Chapter Twenty-One
Mimic
“What have you found, Nav?”
“A shit ton of fucking nightmares is what I’ve found. Devlin Scott was a narcissistic egomaniac.”
Quietly, I sat at the table in church and tried to listen to what they were saying. But my mind kept wandering to Indie, and what an asshole I was.
It was clear she was avoiding me. I couldn’t get close enough to talk to her, let alone convince her to let me make it up to her for not making her come.
Maybe Rose would help me. She’d been pestering me about Indie for days; maybe she’d be willing to help me get her alone.
“There are thousands of files. Clients, victims, schedules, plans for the future.”
Nav took a deep breath, and the way he hung his head made me sit up and pay attention. I thought about the shit that had happened at the Trick Pony, and I hated myself for being thankful Dakota wasn’t quite as sick as Devlin Scott. That I hadn’t had to endure what the victims of the Trick Pony had.
Then again, maybe George had a tighter rein on him than I’d thought. George had protected me to some extent. He’d never told me why he took me off the streets. Or what Dakota was training me for.
Then one day, he just showed up and let me go. He gave me identification, told me where I was expected to go and what I was expected to do.
“... fucking assassins.”
“What?” I asked.
“You heard what I said.”
Only I hadn’t. I’d been lost in my head, battling through memories and questions that wouldn’t leave.
“Let me get this straight,” King started. “Devlin Scott was not just catering to every sick bastard in the world; he was creating assassins?”
“How?” Blade asked.
“I have a dozen files here of girls who were chosen for a specific regimen. Not only were they forced to live as human sex toys, but they were trained to kill. And kill violently.”
“Again, I ask, how?”
“Hypnosis,” Nav answered.
King shook his head. He took a deep breath as he stared at the table we all sat around. I could tell he didn’t want to ask the question. So, I asked it for him.
“Do you know who they are? Do you have names?”
“I have names. I’ve already dug into them. They were all children who were taken from public places when they were between the ages of four and six,” Nav explained.
“The Trick Pony was shut down. The Feds raided the place looking for those files. Who believes it was because they wanted to help the victims?” Jack asked.
“They fucking knew!” Gunner slammed his hand on the table.
“Of course, they knew. The Golden Skulls were caught up with the Feds when Amber was found,” Jingles pointed out. “And they call us fucking criminals.”
Jingles was right. This club might not be a one-percenter club, but there were plenty of things any of us could be picked up for if the Feds looked hard enough.
I’d recently killed my sister’s abuser. If it weren’t for Zero, and the kiln we had out back, I’d worry about spending the rest of my life behind bars. For Rose, I would do it and not think twice. But it would suck.
“Wait a minute.” Everyone looked at Colt. “The Trick Pony was shut down.”
When he didn’t continue, King asked, “And?”
“Where the fuck are all those girls?”
“Fuck me,” Cash said as he sat back in his chair. “There are a dozen assassins running around and no one knows who the fuck they are.”
“Nav, you said hypnosis. That means they have to be activated, right?” I asked.
Once George let me go and I came to Nebraska, I’d spent a lot of time catching up on movies I’d missed. It was no surprise, given what I’d endured, that I leaned toward the sick and twisted genre. The more fucked-up, the better.
One movie I had watched over and over was The Manchurian Candidate. Denzel Washington starred as a soldier who suspected his fellow brother-in-arms had been brainwashed into becoming a sleeper assassin. There was a phrase that, when he heard it, turned him into a killing machine.
“Why don’t you play a little solitaire?” I said, voice barely above a whisper.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Gunner snapped.
I looked at Nav, his eyes wide. Surprise mixed with respect said he knew I’d figured it out.
“What’s the trigger?”
“They’re all different.”
“Hey, Tweedle Dee and Dum, what the fuck are you talking about?” King barked.
“The Manchurian Candidate.”
“The movie with Denzel?” Jack asked.
“Oh fuck,” Colt cursed. “It could be anything.”
“If someone doesn’t fucking explain, I’m going to beat the shit out of all of you,” King snarled, his focus drifting from Nav to me, then back to Nav.
Nav explained the movie. Apparently, one King had never seen. I half-listened as I thought about everything Nav had already told us. There were twelve files, which meant twelve girls.
Twelve girls were out there, hiding in plain sight. Ready to be activated at any moment. Ready to kill on command.
“What are the triggers?” I asked again.
“Poems.”
“What?” Blade asked. “How does it work?”
“The name of the poem is the trigger. Whoever says the phrase has control of the girl,” Nav explained.
“How do you pull her back?” Blade asked.
“By saying the title backwards.”
“Jesus Christ,” King cursed.
Cash’s phone rang. He pulled it out of his cut and swore. Immediately, my body tensed. This was about Rose. Cash answered the call and looked me in the eye. “We’re on our way.”
“Is my sister okay?”
“Your sister is fine,” he said as he stood. “Archie’s got a Death Dog strung up like a turkey over at Audrey’s. He tried to take Indie.”
