crows were the children they had tried so hard to save—Steele had tried so hard to save. The skulls rolling in the roots represented the men and women they had killed in order to survive—or the ones they had killed to exact vengeance for those children who had never left their prison.
Steele felt the weight of that sacred ink on his back. It was there for a reason, to remind all of them they were stronger together. They were now. They moved in complete sync, each knowing what the other would do, what he—or she—was capable of. They had counted on one another since they were very young children. Now, grown, having run countless missions alone and together, they didn’t make mistakes and knew with absolute certainty that their brothers—or sisters—would be there when they needed them.
He didn’t take his gaze from Donk. The big man gripped the wrought iron railing and leaned forward as if that would give him a better view of the woman tanning herself on the boat. He turned and called out something over his shoulder.
“You get that?” Steele asked.
“He asked for binoculars,” Mechanic reported from his position on the boat.
“Nice,” Transporter said. “Lana is an absolute work of art.”
“You know I am,” Lana said softly.
“Where’s the music coming from? You have a radio on board? Or an iPod? Are you using a radio, so she can communicate?” Steele asked.
“She doesn’t need a radio on board,” Mechanic explained. “I didn’t want to take a chance of it slipping into the water, or if they had really good binoculars, they’d see it. We have her player on so Lana can sing if she thinks any of them notice her talking. Having her iPod would seem more normal.”
“Don’t talk,” Steele advised. “I don’t want him making you.”
“Sweetheart, he isn’t going to be thinking about your Lana, not when he has a hot redhead just a few yards away. He’s going to be thinking how he can get to me,” Lana said with absolute confidence. “I like being a redhead. I think it suits me.”
The door opened, and Favor trotted out. He had two pairs of binoculars and he rushed to the railing, handing Donk a pair, already putting his to his face. He nudged Donk several times.
“They’re on you,” Preacher reported. “Stay still, Lana. I’ll tell you when to move.”
The two men watched her for some time, then put their glasses down and faced each other. Across the distance it was impossible to hear them, or read their lips, but Mechanic could pick up not only what they were saying, but other sounds in the house.
“At least three other male adults,” Mechanic said. “Two upstairs talking. One downstairs heading toward Donk and Favor. I’m betting Riddle. Donk told Favor to get him a drink and Favor said no way he was leaving so Donk could have the bitch to himself.”
“That’s you, Lana,” Transporter said. “The bitch.”
“So happy someone finally noticed,” she replied, and then sang a few words to the song on her playlist. “I’ve worked at perfecting my bitchiness but none of you seem to get it. So disappointing.” She sang those words to the melody of the song.
Steele waited for Mechanic to tell him he heard a child’s voice, but it didn’t happen, and the silence seemed to stretch out endlessly. He knew the others were feeling it as well, because they were not slinging their usual banter around as much as normal. The air was fraught with tension, so much so it felt like a breaking point.
Donk suddenly shoved Favor, slamming a meaty palm into him, rocking his friend.
“Donk’s pissed because he wants a drink,” Mechanic reported.
Steele’s gut tightened. He’d seen Donk like that a few times. Wound up. He liked to hurt things smaller than him. He had taken advantage of every girl they brought into their trafficking ring, volunteering to train them. He was brutal about it. That was the man Bridges had given his daughter to when she was fourteen.
The members of Torpedo Ink had refused to take part in any kidnapping or training of girls for the prostitution ring, or ones they sold to the ships. They’d tried to disrupt the various chapters, but they’d never managed to catch Donk and kill him. They’d had to be careful not to hit their own chapter repeatedly.
If Donk couldn’t beat on his girls and fuck them repeatedly, he got nastier and progressively antagonistic, looking for a fight. Favor recognized the signs and stepped