Isaac nodded and handed them out. Good to know they still had a few friends.
~oOo~
As they rode toward St. Louis, Havoc and Dom pulling up the rear in the club van, Isaac tried to shove away the despair pressing down on the edges of his thoughts. Hours. He hadn’t seen her for hours. Ellis had had her for
hours
. If he’d kept her alive, that is. Maybe he’d just killed her.
No, he hadn’t—if he had, why carry her off, then? He’d taken her alive for a reason. Maybe she was still alive for a reason, then. But
hours
. She’d been at his mercy for
hours
. He began to imagine what could be happening to her if she was still alive, and he had to shut that off. Those thoughts would undo him.
One thing he knew to be true. Before he would allow himself to rest, either Ellis would be dead, or he would be. Isaac’s hands tightened around his bike’s controls as he gave himself over to the image of ending that bastard’s life.
Strategy. Forcing himself to set aside despair and vengeance for now, Isaac turned his thoughts to strategy. He needed a way in. The address Bart had given them was an office building on a block full of office buildings. It was late, and the St. Louis business district rolled up its sidewalks by seven o’clock every evening and all weekend long, but that didn’t mean they could go in guns ablaze. And how would the Horde find her before they were made?
The answer was, they wouldn’t. They’d be made shortly after they got in. Len could pick a lock, but they weren’t burglars. They weren’t spies. They weren’t subtle. They’d have to bust their way in, take out the guards they could, and announce themselves, intentionally or not, within minutes of breaching the building. Assuming they could overpower the guards—Isaac had no doubt that there would be plenty of guards around this fucker; he’d seen that already in the intel Bart and Rick had gotten—they’d have to spread out and comb through the building to find her.
Ellis would have plenty of time to kill her, if he hadn’t already.
Lilli was strong and capable, a skilled fighter in her own right. She could defend herself against pretty steep odds. Unless she couldn’t. They’d shot her; that much he knew. Isaac had no idea whether they’d hurt her more, or, if they had, how badly. He had no idea if she was in any condition to fight for herself.
They pulled into Lone Elk Park and, leaving Havoc and Dom to wait on the road, skirted the closed gate and headed to the meeting place, where Tug and four of his Scorpion brethren were waiting. Together, they were an army of nine. It had to be enough.
They made their greetings, and Isaac began explaining the plan, such as it was. Before he’d finished his third sentence, his burner went off. Bart.
“Yeah, brother.”
There was a spark of excitement in Bart’s voice. “Boss, I been moving in on the security of that building. It’s high-end, but not custom. The exterior locks are electronic, with manual backup. I can get in, give you some room. If Len can pick the manual lock, I can disable the rest. I need, like, an hour.”
Isaac felt a tiny bud of hope open in his gut. “Good man. But we’ll be there in thirty. We need it then.”
Bart didn’t answer right away. Then, he said, “Alright. Hit me when you’re there.”
Isaac closed the phone and looked around at the men arrayed before him. He briefed them on Bart’s call and continued explaining the plan—which wasn’t much different, just quieter, now, and with a slightly better chance of success.
When he was done, Tug stepped up. Tug was older, with a face that had lived every one of his years. He had long, grey hair, around which he wore a faded red bandana as a headband. The scorpion tattooed on his throat was scarred and faded. Like all the Scorpions, he was a legitimate outlaw, up to his elbows in heavy shit as a matter of course. “It’s a solid plan, Isaac. Needs one adjustment.” He opened his saddlebags and pulled a silencer out. “We got a few extra rigs, should work with what you’re carrying. If we can do this quiet and get the fuck out, then we’re all better off.”
They loaded up and headed off into the city.
~oOo~
Not wanting to announce their presence with the roar of their Harleys, they parked a couple of blocks away and all piled into the Horde van with Dom and Havoc. Dom at the wheel, they drove into the alley behind the building and pulled up. As everyone sat hunched together in the van, Isaac called Bart. He put the call on speaker, so he wouldn’t have to take time to brief the crew after.
Bart answered immediately, and Isaac said, “We’re here, man. Tell me somethin’ good.”
