37. Butch
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
BUTCH
W ith the baby announcement out of the way, the team gets backs to business. Our remaining two days will be spent fine tuning the smaller details of the operation, like are we wearing bullet-proof vests under our suits or where the rest of our team will be stationed outside the auction house. Everyone weighs in on the discussion, helping to cover all our bases—even my pink-haired goddess.
Not that Candy lacks confidence, but she’s grown more comfortable during the week. Between nailing down self-defense training, asking questions for clarification when discussing the mission, and offering suggestions to make our job run smoother, she radiates determination, whereas earlier she was more of an observer, internalizing everything. Having her actively taking part by supplying our team with insider knowledge has been incredibly beneficial, giving us an edge in completing a successful ambush.
You would never guess by the way she’s interacting with the team, this is her first mission. Her melancholy sighs with her stoic poise show she’s remaining level-headed while taking all of this to heart. She needs no reminders of what’s at stake. None of us do.
Can’t help being proud of my woman and her willingness to help others, even with my reservations of having her on this case. Looking at her sitting next to me, attentively listening to everything the team is discussing, I smile. Does she know what she’s brought to the table, the value of her help she’s provided us?
Candy is used to disappointing others, whether by her actions or by means outside her control. She took this position as a way of proving her worth. Though I disagree she needs to be this involved, I understand why she feels obligated to verify to herself what we all already know—that she’s a valued and irreplaceable component of this family.
With my woman sitting beside me fixated on the meeting, I turn my focus back to the team as Atlas asks for our scout team to report their findings of the terrain and property.
“There’s one main access point leading onto the property. Those we’ll have barricaded prior to the start of the auction with the help of Piero’s other team. Anyone who gets beyond the barricade will have their tires blown out with spike strips we’ll roll out after the auction begins. No one is getting out through the main road unless they’re in an armored vehicle with puncture-proof tires,” Stage says, pointing to the areas in question on a map of the property on the main monitor in the conference room.
Atlas nods his approval before asking, “Are there any other access points?”
“A few,” Triple informs. “There’s an old overgrown logging road they could use as an escape option in a pinch. We suggest cutting off the road with one of our armored SUVs. There’s a helipad as well. Eagle has agreed to disarm any helicopters on-site the day of.”
Frowning, Atlas swings his attention toward Eagle. “How many choppers does this helipad hold?”
“Only one, Prez. It’ll be child’s play,” Eagle, our mechanic, assures him.
“Stage, make sure you’re covering Eagle’s six. I want everyone partnered for this mission.”
“No problem, Prez,” Stage says .
With one thing settled, Stage continues his report. “There are two guard posts. One is at the front gates leading onto the property. The second is at the back of the property. The peaks cover the sides, and an electric fence surrounds the estate where the mountain doesn’t barricade it.”
Gauge waves a dismissive hand. “Nothing we can’t handle between our men and Piero’s crew.”
As I study the topographical map of the surrounding land, I spot a symbol toward the back of the property line I’m unfamiliar with. I clear my throat, pointing at the monitor. “What does the sideways Y symbol mean?”
“That’s an old mining tunnel,” Stage answers me. “Remnants of silver mining pepper the mountainside. There are plenty of shafts and tunnels in the area, if you know where to look. We didn’t enter any of them, but we did our homework. The majority are boarded off and marked unsafe by the state. No one who wants to escape alive is going to risk running through any of those shafts.”
An exit is an exit. Desperate people will do anything to escape capture. “Where do they lead?”
“Most don’t lead anywhere, going deeper into the mountain,” Stage says. “Many have caved in over the years due to the deterioration of the tunnel supports. The one closest to the estate comes out on the other side of the mountain.”
Ziggy raises an eyebrow. “Is it an escape route?”
“No. The tunnel is the most hazardous in the area, being the oldest one still standing from the late eighteen hundreds at the height of the silver mining industry. This isn’t an area we should focus our concern on when we have other sensible ways to leave the property.”
“I get that, Stage,” I say, holding up a placating hand. “But humor me. What’s on the other side of the mountain?”
“A small plateau before dropping off on a sheer cliff. It’s not an exit to freedom.”
