James
FOUR
The sword of justice isn’t always wielded by a righteous man. Sometimes it’s by a vengeful woman, and other times by a broken soul looking for absolution.
I grit my teeth. Every raid makes my stomach drop, no matter how many times we do this.
So much could go wrong. Catching powerful men in horrific acts is necessary, but the victims are never more vulnerable than they are in this moment.
If they kill the witnesses, the case weakens. Everyone here has much to lose.
My gaze sweeps the expansive dark room, all mahogany paneling, low amber light, and deep leather chairs.
The kind of place built generations ago for gentlemen to drink expensive liquor and trade secrets behind closed doors.
I’m sure it was never meant for this. My attention settles on Owen, our target.
I fight the urge to be violently sick. He doesn’t just take pleasure in the pain; he fucking revels in every scream.
And worse, he’s the dean of a prestigious college and has access to many impressionable young women.
His lawyers are overworked but adept at making the accusations disappear.
He’s not stupid; he sticks to the ones on scholarships or who aren’t from affluent families.
Money talks loudest to those without it.
He embodies everything I hate and represents all that I am trying to dismantle.
‘’Are you keeping that pretty redhead all to yourself tonight?
” Graydon wonders as he sips his scotch from a crystal glass and glances at the woman who is dressed in a white gown kneeling at my feet with her head bowed.
My grip tightens on the chain around her neck, a warning to every other man in this room that she is claimed.
It’s a good thing Camryn is only ninety seconds out, waiting for my signal. All these girls and women are marked for extermination as they’re deemed too rebellious, used, weak, or barren. Their last days will be spent tortured by men who believe themselves untouchable.
I shrug. “Undecided.”
“You enjoy a blonde, no?” he asks. “We never see you with them, though.” He shakes his head. “You must do some nasty shit, because they never make it out alive.”
“I enjoy my privacy.” The blondes he’s referencing not only make it out alive, but head straight into the witness protection program.
I haven’t touched a woman in years, not in pleasure or in anger.
It was a fine balance when Jonathan was leading us.
Now, as their new man in charge, I’m caught between being under more scrutiny and being afforded the privacy the boss commands.
“But we enjoy the depravity,” Graydon pushes.
“Then you’re in the right place, but I am not here for your pleasure.
Remember your place,” I growl, lasering him with a glare.
He holds my eyes for a beat. Graydon is a formidable man in the boardroom, but here I am king, and there can be no doubt in his mind that I am the worst of us all.
Anything less, and I may as well place my head on the chopping block.
I release the chain and lay it across my lap, knowing she won’t go anywhere.
I lean back in the leather armchair, nursing my bourbon while keeping Owen in view.
He has not one, but two girls tied back-to-back at his feet as he toys with which implement to use.
This party is scheduled to go on for the entire weekend, but I’m about to bring it to a screeching halt.
Fire floods my veins as Owen lifts a cat-o’-nine-tails and trails it across the bare breasts of the brunette, who whimpers and turns her head to the side.
I send an apology to the universe for the suffering I have to let happen when all I want to do is snap his neck.
My sleep would come easier knowing scum like him were feeding the fishes.
It would be the greatest contribution to the world he’d ever make.
Graydon’s breath catches beside me as Owen lifts the whip and brings it down with enough force to break the skin.
Owen’s smile is gleeful, and it’s one I’ve seen enough of to know that he’s going to kill her if I don’t pull the trigger now.
I stand and snatch the arm of the redhead at my feet. She glances at me and blinks.
“Bend over and grip the arms of the chair,” I utter. She does as I command but doesn’t break eye contact as she watches me place my glass, still full of ridiculously expensive bourbon, on the table. I can’t stomach it on a night when every move I make could end or save a life.
Graydon’s attention focuses on us instead of the horror happening around the room. He studies the way I undo my belt, my thumb grazing the buckle and pressing harder than necessary.
I move with unhurried steps and snake my hand up her dress to grasp her bare hip. Thirty seconds stretch. I keep the count going as she stiffens beneath me. My hand wraps around her long hair, and I drag her head up so she has a clear view of every single person in the room, victims and scum alike.
Owen raises his whip once more. One day soon he will suffer worse than his victims. But I have to pretend to be caught in the act because no matter what the FBI finds tonight, most of these men will worm their way out of the crimes laid at their feet.
