19. Smith
Chapter 19
Smith
I don’t think. I don’t even breathe. I just shoot.
Both the motherfuckers who are on top of Calista crumple to the floor.
The one who was trying to get into her pants—literally—is now slumped on her legs. She kicks the lifeless sack of raping shit off her and struggles to get up. I pull her to her feet, trying to check her over, needing to make sure she’s okay.
“Calista—”
“Looks like Smith found a prize,” Mercer says.
He’s followed by Malone, Liam, Orion, the Black Widow, and Jones.
The Widow insisted on coming.
Calista takes them all in. “Smith?”
Before I can speak, the Widow shoves me out of the way and puts an arm around Calista. “Smith, you could have at least left one of them for me.”
With that, she takes Calista out of the room.
I don’t want to let her out of my sight, but I don’t have a say in it, and to be honest, the less time spent here, the better. I glance at my fellow Knights, including the one marrying my daughter, one of my closest friends, and the one I really don’t want to engage with at all anymore.
Jones lifts an eyebrow. “Plan going well?”
“You might have hurried shit up a little bit.”
He ignores the dig with nothing behind it. “You get anything of interest from her? Other than that bruise on her throat?”
I ignore that.
“Enver never told me who wants her; chances are he doesn’t know.”
“Not what I asked, but from what he told me, it’s one of those jobs where the client pays extra for delivery and no questions.” He shrugs, looks around, then gazes down at the two dead assholes, their deflated cocks almost ghoulishly comical.
It’s a fitting end.
“Why are there so many fucking cretins in this world?” Jones asks.
I glance at him again. “Fuck if I know. I just wish I’d been able to make them, and the big one, suffer a little bit first.”
“If you’d left them to me and Mercer,” says Malone, slinging an arm over my shoulders. He’s sporting a beard and judging from the almost preppy look, he’s either changed his ways or it’s for a job. “We’d have loved to have fucked them up for you.”
Liam calls him over. Malone pats my back, then leans in close. “Talk with Orion. He had to deal with the same shit when Mercer and Ivy got together. If ice and rock can communicate, you can do it, too.”
I scowl at him. Ivy is Orion’s sister. It’s not the same thing at all. “You find a woman and you’re suddenly a relationship expert?”
“Hey,” he says, moving away from me, “when you meet a girl like Scarlett, you have epiphanies.”
“Still can’t believe she likes you.”
He puts a hand to his heart. “It’s a goddamn wonder of the world. And so’s the fact that Calista has it bad for your old ass. Go figure.”
Malone winks and disappears to talk to Liam before I can respond.
“Your question?” I say to Jones. “She has shit, but she’s reluctant to spill it.”
“That you know of.”
“Yeah, well…” I mutter as I take in the place with new eyes. Alone, I’d have gotten out. With Calista? I was on my way when the cavalry turned up. “I appreciate the help, don’t get me wrong, but I could have gotten us the fuck out.”
“You definitely got yourself the fuck in.”
I smile grimly. “I did. Not how I’d planned but it takes getting caught to catch the fish. Or some shit like that.”
Jones shoves a body with his foot, then bends down and searches the guy. I let him conduct the search on one and then the other because I’m liable to do damage after death, and it might look a little fucked in the head.
It is fucked in the head.
“Nothing…” He shakes his head as he rises. “Weapons, but nothing of use.”
“Grunts. Goons. Disposable jerks who crossed the wrong line here.”
“How you getting her to talk?”
“I will, Jones,” I say. “You know that.”
“And if I said hand her over?”
“You’re not my boss.” We exchange a look. “This is about a new weapon. I’m pretty fucking sure Enver’s working the angle of getting the blueprints, but I think it’s in our best interest to find out how deep people in our government might be, along with others.”
“She’s not one of them?”
“No. This crew…” I wave a hand. “These are grunts, like I said. More than I thought, easy to manipulate. They didn’t know anything. Just sent here to find the hacker and what she has.”
But something isn’t quite right about this whole thing, and he knows it, too.
“If this is just about the weapon,” I say, taking the gun he hands me and checking the clip. “I don’t think she knows what she might have. Especially since the CIA breaks up sensitive stuff like that.”
And she’s not technically high level enough. I say “technically” because the agency knows her skill set.
“Is that new?”