“I would agree,” Atlas chimes in. “Unless they’re carrying rock climbing gear, going through a condemned mining tunnel isn’t an option.”
We nod collectively in agreement, focusing on the more feasible escape options instead of the mission impossible scenarios.
“Any luck getting inside the estate?” Piero asks from his spot across the table.
“What Candy told us about the surveillance was true,” Eagle informs him. “The entire exterior is covered in surveillance equipment, motion-sensored and night vision-equipped. The cameras provide panoramic surveillance, making sneaking up to the building without being noticed near impossible.”
“Unless you’re super sneaky, like Triple,” Punk points out, smiling at our brother.
Triple grimaces. “Given the delicate nature of this investigation, I thought it best not to risk entering the building. Chase also agreed it was best not to hack into the surveillance system when we’re short on time.”
“I don’t like rushing a hack job,” Chase grumbles, folding his arms across his chest. “We don’t know who’s monitoring those cameras, or how often. If I had an extra day or two, I’d be all for it.”
“What about blueprints?” Atlas asks Chase.
“Got those. Or at least the originals. Duffy could’ve had work done on the property without registering those changes with the city.” A few strokes on Chase’s laptop, and the blueprints are on the monitors.
“Candy was correct about the property. This place wasn’t built to be a home. The basement has several cell-like rooms, most likely where they hold the captives until the sale. There appears to be a locker room shower area—a staging center to get the women cleaned and ready for auction. The only exits out of the basement are through the main staircase and the two elevators leading up to the center stage,” Chase explains.
“If we cut the power to the elevators, those left in the basement will have no choice but to come up the staircase,” Gauge says. “Simple enough if we know where to cut the breakers.”
“I can help with that. The main level,” Chase speaks, pulling up the first level blueprints on the monitors, “has an industrial-sized kitchen, probably to serve all the buyers, and a few bathrooms. The rest of the main level comprises what I presume is the tech department and/or security center based on the ventilation system and electrical used in the building. If you look to the far left wall on the blueprints, you can see a rectangular symbol with diagonal lines—that’s your power panel housing all the electricity for the estate. Get to that, and you can cut power anywhere on site.”
“What’s on the top level of the estate?” Punk asks.
“The auction stage,” Candy answers rigidly. “As well as the pen.”
“The pen?” I repeat, stupefied.
“It’s a grotesque term the auctioneers used to describe the holding area where they place the sold people until their new owners can collect them after the auction,” Candy explains, her nose scrunched up in disgust.
Ziggy sneers. “Christ on a cracker. These women are nothing but property to them.”
“Explains the empty area off to the side of the stage. I wondered if it was an observation deck for bidders to get a closer look at the women. But a holding area makes sense,” Chase muses aloud.
“Not to mention most bidders will want to remain hidden for anonymity. Getting closer to the stage would force them to expose themselves—not something most perverts would risk doing,” I add.
Chase pulls up the upper level blueprints on the wall monitors for all of us to see. “The switchback grand staircase leads to the second floor. A smaller back staircase connects the main level to the second level—probably an emergency exit to meet fire codes. There’s also one separate elevator leading from the main level to the second level. The second floor is laid out in a circular formation, with the stage in the center and the private box seating surrounding the stage. The two elevators from the basement level bypass the first level, coming straight to the upper level on either side of the stage. The only entrances and exits are through the front door and the back door—this was probably strategic to eliminate the chances of captives escaping.”
“Great work, Chase,” Atlas says admirably. “It’ll help us plan where we need our team placed.”
Piero side-eyes Chase. “How did you get access to these blueprints? These are copyrighted materials not accessible to the public.”
Chase smirks. “They’re not copyright-protected if the city or county of the property has them on file as part of a public transaction.”
Piero leans back in his chair, mouthing the word wow . “What fool wouldn’t check county laws when building an auction house?”
“A dumb one,” Ziggy chimes in on my other side.
“Dumb but connected,” Chase adds. “These blueprints were filed with the county, but they were misplaced, buried in their intranet system. It appears someone was covering his mistake.”
“It adds validity to Piero’s earlier suspicion.” I look at the team around the table. “Duffy is the frontman, not the boss.”
