Page 20 of Veiled Vengeance (The Devils of New York #3)

RIO

T he light tap tap tap of footsteps trails behind me as I lead us across the street to the prep house, but Dahlia’s steps are inaudible. Before exiting the “mobile bat cave,” as Spencer calls it, we all loaded up with the supplies and weapons we would need.

Glancing back at Spencer, I realize we may have given her too much, but she didn’t complain. She knows we worry and need the peace of mind that comes with knowing she has everything she may need.

When we near the house, we break into three groups to take our positions.

Zane and Hayes camp out under the window on the front porch, and Asher and Spencer lie in wait by the back door while Dahlia and I look for a way into the second-story window.

She said that the last time she was here—a few months ago—this was the room where August was held.

I may be a sick fuck myself, but separating a young mother from her child is a type of sadism I refuse to subscribe to.

Dahlia sticks to me like glue as I make my way to an old, battered shed behind the house. There, we find a wooden ladder that has seen better days. She gives me a doubtful look, and I shrug my shoulders in return. We work together to lean the ladder against the house.

We don’t have much of a choice when our goal is to get August in and out without having to fire a gun. The more we can keep him out of the crossfire, the better.

“I’ll stand and hold the bottom while you climb up. Can you get the window open?” I whisper to her.

She replies with a simple nod, then soundlessly begins her ascent up the rungs.

She’s so quick and efficient that the weathered wood barely has time to creak.

Before I can blink, she has a knife in hand and jimmies the window open.

The slide of the pane is smooth, and she climbs over the lip of the window before she waves me up.

My journey up the ladder is not as quiet as Dahlia’s.

How the hell did she do it?

I pause after each squeak, waiting for the pendejos inside to hear us. When they don’t come out guns blazing, I prove myself right that they are, in fact, pendejos .

I’m surprised this dilapidated thing hasn’t completely shattered under my weight. I’m not as big as Asher, but I’m no twig.

As I reach the top, I silently haul myself inside the open window.

The room is bare and dusty, and there are three sleeping bags side by side along the far side of the room.

The wood floors need refinishing, and the dirty floral wallpaper is bubbling and peeling away from the walls.

A standing lamp flickers in the corner of the room.

I stop in my tracks when I’m met with three new faces, rather than one.

Are they running some kind of fucked up boarding school here or something?

One is a little girl who looks like she should be starting kindergarten. She has a light smattering of freckles across her cheekbones, curly, ash-brown hair, and cerulean eyes. Her lower lip wobbles as she looks at me.

A boy not much older than the girl steps in front of her, shielding her from me. He has sleek obsidian hair, ebony eyes, and a small pink scar that runs from his temple to his jawline. It’s jagged, as if it didn’t heal properly, and his expression is hard, too hard for someone so young.

Dahlia clings to a little boy who looks to be no older than a toddler. I’m betting it’s August—they have the same hazel eyes and straight nose. But where Dahlia’s hair is chestnut, August’s is a dark coffee. His little arms are secured around her neck, and his face is buried in her shoulder.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. Mama’s here. I’m here.” Dahlia smooths a hand up and down his back. Tears line her eyes, but she holds them back with a sniffle.

“Don’t leave, Mama.” His plea is muffled.

She pulls back and runs her fingers through his wavy hair. “I’m not leaving this time, Bug. You’re coming with me.”

His eyes light up. “I am?”

“Yes, you are.” Dahlia nods with a watery smile.

August’s brows furrow, and his lips thin. “But what about Noah and Margaret? Are they coming too?”

Dahlia turns to me for an answer.

“Of course they are,” I whisper.

Like I would say no and leave these kids here to rot in this hellhole? Never.

Margaret’s curls and cherub face pop up from the side of Noah. “We are? It’s been so long since I could go outside.” She tugs on Noah’s arm. “Can we, Noah? Can we?”

Her excitement at the thought of leaving causes my heart to contract. A young girl like this shouldn’t be this happy over something so small as going outside. Walking out the door to play in the yard should be part of her daily routine.

Noah’s face turns into a sneer. It’s not a face that he should have perfected, yet it is. “We don’t know him, Maggie.”

Dahlia takes Noah’s hand in hers. “This is my friend, Rio. He and his friends are here to get you out.” She turns her head to me and explains, “Margaret’s mom and Noah’s mom are both dancers at Euphoria.”

A speck of innocence enters Noah’s face. “When can I see my mom?”

Once again, Dahlia turns to me.

Mierda .

“We’ll look into it,” I vow.

Noah deems my answer acceptable and grabs Margaret’s hand, readying themselves to leave.

“Gather your things. We’re going out the way we came in.”

Footsteps creak outside the bedroom door, and we all freeze. A shadow becomes visible under the door.

I lift my index finger to my mouth in a shushing motion. On light feet, I unsheathe two of my knives as I cross the room to the door. Taking up my position, I wait for the man’s next move. The click of a lighter and the distinct scent of cigarette smoke make their way through the door.

A smoke break. Really?

Turning the knob, I crack the door just enough so I can see into the hallway. The walls are pretty much the same as the ones in the kids’ bedroom—a different hideous wallpaper, but the same horror movie feel. I spot the staircase leading to the first floor off to the left.

The man’s back is to me as he zips up his fly and takes another drag of his cigarette. He has a distinct tattoo of a snake on the back of his neck.

