Maestro took the lead. He was the best at throwing knives. Keys was good, but they would be without lights, and the first guard would have to go down while Maestro was moving on the second one.
As they rounded the bend, Maestro saw that two men were in the center of the corridor talking together. He quickened his pace, noting the position of each as he palmed his throwing knives. The lights flickered and went out. Instantly, without hesitation, he threw the knives, one after the other, the clear vision of his targets embedded in his brain. He sprinted forward, Keys with him as they reached the men, ensuring they were dead or dying, at least unable to draw a weapon. Fortune had favored Maestro in that the two men were facing each other, which made the artery he needed to sever an easy target. On the other hand, it was dark, and reaching the bodies before one of them had time to fire off a round if he was still able wasn’t easy.
When he reached them, both men were slumped in the dirt. One was gasping for air and trying to stem the blood pouring between his fingers. The other stared up at Maestro with shock in his eyes. Keys removed their weapons, just to be safe. Maestro drew a third knife that had been resting in a scabbard between his shoulder blades. He drove it into the back of each of their skulls, severing the spinal cord.
“We need those women ready for transport to a medical facility, Cecily,” he said as he and Keys dragged the bodies away from the door.
Lights, he ordered.
Code complied almost instantaneously.
Guard at entrance down. Bring them out, Steele said. Player is shadowing Billows. He’s on the move, heading this way. Savage and Destroyer are inside the building.
“We’ve run out of time, ladies,” Maestro said, making a show of looking at his watch. “Billows is on his way to the club. Does he always check in first thing?”
Cecily indicated the door. “Open it fast. It has one of those locks. And yes, he’s the worst. You never know what you’re going to get with him. He’s been known to whip a woman nearly to death when he’s crossed.”
Maestro unlocked the door, allowing Cecily to rush inside, calling out to the women to hurry, that they were being rescued but they had to go now. The other women and girls were in various states of physical distress and injury. They helped one another out the door to stand in a semicircle around Maestro. The room was horrific—no toilets, no shower, just the way he’d been raised. The stench told him there were a couple of women with infected wounds. That was another thing he was well versed in.
“I’m carrying you,” he informed Paula. “Cecily will walk right beside us, but we have to hurry. We have medics waiting to help. You’ll be taken to a safe house. At that time, the cops will be involved. We prefer you don’t talk to them about us. No descriptions; simply say we wore masks.” The women would never know they were already wearing masks. If someone did eventually talk, the descriptions would never match a single member of Torpedo Ink.
Maestro was as careful as possible when he lifted Paula into his arms. She gasped and jammed her fist into her mouth. “Sorry,” he whispered. He hoped Billows died hard.
Several members of Torpedo Ink met them in the tunnel to aid the women with the worst injuries. They had long shirts to cover them so when they emerged from the tunnel and got into the two vans waiting for them, they wouldn’t feel quite so vulnerable.
Billows pulled into the club parking lot, Player announced.
Maestro lifted a hand toward Cecily. Then he turned and jogged back through the tunnel, racing through the maze of corridors to get upstairs before Billows entered the building. Ink’s disguise as the outside guard hopefully would pass muster. Billows, as a rule, didn’t speak with his guards often.
He’s coming up the walkway toward the door, Ink announced.
I have him in my sights, Lana confirmed. You’re covered, Ink. Unless I miss.
Very funny, Steele said.
Maestro managed to make it up the stairs and took up a position deep in the shadows behind the guard’s desk, where Preacher sat looking bored.
I dropped my cell and had to fish it out of the brush so he couldn’t see me clearly, Ink reported. He’s going in. Savage and Destroyer are waiting for the door to be opened.
Billows strode straight up to the desk. “You’re looking lazy tonight, Bobby,” he greeted.
Preacher stretched his arms out and deliberately yawned.
Billows grinned. “You need to visit the rooms downstairs more. You won’t be so bored.”
Preacher gave him the thumbs-up and then fished for his cell as if he had a call. Billows stepped around the desk, heading toward the concealed lock on the door. Maestro waited for him to open the door before he was on him. The blow to the head stunned Billows. Maestro flung him to the floor facedown, half in and half out of the doorway. He and Preacher searched him after they restrained his arms and legs, tying him as if he were a steer at a rodeo. They removed the switch for the bombs, along with his cell phone and three guns.
