The Second Betrayal (27 page)

The three Chinese girls probably couldn't see the gun, only the man's head. Ai, Daiju, and Ning stood obediently

behind me and I felt the thickness of their fear in the air and heard their sniffles and low sobs. My own fear had my heart pumping, but my anger kept my hands steady at my sides and kept my gaze fixed on the man's strange eyes,

which reminded me of snowstorms followed by pale blue skies.

Go, go, go!
I wanted to yell to the girls. I didn't say the words because I'd be taking the chance of getting a hole blown in my chest, or the chance that the man might shoot the girls.

"Get inside the room," he finally said in Swiss-French-accented English as he gestured with the gun. So, the man was likely from a French-speaking part of Switzerland.

"My girls do not role-play with men who want to use weapons," I said as I passed him. Not likely he was taking my innocent act for anything but what it was. An act. "These girls are too young. Too inexperienced."

"Quiet for now." He looked calm, arrogant, and sure of himself as he gestured with his gun again for me to get into the room. "I have questions that you will answer. Soon."

I cataloged his appearance as I stepped past him into the large sitting room of a luxurious suite.

About six-one, the man was anywhere from mid-to late forties, possibly fifty. His hair was dark brown, sleek, and he managed to appear handsome while holding a gun on me. He actually looked debonair in a black tux and starched

white shirt, complete with a bow tie. What, he dressed up to abuse young girls? That or he had a special occasion

planned.

Oh, I had something special in mind for him, too. Lots of special things.

Even though this man was older, he reminded me a lot of a very young, fit, athletic Roger Moore when the actor had

played James Bond 007 in the 1970s and early '80s. I'd always enjoyed a good spy movie.

I didn't like this guy ruining my mental image of Moore's 007. Another mark against Hagstedt. Not that he needed any more marks. He was as good as dead already.

When I'd walked away from the girls, his gaze moved over them. They gasped and cried harder as they saw the gun

that he still had fixed on me. Greed and lust flickered in his eyes along with anger.

His gaze was only partly diverted to the girls, because a good portion of his attention remained on me.

My body was tense, alert. Adrenaline flushed through my body and made me intensely focused on the man. If he'd

been near enough, I could have broken the wrist of his gun arm by closing in with a quick combat move, which would

also disarm him. Hard to hold a gun with a broken wrist.

Unfortunately he was out of range. And he was the one with the gun.

He slammed the door shut when we were all in the room. Gun still trained on me, the man pointed his free hand in the direction of a couch and two chairs. They were arranged behind a coffee table that had a huge clear glass vase holding a brilliant bouquet of flowers.

As he pointed to the furniture he told the girls, "Take off your coats and throw them into that corner." He nodded to the corner farthest from me and the girls. "Then sit."

The girls tossed their coats into the corner and walked with stiff but hurried, frightened movements as they obeyed him. He was amazingly patient.

"Take off your coat." The man met my gaze again as he spoke to me. "Slowly. Do not put your hands anywhere near your pockets or I will put a hole in your pretty head."

I managed a huff of indignation. "Sir, what is—"

The weapon made a clicking sound as he cocked it and gave an evil smile.

I shrugged off the coat while he kept his gun pointed at me. I threw it where the other girls' coats were.

Still holding the gun on me, he reached into his tux pocket and withdrew his cell phone.

He flipped it open one-handed, pressed a speed-dial number, then put the phone to his ear. A pause, and then he said,

"I require your services immediately at the prearranged location." Another short pause. "Do not be late." He finished the call by snapping the phone shut before he put it back into his inside tux pocket.

"Sir—" I tried to get in another innocent plea.

"I will ask the questions." His voice was smooth and almost casual. Definitely self-assured. "Who do you work for?"

More faking confusion. "Mr. G at the Elite, of course."

"Remove the wig." The man raised his gun so that he'd be putting a bullet between my eyes if I didn't figure a way out of this soon. "You are the fucking bitch responsible for ruining my Boston enterprise."

Hagstedt.

