Page 57

“What do you mean by that?” Garen demands from the backseat.

I consider not giving too many details, but that’s not going to help. “From what Mama wrote in her paperwork, he assaulted her so badly that her larynx was basically destroyed, and when she was no longer able to scream while he assaulted her, he cut out her tongue in a rage.”

The entire vehicle goes deadly silent. Garen begins thinking some very dark thoughts, projecting them into my and Ilya’s minds. I can’t blame him, and I also agree. Bert does not deserve to live, and he won’t. We will make sure of that.

“We need to pass the house, circle back from the opposite direction and park over there.” I gesture to a corner across the street from the large house and its gated driveway.

Ilya does as I say and shuts off the engine once we’re in position. “How you you want to play this?”

“Cut that fucker’s cock off. Shove it up the hag’s arse.”

I don’t disagree with Garen’s plan, but it does need some fine-tuning.

“We need to split up. There are two floors and a basement, and we have no idea what’s in there. We don’t know for certain what the security is like inside, but he likely has armed guards.” I don’t have to say aloud that Sin’s safety is our top priority. We all know it, and the thought is at the forefront of all our minds, strong through our bond. “I can handle the exterior security cameras, but once we’re inside, we’re on our own.”

“The house on the west side has thick trees lining the property.” Ilya gestures to what he’s talking about. “We can hug those, hop the fence.”

“Did you get a layout?” Garen asks, leaning forward between the front seats.

I pull the plans up on my phone and hand it to him. He looks over the blueprints for a while, then says with certainty, “She’s in here.” He taps a room in the basement and hands the phone back to me.

Asking how he knows is on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t. I don’t want to voice that question of my brother. I believe him. Believe in his instincts.

“I’ll take the basement.” Ilya cracks his knuckles absently, his gaze steady on the house.

“I’ll take the top floor. Garen, you get the ground level.” Then, I sigh and say aloud what we’re all thinking. “We need to wait until nightfall.”

“You’d better make the call.”

Nodding at Ilya, I scroll through my contacts, wondering if the call is going to be more difficult than the infiltration.

When I woke at two in the morning to prepare to infiltrate Whips, Chains, & Knots, I honestly hadn’t expected to have to climb up several floors from outside buildings more than once. And while the club had that rusty fire escape, this house does not. What’s worse, the walls are stucco.

And while I’m an excellent climber, I’m not that good. At least, not without a little help.

Some genius out there in the world realized that certain animals, like bandit kitties—I mean, raccoons—use their claws to climb lots of different surfaces. And that genius designed metal claws, based on those critters, that go on hands and feet for human infiltration purposes.

And I keep a set with me in my tactical bag at all times.

So, that’s how I find myself throwing punches and kicks into the back wall of Bert’s house to climb up to the window I’d chosen to break in through on the second floor. My glass-breaking hammer is on the front of my tactical vest, ready to be deployed before I make it to the window, smash it and clear away the jutting shards of glass.

The instant my feet hit the floor inside, I’m pulling my 9-mm from its holster, the sound of pounding feet drawing my attention to the left, where I fire two shots into the head of the oncoming guard, watch his body crumple. More pounding to my right, and drop to one knee, fire twice more into another guard’s heart.

I wait a beat, remove my claws and shove them in the pack at my hip and start moving to clear the rooms on this floor, always alert for more incoming targets.

Kicking in doors left and right, I find most of them empty, a couple with targets. It’s when I get to the other side of the floor that I kick in a door and find a mass of huddled women, whimpering but not screaming. All are wide-eyed and naked, clinging to each other with so much fear, the air is sucked from my lungs.

Despite the soured notes in the air, it’s obvious they’re all Omegas, and all of them have massive bruises on their perspiring skin.

Killing this fucker isn’t harsh enough.

I put my hand up in an indication to stay there, and rush off to one of the empty bedrooms, pull all the blankets off the bed, then rush back to the women to hand them cover and warmth.

Keeping an eye on the open doorway, I whisper to them, “We’re going to get you out of here. I need to make sure it’s safe. Just stay here a while longer.”

I don’t even know if they understand me. Half are cowering, the rest look nearly catatonic.

I’m careful not to get too close, not to be threatening.