23. Mal
The address Calliope sent was approximately thirty minutes from the penthouse. They’d taken Freckles’ “mom” car as a precaution. Jericho’s restored Bronco was too distinctive. It would stand out, even on the street, especially in the upper-middle class neighborhood where this property resided.
Mal’s heartbeat thudded heavy behind his ribs, his mind swirling with every conceivable outcome. There was no guarantee this house was the house or that any house was the house. There was no guarantee Amy was alive. His stomach soured. He really didn’t want to have to tell Casey that her mother was dead.
Mal had relinquished his claim on the passenger seat—one always determined by age—after a pointed look from Jericho. Mal knew he wanted to talk to Nico about the conversation he’d had in the Uber with his mom. It had only been a few hours, but it felt like a lifetime ago. So much had happened in the last twenty-four hours. Mal let them have their privacy, choosing to spend his quiet time running through every conceivable way this plan might play out.
Would Jason be there when they arrived? Was Amy locked away in some attic or basement or some other hard-to-access location? Would the three of them be enough to get Amy out safely? Was it overkill? Jason was a psychopath but he was just one man. They had the element of surprise.
Fuck. Except, this wasn’t just a mission to dispatch Jason. They had to rescue Amy and bring Jason back to the Red Lotus Clan if they were to honor their agreement. They had to return Amy, too. Why had they agreed to that? They would give her back to Casey only to tell her that they still weren’t safe?
If she was even still alive. He needed her to be alive. How did the Mulvaneys do this every day? Life was so much easier when it was just a hit. Get in, take out the target, get out. Easy. They could control all the variables. Who? Where? When? There was never any collateral damage. No real surprises.
But this was a rescue mission, probably not Jericho’s first, but certainly Mal’s. Possibly Nico’s. A last minute rescue mission at that. They didn’t know what or who they’d find when they got there. The element of surprise went both ways. They had August and Adam coming in to act as backup. They had the most experience with this kind of thing. But they were still at least twenty minutes away.
Did they have that kind of time?
Nico was right. This whole investigation and recovery thing wasn’t for them. He wanted to get back to his old life. Maybe he should just go work for Thomas. Killing those who preyed on the weak and vulnerable was cathartic. It paid better, too. If he went to work for Thomas, he could still teach dance. Would Nico be okay with that?
Whatever. That was tomorrow Mal’s problem.
Mal tuned back in when they reached a bland suburban neighborhood where every house looked exactly the same. People who moved there clearly didn’t do it for the aesthetic. They likely did it because it was one of the few developments where each house sat on an acre of property. Most in their area had zero lot lines. An acre wasn’t much, but it did give someone the illusion of privacy, especially when it sat at the very end of a dead-end road.
Like this one.
There were no cars in the long drive, but there was a fence—a decorative one—not designed to keep anything in or out. Despite the lack of vehicles, the lights in the house were on and it appeared someone was moving around inside, the dark shadow of their silhouette obvious against the brightly lit room.
“Who is that?” Nico asked.
Mal assumed it was a rhetorical question.
Jericho made a u-turn, then parked on a side street, popping the trunk on their car and typing in a code that caused the floor to pop up, revealing all kinds of equipment, including a set of night-vision binoculars.
“Okay, 007,” Mal mumbled.
A hot body. A custom car. What else was Freckles hiding?
Jericho grabbed the binoculars and a brown Sig Sauer pistol with what looked like a custom grip.
When Mal raised a brow at the gun, Jericho grinned. “Anniversary gift.”
He nodded, stepping back to let Jericho close the trunk.
They didn’t try to hide their appearance. Even with the streetlight overhead, it was far too dark to really see anything. Three men in hoods or masks would stand out far more than just three men walking down the sidewalk. Besides, there were only two other houses on the street and both were dark at this late hour.
The lot across from the house hadn’t been cleared, which gave them a place to take cover while they did a quick look around to see if everything was as it seemed. The person was no longer in the window. Jericho passed the binoculars to Mal, who took a look. The window at the front appeared to be a dining room. Nothing stood out about the place…at all.
