’re done. For tonight.”

Lion started to walk away, but he turned back. “Mad Dog—why did King single you out?”

The million-dollar question. “I don’t know.” But he sure as hell would find out.
 

Max walked into the dark grounds, away from the little freaks’ quarters. No one was around. Crickets were his only companions. He shoved his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders against the cool night air.

“Greer, the guys can stand down,” he said into his comm unit.

“Roger that. Angel, you copy?”

“Roger. We’re pulling out.”

* * *

Pete lived in the suite above the clubhouse. Max took the outside staircase two steps at a time. The door wasn’t locked. He let himself in without knocking. He’d been in Pete’s digs before, but he never was prepared for the smell that hit him. The guy wore his clothes until they fell off his body. The day’s heat was still trapped inside the small space, deepening the stink.
 

Pathways were channeled through the clutter, leading to an old sofa and an armchair that looked like they’d been on someone’s porch for a few years before becoming his treasured pieces. Pete had cleared a small area on an overturned crate he used as a coffee table. His heroin paraphernalia was set out in prep for a shoot.

“Just in time. Join me?” Pete offered.

“No. Smack’s not my thing.”

Pete laughed. “I know. You’re more of a pothead. You should step up your game. This junk is pure shit.” He wrapped a rubber strap around his bicep. Max backed up to a support beam and lowered himself to the ground. He watched Pete shoot up. “It’s why I’m here. All the uncut heroin a junkie could want. Fuckin’ heaven, man. It’s King’s leverage against me, and he knows it.”

Max propped his wrists on his bent knees. He waited for the sedative effects of the heroin to spread through Pete’s veins. Didn’t take long. There was a short window of time where Pete rode the euphoria of release before sleep took him. It took the edge off his paranoia and loosened his mouth.

“Who’s King, Pete?”

Pete laughed. “I wish I knew. Only talk to him in texts and occasional phone calls. His voice is camouflaged. I wouldn’t even know him if I spoke to him.”

“Aren’t you curious about him? He’s running the fucking show and you know nothing about him. What if he shuts off your supply?”

“Fuck you, Mad Dog. You’re harshing my bliss.”

“I’m serious. Would you survive if he cut you off?”

“No. I fucking wouldn’t. I’m not in the power seat. What can I do?”

“Give me your phone. I might be able to track him.”

“How? He communicates through a custom app that doesn’t store things that are sent.”

Max shrugged. “There are a few things I can try.” He sent himself a text from Pete’s phone, knowing Greer would also receive it and would use it to send a hidden listener he could install on Pete’s phone. “Holbrook’s boys were watching the shipment tonight,” Max said as he waited for the software to download.

“Shit,” Pete said with a smile as he regarded Max through heavy-lidded eyes. “I hate those boys. They ain’t normal. You know what Holbrook did to them.”

“No. What did he do to them?”

“He fucked them. Said it was his way of breaking and rebuilding them. They’re never gonna be normal now.”

Max leaned his head against the pole behind him and looked at Pete. “Holbrook’s gone. So why keep them here?”
 

“What am I gonna do with them? Turn them over to social services? Open up the compound for an investigation?”

“Where are their parents?”

“No parents. King owns them. And the others.”

“What others?”

“The boys we have now aren’t the first batch. Nor the only batch in the hatchery.”

“What’s he doing with them?”

Pete shrugged. “His own war.”
 

“So who’s in charge of them now?”

Pete’s head flopped to one side. Took him a minute to answer. “King let them pick their own leader. They chose the one they call Lion.” His words were becoming slurry. “King’sss gonna kill me. I know it. He’sss gonna sic hisss ghoul boooys on me. They’ll eat my soul.” He mumbled that back to himself, then broke out laughing.
 

Jesus, this was fucked up. “It’s okay, Pete. It’s all gonna be okay,” Max lied.

“I like you, Madsss. I know you’re not my VP, but yo shou’ be. There’sss thingss you nee’ ta know.”

“Like what?”

“I wanna show ya, but cannn’t. Holbrook showed me, an’ it got ’im killed.”

Noise sounded on the steps outside. People were coming up to Pete’s. Women. Two zombie Barbies pushed inside the room, their eyes homing in on the junk spread out on his makeshift coffee table like vamps spotting fresh blood. One went over to Pete and straddled him, kissing him as she undid his belt buckle.

Max pushed himself to his feet. The other woman noticed him. “Mad Dog!” She looked at the dope, then came over to him. Rena, the girl he’d met at the big WKB party. She’d lost weight in the time since he’d seen her last. And the dark circles around her eyes were even more pronounced.

“You still doing what they want you to do?” he asked.

She laughed and licked her lips, sliding a glance back at the dope. She shook her head. “No. I’m doing what I want. First time ever. I like it. I’m free.”

Max gave her a slight smile as he brushed a bit of her bleached hair behind an ear. “Go easy with it, yeah?”