It didn't really surprise me that he knew. Bet he'd seen some kind of surveillance vids when we took down his Boston sex slave auction ring.

"So you're Hagstedt." I jerked off the white-blond wig. I dropped the wig, the Swedish accent, and all pretenses. "Not so great to make your acquaintance," I added as the wig landed on the carpet in front of my right foot.

Since the hair of the wig was in a French knot, and the hair itself was pretty heavy, the wig made a thumping sound when it hit. I didn't take my eyes off Hagstedt when it landed.

"Of course when I kill you," I added, "things will be terrific."

Hagstedt didn't seem surprised, either, by my response or that I knew who he was. "Before the hotel maids find your body," he said, "you will tell me who you work for."

I smirked. "Of course. Easy as that I'm going to spill everything then let you shoot me."

"Yes, easy as that." As if he was enjoying a casual conversation with a business associate, he stepped back, farther out of my reach, and pointed the gun at Daiju. She stiffened, her face even more pale, her eyes wide with fear. "I will shoot one of the girls each time you do not answer a question to my satisfaction.

"When I run out of these precious little china dolls—" He smiled as he glanced at them, then at me again. "—I will start shooting at different parts of your body and cripple you slowly. First I'll put a bullet in one of your thighs, and if I'm not satisfied I'll shoot the other. A bullet in your shoulder should be painful, as well as a wrist... and so on."

I sucked in my breath as old terrors ripped through my gut. Images filled my mind of what the Nigerians had planned to do to me after my screwup in Army Special Forces and I had the nearly uncontrollable urge to throw up.

If I hadn't taken the ultimatum given to me by the Fucking Asshole Sonsofbitches—to be an assassin for their ghost of an operation—FAS would have turned me over to the Nigerians.

The Nigerians had planned to tie me to a public post, cut me up a day at a time, then patch me up enough that I'd live, tied to that post for the next mutilation. Something that was beyond a long, slow, painful death.

Through torture and threats, FAS had broken me in just about every way possible. The waterboarding finally did it

after several beatings and three days of sleep deprivation. After the water torture, I could agree to nothing but turning into one of FAS's assets, an assassin.

Before Karen Oxford saved my life and brought me into RED.

The remembered fear and terror from my past balled up with the anger I felt now. Here, facing Hagstedt, I had no

choice but to speak, because he was going to kill the girls, and he'd do it without remorse. I could see that in his unnerving snow-blue eyes.

I had to tell him
something.

"Okay," I started then almost screamed as a shot rang out.

Daiju slumped on the couch, a hole in her forehead and a single trickle of blood nearly reaching her wide-open dark eyes, the whites red from the constant tears she'd been shedding.

The other two girls did scream.

My heart thundered and I had to force myself to look away from Daiju's body. To pretend she had only been a pretty

china doll and not once an innocent, beautiful young woman.

"Why did you kill her?" My fury raised my voice so that I was almost shouting. "I was just about to tell you."

"Too slow." He aimed the gun at Ning before looking at me again. "Faster this time."

Fuck, fuck, fuck. No matter what I told him, even if it was the truth, he was going to kill the rest of us, too.

"I work for a covert organization." I practically spat out the words. I was going to kill him anyway, so I decided it wasn't going to hurt to tell him a little truth.

"We specialize in recovery of persons who are trafficked into prostitution or slavery."

"That has been more than obvious." He cocked the handgun. Ning sobbed harder and trembled as she stared at the weapon. "Tell me something that I haven't guessed already."

I could tell him the truth or 1 could make shit up. He wouldn't believe any of it, or at least he'd pretend not to and just keep shooting.

I had a better idea.

"The truth is," I said slowly, "you're going to die."

I kicked the wig I'd dropped in front of my foot. The French knot and the heaviness of the wig gave it enough weight and balance that it sailed straight for his face.

He tried to duck out of the way. The French knot hit him on the side of his head and he shouted as the sprig of holly nailed him in the eye.

A little holiday cheer, courtesy of Kerrison.

His first shot went wild.

I'd already dived to the floor the moment after I kicked the wig. I propelled myself toward him as I moved. His wild shot rang out over my head.