Another man from the bedroom next door exits. He, too, zips up his fly. Behind him, a half-naked woman lies on the floor sobbing. He slams the door shut and approaches Snake Man.

“Give me one of those.”

Snake Man hands over a cigarette and his lighter. The second man lights up and sighs after his first inhale.

“She still needs some work. Cain isn’t going to give her the green light for a while.”

“ If he gives her the green light. She could end up like some of the others—never falls in line, so she ends up with a bullet between the eyes.” Snake Man taps his forehead in imitation of where the bullet hole would be.

The second man stares off with a wistful look. “I have a good feeling about this one, though. She’ll be good at deep throating—I’ll teach her.”

Yeah. They’re both dead.

And looks like we have more guests coming with us.

The second man finishes his cigarette quickly. “I’m going back in. This bitch needs to toughen up. You coming? We can teach her how to take two at once.”

Hijos de putas. Sons of bitches.

Snake Man shakes his head. “Not yet. I’ll be there in a minute. Get her ready for me.”

As soon as the second man disappears into the bedroom, I open the door enough so I can slip out. I creep up right behind him, and he has yet to notice my presence. He places the cigarette back in his mouth for another drag.

Before he can pull it back out, I sheathe one of my knives. My arm wraps around him, and the flat of my palm shoves the cigarette in his mouth completely. The smell of burning flesh invades my nose as he chokes, and I bring my arm around his throat and squeeze, effectively cutting off his air.

“Tell the Devil I say hi,” I speak into his ear. I release my hold on his neck, grab his hair at the crown of his head, and pull, exposing his neck fully. Taking the knife in my other hand, I slice his skin from ear to ear. Blood sprays on the wall in front of us.

At least the wall looks better than it did before.

Snake Man’s hands cover his wound, but I know how deeply I cut him—there’s no stopping the blood flow. He begins to slump, and I use my hands to bring him slowly to the ground so as not to make a sound. By the time his head touches the dirty floor, he’s gone.

I return to the kids’ bedroom and find Dahlia helping Noah out the window. Margaret and August stand to the side, waiting their turn.

“Go slow, and you’ll be fine,” she reassures Noah.

He simply nods and places his foot on the first rung, slowly giving the ladder his weight. Once he has both feet in place, there’s a loud snap, and Noah’s eyes go wide. Margaret and August gasp.

“Fuck,” Dahlia curses.

She and I dive forward for Noah’s hands. We grasp him tightly and heave him up back into the room. Sticking my head out the window, I find the ladder on the ground, broken in key places.

Voices from beneath our feet drift up and through the floor.

“What the hell was that?”

“How am I supposed to know? Go look.”

“Like I’m going walk away so you can get a peek at my cards again.”

“You three shut the fuck up! You all can go check it out.”

A door downstairs scrapes open, and all hell breaks loose. Shots are fired from both sides. The sound used to hurt my ears, but I’m used to it now. Feminine screams reverberate from the other bedrooms.

I turn back to the doorway as the man from earlier exits the room with the half-naked girl.

He’s shoving his pathetic dick back into his pants.

Without a second thought, I pull out my Glock from its holster and fire.

The shot gets him right in the neck, and he goes down quickly.

Two more men exit from the other bedrooms.

Pop, pop.

I get each with one shot. They fall on top of the other two men.

Glancing over my shoulder, I find Dahlia with all three kids gathered and ready to go. “On me!” I shout over the noise.

She nods her head once and ushers the kids forward, right behind me.

I step out into the hallway and nod to each of the bedrooms. “I’m going to grab the girls in each room. If anyone comes up the stairs, you shoot.”

“Got it,” Dahlia confirms.

Kicking in the first door, I find the woman from earlier lying in a pool of her own blood. Her eyes are open but lifeless.

Fuck!

I find the same scene in the remaining two bedrooms.

Now I wish I would have taken my time with them. I wish I would have made it hurt more. But this moment isn’t for “should have” and “could have;” I have four lives depending on me to get them out of here.

“Stay close!”

I take a few steps down the staircase and peek down to assess the situation. Asher and Spencer are having a shoot-out with two men at the back of the house, in the kitchen, and Zane and Hayes are just outside the front door in a standoff with a few men hiding behind furniture in the living room.

Drawing the fire of the men in the living room, I aim my gun at them and fire off three shots.

Two of them pop up from the backside of the couch to shoot at me, but Zane and Hayes get each of them before the men can get a shot off at me.

The last man stands from behind an armchair.

He raises his hands in retreat, but I don’t give a fuck. I empty my Glock into the pendejo .

If he wanted mercy, he chose the wrong business to be in.

Zane and Hayes advance forward and around the backside of the kitchen, shooting the remaining two in the back.

“Clear!” Asher announces.

“Clear!” Zane replies.

I shout out the final response. “Clear!”

We finish our descent down the stairs, shielding the dead bodies from the kids’ view, and find Asher, Spencer, Hayes, and Zane in the kitchen.

“We need to move n—” Zane chokes on his words as he spies the two bonus children.

“Guys, this is Noah and Margaret.” I give my friends big eyes, indicating they need to tread lightly.

Spencer is the first to step up. “Hi, Margaret and Noah. My name is Spencer. What do you say we get out of here and get some ice cream?”

Margaret jumps up and down. “Oh yes! Please, please, please!”

Zane’s face turns soft as he kneels in front of Margaret. “Anything you want, Sweetheart.”