“Fucking civilian. No,” I say. “Always has been and always will be. Built-in protection system.”
“Or she wants you to think that. She’s a master hacker.” He pauses. “Devil’s advocate.”
I roll my eyes. “I worked for them. I know how they operate.”
“When are you handing her over?”
“If it’s just about the weapon, she’d have already been taken in Germany. Way before she went into hiding.”
“Or they waited and watched instead. Who recruited her?”
That, I don’t know. “I’ll find out. But come on, you know like I fucking do that the agency has a way of doing things. They’ll watch, and then if someone goes off-grid, they’ll strike.”
“You have her, so technically she’s off-grid,” Jones mutters, kicking one of the dead assholes again.
I nod. “I have her and maybe they are just watching. ”
We exchange another look. “This weapon,” he says, lowering his voice, “it’s not something we can find that much about. I’ve tried. All I know is it’s new, in high demand, and the blueprints, once they’re put together, will change the landscape of terrorism.”
“That’s the official word from the CIA?”
“From intel I spent a lot of time looking into.”
I don’t ask if this has rolled into another job, mainly because I know he won’t tell me. We’re Knights. Secretive, powerful above and below the law. But based on what he’s saying, it makes sense why the CIA would go to such lengths to get Calista back.
But the Collectors…
We finished them. As good as we could have, anyway. We have some still in our pockets and… I’m going to have to get everything from Calista. All of it. Piece it together. And then, after whatever Jones needs is taken or uncovered—because he’s definitely after something—we hand her over.
The Collectors… could this really be about them over the weapon? Because even though they’re decimated, there are still some around, other cells we couldn’t find and crush. Or maybe our little hacker saw something else she shouldn’t have.
Because the more I think about it, the government has the team who came up with the weapon. And they still have the original information, the OG blueprints.
Gut instinct?
Calista’s troubles aren’t stemming from the weapon blueprints and schematics being sold to the highest bidder…
I think she’s a scapegoat.
“Jones…”
“She’s just another piece of a puzzle, one they want, one you’ll hand over. When she’s given you everything.” He motions to the door. The others have left and we make our way out to the large car that’s waiting. “And this? Glad we could join you for some fun, but…”
“Some of it got out of hand.” A muscle twitches in my jaw. Like the men I killed who touched her. All fucking three of them. “But?”
“Don’t get too caught up.”
“Never. She’s a commodity, nothing more.”
And with that, I shut down the feeling that I’m a total fucking liar.
The private island in the Florida Keys, close to mainland USA and Miami by plane, is a stopover. We own it, so it’s the perfect place to rest up for a few hours.
Calista’s back with me. The others have scattered.
I’m fresh from my shower, buttoning a cuff link when I come out into the living area of the suite we’re in. Calista’s sitting on the white sofa. She looks around, then at me. “I’d ask who you are but it’s going to be the same answer, isn’t it? A lot of bullshit wrapped in nothing paper. Eva… your friend?”
The trip here from Cuba wasn’t long and Eva, aka the Black Widow, sequestered her.
Fuck, I don’t think the Widow’s much older than Calista. And I’m not sure if Eva’s even her real name. She’s a Knight and we don’t dig into each other. What we are at the tables and suites in the depths beneath O-Ring back in our New York headquarters is taken at face value.
Every single one of us has a past.
Every single one has secrets. We all earned the right to reveal those when and if we want to.
“What about her?” I switch to the other cuff link.
“She was very nice to me but was the same as you. ”
Yep, sounds about right. We all have a story, and it’s never the truth.
“She’s nice to women and girls. Men? We have to earn her respect.” I lean against the doorjamb. “Your room’s through there.” I gesture to the main bedroom of the suite. “This is a resort so order in, but don’t venture out, if you get my drift.”
“And what about you?” She’s avoiding what happened, the impact of her words so hard I can feel it pressing down like a weight.
“You should get some sleep and?—”
“I’m not broken.” She throws a cushion at me and jumps up. “I’m trained, I know?—”
“Those men tried to rape you, Calista, they?—”
“Don’t treat me like a doll. Like a broken, fragile thing. I’m not. There are worse things than what they did, and?—”
“Like death? Or like me?”
“You don’t even warrant a blip on my radar. I like kinky shit. I might not like or trust you, but I like what you do.”
