Surrender (24 page)

Chapter Thirty-n
ine

J
em was convince
d it was the worst plan in the world, if not the most difficult, far-fetched one, which was exactly why he was on board with it.

“He won’t kill me on sight,” Grace had insisted.

“That a psychic thing or a wishful-thinking thing?” Jem asked, and Grace had said honestly, “A little of both.”

Now, with Gunner and Avery hidden in the back, the helo rose over the ocean stretch that would deliver them to Rip’s mysterious island. None of them had let Dare or Key in on the plan, in case they’d already been compromised. They hadn’t heard from either man in twenty-four hours, and they were all trying not to believe Powell’s party line.

Grace had paced all night, but she hadn’t gotten a single lead on either man. Or Powell, for that matter.

“This is not good,” Gunner muttered over and over as they mapped out the water surrounding the island.

Avery barely said anything. She was stoic and serious. She’d told Grace she was terrified of heights, but with Gunner’s help she was holding it together well. She had something else to focus on—getting Dare and Darius back safely—and that would go a long way in keeping her fears quashed.

“We’re sixty miles out,” Jem called back.

Grace sat next to him, hands clasped tightly in her lap.

“You know, one of your visions would be most helpful right about now,” he joked.

She gave a thin smile, trying not to look nervous and failing spectacularly. “I wish.”

“He’s fine,” he repeated for the millionth time. “You’d know if he wasn’t. You would.”

“Yes, I believe that,” she said into the miked headphones they all wore to block out the noise in the helo.

Gunner would drop out of the helo over the ocean, then wait until the right moment to surface on the island and hide. Jem and Avery would drop Grace on the island, then land the helo back on the mainland and travel by boat back to the island under the cover of darkness. Because this wasn’t about a stealth escape. No, this was about killing Powell and anyone else on the goddamned island who worked for him so their lives weren’t a total goatfuck.

Granted, they could be totally goatfucked for so many other reasons, but why dwell on that now when they were facing sudden death?

He hadn’t been on a mission this shit-in-your-pants in years. He was back.

“ETA?” Gunner asked.

“You’d better start getting ready. Got to drop you well out of binocular range.”

Gunner was trained like a SEAL for the UDT. He’d needed no convincing to take part in the mission and had assumed this role with no arguments.

“He’ll swim in after the dust has cleared. Powell will be convinced you’re alone, as promised.”

“Dare’s going to kill you for this,” she murmured.

“Hoping you can convince him differently, sweetheart,” Jem muttered back, and this time she gave him a real smile.

“I’ll put in a good word.”

Good, she was feeling confident about the plan—an excellent sign, which meant she was ready to tangle with this Powell bastard.

* * *

Grace watched Je
m pilot the chopper with an ease she hadn’t seen before. She had mixed feelings about the birds in general, remembered her first trip in one to Rip’s magical island when she’d just turned ten.

“Richard’s having a birthday party for you, to welcome us into his life,” Esme had told her, pointed out the sights through the window as Grace tried not to throw up. Her nausea had nothing to do with the flight or the altitude, but rather with knowing that life as she knew it was over.

Years later she’d watched the chopper rise with her mother inside it. The woman she’d been told was dead and now knew lived somewhere on another island in luxury, no doubt funded by Rip. She’d be finding out more about that on this trip.

The last time she’d been on a helo, she’d come out of the trunk she’d been hiding in, helped by the two caterers/black ops operators hired by Section 8 to take her out.

And now . . . she was doing this last trip here for herself as much as to save Dare and Key and Darius. As angry as she wanted to be at Dare for tricking her, she understood he’d done it for her. A declaration of love couldn’t have been more beautiful.

She couldn’t wait to see him again and tell him that feeling was reciprocal. But first things first—she had to prepare for Rip. To get back into cold, calculating mode. To play the role of the grifter, in case her gift decided to remain unpredictable.

“I know I said I didn’t want you back, but I’d welcome you with open arms,” she whispered to herself, not caring if Jem heard. “I’d take you every day for the rest of my life if you’d help us with this.”

No answer, no sign from above. But Jem reached out and gave her a squeeze on her shoulder. For now, that would have to be enough.

* * *

Dare wasn’t sure wher
e the hell he was when he woke. Last he remembered, he and Key had fought through sixteen men and won. Stolen a car and gotten to the hotel, where they were ambushed by stun guns and tranquilizer darts, enough to take down a goddamned elephant.

He listened carefully, heard the rush of ocean waves, and he knew exactly where he was.

“Powell’s island of fun,” Key muttered from the cell next to him, his voice coming through the small opening in the cement wall. “About time you woke up from your beauty sleep.”

“You all right?”

“Fine, except for the bonds.”

Dare felt the chains weighting his wrists and ankles. A nice, sadistic touch. He’d expected nothing less.

“They’re coming for us,” Key said. “There are
ten of them. I bet I can take mine down first.”