Savage and Destroyer entered and followed Maestro and Preacher, who were dragging Billows not-so-gently down the stairs. The entire way, Billows threatened them, mainly concentrating on Preacher, still believing him to be Bobby.
It took less than an hour for them to get the information they needed before they killed Billows. They left the body in the room where his men had tortured and killed McGrady. As usual after a successful mission, they all met back at the Airbnb they had rented to go over every move they’d made. It was considered necessary to spot any flaws in the planning. Thirty minutes into the debriefing, Maestro glanced down at his vibrating phone. 911. That was all, but it came from Azelie’s number.
His heart climbed into his throat. “Is Fatei with Zelie?”
“We pulled him off when we took Billows,” Steele answered, looking up from the videos they were going through. They always went over a mission while it was fresh in their minds. “He’s headed back to Caspar.”
Maestro’s throat got tight. His phone rang. Doug Parsons calling. “Don’t have time, Doug,” he barked.
“Billows dragged Azelie from her apartment and took her away in a black SUV. Carlton and I are following. The widows insisted on coming along.”
“That can’t be. Billows is gone.”
“I’m looking right at him. I wasn’t the only witness. Several people from her apartment building saw him take her.”
“Doug says Billows has Azelie,” Maestro reported to the others. “He’s following the SUV right now.”
Every head snapped up, and all eyes were instantly on him. Code sank into a chair in front of one of his screens. “Tell me streets so I can pick them up.”
“Billows is dead,” Savage assured everyone in the room. He looked at Destroyer for confirmation. “We fucking killed the bastard.”
“Put him out of his misery after he finally gave up a few names and where to locate them. Once he started talking, he couldn’t say enough,” Destroyer added.
“Someone who looks a hell of a lot like Billows just took her,” Maestro declared. “Doug, we need that information now.”
NINETEEN
Azelie knew she was in trouble. Real trouble. Alan Billows was smoldering with fury. He’d burst into her apartment, strode across the small space and punched her right in the face before she could even speak. Her cheekbone felt as if it had exploded. She had the presence of mind to hang on to her phone as she went down. He kicked her twice in the thigh, deadening her leg, but she managed to get a short message to Andrii, hoping he understood her 911. Billows ripped the phone from her hand and flung it across the room before dragging her up by her hair.
To her absolute horror, when he pulled her down the stairs to the street, he pressed a gun to her neck. Instantly, memories of bullets tearing into her sister, niece and nephew flooded her mind. She could feel the shock and pain of the three bullets smashing into her chest all over again. The memories were vivid. Terrifying.
Azelie was certain Billows was so incredibly angry that he would pull the trigger before he told her what was happening. She sent up a silent prayer that Andrii was safe. He shoved her into a black SUV and climbed into the back seat after her. The driver turned his head, and to her horror, there was a second Billows at the wheel. Twins.
She pressed her lips together to keep from saying a word. That there were two of them certainly explained the mood swings and personality changes. It was no wonder she could never figure Billows out completely.
“Who did you give your key to?” Billows roared the question in her ear, his fingers biting into her arms as he shook her.
The driver floored the vehicle, muttering a curse under his breath. “Several of the people from the apartment saw you put her in the car, Derrick.”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass who saw me,” Derrick Billows snapped, giving her another shake. “There was no other way for anyone to get into the maze or tunnels. It had to be her, Patrick.”
Patrick? For a moment she couldn’t think, and then it hit her. Alan had distinctive personalities. She’d even considered the possibility of him having some disorder.
“Where’s Alan?” She sounded like a forlorn frog croaking.
Derrick shook her again, this time hard enough that her head hurt. “Not here. Dead, you bitch. As if you didn’t know.”
She gasped in alarm. Triplets. Three, not two. Why hadn’t she figured that out? Alan hadn’t known how much money she made. He kept acting as if they were going to be a couple. He treated her differently than either Patrick or Derrick. Clearly, Derrick didn’t have social skills and didn’t want to have them. He was vicious and cruel, most likely the one she’d observed being abrupt and rude to his employees. Patrick had to be the charming one, who went out on dates with known celebrities and influential politicians. He enjoyed mingling with those in positions of power. Each of the triplets had played a role in their rise in money and influence.
