Chapter 38
THIRTY-EIGHT
THORNE
The mansion is built in the middle of nowhere, with no neighbors around for miles. It’s probably where they’ve held parties like this before, no one suspecting that the beautiful home is a house of horrors.
It’ll be the last night it’s used as such.
Pyro leans forward from the backseat, an irritated scoff leaving his lips. “A damn shame I’ll have to burn this place to the ground. It’s not as bad as the last one.”
I grunt, though I agree. It’s not as gaudy and in your face as Ruben’s monstrosity, but that’s what makes it scarier.
If someone discovered this place, they’d just see a sprawling expanse built on several acres of land.
Nice, tall windows that let in plenty of natural light and a large black door with a lion head knocker.
It’s a beautiful house to be sure, but it’s dark. It’s death for some of the people that step inside.
Knox nods. “At least you’ll get your wish.”
Pyro smiles and hugs Knox from behind. “Yep. I made sure to hide all the gasoline behind those huge ass shrubs. No one’s gonna know until it’s too late.”
We’ve been in upstate New York for two days, staking out the location and setting up our weapons.
Right after I killed Professor Cooke—no regrets—I called Bensotti to get cleaners to make the crime like it never happened here and to clean the place up. After he took my order, he told me that he’d planned to call me and let me know what Orion found.
“He dug into that hard drive you found at Ruben’s and found a secure email address,” Bensotti said, sounding more exhausted than I’ve ever heard him.
“He did whatever it is he does and cracked into it, checking the forwarded messages. According to him, a scrambled email said that he felt things were getting too hot and needed Dennis Burke and Peter Howard to offload merchandise in bulk. Their words, not mine,” he finished.
My knuckles cracked as the word merchandise was used to describe human beings that were abducted and sold to the highest bidder. They’re fucking people.
And if I have my way, the victims will all leave this place alive.
From the emails Orion found, Dennis and Peter have reached out to at least fifteen people, telling them they’re having an auction of sorts.
So not only will we be taking out the last few remaining men in this specific trafficking ring, but we’ll kill at least fifteen other scumbags that buy and sell humans.
Since we’re so far away from any other homes, we agreed Pyro can burn the place down. We spent all of last night planting weapons and gasoline around the house so we can stealthily approach and get inside while the auction is going on.
For now, we wait.
As we wait, my mind flashes to what I said about Bensotti. I told Chance and Warren he’s my dad. I haven’t had a dad in decades. Since when have I started seeing him that way? He doesn’t even want kids, so I’ll just end up hurting my own feelings if I tell him about my slip up.
As I stare at the mansion, waiting for movement, I push away thoughts of being rejected by the only father I’ve ever claimed and think about Warren and Chance.
I never thought they’d see the darker side of me, and if they did, I thought they’d leave me.
But they…didn’t. At least not right then.
Shit could have changed while I’ve been gone.
Other than calling them to coach them on what to say if they’re asked about Cooke, I haven’t spoken to them. I’m afraid that the further away I am and the more time that passes, they’ll realize that I’m a fucking killer, they’ll come to their senses.
Pyro taps my temple and I glare over at him. “What are you thinking?” he asks. “Worried about your guys?”
After I packed my things for this trip, I went over to Knox’s house to tell him what happened with Cooke. Pyro had popped up at his place last night, surprising him with an early move. He heard everything I said and peppered me with millions of questions.
I hadn’t wanted to tell them much, but I needed help figuring out where to go from here.
“Yeah,” I say grudgingly. “Still think I’m gonna go home and find it empty, with the cops waiting for me.”
“Wouldn’t be empty if cops are there waiting for you,” Pyro says in that singsong tone of his he knows I hate.
I narrow my eyes at him. “What? It won’t.
Anyway, I don’t think that’ll happen. If they were going to call the cops, they would have done it while they were alone, and you were waiting on the cleaners. ”
He’s not wrong, but that pessimistic side of me, the side that never has anything good—is telling me they were just biding their time until I wasn’t near them so they could report me.
“I hate to say it, but Pyro is right,” Knox says.
“Hey,” Pyro protests. “I’m right sometimes. Most of the time. Ninety-nine percent of the time.”
I can’t help but smile back at him, even though Pyro drives me crazy.
