Viktor hooted twice to ensure Ice, Storm and Absinthe were moving into position in the woods just outside the fence. The moment Mechanic stopped the generator, they would be up and over the fence, joining them. He watched as the man crouched beside the large box and studied it, mapping it out in his mind.
Viktor had always admired Mechanic's ability with anything that had moving parts. The generator droned steadily and creaked repeatedly. Metal ground against metal. There was a loud, ominous crack and the strong smell of oil. Mechanic sat back and waited. The generator sputtered. Black smoke rose around it. The grinding got worse and then, abruptly, it shut down.
The lights in both the house and the barracks went off. Storm, Ice and Absinthe were up and over the fence in seconds, all three running to join the others. Ice turned back toward the barracks, directing the powerful energy around that house, to ensure the guards stayed inside.
He could feel the anger in the storm and knew it reflected the rage hidden in all of them. When the brothers had first discovered they could utilize the energy weather provided, they had been very weak at it and then out of control. This storm felt that way--out of control. Viktor didn't want the barracks burned to the ground.
The feeling in his gut that they had it right, this was their target, grew with everything he saw. Sandlin was definitely a viper, a snake poised to strike at any unwary child he could get his hands on. He might not be part of Evan's human trafficking ring, but he had one of his own going. He was almost positive that it was this man who had destroyed his messages to Blythe. Why he would do that for Sharon, he didn't know, but he was going to find out.
Lightning and thunder crashed together, rattling the gutters in the barracks. Viktor's heart clenched hard in his chest. Little beads of sweat dotted his forehead and ran down his face and chest. He remembered storms vividly. Being in the "dungeon" without lights. The things they did to him in the dark by candlelight, telling him he was lucky he wasn't alone. Storms always brought the nightmare of memories.
"Pull back," Viktor hissed, afraid for the kid in the basement, because now he was certain there was a child down there. Enduring. Sometimes the lightning would go after the water pipes and those would connect in the basement.
Storm blew into the air, a long rush of warm breath, and the lightning receded as if on his command, leaving the sky dark. A few heartbeats later, it started up again, striking the ground near the barracks where the guards had retreated with the dogs.
His brothers gathered around him. "He may have people working for him inside. Housekeepers, maids, that sort of thing, but they'll know what's going on so they won't be innocent. Still"--he looked straight at Savage--"until we know who is guilty and who is innocent, we aren't going to wipe them out."
His word was law when it came to that sort of thing so he didn't wait for an acknowledgment. Still, a part of him wanted confirmation. Savage worried him. They all did, but Savage had it nearly as rough as Reaper and definitely from a younger age.
Reaper went with Viktor. He always did. He'd appointed himself Viktor's personal bodyguard back when he was six years old and Viktor was fourteen, over twice his age. Viktor went up the side of the house while his men scattered in pairs, going in from every direction. He entered through a second-story window. It had an alarm, but that was hardwired into the electricity and failed when the backup generator went down.
He moved in silence, going quickly through the upper-story rooms, clearing them. No one appeared to live in any of them. There was a thin layer of dust on the bureau, but otherwise the place was clean, telling him the man had a cleaning crew that came in regularly, but not daily. He didn't want to think about where the kid was put when the cleaners came.
Downstairs he found the master bedroom. It was quite large, very decadent with mirrors from floor to ceiling on the two walls on either side of the bed and also on the ceiling above it. There were manacles attached to the foot of the bed and also at the head. Obscene pictures of Sandlin with a young boy decorated the walls not covered in mirrors.
Sandlin wasn't there. Viktor didn't find a foot patrol or even a security room in the house. The cameras were monitored from the barracks housing his guards. Clearly Sandlin didn't trust anyone to know what he was doing. As he blackmailed others like him, he had to fear that someone would discover his secret and blackmail him.
"Coffeepot is hot in the kitchen," Transporter reported. "Ice and Storm are keeping the storm heavy to keep the guards indoors. They can't keep up the lightning forever though. We've got to find him."
"Pretty certain I know where he is," Viktor said grimly. "He'll be downstairs. With the kid."