Mal handed the binoculars to Nico, who scanned the same space, gasping when the woman came back into view.
“Is that…Amy?” Nico asked, handing them back to Mal. “What is she doing?”
It was Amy. She didn’t look distraught or like she was being held against her will. She looked like any other person in the house about to feed their guest. Except, she was in a dress and a full face of makeup. And it was almost midnight. What the fuck?
“It looks like she’s…setting the table?” Mal said, an icy feeling of unease running along his spine.
They watched in silence as she walked a path between the kitchen and the dining room again and again, face devoid of expression. It was so off-putting, like watching a ghost retrace their footsteps from when they were alive. A residual haunting.
When she disappeared from view and didn’t return, Jericho said, “Let’s get a closer look.”
They crossed the street onto the property. Despite the fence, there was no gate. Mal noted the lockbox on the front door, the kind that realtors used to hide keys. He also noticed there were two additional locks—heavy-duty ones—and a camera trained on them. Mal nudged Nico, who pointed the camera out to Jericho.
“It doesn’t matter if he knows we’re here now,” Jericho murmured. “We just need to get in and get out.”
They went around the back of the house where they noted a second camera and more locks on the door. They crouched down beside a window, watching as Amy moved about in the kitchen, plating food for two. When she was close enough, they saw it. The bruising, the swelling.
Even with makeup, there was no missing the black eye and swollen cheek. She also had fingerprint-shaped marks on her arms and three large bruises down the side of one leg. If that was what they could see, what was she hiding under the dress? Rage shot through him. This piece of shit really had turned Amy into his mother. A slave to cook and clean and torture at his leisure. Prick.
She’d lost a significant amount of weight since the last time Mal had met her, though that had been long before her disappearance. Her cheeks were drawn and sunken, her eyes dull. Her clothes hung on her like they might a clothes hanger. There was something so disconcerting about seeing her attempt to make herself look put together—at his request, no doubt—when she was clearly so ill.
“Jesus, he’s been beating the shit out of her,” Nico whispered. “We should have killed him when we had the chance.”
“She’s setting the table for him,” Mal said. “For them. She’s expecting him any moment. Do we try to go in and get her now? Should we wait for August and Adam?”
“What if Jason gets here before they do?” Nico asked.
“We need him here,” Jericho interrupted.
Nico’s gaze snapped to the older man. “What? Why?”
Jericho shook his head, blowing out a breath through his nose. “Because this isn’t just a rental, it’s a safe house. The extra locks on the door? And look at the windows. They don’t open. They’re one solid pane. They’re probably bulletproof,” Jericho said, expression grim.
“Then why rent it out?” Nico asked, shaking his head.
It dawned on Mal then. “They don’t. The lock box is probably just a decoy so the neighbors don’t get too nosy about why the house is empty for long periods of time or why the ‘renters’ keep changing,” he explained.
Nico’s face fell. “So, how do we get inside?”
Jericho took a deep breath, then blew it out slowly. “Well, we wait for Jason to let us in.”
“We’re going to ambush him?” Nico asked.
“If we want to get inside, it’s our only option,” Jericho said.
They fell silent, catching glimpses of Amy as she moved about the kitchen, still cooking. Another ten minutes dripped by before headlights turned down the street.
Mal looked at Jericho. “Adam and August?”
Jericho shook his head. “No, not yet. They got held up. They’re almost here.”
It had to be Jason. There was something peculiar about the purr of the engine as it prowled its way down the street. When it turned into the drive, Mal saw why. It was a sports car. Cherry red. Brand new. The kind that most people only dreamed of owning.
Nico’s eyes went wide. “That’s a Bugatti Chiron. Isn’t it, Coe?”
Jericho snorted. “Yeah,” he said. “What a fucking tool this guy is. That’s not a car meant to be driven down the street. If the Red Lotus Clan owns that, it’s a three million dollar investment. Bet they don’t know he’s using it as a toy.”