The carpet burned my arm as I tucked my body into a fast, evasive roll. Thank God the dress I'd worn was made of a

stretchy material, similar to Lycra, and didn't restrict my movements.

I rolled toward his left side to avoid his second shot. That one wasn't even close, either, and I knew I'd taken him by surprise again by my movements.

When I was tucked in, I was able to slip off one of my high-heeled slides. Before he had a chance to get off a third shot, I made it to my haunches and swung the heel of the shoe at his Achilles tendon.

I missed and only grazed his anklebone.

Hagstedt bent and jammed the barrel of his gun to my head, the metal pressing into the skin right behind my left ear.

The pain from the pressure made me wince even as I went still. Sweat beaded my forehead and dripped alongside my

face as my heart rate continued to ramp up.

I had to control my breathing. Take deep breaths. Analyze the current situation.

"Ready to die, little girl?" Hagstedt's voice was even, smooth, elegant.

With the gun pressed so hard behind my ear, I couldn't look up to see his face. "No thanks," I said in an almost casual tone, then winced again when Hagstedt pressed the weapon harder against my head. It felt like the metal was now

tearing the delicate skin behind my ear and starting to drill a hole into my skull.

Enough of this crap.

I snapped my hands up and shoved the handgun away from my head so that the muzzle was pointed toward the wall.

The loud retort of the gun echoed in my ear as the shot buried the bullet in the plaster.

In the instant that followed, I twisted my body so that I rose to my knees, facing Hagstedt. In the same smooth

movement, I aimed the side of my hand at his in a long-perfected jujitsu move.

Several bones shattered in his hand.

Hagstedt screamed and dropped the gun. It was impossible to maintain his hold with a broken hand.

I dove for his Sig Sauer. He snapped his good hand out too fast and grabbed the tail of my French braid. Pain

splintered through my head. He jerked me away from the weapon and dragged me several feet as I clawed at his hand.

Braids and ponytails were a no-no for this exact reason—it gave him something solid to hold on to. He could swing

me around and seriously hurt me. I'd had my hair in the braid to keep it tucked more easily under my wig. I should

have taken my chances and just shoved it in.

He landed a blow to my gut as he kicked me with one of his polished black evening shoes.

My eyes watered from the pain but it wasn't going to stop me. I grabbed at air for a moment, trying to reach his

injured hand. It was too far from my groping movements.

With his pull on my braid I lunged upward. I hit his broken hand with the same move I'd used before and probably

shattered the rest of the bones.

Hagstedt screamed. He stumbled as he released his hold on my hair.

I pushed myself to my feet, fast, and kicked off my remaining high heel. I started to go after him—then I saw the

strangest sight.

A bouquet of flowers rose in the air behind Hagstedt.

Then I saw Ai.

Ai was gripping the clear glass vase from the coffee table in her small pale hands.

She swung the vase and flowers at the side of Hagstedt's head.

The vase shattered against his face.

He screamed as glass sliced into the right side of his model-fine features, flaying open that side of his face. Skin flapped from his temple, down his cheek, all the way to his chin.

Blood flowed onto his once spotless starched white shirt and down his black tux. The right side of his upper lip was also torn, his eyelid shut tight and bloody. The top of his right ear was gone.

Hagstedt's handsome face was ruined.

Water and blood covered him and his tux. Flowers tumbled onto his shoulders and the carpet around his feet.

He gave something between a howl and a scream. I started toward him again.

Hagstedt moved faster than I expected for a man who had just been mutilated by a glass vase.

He whirled and grabbed Ai, wrapping his arm around her neck and jerking her against his chest.

Ai gasped and coughed as she fought him with her fists and landed kicks to his ankles. Water and his blood dripped

onto her hair, face, and clothing.

"I'll snap her neck." His face was hideous, his voice menacing as he stepped back from me. He was moving toward the door.

Ai let out a strangled sound as he gripped her tighter by her neck. Her fair skin started to turn purple. She grabbed at his arm, but he held on to her.