The tension in the room rose to a dangerous level. Viktor felt scary dangerous himself. This time he wasn't going to tell them to be cautious. He hoped he was wrong about what they were going to find, but he knew he wasn't.
Reaper and Savage turned first but Viktor held up his hand. "We go in careful."
He led the way, Reaper in step behind him, as they hunted through the downstairs for the door leading to the basement. It was just off the kitchen, looking as if it was a closet. Viktor pushed open the door very slowly. There was a creak. He stopped and glanced back at Savage. The man stepped forward and nodded for Viktor to open the door. The sound was muffled, so that the door was silent as it swung inward.
It should have been pitch-black beyond the door, but a flickering light danced on the walls. Candles. Sweat broke out on Viktor's skin. He remembered candles vividly, flickering in the darkness, the hot wax on his skin, the burn of cigarettes, Sorbacov's cruel laughter as he rutted and then turned him over to the vilest of the prisoners running the school. Bile rose, burning Viktor's throat.
He forced air into his lungs and kept moving forward. They crept down the narrow crude staircase, Savage muffling any noise they made. He smelled blood. The disturbing scent of Sandlin's perverted arousal.
"You should be happy I love you so much," Sandlin crooned. "I didn't want you all alone down here. I know how much you hate the dark."
The sound of the boy's breathing was a harsh, painful rasp with each brutal jerk of Sandlin's body. The sound of flesh slapping flesh was loud, echoing through the room. Viktor's mind went from total clarity to complete meltdown. He actually saw red. The rage in the pit of his stomach welled up like a volcano, ready to erupt.
He didn't wait. He couldn't. He was across the floor, uncaring whether or not Savage could mask his presence. It didn't matter now. He wasn't that helpless child, unable to get out of the manacles and kill his attacker. He was free. Dangerous.
He caught Sandlin by his bare shoulders and literally ripped him off the boy and threw him halfway across the room. The man landed with a thud on his naked buttocks, howling as he hit hard. The boy sagged across the back of the bed, his arms outstretched, his wrists bleeding. There were bloody stripes and welts on his back, buttocks and legs.
Viktor had to turn away from the disgusting sight of the sputtering, naked Sandlin. "Where does he keep the keys?" he asked. "Just give me a minute and I'll get you washed up."
The boy didn't respond. He kept his head down and turned away from Viktor, but not before Viktor saw the wax coating the front of his body. Viktor wasn't shocked in the least that the teen didn't respond. More than once, in the early days of his captivity, Sorbacov thought it was funny to send "rescuers" to "free" him, but they were friends of Sorbacov playing their role, and the sport that followed had been painful and cruel. He didn't bother with platitudes either. The boy wasn't going to believe a single word he said. Actions were necessary, not words.
He stalked across the room to where Sandlin was sprawled on the floor, trying to cover his flaccid cock with both hands. He stared up at them with horrified eyes. "Where're the keys, you son of a bitch? You got three seconds and then we start working you over with a broken bottle." He poured enough rage into his voice that Sandlin couldn't do anything but believe him.
"The wall by the staircase."
&
nbsp; Viktor stepped over the bloody condom and stalked to the wall, shining the penlight hanging from his key chain along it until he found the nail with the key hanging from it. The others had spread out, one poking through a box until he found a shirt and jeans that had to belong to the boy. At least he had clothes. For many, many years, Sorbacov hadn't bothered to cover any of them.
He was gentle as he unlocked the manacles. "You got a bathroom around here, to wash up in?"
He'd seen the doorless hellhole Sandlin had given the kid, but it did have a sink. The boy didn't move. Not even to pull his arms back to him. He'd retreated from reality to distance himself from what Sandlin was doing to him. Viktor had seen plenty of children crawl into their own minds to stay sane.
"Czar," Transporter said softly. "Let me take care of the kid. We don't have a lot of time before those guards come looking for their boss to make certain he's all right. We have to be gone."
Viktor hated that he was right. They needed to get their business done and get out of there as quickly as possible. He turned away from the boy who was far too much like all of them. Distant from everyone. Ashamed of what he couldn't stop. Living in his head to survive. Suppressing a rage that could consume the world. He stalked over to Sandlin. Absinthe crouched down.