“What’s the plan?” Mal asked.
Jericho pulled his gun. Mal and Nico did the same.
“I go one way, you two go the other. The moment he gets that door open, we rush him,” he said. “We have to catch him off-guard if we want this to work. Get him to the ground and subdue him. Don’t hesitate.”
They were forced to wait another three excruciatingly long minutes as Jason took his time exiting the car. When he finally emerged, Mal’s lip curled in disgust. He was carrying flowers. Of course, he was. He was playing out some fantasy in his head, recreating whatever sick home life he’d had when his father was still alive. It was…twisted.
Once Jason was on the porch, they took their positions on either side of the house, Jericho going to the left and Mal and Nico to the right. Mal rolled his eyes as Jason fumbled with the locks, totally oblivious to their presence. This might actually end up being too easy. Idiot.
Adrenaline pumped through Mal’s veins, his breaths coming fast enough to leave a metallic taste in his mouth. For as long as it took Jason to get the door open, what happened next took place at warp speed.
The moment they heard the door finally swing open, the three rushed him. Somehow, Nico beat both Mal and Jericho to the target, bowling him over as planned, crushing the flowers beneath him.
For a split second, time seemed to stop as Jason likely tried to understand what just happened. Then chaos erupted. He somehow managed to displace Nico enough to get onto his back. Mal lunged towards him, but Jason kicked him hard in the stomach with the leg that wasn’t pinned under Nico, knocking him into Jericho, taking them down like bowling pins. By the time they were both on their feet, Jason and Nico were grappling with the gun.
Mal was about to jump in when a voice screamed, “Don’t!”
Mal looked up, shock rocketing through him as he saw Amy standing there pointing a gun at them with trembling hands. “Don’t kill him,” she begged.
What? What was she talking about? Did she somehow already have Stockholm Syndrome? Was she drugged? Confused? Had they somehow gotten this all wrong? Had Casey been wrong? No. There was no way. They’d read her diary.
Nico grunted as Jason jerked beneath him, looking down at him with what looked like surprise, then disgust. Jericho ignored Amy, keeping his gun on Jason. “Don’t fucking move or I will kill you.”
“P-Please…don’t,” Amy begged, pulling their focus. “I’m begging you.”
Nico rolled off Jason onto his back with a groan. Mal gasped, his eyes going wide, blood blooming across Nico’s shirt right over his abdomen. That was when he saw the knife in Jason’s hand and the shit-eating grin on his face.
“Nico?” Mal cried. “Nico!”
Jericho stared at the red stain growing over Nico for a few seconds before his face contorted and he lost it, bringing his boot down on Jason’s face with enough force to cause a sickening crunch as the bones gave way. Jason cried out, but Jericho was unfazed.
Amy rushed forward, gripping Jericho’s arm, trying to pull him off. She was no match for him strength-wise, and her shaky hands proved she’d never have the balls to pull the trigger on that gun.
“Please,” she said. “Please, don’t kill him. Please. Please.”
She was crying now, dragging her nails frantically over Jericho’s arms. Mal didn’t want Jericho to stop. He wanted to watch Jason’s face cave in. He wanted to be the one killing him, wanted to shoot the man in the face, watch his brains splatter all over the walls.
Nico moaned. No. He was more important. Nico was hurt. Nico was bleeding everywhere. Because he’d been stabbed. Oh, God. He’d been stabbed. Fuck.
Mal fell to the floor, dragging Nico into his lap, pushing his sweaty hair from his face. He already looked chalky, but his gaze was sharp. He held a hand over his abdomen while he gazed up at Mal with heart eyes.
“Why is it always me?” he joked, laughing then wincing. “Fuck, they never mention how much getting stabbed hurts.”
“This isn’t funny,” Mal choked out.
Why was he making jokes now?
Nico shrugged. “It’s a little funny. How many people can say they’ve been stabbed twice in the same fucking place?”
