Page 19 of Veiled Vengeance (The Devils of New York #3)

SPENCER

W e sit in the surveillance van just a couple of houses down from the address in Poughkeepsie Dahlia gave us. She said she has been to this house many times to visit August, and I have a sneaking suspicion that she lived here for a while herself.

The two-story house is an old Victorian with dirt-covered wood siding and red trim.

The driveway is made of gravel, and the porch looks like it needed restructuring about fifty years ago.

The dark curtains that hang in all the windows remain closed.

The sun recently set, allowing the inky black of night to coat the air.

It’s a little cramped with six people in here.

Fifteen passengers, my ass.

There are screens, keyboards, and chairs all in the back—I feel like I walked into an episode of CSI or something. Asher and Rio are in the front seats, while Zane, Dahlia, Hayes, and I are in the back. Zane types away on a keyboard and monitors multiple screens at once.

“What is this? Like a mobile bat cave?” I spin in a circle in my chair, distracting myself from the anticipation of what we’re here to do.

Rio snorts. “Bat cave? Like superheroes? We’re not superheroes, Mama.”

I narrow my eyes. “Agree to disagree on that one.” With another glance around, I finally ask the question on my mind. “Not to sound rude, but . . .”

“But what, Angel?”

Scrunching my eyebrows, I finish my thought. “Where the hell did you get all of this stuff?”

This time, Rio, Zane, and Asher laugh together. Dahlia and Hayes look just as confused as I feel.

My head tilts to the side. “What’s so funny? Is there some joke I’m not allowed to know? Did you steal it or something?”

Zane answers my question. “No, we didn’t steal anything. We purchased everything you see here.”

Skeptically, I eye all three of them. “Why do I sense there’s more to it?”

Rio leans his head from side to side as he thinks through his vague answer. “When we . . . find those who the justice system has failed to . . . serve justice to, we uhh . . . help ourselves to some of their money.”

“Huh?”

“We take money from those we kill.” Asher’s response is blunt and honest.

I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am.

I stare down at my feet. “I’m not sure how I should feel about that.”

Rio turns in his seat. “Ultimately, it’s your choice how you want to feel about it. But if you’re curious, we don’t use the money for ourselves. We use it for things like this van.”

“Why doesn’t that shock me?” Dahlia questions rhetorically.

Of course, they do. Of course, they do shit like this that makes me fall harder for them.

Maybe we could have some fun . . .

Fuck no. Horny Spencer should be satiated by now!

“I got something.” Zane interrupts my dirty fantasies.

“What’s up?” Asher asks.

“Someone is pulling up the driveway.” Zane squints at his screen.

Fuck. What if it’s Anthony?

Leaning forward to get a closer look at Zane’s monitor, every muscle in my body stiffens as I wait to see who exits the car. I don’t have to wait long before I see it’s just another damn lackey, and he’s carrying . . . groceries?

Dahlia scoots closer to the screen next to me. “That’s Greg, fucking asshole.”

Last week, Dahlia sat with my guys and gave them all the details she knew about Anthony’s “business,” including the addresses of prep houses.

The locations Anthony uses for parties always change, but she knows about, what I assume is, most of them.

Dahlia said this is the house where they keep some of the girls and women “in training,” and the children of their victims.

She told them how multiple women have gotten pregnant.

Anthony always makes them carry the baby to term and then keeps the child away from the mother so she’ll stay in line.

The whole practice makes me sick. I cannot imagine going through that, especially at such a young age like Dahlia—she was only sixteen.

“Greg is usually the one to run errands,” Dahlia adds.

“Errands? Like he picks up the dry cleaning?” Hayes raises a brow.

Dahlia doesn’t react to the joke. “Things like picking up drugs, transporting girls, and occasionally grocery shopping—everyone has to eat.”

I scrunch my brows. “Being high while watching kidnapped victims doesn’t sound like a smart business decision.”

The tired look in Dahlia’s eyes weighs on me.

“The drugs aren’t for the men, they’re for the girls.

If the girls become addicted, they’re easier to control, and Anthony has the assurance that the girls won’t run away—they’ll always come back to him for more.

He said it’s like training dogs to know where their food comes from.

” She says the last sentence with a sneer on her face.

Zane, Rio, and Asher don’t look surprised by the info dump—they know the drill. They’re familiar with the dark side of humanity. Hayes’s lips grow thin as emotion overtakes him while he looks longingly at Dahlia.

I want to ask, but I’m not entitled to her story. She doesn’t need to tell me the details of her tortured past to earn my compassion. She’s been a true friend and a silent supporter. She never pried, and I will give her the same in return.

My hand reaches for hers, and I give it a firm squeeze. She turns to me with a shaky smile.

Hayes gives his attention to Zane. “Are you going to let us in on the plan now?”

Asher answers. “Spencer, you’re with me. Dahlia, you’re with Rio. And Hayes, you’re with Zane. Dahlia and Rio will enter through an upstairs window of the room where August is being held. Zane and Hayes will go through the front door, and Spencer and I will go through the back door. Any questions?”

Hayes raises his hand. “Yeah, only about a hundred.”

“Save them for later, hombre .” Rio nods to the house as we see Greg take in the last of the groceries. “It’s go time.”