"Sharon gave you the code and you erased every one of Viktor Prakenskii's messages to Blythe." Absinthe made it a statement.
Reaper made a show of pulling his knife from the sheath on his belt. Sandlin's gaze was all over the place, darting in every direction, but Viktor's brothers had spread out, surrounding him, looking grim. Merciless. Sweat poured down the naked body. Sandlin kept himself fit, needing strength to keep his prisoners under control, but right now, he was only trying to think of a way out. Like most true pedophiles they'd run across, he was a wimp, weak and scared when confronted.
Viktor held his hand up and Reaper put the knife in it. In one motion, Viktor turned his hand over and stabbed down hard, sinking the blade right into the man's upper thigh. "Answer him or I'm going to cut off body parts."
Sandlin screamed and screamed.
"It's a good thing he soundproofed down here, isn't it, Czar?" Ice asked.
"I did. I did. She wanted it done and she didn't know how."
"You kept doing it after she died," Absinthe pointed out. His voice dropped an octave. "I would like you to tell me why."
Absinthe had studied law by devouring all the books available to him. He was the one to negotiate all deals. He had a voice that could hypnotize, allowing him to force his will on others.
Sandlin shook his head several times, but he couldn't stop himself from blurting out an answer. "I told an old friend about it. He's in Russia, and he knew Viktor as a child. He sent me tapes. So many wonderful tapes. I had them put on DVD so I could watch them over and over. He has the master tapes. Kenny watched with me." He indicated the boy Transporter was washing the blood off of. "My nephew. He's attracted to older men. Begs me to let my friends come down here and play with him. I'll let you . . . Tell me who you are, what you want. Anything. I've got money . . ."
Viktor slammed the knife right through the other thigh and blood erupted in a geyser. "Whoops."
Sandlin shrieked. "I'll sell him to you. My nephew. No one will ever come looking for him. I paid a doctor to sign his death certificate. He doesn't exist. See? You can take him and do anything you want with him. Just take him and go."
"Who is this man in Russia?" Absinthe pressed.
The knife sliced down and across the groin before Viktor could stop himself. Sandlin screamed and screamed, his eyes rolling back in his head. Ice shook him.
Absinthe smiled. "Come on, Sandlin. Man up. You don't want to look weak in front of the boy, do you? You want to tell me who this man is."
Sandlin shook his head over and over while the blood sprayed. Ice let go of him, and he fell backward. Drool trickled from his mouth and he began babbling.
"He's done," Absinthe stated. "Shit. Sorry, Czar. We need to know where those tapes are, and he's bleeding out."
Viktor rose slowly, suddenly tired. No matter what he did, how hard he worked, he couldn't seem to stop men like Sandlin. He didn't want to think about what could be on those tapes. He especially didn't want to think about the hell the boy went through. "If he made the kid look at them, then they're probably in this room somewhere."
Absinthe went to the bed where Transporter was pulling a shirt over the teenager's head. "You know where the DVDs are kept?"
For the first time the kid seemed to come out of his mind with a little start. He jerked his head toward the wall behind him. At once Mechanic was there, feeling along the wall for a safe. Kenny looked over his shoulder at Sandlin, a fleeting expression of satisfaction on his face.
"Don't look at him, kid," Viktor snapped, cleaning the knife on Sandlin's discarded clothes. He handed the knife back to Reaper. "That's not something you want to see."
"I want to see it," Kenny muttered. "I need to see it."
Transporter handed him his trousers. "Get these on."
"We're out of here, kid. Call it in. You tell them we killed the bastard."
"I'm not sticking around. He has friends. Powerful friends. They were down here often with him, and they have a lot to lose. I'm out of here."
"Where you going to go, kid?" Transporter asked.
Kenny shrugged. "Don't know, don't care." He looked at them defiantly, taking in their scars, their tattoos. Their scary appearance. "Maybe I'll go with you."
"Like hell," Viktor said. "Call the cops as soon as we're gone."
"He's gotta come with us, Czar," Storm said.