I kick her feet apart, drawing the attention of a few of the men in the room. I lean over her, covering her back with my chest and putting my lips against her ear. “Easy, Willa,” I utter, reminding her who she is, so she doesn’t freak out.
Just a little longer. Come on, Camryn. Owen drops the whip and snatches a violet wand from the table of tools. He doesn’t just get off on the pain; it’s the theatre of doing this in a room saturated with the desire of men and the despair of women.
I wonder how quickly he would break if the tables were turned.
The moment the electric touches the girl’s wound, the double doors at the opposite end of the room burst open and a flood of agents led by Camryn fills the room, shouting their presence to ensure no man here misses that they are indeed fucked.
Willa’s hand drops under the chair and releases the pistol stored there.
“Seven o’clock. The one with the two girls on the floor,” I murmur.
“Got him,” she whispers.
Time stretches as the agents spread out, but Owen stays true to my prediction and grabs a knife in a split-second decision.
Damn, I hate being right.
Willa doesn’t hesitate. The shot rings out and slams into his shoulder. The woman has a damn good aim. He’s wounded, but nothing medical attention can’t solve.
“Fuck,” Graydon snaps as he stands and glowers at Willa.
“Sit the fuck down,” she snarls as she backs away and puts me in her view. “You too, James.”
I do as she asks, playing the part of an unhurried and amused cult leader. I cast my eyes over the room as I take my seat, snatch my glass and take a big gulp of the amber nectar.
“Say nothing,” I mutter to Graydon as he also sits. “They have fuck all on you so long as you stay quiet.”
I take a quick count of the girls gathered in the room while Camryn works her way through the arrests. Fifteen, not sixteen. My stomach drops.
I count again, slower this time, forcing myself to focus despite the chaos unfolding around me. Agents bark orders. Men who have spent their lives believing themselves untouchable suddenly discover handcuffs don’t care about status. Women huddle together in various states of fear and confusion.
Fifteen. Again. One is missing.
The alcohol turns sour in my stomach.
I catch Camryn’s eye across the room and tap my finger once against the side of my glass. Her gaze sharpens at the silent communication, knowing something’s wrong but not what.
She strides toward me with purpose, her shoulders squared and her expression carved from stone. “James Austin, I’m arresting you on suspicion of human trafficking, kidnapping, rape, and murder.”
A few heads turn, and I force a smile onto my face because James Austin would smile.
“Oof. That’s quite a list, Miss Sinclair. Haven’t we done this dance already? All you have is a room of consenting adults caught in consensual debaucherous acts that all enjoy. I don’t see any bodies in the shadows.” I look around with a taunting lift of my brow.
“Agent Sinclair.” Her tone could freeze fire.
Normally I would push harder, play my role until she threatened to shoot me herself, but all I can think about is the missing girl. Where the fuck are you?
I swirl the amber liquid around. “You seem a little uptight, Agent Sinclair. Maybe you would benefit from a night with us. Let loose. Let me take all that uptight righteous energy and show you how a real man treats a woman like yourself.”
“Dream on,” Camryn mutters, pulling a set of restraints free from her waist.
The lies are practiced, but it still twists my stomach. Hurry, I implore her. Each passing minute that the girl is missing is another inch closer to us finding her dead.
I smile and set down my glass. “You came prepared. I admit I’m intrigued.
” I’m not in the slightest. I want out of this room full of men who know to keep their mouths shut and excuses buried.
Each one of them has top lawyers on retainer who will work hard tonight.
They need to burn in hell, each sin they’ve committed returned tenfold.
“Hands.”
“You bitch,” Owen snarls as he staggers to his feet, holding his bleeding shoulder. “You shot me.”
Correction—most men know to keep their mouths shut, apart from this idiot who is seeing red at the fact a woman turned the tables and hurt him.
Owen kicks out at the blonde crying on the floor, catching her in the chin and snapping her head back against the other woman. Fuck.
Camryn hollers commands to restrain Owen, ignoring his injury. Maybe he’ll do us all a favor and bleed out.
“Kill the bitch, James,” Owen shouts as two agents wrestle him to the ground and bind his hands behind his back. Pretty sure those cuffs are on too tight. Good.