“Bastard,” he muttered. “You’ve got a bet.”

The chains wound around his limbs would take too long to unwind. He’d use them to his advantage. When the first guy came in, he backed up to get him close. And then Dare slammed the man’s nose with both fists together, next opening his forearms to slip the man’s head inside.

He checked the man and let him drop.

He glanced at the dead man on the floor. Ten men—nine to go.

C
hapter Forty

G
race stepped off the chopper without a backward look at either Jem or the hidden Avery. Eyes would be on her, and she knew if she showed the least bit of interest in the pilot, Rip would have no compunction about shooting the helo down.

She ducked and walked along the small landing strip, saw Rip waiting by a car for her. He was alone.

He could kill her on sight—she knew that. But she had to hope there was a small part of Rip that was still curious about her gift. He might test her before he killed her.

“Where’s Darius?” she called over the whir of the chopper blades.

“I’ll take you to see him. I don’t think he’s well enough for travel.” Rip stared at her. Somehow, he hadn’t aged at all. She supposed evil did that to a person, because his dark-haired, olive-skinned good looks were still perfect, save for a few more lines around his eyes.

She hated to admit it, but they only added to his mystique. She also hated to send Jem away without Darius, but she knew better than to push.

“I’m not happy about this—you’re already breaking your promise,” she said.

“For Darius’s best interest, Grace. I also want to make sure you kept your end and there won’t be anyone following you.”

She turned and waved Jem off. The chopper rose and in minutes was back out over the ocean. She fought off the panic as she turned back to Rip and held out her hands. “Unless someone’s hiding under my jacket, I’m quite alone, as promised.”

Rip furrowed his brow a little, then motioned to the car. “Get in. We’ll go to the house so you can see your precious Darius.”

She did as she was told, and the car wound along the familiar single-lane roads up to the main house. Everything looked the way she remembered it, a paradise in hell. How it could be so beautiful and terrifying at the same time defied explanation.

He pulled into the circular drive in front of the house, and she waited until he came around to open her door. The perfect gentleman, as always.

She burned to ask him about Esme, but it was too soon. She needed to buy time, for Gunner to swim to shore in the dusk. For Jem and Avery to follow.

But if she saw a gun and an opportunity, she would take it. The time for playing it safe was long past.

“Where’s the staff?” she asked casually as they walked into the house.

“They’re preparing for a party I’m having next week,” he said. “It seemed like the perfect time to let them have their meeting, so you wouldn’t be overwhelmed.”

There were no bodyguards around either. None that she could see, anyway, but she doubted they were too far away. Surveillance cameras had been added since the last time she’d been here. They were small and Grace noticed them only because Gunner and Avery had given her a quick lesson in the hours before they’d begun to execute their plan. They wanted her to know what to look for, showed her how to disable cameras here and there without causing too much suspicion.

“Don’t do it if he’s close,” Gunner had warned. “I’d rather get around them than you get hurt.”

She kept her hands in her pockets now as they walked toward the small elevator that led to the basement.

The basement. She froze, but only for a second, because a sudden, strong image of Rip being killed flashed in front of her eyes. She caught herself before he noticed and walked into the elevator with him.

She stood, facing the door, nearly shoulder to shoulder with him in the small space. If he noticed she was nervous, he didn’t say anything, not even when she hesitated before she walked out of the elevator and into the cold cement hallway.

You’ll be okay down here . . . you survived the first time.

She moved ahead on her tour down memory lane. It was meant to break her, she knew. Rip had no idea that instead it was making her stronger.

“Keep moving—I know you remember the way,” Rip said.

“Yes, I do.” She turned to face him confidently. “I know you do as well.”

His smile faltered slightly, but only someone who knew him as well as she did would notice. Eight years of living with him had taught her something—she just had to free herself to remember.

“Darius is this way.” He motioned for her to follow him instead of her leading again. She watched the broad expanse of his shoulders as he marched down the small hallway and opened the third door on the left. He let her go inside and slammed the door behind her.

“Darius—oh, my God.” She moved forward to the man lying prone on the floor, chained to the wall.

He rolled over and opened his eyes. “How did he get you back here?”

She had to lie to him, get him to believe that she did this purposely, or else Rip would kill them both. “I came back on my own. It’s better this way, Darius. Always looking over my shoulder . . . moving around . . . I couldn’t live like that. All I have to do is tell him what I see, and that’s it.”

“Grace—”

“Please—don’t make this harder. I appreciate what you did, but I’m fine with my decision.” She touched the side of his face. “You can go. I’m going to stay of my own free will.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You should. I’m too stubborn
not to make my own decisions. You know that as well as anyone.” She paused. “He said he was going to free you when I got here. Then he said you couldn’t be moved.”

“He’s right about that.” Darius moved the towel covering his abdomen and she saw the blood seeping through it. “He shot me about half an hour ago. Going to be a slow bleed out.”

