Chapter Seventeen #3
The others laughed, watching the scene they had orchestrated unfold.
A car drove up to park across the street from the warehouse.
It was Lyric’s brother Keith’s Audi, the one he kept locked up in a garage at the racetrack.
A man looking exactly like Keith exited the vehicle and then, from the back seat, brought out several gas cans.
He carried them two at a time to the warehouse, where he disappeared inside for several minutes and then emerged to splash gas all over the outside walls.
He stepped back, lit a match and tossed it before running back to his car, getting in and driving away, accelerating very fast.
Torch stood in the shadows, concentrating on the warehouse. She knew the layout and meticulously started burns in every room and then fed the fire until it was roaring, both inside and out. The group quickly left the scene.
Preacher and Ink were their lead men, and they’d taken Lana with them.
She had everything she needed to become Josephine Johansen, Lyric’s mother.
Ink became Lester Johansen, Lyric’s father.
They didn’t have to steal a car and return it before anyone noticed it was gone.
Josephine, Lester and Keith were home, sitting in the backyard with a glass of wine, safe in their gated community, they thought.
That made it a little trickier to keep from being seen as Lana made a show in front of the neighborhood camera of pouring gasoline inside and outside the Johansen home while Ink did the same with Keith’s home.
By the time they were ready for her, Torch had arrived with the rest of the team, and she built a conflagration so fast and so hot, there was no way to put out the fires.
The three Johansens rushed to get hoses, but both homes were completely engulfed within minutes.
The fire department arrived quickly, but there was no way to save either structure.
Josephine dramatically screamed and cried, falling to her knees and covering her face as she sobbed. Lana pulled off her mask and wig, amusement on her face. “That right there will have the fire department suspicious. Overacting.”
“And there’s evidence they sat in the backyard, toasting each other with wine,” Alena added. “It will be impossible to know the timeline of them settling in to be smug about their wonderful insurance fraud plan.”
“Wait until they get the news that their warehouse went up in flames,” Steele said. “Let’s get out of here. We have to get ready for the barbecue.”
They made their way back to their transport. “Thanks, everyone,” Keys said. “This was very personal to me.”
“Torpedo Ink,” Steele said.
“Word just came in,” Code said, seating himself comfortably in one of the leather chairs. “Miles was attacked and stabbed repeatedly. Sadly, there was no saving him.”
Satisfaction spread like fire through Keys.
They’d accomplished the nearly impossible.
Declan was bound to surface, and with him would be his Russian enforcers.
The ones calling themselves Ghosts. Torpedo Ink had been on their trail relentlessly since the first time they had come to their attention.
This was a good opportunity to find the man behind the kidnappings and murders.
They were patient hunters and had never swerved from finding the man running the Ghosts.
They’d expected him to retaliate, but so far, he’d left them strictly alone.
Czar was certain the director of the Ghosts had managed to infiltrate the Rampage club.
Every member of that club had been in one of Sorbacov’s schools, which meant they were trained assassins.
They knew one another, which allowed an opening for the Ghosts to insert someone—or more than one someone—into the club.
Those who had gone to school with them would vouch for them and would never suspect that they were working as spies to find weaknesses so the Ghosts could control their club.
“Czar is certain the Rampage club has been infiltrated,” Steele said.
“We’ve vetted them a couple of times, but not all members of their club were present when that happened.
Czar made it mandatory for every single one to be at the barbecue tonight.
We’re to mingle, talk to them, get a feel for who might be a traitor. ”
Alena sighed. “We know I don’t have that sixth sense when it comes to ferreting out an enemy. I just go to bed with them.”
Lana reached over and touched her arm gently. “Pierce was good at hiding his true character. All of us liked him.”
“Not my brothers. Ice and Storm wanted to kill him from the first day they realized I had a thing for the man.”
“Your brothers want to kill anyone who gets near you,” Steele said.
“They aren’t the only ones,” Preacher pointed out. “And once someone hurts you, no matter how forgiving you are, Alena, we don’t forgive or forget.” There was an ominous warning in his tone.
Keys didn’t nod his head in agreement but instead exchanged a long look with Maestro, Player and Master.
The four owned 287 Construction together and also had formed the band Crows Flying.
Keys and Maestro took their job of keeping Steele safe very seriously.
They were also very protective of Lana and Alena, as were the other members of Torpedo Ink.
The club was simply biding its time, waiting until no one would be suspicious if Pierce met with an untimely accident.
He was Plank’s, president of the Diamondbacks, right-hand man.
They couldn’t go to war with the Diamondbacks.
Pierce thought himself safe, but he had no idea how patient they could be.
They knew Lana and Alena were every bit as trained and capable as the male members, but all of them had spent their entire lives doing their best to protect and keep the two girls safe.
Each time they’d been abused or raped or tortured in some way, it had left a scar on their souls.
Lana and Alena were the only two women who had survived that hellhole, and they’d survived because each one of the boys under Czar’s rule had made them a priority.
In their minds, the men tied the survival of the two they thought of as sisters with their own existence.
“You’ve got that beautiful soft spot in you,” Lana said. “We all love that about you. You’re willing to give people a chance. You always have.”
Alena gave her a small smile that didn’t touch her eyes. “I wish I didn’t have it. Betrayal hurts.”
Keys knew betrayal. They all did. He’d accepted his past and the horrific things done to him, but he couldn’t accept what had been done to Lyric.
That was why it was so important to retaliate against her parents and brother.
They’d thrown her away as if she were garbage simply because her brain worked differently.
She was intelligent and wonderful. Compassionate and loving.
She shouldn’t have to hide who she was simply because her brain wasn’t the same as every other person’s in the world.
Keys was well aware that many of the brilliant discoveries and advances in technology had come from the minds of neurodivergent men and women.
Lyric wasn’t someone who would think in terms of revenge, and neither was Alena. Both had too much compassion and a soft, vulnerable spot that needed protection.
“The director of the Ghosts believes he can get his men past us, but they don’t know about Czar’s ability to read people and Absinthe’s ability to hear lies or compel the truth.” Steele changed the subject back to the night’s work. “We’ll find out tonight if he sent someone after us.”
Keys kept possession of Lyric’s hand as they threaded their way through the men who had come to the barbecue.
She had dressed in soft jeans, faded blue, high-waisted, with a rip over her right knee.
The jeans fit like a glove, clinging lovingly to her hips and butt.
She’d paired the jeans with a simple wheat-colored classic crewneck cardigan that was short, barely reaching the waist of her jeans.
Showing just a little skin. It was long sleeved and would have looked super casual, but she had left the two top buttons undone as well as two at the bottom.
Only three were closed, adequately covering her but giving her an edgier look.