I half smile. “Good to know. And you need to rest.” I give her a gentle push toward the bedroom. “I can send someone up to talk to you.”
“I’m a prisoner again?” she asks, deliberately misunderstanding me. We both know I meant a therapist. Not that there’s one here, but I’ve got two options. Push her to see if she’ll crack or hold her.
And the latter?
It’s dangerous.
“You’re not a prisoner, but this resort is a special kind. Like a kink sex club but also a resort. People can come and play. There are parties. Gangbangs for the lady—or gentleman—into that. Free use weekends. Orgies. And of course, primal chases, where those who want to be hunted and get down and reconnect with their more basic urges can. And yes, sometimes men are hunted. Me, I’m a hunter. I know you like being prey, but that’s not what this weekend is about. This weekend is general BDSM, and a lot of slaves being led around on all fours. Fed from bowls. Treated like their mistress or master’s playthings.”
“Not my scene.”
“Didn’t think so. So again, that therapist?” I leave it hanging and her eyes turn to a pure and raging storm, one that tells me she’s made of strong stuff.
I don’t know who wants her but I’m off to find out what I can tonight, try to bait whoever might be biting, and sell some blueprints I don’t have, along with a piece of the Bolivian sex trade game. There’s a club in Miami that has no rules, where there are questionable practices, that we’re watching.
On the plane back to the States, I told Jones about my concerns about the Collectors and how the ones remaining might be playing in actual trafficking waters.
He didn’t tell me I’m paranoid. Just to do what I need to find them.
And then hand over my little hacker.
“If you try and stick a therapist on me, I’ll knife them and then you.”
I nod. Slowly. “You could come to Miami. But you’ll have to get changed. There’s a closet of clothes to choose from.”
“I prefer my clothes.”
“They’re in smithereens back in France, remember?”
Calista stares me. And I’m pretty fucking sure she’s weighing my words. She hasn’t asked about her computer, which means she either thinks it’s toast or that I have it. It’s the latter, but we don’t exactly trust each other, so she’s not asking and I’m not volunteering.
It ups the tension.
Makes it gorgeously borderline unbearable .
Just like this conversation.
“One question. How did your friends find us?”
She’s trying to work out if I played her. I hold up my hand. “My ring. It has a tracker and when we didn’t show at a rendezvous point, my friends came looking.”
She just nods.
“One question. If I take you to this hardcore sex club in Miami, are you going to try and run away?”
“What are you going to do if I say yes?”
“Not sure yet. But just know I’ll find you and hand you over immediately if not sooner.”
She nods. “What if I ask you to help me uncover who’s after me?”
“I might be inclined to say yes.” I pause. “For a price.”
“I guess I’ll get changed.”
She’s only gone twenty minutes, and she’s found the red femme fatale wig I had added to the things in here. It’s easy to prepare a room in a couple of hours when you’re part owner of the resort you’re heading to.
The dress is black, low-cut with a split up the side and a tie at the waist. I wouldn’t call it sex club attire except I suspect beneath the veneer of just respectable is a very naked woman beneath. And her heels scream “come fuck me now.”
Everything about her says there’s no way she can run.
But I know she’s going to.
We join the others and take a small plane to the mainland. From the airfield, it’s a short car ride into Miami.
We’re almost at the sex club when I get a message from Reaper, who’s in town. Heard through the grapevine the people you might be interested in are a no-show for tonight.
When’s good?
Can you hang around until tomorrow ?
A slow smile spreads and I send a message through to the driver about our change of location.
“This doesn’t look like a sex club,” Calista says in the red wig that’s fucking white-hot on her.
I slant her a look as I lead her in past the line of people, the bouncers letting us in without question or delay. “You’re a sex club frequent flyer?”
She trails a finger down my tie. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
“Come on, kinkmeister, I’ll ply you with drinks and you can show me your tricks.”
The club is smoky, clandestine. It’s more underground dance club than anything else. And the beast inside me is stirring. A place like this is perfect to start a real-time chase. Over the beat of the music, I lower my mouth to her ear. “Drink?”
“Champagne.”
I go to the bar for a bottle. And when I get back, she’s gone.
Oh fuck, do I like a woman made of strong stuff, one who can and will run. Even if she is too young for me. I pull the phone from my pocket and open up the CCTV feed. There she is, running out of the place like a pro in the shoes. And I grin.
The chase is fucking on .