“WHAT THE FUCK?!” I yelled.
As I leaned against the wall, arms crossed over my chest, I stared at the man tied to the chair in the cell downstairs. I had been given a direct order not to touch him.
He touched what was mine.
Twice.
Dakota’s words swirled around inside my brain. Memories of his taunts. The way he tried to goad me into losing control. He’d hurled insults at me, about me, about my father. In the end, it was the shit he’d said about my mother that had done it.
The day I beat the fuck out of Dakota, leaving him bleeding and unconscious on the mat, was the day George said he would let me go on one condition. That I did as he asked. He’d reminded me that he owned my soul.
The same way he owned my father’s.
He was dead now.
His reign of terror was over, but his son was still alive. In fact, all of his sons were still alive. Were they all as evil as he was? I’d heard the stories about Montana. The way he ruled with anger, hypocrisy, and ego—so much like his father.
Then there was Kansas. He led the Diamondbacks in Oklahoma. The rumor was that his men respected him. But men lied. Especially when they feared their leader’s wrath.
Arizona was nonexistent. He worked with children. I was a child when Dakota worked with me. I could only hope Arizona was the black sheep in a family filled with narcissists. I’d need Nav to look into him.
They all had their day coming. But this man, the one who sat before me. He had information. Information I wanted.
There was a reason he targeted Indie, and he would tell me what it was. One way or another.
“You should check on Indie.”
“You told me to... ‘stay the fuck away from her’ were your exact words, I believe.”
King leaned against the wall next to me, his arms crossed over his chest. The irony of him mimicking my stance wasn’t lost on me. During my time as a prospect, I watched and imitated everything I learned. Jingles had been the one to pick up on it and given me my road name.
“I can’t let you question him.”
“I’m a fucking enforcer. What the fuck is my job if it isn’t interrogation?”
“Your job is to do whatever the fuck I tell you to do. And I am telling you to go check on Indie.”
I straightened away from the wall, dropping my hands to my sides, fists clenched as rage took over an already boiling anger that filled my soul.
“I should be the one questioning him.”
“That right there is why you aren’t,” he said, pointing to my hands. “You’re a loose cannon right now. I can’t have you killing him.”
“He’s still alive, isn’t he?” King cocked an eyebrow at me, and I snarled, “He touched her.”
“And he will pay for that. After we get answers.”
King held his hand out, palm up. I cocked my head, a silent question to the answer I knew he wanted.
“Now.”
My teeth clench tightly as I dug into my pocket, retrieving the key to the basement. “This is fucking wrong,” I said, slapping the key into King’s hand.
“I’ll let you have him when we’re done with him. For now, go check on your girl.”
I stared at my president another moment, willing him to back down even though I knew he never would. King had a calm head. He might lose his temper often, but he never made a decision in the heat of the moment.
And I knew he wouldn’t leave the basement until I did. Not after the last time I was down here alone with a prisoner.
I took the stairs two at a time. Now that I’d been banned from questioning Sting, my focus was on Indie. I checked the main room first. Not seeing her there, I ran upstairs and knocked on her door.
I braced my hands on the doorframe as I waited for her to answer. When the door opened, I saw the fear in her eyes before she twisted away.
“What do you want?”
“I came to check on you.” I stepped into her room, not waiting for an invitation, and closed the door behind me.
The first thing I noticed was her suitcase in the corner. Still packed. The room was immaculate. There were no dirty clothes on the floor. A contradiction of the bedroom in her apartment. A small bag of toiletries lay on the sink in the bathroom. Nothing was spread out across the surface.
She was ready to leave at a moment’s notice.
“Are you okay?”
“No, I’m not fucking okay.” She spun around and pierced me with a glare.
“How can I be okay? I was pulled out of my home in the middle of the night because three assholes showed up to kidnap me. One of those assholes already hit me once, knocking me unconscious, and today he thought he would try again. Only this time he tried to grab me and take me with him.”
The bravado in her voice wavered. Her fingers twitched, and she shoved them into the pocket of her jeans. I took a step forward and pulled her against me. I knew I was risking my balls after the last time I had her this close, but I needed to feel her in my arms.
“Stop fighting me and let me hold you.”
“Why, so you can get off and walk out my door again?”
“I said I was sorry.”
“Sorry isn’t good enough.” Her words were laced with anger. But she turned her head and laid it against my shoulder. Her hands slipped around my waist, and she held on to me.
Afraid to move, I stood there, holding her. Reveling in the feel of her body against mine. I wanted to make it up to her. Wanted her to feel the ecstasy I felt with her lips wrapped around my cock.
I knew what to do. Dakota made sure I’d seen enough of it live and in color. But could I tell her the truth? Could I confess to her that I was still a fucking virgin at twenty-one years old? Would she laugh at me?
She tilted her head back and looked at me. “Why are you thinking so hard?”
A shuddering breath slipped through my lips as I laid my forehead against hers. “I want you so fucking much, Indie.”
“I’m right here.”