Bart’s voice was sharp with agitation, but there was something else in it, something shaken. “I’m in, boss. Okay. There’s cameras everywhere. I caught some footage of empty space, and when we’re ready, I can loop it, send it to the monitors. It’ll give you time, so you just have to deal with the guards you come across. There are a dozen on patrol. I also rerouted the signal from the security company and the emergency alerts, so cops, fire, won’t get contacted by the system. When we’re go, I can unlock the electronic locks, and the Len can pick the manual backup. It’s a standard commercial lock, should be no sweat.”
Isaac looked over at Len, who nodded.
Bart wasn’t done. “Isaac. I…I think I know where she is. And…I know a lot of what’s happened. It’s bad, but she’s still alive. At least she was fifteen minutes ago.”
“Bad how?” The phone creaked, protesting the ferocity of his grip.
“Real bad. There’s, like, a cell in the basement. They kept her there for hours. They…she’s hurt. But they took her out about fifteen minutes ago, and she walked out on her own power. They took her to the fourth floor—the top—and I lost sight of her when they went into a blind room. Far as I can tell it’s the only blind room in the building, other than storage closets. Even the bathrooms are monitored.”
“
What did they do to her?”
Fury pulsed behind his eyes, warping his vision.
“There’s no time. And I just sped through the footage. Just…she’s gonna need help. Boss, she’s naked.”
With a roar, Isaac punched the wall of the van, shattering the phone in his hand.
Show put his hand on Isaac’s shoulder and pulled his own burner out, calling Bart back.
~oOo~
They got in through a side door into a stairwell when Bart alerted them that the stairwell and adjacent hallway were clear. Then, when Bart said the basement was unoccupied, the Scorpions took the first and second floors. Hav and Len took the third. Show and Isaac climbed to the top floor. Where Lilli was. They stood outside the stairwell door, waiting for backup. Isaac didn’t know how long he could wait. Not long.
They knew three men had taken Lilli into the blind room on this floor. They had no idea how many men were in there with her; Bart hadn’t had time to comb through enough footage. But Isaac knew there was at least one more: Ellis.
The Horde and Scorpions were all armed with two handguns, an automatic rifle, and a knife. They had spare clips for everything. And they had surprise. It had to be enough.
From below them, gunfire exploded, and Len burst into the stairwell. He yelled up, “We’re made! Go!”
Without the slightest hesitation, Isaac and Show slammed through the stairwell door onto the fourth-floor executive suite.
CHAPTER TWENTY
She’d been sitting in this office for at least fifteen minutes. Ellis had offered her a drink—she’d refused, not trusting anything he’d give her—and settled the blanket more fully over her shoulders, keeping her warm and covering her better. Then, in true supervillain fashion, he’d launched into a monologue, giving her the full history of his fight with Signal Bend, including a lot of details she hadn’t known, things he’d clearly expected to shock her. He’d been disappointed in that regard. He seemed sincerely regretful about the way things had gone down—the “whole sad affair,” as he called it. Not that she gave a fuck about his regrets.
Now Ellis stood in front of her, holding out yet another fucking contract. On the line for the purchase price, this time he’d written $1,000,000. He shook it a little, expecting Lilli to take it in her bound hands. She only stared at him.
He sighed, and even that sound was genteel in some indistinct way. Setting the contract behind him on the desk, he said, “Miss Accardo, truly, I have no appetite for the things that have gone on here today. In fact, I find everything about my dealings with the people of Signal Bend to be…beneath me. My enterprises run smoothly. Cleanly. I take great pride in that.”
“You sell drugs.” It was the first time she’d spoken since she’d woken up in the basement room. Her voice sounded rough and strange. Thirst and a broken nose, she supposed.
Ellis grinned, an unsettling rictus across the lower part of his face. His teeth were brilliantly white and perfectly straight. “Yes, well. A small part of a diverse array of ventures. And your long-haired man sells them, as well, so I wouldn’t say you have much room for disapprobation, would you?”
Sells.
He’d used the present tense. Isaac was still alive.
Her plan had been to present herself as weaker than she was, to use their preconceptions about women and wait for them to relax and give her room. But she couldn’t do it. Maybe it was because she was too sick and hurt to think clearly, but she couldn’t do it. It was the smart play, probably the only thing that might still get her out of here both alive and unbroken, but she felt a rage almost beyond her control, and she could not let this man have even the temporary, false satisfaction of having thought he’d broken her.
