Gemma felt the plastic ties cutting into her wrists as she struggled against them. She sat in the back of the limousine with a gag in her mouth and the plastic zip-ties holding her hands and feet behind her back.
“Stop struggling, Gia. It won’t be over for some time. I’m going to let Sergei have his way with you this time. Last time I told him to kill you quickly, but that obviously didn’t work. You went to my daughter again. You’re getting bolder and so must I. Sergei will take his time torturing you so you'll spill every secret you've learned about my organization. You’ll be made an example.”
Gemma cringed at the almost gleeful look of anticipation on his face. The only thing stopping her from utter panic was the anger she felt. She didn’t know if Cy was alive or not. Sergei came back, which couldn’t be good. This man killed her sister and may have killed the man she loved. She wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of freaking out. Instead she turned her body so he could see her hands and held up both middle fingers before calmly turning back around in her seat. When the look of excitement died from his eyes, replaced with shock and then hatred, Gemma felt strangely triumphant. She wasn’t going down easy. She was ready for the fight to come.
* * *
Neely Grace and Henry sat discussing what they had found with Cy, as the town discussed the current situation. “I'm waiting for one last name from a court in India, but they’re not giving it to me,” Henry told him.
“Give me your phone.” Neely Grace held out her hand and waited for Henry to put the phone in it.
She scrolled through the numbers and hit the one for the court in India. She waited for the phone to be answered and introduced herself. Cy shook his head. The waiting was killing him. He wanted to barge in right then and kill them. He knew they could be hurting her right now, but his brothers had been right. They needed a plan.
“I don’t give a rat’s ass if the judge is eating lunch.” Neely’s normally calm voice rose. “You go in there right now and get him on the phone or I’ll send the embassy down on you so fast you’ll wish you were never born.” Neely Grace paused and then smiled. “Why, thank you so much for your help. Yes. I’ll hold,” she said with her best southern charm.
“She’s so hot,” Henry said with a grin.
“Cy, can I have a word?” Cole asked.
“Sure, you have a plan? Is the FBI on their way?”
“That’s what this is about. I got a call from internal affairs. I had them run an audit on all the financials of my agents. I got a ping. One of my guys just cashed a very large check from a company connected to the one Henry and Neely Grace are investigating. My office is dirty and I need to clean house. I don’t know who to trust enough to call them in. I thought this one guy was clean. They’re digging deeper and fear there may be more.”
Cy ran his hand through his hair. This was not good. “I can call in the DEA’s office, but it may be the same. What do you want me to do?” Annie asked.
“Cy, I got it. I got a name,” Neely Grace called from where she had stalked off to talk to the judge. The wedding reception quieted down as she hurried toward him. “Liam O’Flannigan.”
“Got him,” Cade said as he punched away on his Smartphone. “He was born in New Jersey and attended public school until he was suddenly admitted to the top private school in the state. When he was sixteen, he dropped out of school. Then reappeared at an Ivy League college where he earned a business degree and an art history degree. It says he owns an art studio in New York City now. No mention of a family with the exception of a mother—Eloise O’Flannigan, who died of a drug overdose when he was just sixteen.”
“Wait. That name sounds familiar,” Marcy Davies said as she snapped her fingers. “She was the Mistress of Politics. It was never proven and the news didn’t make a big deal of it. They discounted it for gossip, if I recall. But when I was a young girl in college, I liked to read those gossip rags. Anyway, there was an article about a woman who had been a mistress to some of the most powerful men in politics. It was rumored she was even the mistress of the vice president.”
“I see it,” Cade said as he read something on his phone. “The magazine was sued and they took down the story and issued an apology. No one credited it as being truthful and the reporter even pled guilty to libel.”
“But if that were true . . .” Kenna said.
“It would explain where he got his connections. Now, what do we do about it?” Cy asked. “My idea is to storm the place.”
“I like that idea. But I was thinking of something with a little more finesse,” Ahmed said as he stepped forward.
* * *
Tires squealed, a horn blared, and then the sound of metal hitting metal resonated through the night. The door to the beat-up Chevy Lumina creaked open as Trey Everett stepped out.
“Oh my God, are you okay? Someone call an ambulance! Babe, call an ambulance,” Trey called to Taylor as he rushed to the large white boat-of-a-car with a smashed front end.
The doors opened as Miss Lily and John stepped out on wobbly legs. Miss Lily gently collapsed to the ground as Trey rushed to her side. “Look what you did. You teenagers are all willy-nilly out here like you own the place. You could've killed us.”
“Yo, man. It wasn’t me. You were the one swerving into the lane. You old people need to get your eyes checked. You’re the hazard on the road,” Trey shouted back.
“Hey! What’s going on here?” a man in a suit asked as he walked down the driveway from the gated house.
“I’ll tell you what’s going on. This young whippersnapper and his lady were doing the hanky-panky in the car instead of paying attention to where they were going and crashed right into us.”
“That’s not true,” said the cute woman in shorts so short the perfect globes of her derriere showed when she bent over . . . as she did for the guard. “These old geezers couldn’t see the road in the dark and crossed the line and hit us.” Taylor straightened back up, having picked up her purse from the ground.
“Oh sure, so says the tart,” Miss Lily said prudishly from the ground.
In the distance, another set of car lights rounded the corner. “That ambulance must've gotten here fast,” Taylor said as she ran the tip of her tongue over her bright red lips. “I like fast.” She dropped her voice so only the guard could hear her as Trey and Miss Lily argued. “When the cops come, you’ll say the old man hit us, right?” She ran a hand down his chest and he smiled as she gave him a clear shot of her pushed-up boobs.
“Sure, doll. What do I get for it?” the guard asked before more tires squealed.
“You hussy,” Edna yelled as she hurried from the car. Out poured Miss Daisy and Miss Violet with her. “What are you doing with my man?”
“Your man? It’s not my fault if you can’t hang onto him. Maybe if you got that bunion fixed, he wouldn’t have run off in terror for someone younger.”
Edna gasped along with Miss Daisy and Miss Violet.
“And you called me a tart,” Taylor said with full twang, really getting into her role. “And all the while you’re a man stealer.”
“As if you weren’t just feeling up that young man over there,” Miss Lily shot back.
“Babe?” Trey asked, wounded.
“I was doing no such thing. You’re the home-wrecking hussy, not me.” She slammed her foot down and crossed her arms, shoving her boobs up for the guard to see again.
“That’s right, just because she dresses the part doesn’t mean she’s a slut. You, on the other hand . . .” Miss Violet sneered.
“Hey now, ladies. Calm down.” John smiled and all the women harrumphed.
“Don’t get me started on you, you hound dog.” Miss Daisy wagged her finger at him.
“I’m just saying there’s more than enough of me to go around. We can all get along.”
“No, there ain’t. I’m woman enough to keep my man satisfied. And so is my chicken and cheese casserole.” Miss Lily threw down the figurative gloves and the other women gasped.
“You can steal my man, but don’t you dare say your casserole is better than mine,” Edna hissed as she dug around her purse and brought out 'Ol’ Magnum.”
“Yeah, this is gate. I have a situation here. I need security—lots of it,” the guard said into his phone as he pulled his gun. “Now, put it down slowly, ma’am.”
