“Not in the half hour it will take to get this done,” Transporter objected.
“How do you know? It could happen in the first few minutes of exposure,” Maestro informed him knowledgeably.
“You’re so full of shit,” Transporter said. “I read a book on that—”
Maestro cut him off. “You’ve read a book on everything, but if whoever wrote the fuckin’ book didn’t really know shit, then quoting them makes you look bad.”
“I’ve got movement,” Preacher said.
Every eye went to the glass back door. A man stepped out, scratching his crotch as he walked to the other side of the wide patio and spit over the wrought-iron railing. His eyes were on the boat anchored between the two properties, but more toward the estate.
“Donk,” Preacher identified. “We hit the mother lode first time out. Nice hunting, Steele. All that work you did paid off.”
Elation burst through him, but Steele held it in check. They had yet to see Zane. Until they did, they had no way of knowing if he was alive, dead or sold to some pedophile. If Donk was there, for certain Bridges was as well.
“Mechanic,” Steele spoke into the radio. “Donk has eyes on Lana. Tell her to keep him occupied. When he starts to turn away, we’ll let her know. In the meantime, you try to pick up sound. We need to know as close to the real number how many are in that house.” He hesitated. It hurt like hell to even express his worry, but it had to be said. “Or if Zane is there.”
Zane. His son. He wouldn’t be able to face Breezy or himself if he couldn’t get his boy out of the situation. He wasn’t leaving the child behind.
“Steele.”
Savage’s voice was low, but it brought him up short. Steele looked around at the others on the roof. The building trembled. Just a little. “I’m good,” he managed, and picked up the binoculars to sweep the area.
Ink hadn’t moved. He was so still he could have been a carving. Steele knew he was concentrating on reading the impressions the wildlife surrounding the house was giving him. It had been Ink who had drawn out the original tree that represented Czar in their colors. That sturdy trunk with the many roots. The seventeen branches represented the survivors. In the original drawing there had been eighteen branches. The crows were the children they had tried so hard to save—Steele had tried so hard to save. The skulls rolling in the roots represented the men and women they had killed in order to survive—or the ones they had killed to exact vengeance for those children who had never left their prison.
Steele felt the weight of that sacred ink on his back. It was there for a reason, to remind all of them they were stronger together. They were now. They moved in complete sync, each knowing what the other would do, what he—or she—was capable of. They had counted on one another since they were very young children. Now, grown, having run countless missions alone and together, they didn’t make mistakes and knew with absolute certainty that their brothers—or sisters—would be there when they needed them.
He didn’t take his gaze from Donk. The big man gripped the wrought-iron railing and leaned forward as if that would give him a better view of the woman tanning herself on the boat. He turned and called out something over his shoulder.
“You get that?” Steele asked.
“He asked for binoculars,” Mechanic reported from his position on the boat.
“Nice,” Transporter said. “Lana is an absolute work of art.”
“You know I am,” Lana said softly.
“Where’s the music coming from? You have a radio on board? Or an iPod? Are you using a radio so she can communicate?” Steele asked.
“She doesn’t need a radio on board,” Mechanic explained. “I didn’t want to take a chance of it slipping into the water, or if they had really good binoculars, they’d see it. We have her player on so Lana can sing if she thinks any of them notice her talking. Having her iPod would seem more normal.”
“Don’t talk,” Steele advised. “I don’t want him making you.”
“Sweetheart, he isn’t going to be thinking about your Lana, not when he has a hot redhead just a few yards away. He’s going to be thinking how he can get to me,” Lana said with absolute confidence. “I like being a redhead. I think it suits me.”
The door opened, and Favor trotted out. He had two pairs of binoculars and he rushed to the railing, handing Donk a pair, already putting his to his face. He nudged Donk several times.
“They’re on you,” Preacher reported. “Stay still, Lana. I’ll tell you when to move.”
The two men watched her for some time, then put their glasses down and faced each other. Across the distance it was impossible to hear them, or read their lips, but Mechanic could pick up not only what they were saying but other sounds in the house.
“At least three other male adults,” Mechanic said. “Two upstairs talking. One downstairs heading toward Donk and Favor. I’m betting Riddle. Donk told Favor to get him a drink and Favor said no way he was leaving so Donk could have the bitch to himself.”
“That’s you, Lana,” Transporter said. “The bitch.”
“So happy someone finally noticed,” she replied, and then sang a few words to the song on her playlist. “I’ve worked at perfecting my bitchiness, but none of you seem to get it. So disappointing.” She sang those words to the melody of the song.
Steele waited for Mechanic to tell him he heard a child’s voice, but it didn’t happen, and the silence seemed to stretch out endlessly. He knew the others were feeling it as well, because they were not slinging their usual banter around as much as normal. The air was fraught with tension, so much so it felt like a breaking point.
Donk suddenly shoved Favor, slamming a meaty palm into him, rocking his friend.
“Donk’s pissed because he wants a drink,” Mechanic reported.
Steele’s gut tightened. He’d seen Donk like that a few times. Wound up. He liked to hurt things smaller than him. He had taken advantage of every girl they brought into their trafficking ring, volunteering to train them. He was brutal about it. That was the man Bridges had given his daughter to when she was fourteen.
The members of Torpedo Ink had refused to take part in any kidnapping or training of girls for the prostitution ring, or ones they sold to the ships. They’d tried to disrupt the various chapters, but they’d never managed to catch Donk and kill him. They’d had to be careful not to hit their own chapter repeatedly.
If Donk couldn’t beat on his girls and fuck them repeatedly, he got nastier and progressively antagonistic, looking for a fight. Favor recognized the signs and stepped back, away from his friend. He turned toward the house just as Riddle emerged.
“Favor’s calling to Riddle to get them beers. Riddle’s giving him shit.”
Riddle was clearly shaking his head and taking steps toward them. Donk spun around and all but roared at the man. His arms waved up and down and he lowered his head as if he might charge like a bull. Riddle hastily turned and headed back inside.
“You’re doing great, Lana,” Steele said. “Don’t fall asleep on us.”
“No worries. It’s a little too hot here for me. I like our coastal weather. I’m never going to complain about the fog again.”
Keeping his eyes on Donk, Steele tried distracting her. It wasn’t fun to lie out alone right in front of the enemy, particularly if he might be able to identify you. It was what they did, and Lana was a pro, so maybe his guilt was still weighing heavy on his mind.
“Lana, Breezy told me that Bridges used to beat her once a month during the time she was riding with me. When she belonged to me. She was afraid for me because she knew I’d go after Bridges.” It occurred to him that Breezy was smart enough to time those beatings with her monthly period just so she had evidence in case Steele had noticed, but he never had, because he was a selfish bastard. Damn him. Why had he reacted like an idiot? Why hadn’t he pulled her
into his arms and held her? Thanked her for having his back.
There was complete silence. Mechanic was clearly absorbing what he had said. The others waited for Lana to weigh in. It took a couple of minutes.
“She knew the Swords would expect you to be okay with Bridges beating the shit out of his daughter,” she mused finally. “If you retaliated, she thought they’d hurt you. Maybe even kill you.”
“I would have killed him,” Steele conceded. “She probably knew that.”