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They were already up and running by the time the third body dropped to the ground. Gabe grabbed her hand and pulled her with him down the alley. Shots fired behind them as they dodged and weaved between dumpsters and trees. Gabe started the Audi with the keyless remote, and they both dived into the car. He already had the pedal pressed down and the car speeding through the parking lot by the time she got the door closed.
“Did you see what happened to that building?” she asked, eyes wide. “It practically melted around us.”
“Logan gets a raise,” Gabe said. He joined the traffic along Cambridge Street and blended in perfectly with the other cars. There was no sign of anyone behind them.
“Though I’m not too fond of the smell.” Grace sniffed her clothes and grimaced. “Melted building isn’t exactly my perfume of choice.”
“I’ll flip you for the first shower.”
“I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t we just share?”
“Why don’t we?”
Grace laughed as Gabe sped the rest of the way back to the airport.
* * *
Deckard Sloane stared in disgust at the prostitute crying on the floor in front of his desk. Maybe he’d been harsher with her than some of the other girls, but his blood pressure and stress levels were high, and after blood had been spilled, it had been hard for him to stop.
She wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth and tried to sit up, but she was still too weak. There was no place for anyone with weakness in his organization, though he’d give her one more chance. She’d been gifted in certain…areas.
He tossed an envelope of cash on the floor next to her and she flinched. He smiled cruelly, already thinking about the next time. His private line rang, and he took the time to zip himself up and straighten his clothes before looking at the number on his cell but not recognizing who it was coming from.
“Be here tomorrow,” he told the girl as she tried to right her own clothes and used the desk to pull herself up. “Same time.”
Sloane answered the phone, hoping whoever was on the other end had good news for him.
“Who is this?” Sloane asked.
“Mr. Sloane, this is Darius Cole at the communications center. I’ve just sent out a team to the property you own on Trowbridge in Boston. You told me to keep a special eye on it, and sure enough, a couple of folks showed up there about fifteen minutes ago.”
Sloane grabbed the whore’s wrist before she could leave his office, and she squealed as he squeezed.
“What happened?” he asked. “Why didn’t you call me immediately?”
“I’m sorry to say, sir, that two subjects bypassed security and entered the building. I sent our security teams out first, assuming they could handle the problem. Video shows a male and female—not yet identified—set off some type of device, and the building has been completely destroyed. They also managed to kill three of the team I sent out.”
“I see,” Sloane said. His voice was soft and deadly, and the strength of his rage caused his hands to shake.
“Tell Standridge I’m on my way to the site, and I expect him to be there to meet me.” Sloane moved to hang up the phone, but his man on the other end stopped him.
“That’s the other news I’m sorry to give you, sir. The police and fire rescue were called to the property you secured for him in Back Bay this evening. It seems that an explosion destroyed the home, and Standridge was purported to still be inside at the time. They’ll search for his remains once the fire cools, but it doesn’t look hopeful.”
Sloane hung up the phone on his man’s apology, his anger so all consuming he was afraid he might have blacked out for a few moments. His heart thumped wildly in his chest, and he threw the phone across the room, finding satisfaction in the sound as it crashed against the wall.
The girl cringed and tried to move away from him, but she just brought his attention to focus directly on her. He backhanded her across the cheek and then did it again before she had time to fall to the ground.
The rage inside him turned his vision into a haze of red as he struck out over and over again. He must have blacked out at some point because her screaming had stopped and when he came to he stared straight into her open, lifeless eyes.
He got to his feet and adjusted his clothes, trying to wipe the blood from his shirt with a handkerchief. And then he picked up the envelope of money and stuck it back in his desk drawer. His breathing was still ragged and his hands shook from the adrenaline, but he picked up the phone on his desk and dialed zero.
“Peters,” Sloane said. “I have a mess that needs to be cleaned up in the office. Please see to it immediately. And call Madame Jane and tell her the girl she sent didn’t work out as planned and to have a replacement here for me tomorrow.”
Sloane hung up and grabbed the keys to his car, slipping out the back door and leaving the dead whore to his butler. He was going to look at the surveillance tapes and look at the faces of the people who had just become his number one enemy. And when he found out who they were, he was going to hunt them down like dogs and kill them slowly.
ChapterSixteen
London