Bumping his fist against my arm, Knox says, “I think you have something solid with them. And the swimmer is already in love with you. The professor isn’t far behind if he isn’t there already.”
“Thorne loves them too,” Pyro says knowingly. “Have you ever heard him talk about anyone like he talks about them? He killed a woman for them.” Pyro leans his head on my arm. “I like you in love. You’re not as grumpy.”
“I’m never grumpy,” I complain, reaching over to muss up his hair.
“God, I hate when you do that.” He sits back, takes out his hair tie, and redoes his ponytail. “Are you jealous that my hair curls and yours is all…lank and boring?”
“Yeah, that’s exactly it,” I chuckle. Pyro sticks his tongue out at me.
Grabbing my phone, I open it and scroll through our texts. Chance has sent a few pics of the three of us together—all of which I saved so I won’t lose them. They both look so happy, their smiles bright and the skin around their eyes crinkling. I look…content, for the first time since Summer died.
My gut clenches as I think about losing them. They’ve made my life so much better, so much brighter. I have people in my corner, people that care about me. Not because we were forced together, but because we chose each other. I don’t want to give that up.
Maybe I should text them and check in, so they don’t worry. They’ve messaged me good morning and good night for the past two days, but I’ve been too scared to send one back.
Just before my fingers dance across the keyboard, Knox taps my arm. “They’re here.”
As he said, cars arrive down the long driveway. Men hop out of the cars, laughing and being obnoxious. Probably in good spirits because they think they’ll be getting new…merchandise tonight.
“Easy,” Knox whispers as I tighten my hands around the steering wheel, making it creak under my anger.
“They’ll all fucking die,” I seethe.
“They will,” Pyro says, serious this time. “But we can’t get them if we jump the gun.”
With effort, I peel my fingers from around the steering wheel, watching from our concealed location in a plot of woods as the men meander inside, talking amongst themselves. I let out a rough breath when the door of the mansion shuts behind them.
About ten minutes later, three large vans with blacked out windows come barreling down the driveway.
“Must be the victims,” Pyro says in a tight voice. “Makes freeing them easier.”
He’s right. When we round all of the kidnap victims up, we can give them the keys and tell them to get the fuck out of here while we take care of business.
Men get out of the front and open the rear doors.
They’re rough as they drag people from the back, all of them cuffed in the front and at the ankles.
Anger fills me as I watch helpless people struggle up the stairs, probably scared out of their minds.
Knox’s hand on my arm is the only thing that keeps me in place long enough for everyone to disappear behind the high walls of the house.
We wait for another ten minutes before we make our move, each minute feeling like an hour as my blood boils.
“Ready?” Knox whispers as he slips his mask over his face.
“Yep,” I say, doing the same. Pyro adjusts his mask as well. Only our eyes are visible.
We push out of the car and, staying low to the ground, dart over to the house. First, we head to the back door and jam it so it can’t be opened. Then we find the storm cellar and bar it, in the event that someone gets away from us and makes it to the basement.
Once we’re sure all exits are blocked, we find the box of weapons we buried the night before, pulling it from the shallow hole and arming ourselves.
Knox and I carry ARs—though my ever-present Glock is by my side—and stuff three magazines each into our vests. Pyro carries two Desert Eagles, extra clips stashed in the modified belt he made. He told me once it was so he could reload faster.
We head toward the front door, me in front and Knox bringing up the rear. I make quick work of the lock, then we slip inside quietly, jamming the door until we’re ready to leave.
Noise comes from the back of the house, so on silent feet, we dart up the stairs to the security room.
Turning a corner, I run headlong into a large man guarding a set of double doors, his hands on his belt and not a care in the world.
His eyes widen when he sees us, but before he can fumble for his gun, Pyro steps forward and stabs him under the chin with a knife from…who the fuck knows where?
A gargling sound leaves his mouth and he drops against Pyro. I catch him and lower him to the ground gently, so we don’t make any noise. The house is huge and the thump of his large body might not be heard downstairs, but we don’t want to take any chances.
Before we started our recon, Orion sent us the floor plan of the house and told us where the security room would be.
He’d tapped into the cameras and watched all the goings-on and to alert us if someone noticed us.
The motherfuckers that are doing this sick shit think they’re untouchable, like cameras can’t be altered.