The others nodded.
Viktor scowled at them. "What the fuck are we going to do with him? Drag him along when the Swords try to blow our brains out?"
Mechanic had the safe open. There were dozens of DVDs and piles of cash as well as notebooks and photographs. "It's packed full."
"Take everything," Viktor said. "He probably has his entire blackmailing operation in there and we can get the names of his friends."
Mechanic jerked the pillow out of the case and scooped everything into the pillowcase. It looked heavy.
"I can fight," Kenny decreed.
"Take him to Blythe," Reaper said.
"Great. She barely took me back, and now you want me to bring her home another mouthy, seriously fucked-up kid. Like she doesn't have enough problems with all of you."
"I'm not mouthy, but I am fucked-up," Kenny said.
"Don't you say fuck in front of Blythe," Reaper snapped. "She doesn't like it."
"He's dead," Storm announced, keeping a distance from the body so the blood didn't touch him. "Let's get out of here."
"He can say fuck all he likes, I'm not bringing him home to her," Viktor said. "She's taking on three girls who all are going to have major issues."
They were on the move, hurrying to get out of the house now that they had the tapes and Sandlin was dead. Kenny followed them. Viktor swore in his native language, but ignored the kid, halting abruptly in the thick gardens while Ice and Storm built the wind again and brought with it the rumble of thunder to keep the guards inside long enough for them to leave.
They jogged back to the bikes, and Viktor had to give it to the boy; he kept up when he clearly was hurting and out of shape. He was thin, every bone sticking out. His arms looked like sticks and there were red circles around his wrist, old scars on top of new ones. Viktor didn't want to look at him. Didn't want to see himself, that ten-year-old boy so helpless still there inside of him. A victim. No one to stand for him. But damn it all, he couldn't ask Blythe for one more thing. Not one. She'd taken him back. She'd accepted his family.
Alena stood up when they came into view. She looked them all over and relief lit her face. She lifted an eyebrow when she saw the boy and looked to Viktor for an explanation. He shook his head.
Instantly, Ice went to his bike and rummaged through a bag. "I keep an extra helmet for Alena," he said and to
ssed it to Kenny. "Put that on."
Kenny held the helmet to his chest, looking up at the sky and around the trees. He reached out to touch Viktor's Harley.
"Don't, kid," Viktor cautioned. "You don't touch another man's bike without permission. Not ever."
Kenny drew his hand back and then just stood there as if he didn't know what to do. Absinthe took the helmet and put it on the boy.
Viktor shook his head and straddled his Harley. "I don't know what you're going to do with him, but I'm not taking him home to Blythe."
"He'd make an excellent prospect," Alena said, pulling a jacket from Storm's pack. "I've got this extra one. It's not terribly warm, but it will work for you."
"What's a prospect?" Kenny asked, taking the jacket.
The kid couldn't stop shivering. Probably from a combination of shock, cold and fear. Viktor sighed. "When was the last time you were out of that house?"
"When I was nine. I went to live with him when I was nine, and he took me down to the basement. I was fourteen when he took me up to his bedroom. That was two years ago. Mostly I stayed down in the basement."
Viktor cursed under his breath. What the hell was he going to do with the kid? The boy couldn't fend for himself. He didn't know the first thing about life outside that basement.
"What's a prospect?" Kenny insisted.
"Someone wanting in the club," Mechanic answered.
"They watch the bikes when we're all doing something and make certain no one touches them," Alena added.
"I could do that," Kenny said.
"He's sixteen years old, damn it. He's not going to be a prospect," Viktor declared. He turned the engine over, so his Harley roared to life.
"Get on the back of my bike, kid," Transporter said.
Kenny stood there staring. Alena patted his shoulder. "Watch me." She put her hand on Viktor's shoulder and swung up behind him.
Viktor shook his head. The kid needed a doctor. Counselors. An education. Parents who could deal with trauma. Understand what had happened to him and guide him through the pitfalls of shame, guilt, depression and terrible, terrible rage. He didn't have their training. He didn't know the things they at least had been taught. He was vulnerable, and he'd be acting out a lot.