Swey looked around the room nervously. The pictures of Walter and Kenny had been taken down and in their place were photographs of Avery Charles with several little girls. Apparently, he had bought the mansion. The estate, built like a castle, complete with gargoyles crouched overhead, was set well back from the road, and there were few neighbors. The closest ones were several miles away, enabling the mansion to be used in whatever way the occupants saw fit.
Swey held the phone to his ear. “Where the hell are you? I thought we were supposed to meet here at nine. Avery’s not here, and let me tell you, this place is creepy.”
He listened for a couple of minutes and glanced at his watch again. “I don’t have all night. By the time the two of you get here, we’ll have ten minutes for the meeting. I have to know what I’m looking for if he has a specific kid in mind. I’ve got a couple of runaways I’ve been friendly with. Hopefully one of them will suit him, and it will be easy.”
There was silence again as he listened. Again, he glanced at his watch, shook his head and then sighed. “Fine. But just get here, Harold. I’m telling you this place is haunted.” He shoved his phone in his back pocket and looked around the room again.
He went over to the fireplace, picked up the remote and turned it on, so the flames danced and added more light. At the same time, the flickering fire threw more shadows, so they crept up the walls, reaching out with dark tentacles toward the ceiling. Swey sank onto the bed, staring into the fire.
Take him anytime. We don’t need him, Ice. He’s low level. Doesn’t know shit about the top dogs. Czar gave the order.
Consider it done.
That was Ice. A glacier. Czar and the others could watch through the camera as Ice came out of the shadows right behind Swey just as the man jumped up and started to pace. Ice matched his strides exactly. Three steps in, Swey glanced at the wall to see his shadow cast against it. Right behind him was a second shadow, and in the hand reaching toward him was a very wicked-looking knife.
Swey gasped and started to turn. Ice locked the man against him and jabbed the knife deep into his jugular. “For all those kids whose lives you destroyed, you sick fuck.” He whispered it into the man’s ear and then stepped back, letting him fall.
Swey writhed on the floor, blood pouring onto the thick, luxurious and very white carpet. Ice stood watching with a cold, detached expression.
Incoming, Absinthe reported. Sheriff SUV coming up the drive. Can’t identify the driver or if he’s alone in the vehicle.
Lightning forked across the sky, lighting up the darkness, throwing the night into stark relief. Storm’s work, Czar was certain.
Harold McDonald, Absinthe acknowledged. He’s alone.
There was Absinthe. Like Ice, Storm and Alena, he’d been exceptionally beautiful. Sorbacov had seemed to find the children that suited him most. Absinthe had had an older brother, one he’d adored and looked up to. Absinthe was a beautiful soul. All of them could see that. Sweet, compassionate, not at all suited to live like a wolf, planning out kills meticulously and carrying them out. He was brilliant beyond measure. And so very talented.
Sometimes the planning to kill each individual pedophile had taken weeks, or even months, depending on how difficult it had been to acquire the information needed to be successful. Czar hadn’t taken chances. They had been little kids and they could never have been seen or heard. Suspicion couldn’t have fallen on them or they’d have all been killed outright. That had been where Absinthe came in. His gifts were extraordinary, and he’d practiced all the time.
Absinthe could remember conversations. He could read lips. He could influence with his voice. He could read others when touching them. That was both a gift and a curse. Somehow, he’d learned how to crawl inside minds, and when he did, he could wreak havoc. He was a human lie detector. Over the years those gifts had become even stronger. He’d grown quieter. Czar, like all of Torpedo Ink, worried about Savage the most, but Absinthe was a close second. He was too quiet. Too apart from them.
Czar sighed and shook his head. He had a lot to answer for. He’d turned those children into killers in order for them to survive. That was their only way out, but one didn’t come back from that or the things done to them.
There were two teams. Steele, the vice president of Torpedo Ink, ran the second. They always held one team back if possible, in order to have a full team to get one another out of trouble if it was necessary. Czar didn’t leave anything to chance. Each team had nine members. They were so used to working together, just like that wolf pack, each of them had a specific role, and they carried it out with the ease of practice.
Together, they were a well-oiled machine, working off a careful master plan that was always fluid, but they never deviated from the safety rules put in place. It was better to walk away before they had completed their task than to die. They were patient, impassive, never bringing their emotions into play if it could be helped. They didn’t make mistakes. They had learned from the experience of losing other children that even a small error meant death.
Harold McDonald, still in his sheriff’s uniform, parked his SUV in the covered parking spaces just to the left of the front door. The roof ran straight from the parking area to the porch, so no one would ever get a drop of rain on them if they didn’t want to. Harold didn’t want to.
He strode straight to the door and pulled out his phone. “Yeah, I’m here. I’ll keep David here. He’s such a coward whenever there’s a storm.” There was a bit of a sneer in his voice. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”
He listened for a moment, his hand on the knob of the front door. “Yeah, okay, but Avery, get here.”
He yanked open the door as he shoved his cell phone into his jacket. He stepped inside and closed the door. “David.” Moving quickly, he hurried through the great room to the wide hall. “Where are you?”
The house remained eerily silent. A slight breeze ran down the hallway, bringing a chill with it. The wind outside picked up. Howled for a moment. When it did, it brought the sound of a child crying with it. Harold halted abruptly and looked around. He put his hand on the wall.
The crying continued. It sounded soft and pitiful. Hopeless. Harold’s breath came out in an angry rush. “David. Shut that kid up.” He looked in every direction, trying to figure out where the sound originated.
The wind came down the hall again, that same slight breeze, but the temperature seemed to have dropped. This time a second child joined the first. Harold’s face turned slightly red.
“Avery’s going to kill you for bringing those kids here without permission. What’s wrong with you, David?” He started down the hall again with long, angry strides.
Now a third child could be heard. The voices had that same tone, soft, pitiful, weeping endlessly, without hope.
Harold yanked open the door to the den. He took two steps inside the room and the door swung shut behind him with a loud bang. He visibly jumped. He looked around. The crying was louder, as if he were closer to the children, but there was no one in the room. Cursing, he strode back to the door and grasped the knob. Instantly a jolt of electricity ran up his arm and spread through his body. He almost seized. He yanked his hand back and staggered, rubbing his chest.