Mal felt like he was having some kind of out-of-body experience. Like things were happening outside his control. He ripped his shirt over his head, stuffing it under Nico’s own, forcing another pained groan from him as he pressed down hard on the wound.
When Adam and August fell through the door, it felt like it was hours later, but it couldn’t have been more than a minute or two. Jason was still on the floor. Amy was still trying to pull Jericho off him.
Adam dragged Amy away from Jason, which allowed August to step in front of Jericho, keeping him from landing another vicious kick. Mal could only watch—Nico half in and half out of his lap—as Amy fought their hold, screaming and crying.
“Was she not who we were rescuing?” Adam growled, keeping Amy in his grasp but only just barely.
If Adam was looking for an explanation, they didn’t have one. They didn’t understand what was going on, either.
“Look at her,” Jericho said. “I doubt she consented to those bruises.”
Adam spun her around. “What’s your deal, lady?”
“He has my daughter!” she snapped. “He said if his people don’t hear from him at a certain time every night, they’ll kill her.”
What?
“He doesn’t have Casey,” Mal said, brow furrowed.
Amy stilled. “What?”
“Casey’s been with us this whole time. Well, with friends. But she’s perfectly safe,” Mal assured her.
Relief flooded her face, her knees going weak, forcing Adam to hold her up. “She’s safe? You’re sure?”
Mal nodded, still looking down at Nico’s face. Was he getting paler? Fuck. “She’s always been safe. He lied to you.”
Her gaze finally snapped back to Jason and his mangled face. Despite his injuries, he managed to wheeze out a laugh. “Stupid bitch.”
Amy froze, her chest heaving. Mal jumped as Amy made an almost inhuman sound, breaking free of Adam’s hold and lunging at Jason, kicking at him repeatedly in the expensive heels he’d likely forced her to wear. By the time Adam managed to drag her back, Jason was unconscious.
Amy’s hair was a mess, her makeup melted from her exertion. “He said he had her,” she muttered, shaking her head. “He told me. He…he showed me videos of her!”
She was talking to herself, not them.
“Jericho!” Mal shouted. “I think we need an ambulance.”
Nico was white, his lips blue. He wasn’t coughing up blood, but his pallor had Mal’s heart in a vice-grip. Nico was still conscious, gazing up at Mal with a smile that actually pissed him off a little.
“What are you grinning about?” he asked, baffled.
“You’re crying,” he said, sounding smug.
Mal frowned, absently wiping at his cheek with his forearm. “I am?”
He was.
“Yeah, ‘cause you love me,” he said, huffing out a noiseless laugh then groaning.
“Of course, I love you, you fucking dumbass,” Mal said. “Why are you acting like this is brand new information?”
Nico tried and failed to raise his hand, then settled for shrugging. “People say they love you all the time,” he reasoned. “That doesn’t mean they’ll cry at your funeral.”
“Funeral?” Mal choked out. “Don’t even fucking joke about that. What’s wrong with you?”
Jericho was suddenly in his line of vision, trying to tug Mal’s hand from Nico’s wound. Mal fought him. He couldn’t afford to lose any more blood.
“Move your hand so I can see how bad it is,” Jericho snapped.
“You’re not a doctor,” Mal snapped back, chest rising and falling as he forced himself to try to breathe.
“Let him look, Bunny,” Nico said, sounding weaker than Mal had ever heard.
He heard the sobbing but realized too late the sound came from him. He finally relinquished his hold, but watched Jericho through stinging eyes as he poked and prodded at Nico’s abdomen. Was it distended? Was that bad? Was he imagining that?
“It’s pretty shallow,” Jericho noted as Mal heard a siren in the distance. “I actually think the scar tissue kept it from going too deep. I don’t think he hit any major organs.”
“Oh, that’s good,” Nico said, eyelids fluttering. “See, Bunny. Nothing to worry about. Stop crying.”
Those were his last words to Mal before he lost consciousness.