The team falls silent, letting that unsettling news sink in. None of us likes the idea of not knowing who’s who in this trafficking operation.
The question is, who’s the puppeteer pulling the strings?
Atlas grunts, breaking the silence. “Any idea who messed with the files, Chase?”
“Has to be someone connected to the county with access to document control, most likely someone within the registrar’s office.”
“Or someone who has leverage over those who work in the registrar’s office.” I turn to look at Atlas. “Didn’t you say Detective Quire at Fort Collins Police Department was told by the chief of police to stop looking for the missing women from CSU?”
“I did, but I’m not seeing the connection between Fort Collins Police Chief Owen Dunne and the Aspen Registrar’s Office.”
“What if all the cities being targeted are connected? What if those in positions of power are in on this sex trafficking ring? It wouldn’t be the first time officers of the law and corrupt politicians were linked to shady dealings,” I explain. “Who has better influence over another person than someone in law enforcement? This sex ring could extend beyond Colorado.”
Candy clears her throat, folding her hands on the table in front of her and her gaze downcast. “I think Butch is on to something. During my time at the brothel, I was forced to service a few officers and government officials. I think one of them may have been a senator, but I don’t know where from. I’m sure if you look into who works in the registrar’s office, there’ll be at least one worker with a record, something local law enforcement or a superior could hold over the head of the employee.”
Atlas turns to Chase. “Do your magic.”
Chase pounds away on his keyboard. A tense few minutes later, he looks over his laptop at Atlas. “Mister Chuck Davis from the Aspen Registrar’s Office has more than a few DUIs in the system but still has his license.”
“Welp.” Tank clucks his tongue. “That solves that mystery.”
Atlas doesn’t look pleased at all by this information. He rubs at his chin, glaring at the table. “This complicates things,” he mutters. “We have twenty captives, possibly twenty buyers—some who may be law enforcement, like Owen Dunne. Not to mention their security details and all those hosting and working the auction. We need more manpower to help with the arrest. If we can’t trust local law enforcement for backup, who are we going to use?”
“The feds?” Ziggy suggests.
“Yeah, bad idea,” Gauge says flippantly. “The Federal Bureau of Investigation isn’t keen on us since we revealed one of their agents was a pedophile and stalking Opal. Pretty sure they suspect we had something to do with his death, too, but have no way of proving it.”
“Agreed. Let’s keep the feds out of this business,” Piero seconds, his nose upturned. “I deal with their bureaucratic bullshit enough. Let me call in my team we used to help locate Jo in Argentina. With their help, we should be able to handle the citizens’ arrests.”
“As long as we have the manpower to carry this out, I’m fine with waiting to call the feds until after we’ve apprehended those involved,” Atlas agrees. “In the meantime, every man in this crew will be part of this mission. I’ve already got my late dad’s SEAL buddies coming in tomorrow morning to monitor headquarters in our absence—Captain Warren’s team has done this before and knows the drill. PT is running tech operations for us while we’re gone—Chase has him set up with what tasks need attention.”
Chase confirms with a nod. “PT will be here tomorrow to take over tech.”
“For our team’s positions on the mission, I want Reaper and Brass at the front exit off the property. Eagle and Stage will take the helipad. Flay and Triple will take the logging road. Tank, Ziggy, Butch, and Candy will work the inside with Piero and his three bodyguards. Gauge and I will take a team of Piero’s men to charge the front entrance of the estate, while Chase and Punk take a team to charge in through the back of the property. Piero, I want you to reach out to your hired guns and get them to take out the guard towers. We move our team out to Aspen tomorrow, making it easier to get into our positions the day of the sale. Everyone will be in place by noon, so as not to attract unnecessary attention.”
As Atlas finishes his instructions, his cell comes to life, vibrating across the conference table while blasting Marvin Gaye’s Let’s Get It On . With a wicked smile stretched across his face, he scoops up his phone, answering it.
“Pixie,” he purrs suggestively in his baritone voice.
Punk does a full body shiver. “Gah! Atlas, you prick. That’s my sister. Pick a different ringtone.”
Atlas covers his cell with his meaty hand, holding it away from himself as he snarls at our brother. “Mind your fucking business, Punk.”