When she didn’t respond to his gibe, he continued. “As I was saying, this is not how I like to do business. But I have spent too much time now, too much of my attention, on this little problem, and I would have it resolved. So I present you with my final offer. The choices are simple: sign, and walk away with a million dollars—a tidy profit for a few weeks of ownership—or continue to refuse, and I allow Derek to kill you in any way he sees fit. The offer expires in thirty seconds.”
In the time she’d been in this room, she’d tried hard to see every possible option, to notice any slip in their focus. Her bag was on the desk—that probably accounted for how Ellis guessed she was pregnant, or that she had been, since the unused pregnancy tests were still in there. She wondered if her gun was still there. The only other thing truly weapon-like, besides the weapons her guards carried, was an elaborate gold letter opener on the desk. Three against one—four against one if Ellis had any kind of a sack—meant that the letter opener wasn’t much of a weapon at all. She doubted she’d have time to dig through her bag, even if her gun was there. She needed to disarm one of these guys.
Her hands were still bound, resting passively now in her lap, but they had not bound her feet, and they had not bound her to the chair. Ponytail—Derek, a truly sick bastard—stood in front of her, a bit to her left. She couldn’t see the other two. They were behind her; presumably at the door.
Presumably
was a very dangerous word in a situation like this. But, hell, she was going to die anyway. At this point, being able to take Derek down with her was the best result she could hope for. And she had some hope for that: as Ellis talked, Derek had grown bored, and his M16 had sagged—not much, only a couple of inches, but it gave her maybe one second. Maybe two if she was really, really lucky.
Lucky
wasn’t really a word that applied to her today.
But then, as those last thirty seconds ticked away, she got lucky. The sound of gunfire on a floor below them, and then a door slammed, much closer. Ellis looked up; so did Derek, training his one good eye on the door.
Hold…hold…wait
Ellis nodded over her head. “Alan, Cameron—go.”
She heard the door open.
One more beat
.
She waited that one beat, then kicked out with both feet, hard as she could, catching Derek in his left knee. The impact hyperextended it, bending it backwards at a sharp angle. He screamed and dropped to the floor. She stood as he was trying to raise his gun, and stomped him in the crotch. He screamed again.
Ellis was yelling for the other two guards, but she couldn’t worry about that. She’d abandoned the goal of getting out of here alive, and the thought that the commotion giving her this chance meant possible rescue hadn’t gained purchase yet in her head. Her only goal was doing all the damage she could before she died. Derek was still incapacitated, and she went for his 16, but it was strapped across his shoulder, and she couldn’t get it from him.
He had a sidearm, though, holstered at his hip. She pulled it free with her bound hands and turned to Ellis, cocking as she turned. He was behind his desk, upright, clutching it as if the expensive wood had some kind of mystical protective properties.
He started to speak—to plead with her or to yell again for help, she did not know—and she shot him in his open mouth. Before he dropped, she shot him again, this time in the forehead. Brain tissue splattered on the silk draperies, and he collapsed to the floor.
Derek had quieted and was moving in a way that got her antennae twitching, and she looked down to see him raising another handgun, aiming it at her. The shoulder strap on the 16 must have been getting in his way, too, where he lay on the floor. She shot his hand, and his gun flew across the room and fired where it landed. The bullet whizzed past her ear, moving her hair, and struck the wall several feet to her side. Realizing how close she’d come to basically killing herself, she began to laugh.
“You shot my hand, bitch!” Derek was not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he had an astute grasp of the obvious. That thought got her laughing even harder. Tears had started to stream from her eyes, even the swollen one, when she set the gun down and picked up the fancy gold letter opener from Ellis’ fancy teak desk. It was sharp. Turning it inward, she sliced open the tie that bound her hands.
Derek was still mewling on the floor, holding his mangled hand. What a little bitch—so wrapped up in his pain, he’d stopped paying attention to her. Coming down with her knee on his crotch, making him squeal again, she straddled him, unhooked the strap from the 16 and, grimacing as she put her hands on it, set it out of his reach. Then she began stabbing him. She’d dispatched Ellis quickly. Derek, she wanted to suffer. The others, too, if she got the chance. He was wearing a Kevlar vest, so she stabbed him in his face and throat, starting with his good eye. He put up virtually no fight, merely mewling for awhile and then going silent. She stabbed and stabbed, starting methodically, but soon losing herself in the vengeance, even after there was no one there to wreak it on.