Page 66 of Property of Rattler

My sergeant-at-arms raises a brow, while Knight nods vigourously.

“It could work.” I shrug. “We don’t know fuck about Stone other than he’s into gambling. He could be naïve.” My face hardens. “And I’ll do anything to get Rat back. We don’t abandon a King.”

Turning my back on them, I pace. There are gaps in my plan which I don’t like. But fuck knows what else I can do. If we don’t take Stone out now, Rattler’s as good as dead, even if he intended to take him to the exchange. Those annulment papers had worried me, more than I’d let on to Ames. There’s a reasonStone wants the marriage ended, and that means he won’t leave Rattler breathing, not while he’s still married to Ames. Unless… Could something else be in play now? Problem is, I’ve fuck all idea of what any new end game might be.

A dead husband is easier than the legalities of annulling a marriage. Maybe that’s the ploy to soften Ames up. To make her hope he’d leave her husband alive, and that she’ll go to him willingly if he can convince her he doesn’t want her dead. I can think of no other reason to send her those papers.

It seems an age, but is less than ten minutes, when I get a text from Short that he and Woody are in place.

When I raise my chin, Knight, now without his cut, jumps into the driving seat of the truck. I remove my colours, and slide into the back seat squashed alongside Tempest and Winchester. They too, after murmurs of complaint, divest themselves of our insignia. Winchester gathers up all our cuts and carefully places them behind the rear seats. We then all duck down out of sight.

Then we’re off. Knight drives the truck smoothly until just before we come into sight of the rental property. Glancing in the rearview mirror he addresses me with a grimace, and announces, “This is going to be fuckin’ expensive.”

I watch open-mouthed as seeming to know exactly what he’s doing, he lowers the speed to single digits, then shifts into neutral, pauses for a moment, then shifts back to drive while stabbing his foot on the accelerator. The truck jolts, and I throw a hand out to stop myself falling forward.

“That works,” he says with a grin.

The truck’s clearly not happy, but as we near the house, he goes through his actions again. This time the jolt is even harsher, and he applies the brake, expertly pulling the truck to a halt outside the residence.

He jumps out. Moments later I hear him slam his hand down on the hood. “Fuckin’ torque converter. I knew it was playing up.”

Which I doubt is a fuckin’ joke. He’s totalled our truck. Now, I know what he meant by it being expensive.

Leaning back into the truck as if reaching for his toolbox, in a low voice he points out, “No fuckin’ vehicles here.”

What?I exchange a glance with Tempest.

“He’s gone to the meet early,” the sergeant-at-arms suggests.

“Or it’s a fuckin’ trap.” Hairs rise on the back of my neck.

“Could Pippa have got the wrong location?” Winchester asks.

Not knowingly, but if Stone was more tech savvy than we knew, he might have left his phone here to lure us in.

I shoot a quick text to Short.

Short: No movement here

Bullseye: I’m going in.

Short: We’re ready

Bullseye: Count of three

Knowing I’ll probably have a lecture from Tempest later, I leap out of the truck, throwing over my shoulder the instruction to, “Cover my back.”

I’ve reached three in my head as I get to the door, kick my foot against it, and feel satisfaction as it bangs open under my assault.

I glance back at Tempest, who’s caught up with me, his features taut. As one we draw our handguns, and enter cautiously, immediately turning back-to-back to provide cover for each other.

But all I can hear is a crashing from the rear, as Short and Woody, too, make their entrance through the back door. Moments later the two brothers appear.

I can’t believe this place is empty. Signalling, I indicate Short and Woody should take the upper floor, while the sergeant-at-arms and I explore this level. As we proceed, quietly and carefully, it soon becomes clear there’s no one here. Fuck it. Could Stone have somehow fooled Pippa’s software?

Tempest jerks his head toward a door under the stairs. Holding my breath, I approach it. He tries to hold me back, but I go through it first, then descend into the cellar, the last place to search.

I come to an abrupt halt. There, seated, totally naked, in the middle of the room, is Rattler. He’s been beaten to fuck, his face unrecognisable, his mouth covered with a bloody gag, his arms wrenched behind his back, and his feet tied to the legs of the chair. On his lap is a box with wires protruding from it.