“I won’t let that happen. Rip, you need to get him help, right now!” she called out. The door slammed open. Rip looked as enraged as he had those times he’d come to visit her in the basement.

“I’ll do nothing of the sort. Not until you come with me,” he told her.

“Go, Grace. Do what he says,” Darius told her. She wanted to tell him to hang on, that help was on the way, but she didn’t dare.

Instead, she followed Rip out of the room and back into the elevator.

Ground level. Not the basement. She wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, but she knew that torture could happen anywhere. Hell was just a state of mind.

* * *

Six down. Dare
crouched against the wall. His nose was broken, along with two fingers and a knuckle. Maybe even a wrist and definitely a few ribs.

It didn’t matter. He and Key were the only ones in this fight getting out of here alive.

“I’ve got seven down,” Key called through the window. Dare heard the crack of bone as Key’s fists hit a nose or a neck and another body dropped. “Make that eight.”

The bastard was enjoying himself. Dare understood the sentiment. Sometimes, there was no enemy to fight, but this time, Key was fighting back against the man who took his job, his livelihood . . . his pride. Key was taking it back, and Dare was more than glad to help.

* * *

Grace followed Ri
p into his massive office with its view of the beach. She forced herself not to look out, in case she spotted and gave away Gunner.

No one’s going to see me,
chère, he’d assured her. She wanted to believe him, but he didn’t know Rip. Not like she did.

She sat in a chair, took the scotch he offered, because she couldn’t afford to piss him off more. He could order his goons to take her to the basement. She could handle that—she could handle anything—but if she could avoid it, so much the better for all of them.

God, Dare, where are you?

As she thought it, a white-hot spike went through her skull, knocking her out of her chair and onto her knees. The dizziness and pain were worse than they’d been before, and she wondered why these visions were becoming similar to near-death experiences. They hadn’t been nearly as painful when she was younger.

Nothing had been as bad. She supposed it was all relative. She brought her hands to her head, held it tightly as if that could lessen the throbbing. Tried to open her eyes to see through the pain, but she couldn’t. She could only see what was flashing before her closed eyes, tried to make sense of it as quickly as she could.

She didn’t know how long she was out. When she came to, she noted that Rip had kindly thrown cold water over her head. She’d barely noticed at the time, remembered feeling for a moment like she’d been drowning, but it hadn’t been enough to make her come to.

Now Rip stood over her, arms crossed, face demanding as he spoke.

“I knew a gift like yours wouldn’t stay away forever. You were always so strong. You could’ve easily been my daughter.”

“Thank God I’m not.”

“Tell me what you saw, Gracie. Tell me or I’ll shoot Darius again right in front of you.”

He went to drag her up roughly by the arm, and even if she hadn’t wanted to tell him anything, she couldn’t have helped it. Blurted out, “You’re going to be killed by your own men,” but kept the other thing she’d sensed to herself, because it was too ugly to deal with.

Rip laughed long and loud as he released her arm and shoved her back down to the floor. “Not with the money I’m paying them. Every man has a price, and I’ve hit theirs many times over.”

But she knew what she saw—Rip being beaten to death by some of the very men who’d hurt her once. Neither Darius nor Dare was among them. “You think Dare is responsible, but he’s not.”

“That’s where you’re definitely wrong. I don’t fear Dare, just like I didn’t fear S8. Good competitors—allowed me to keep my skills up. But did I think they could take down what I’d worked for? No.”

He had the confidence only a man in his position could. It had been honed on years of experience—he was good, she knew that.

But her feelings, while admittedly few and far between, had never been wrong. Why would they start now? “I’ve done what you asked.”

“Right—just when I needed you to. Because you’ve always been so cooperative.”

“That wasn’t my fault.” She heard a growl come out of her mouth, despite the fact that she could barely lift her head, and he actually smiled at that.

“Finally, some backbone.”

“I had plenty in your basement.”

“I didn’t have your mother killed, you know.”

That had been a blow to her, far worse than any physical one could be. He was finally telling the truth, and she was glad she’d prepared for it. Still, she played dumb. “Then where did she go? Did you send her away somewhere and keep her from me?”

“I let her go away, but I never kept her from you. That was her choice.”

“Why would she do that?” She spoke more to herself than to Rip, but he answered, telling her, “I paid her well. That’s all she ever cared about. Money.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I think you knew your mom as well as I did—she was a grifter, and a good one. And she lived to deceive many more people. Now, I don’t know if someone else killed her. I know there were times I wanted to.”

If her mother had truly left her here, knowing what would happen . . . her own mother . . .

“You’re more like me than you could ever realize, Grace. We were both abandoned and we both survived. We didn’t need weak people around us—you should look on your mother leaving you behind as a blessing.”

“I am nothing like you,” she bit out, even as a small part of her saw the partial truth in that comparison.

Rip simply laughed like he knew better.