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“We will,” Ajax assured me. He stepped over to Kid, the man in the process of washing the wound in preparation for stitching. “You better be alive when we get back, hear that, Kid?”
Kid smirked through the pain. “You assholes aren’t getting rid of me that easy.”
With that, Ajax and Pyke headed out, Pyke clapping his hand down gently on Kid’s ankle as he passed.
The next two hours went by interminably slowly. Hud and I watched as the man worked, slowly stitching the wound on both sides and bandaging it up. His wife brought food and drinks for us, and I only ate to be polite—I was far too nervous to be hungry.
When the man was done, Kid’s shoulder wrapped in bandages, he plopped into a chair and let out a sigh of relief. He turned to me and spoke, telling me that Kid needed rest and that the wound should heal just fine as long as he wasn’t too hard on it.
I relayed the information to Hud.
“Well, that’s bad news,” he said. “Because I’ve got a feeling we’re going to need to move ASAP.”
Ajax and Pyke arrived shortly after, the rumble of the SUV sounding out as it pulled to a stop near the barn. The men came in a few moments later.
“How is he?” Ajax asked.
“Fine,” Kid said. “Now, give me a gun so I can track this Jurgen asshole down and get some revenge.”
Ajax laughed. “Good attitude, but right now our priority is getting clear from the danger and finding a place to regroup, all while keeping the princess safe. Let’s move out.”
The guys helped Kid up. The man tried to protest but seemed to realize right away that it wasn’t going to do any good. As Hud and Pyke helped Kid out and into the car, I watched as Ajax offered the man an envelope. The top was open, and I saw that it contained a fat stack of American dollars. The man refused, saying in German that he was only doing the right thing. Ajax seemed to accept, but as soon as the man’s back was turned, he quickly dropped the envelope into the pocket of one of the saddles to be discovered later.
We left, graciously thanking them. The group piled into the car, the back of which was loaded with whatever gear they’d been able to take from the house. I spotted my laptop and other personal items among them. The couple waved us off, and soon we were on the road.
“Where to, Ajax?” Hud asked from the driver’s seat.
“We drive, figure out the rest later.”
With the skeleton of a plan in place, I turned my attention to the window, wondering what other dangers were yet to come.
22
AJAX
Stopping in an ancient French brothel hadn’t been on the itinerary for the trip, but considering how the morning was going, ending up there hadn’t been a surprise.
“You’re sure about this place, A?” Hud asked, the four of us, Kid in the car, standing outside the three-story stone building, a small sign hung next to the door that read “Le Chat Secret,” a painting of a cat with a very mischievous look on its face to the right of the words.
Ignoring the fact that it was a brothel, the place looked really nice. It was an old building, appearing to be at least a couple hundred years old and well taken care of. Most importantly, it was in the middle of nowhere. We were an hour or so beyond the French border, away from any major city center. If Jurgen was tracking us, he might be able to check hotels. He would not, however, be able to track us at a place like this.
“I don’t know what you all plan to get up to here,” Vic said. “But count me out.”
I chuckled. “We’re getting rooms and that’s it. Business, not pleasure. Come on, let’s get inside.”
We made our way up the winding stone staircase that led to the front door. We were greeted by a beautiful, blonde French woman in a silky green robe, her eyes jumping from man to man and finally landing on Vic, her eyebrows rising slightly at the sight of her. No doubt she’d be recognized.
Kid spoke from the backseat saying something to her in French, and the woman responded with a confident tone, a slight smile on her ruby-red lips as she turned to go back inside.
“We’ve been clocked?” I asked, nodding to the famous face among us.
“We have,” Kid said. “But she said not to worry, this place does its trade in catering to famous and wealthy people—they live and die by their ability to keep secrets.”
It was a relief. Seconds later, the blonde returned with a pair of brunettes, all of them stunning.
“Tell them we need some rooms, some food, and absolute privacy. We don’t need their services, obviously, but we’ll make it worth their while all the same.”
Kid relayed the information, the women not seeming bothered in the slightest. After Pyke and I helped Kid to his feet, one of us on either side of him for support, one of the brunettes indicated for us to follow her, and together we made our way through the spacious, luxurious interior of the house. Plenty of women were there, all with various male clients who looked like2 the kind of men who had money to burn.