He uncovers his phone, bringing it back to his smiling lips. “Baby, I’m in a church meeting. What’s that? The twins went down early? Roger that. See you soon.”
Punk folds his lean arms across his chest, shaking his head in disgust as Atlas disconnects. “Dude, you need to stay off Jo. She’s exhausted, being pregnant with another set of your minions. She doesn’t need you working her over.”
My pink-haired goddess weighs in with a chuckle. “The damage is done, bro. It’s not like he can pump any more crotch goblins into her. This is when they should be fucking like rabbits.”
Atlas points at Candy. “What she said. Besides, Josephine rang me for the booty call, not the other way around.”
Punk boxes his ears with his hands, cringing. “Stop talking about Jo’s booty calls! Ugh.”
I cover my gruff laugh with my hand. My other brothers hoot and belly-laugh around us.
“Enough for tonight. I want to get home to my pixie. Meeting adjourned.”
“HOOYAH!”
After Atlas hustles out of the conference room, the rest of the group disperses. A few of the crew members linger, talking amongst themselves, not paying me or Candy any mind.
“You were watching me a lot during the meeting,” my goddess murmurs.
My head whips to hers, drawn to her sweet, sultry voice—my siren’s call.
Candy walks her fingers up my cut to my neck where she gently collars me. Her brown doe eyes hold mine hostage as she says, “Were you paying attention to the meeting at all, biker boy?”
I swallow the needy moan building in my throat. “I heard all the important bits.”
“Good. You deserve a reward.” Candy’s fingers slide up the back of my neck, gripping me by the scruff. She pulls me to her until our mouths connect, angling my head with her hold on my neck to deepen the kiss .
Taken by surprise, I gasp, and she takes advantage of my shock by plundering my open mouth with her dainty tongue. This is a more public display of affection than we’ve done before. We’re usually reserved—close to each other, but never in each other’s faces. Holding hands or tender caresses happen, but it’s nothing outlandish. Whispering subtle words of affection in our ears when others are near is the extent of our PDA.
To those watching, it probably looks like normal flirting between a couple, except it’s not. It’s ownership—dominance.
Technically, I never said she couldn’t be a domme to me outside the bedroom, only stating I needed it in the bedroom. Her brazen behavior should upset me, considering my brothers—aside from Ziggy—don’t know my sexual tastes.
Candy’s dominant sexual prowess toward me in public makes me paranoid. I’m the one who claimed Candy as mine, per biker culture norms. For appearance’s sake, I should be the one grabbing at her, moving her the way I want to take what she would freely give. Not the other way around, not if I’m trying to conceal what we do behind closed doors.
What would my brothers think if they knew I enjoyed taking orders from my partner? Would they care? Would they think me less of a man? Would they shun me, no longer considering me a brother?
This crew means the world to me. It would gut me if they rejected me like my old family did before.
Yet something about Candy being comfortable enough with me to assert her dominance over me in front of others has my heart swelling, flooding me with the warmth only she can give me. Not to mention making my cock as hard as granite. If Candy is confident enough in her new role with me to be open about it, shouldn’t I extend the same courtesy to her and be open with my role, too?
Deep down, I don’t want to hide it—not anymore. This beautifully powerful woman makes me not want to care what others think.
Oddly, Candy frees me by taking control over me, accepting me like I accept all of her .
For once, I ignore the eyes on us, relaxing in her hold as she takes her fill of me. It’s liberating.
She pulls back, taking my bottom lip with her between her teeth until she releases me. My lips tingle pleasantly from the ghost of her teeth, aching for more. It takes all my restraint not to yank her back to me. By the way she snickers at my disgruntled expression, she’s aware of the effect she has on me. And I love that she loves torturing me as I sit on the edge of my seat, eagerly waiting for her instructions.
“How about we head back to our room? Fucking like rabbits sounds like fun.” She says nothing else as she stands, hooking her finger at me to follow.
Like the horny, entranced man I am, I’m right on her heels, allowing her to slip her slender fingers into my belt to pull me along—her hound to order and control. And I don’t care about the eyes on our backs as she leads me to our suite to play with me as she wants.