His Princess (A Royal Romance) (40 page)

B
y dark
of night I leave, drawing out of Rose’s bed in soft silence. I leave her lying on her side, her pale skin aglow in the dark, her red hair made inky black in shadow, a sleeping princess in a world that doesn’t belong to me. It’s time to go.

My first act is to retrieve the case full of cash from the house. I dart across the gap between her home and my safe house, retrieve the case, scrawl a note, and rest it on the easy chair in her bedroom.

I want to kiss her, to touch her cheek or her hand or something, but if I wake her she will talk me into staying another day and I will protest I must leave again, and the cycle will repeat until the devil comes calling to collect his due.

I won’t ever let him have her.

This is not going to be easy.

Back at the house I move everything from the garage to the basement, except what gear I feel is worth it to take with me. I have a program on the computer that wipes the hard drives, replacing the data with useless gibberish. It’ll take all night to run since it repeats the process seven times, but once the first is done I’ll leave and just let it run while I’m gone.

All in all it takes me less than forty-five minutes to pack up. I take only enough clothes to last a few days, my dad’s gun, and some other weapons and ammunition. Time comes I need more, there’s going to be plenty of it.

I have become the target of the international fraternity of assassins. No one else will touch me as long as Santiago is on the hunt—none of them would dare risk offending him by stealing his kill.

Once I kill Santiago, though, it’ll be open season on Quentin. There will be dozens more after me.

So that’s the plan: kill them all. Once they stop coming I’ll start working my way through my old contacts. I will make my life mean something. No more will I serve flesh-mongers and warlords, thieves and procurers. I will go where the authorities can’t, do what the police cannot do.

Kill who they dare not touch.

I will destroy the network of crime syndicates and families and gangs or I will die in the attempt. I will most certainly die, but it will be a good death. A worthy death.

When I was very young I dreamed of being a knight. Rescuing ladies and such. Somewhere along the line I turned into a blackguard, the worst of the worst. I became the bad guy.

I don’t think I’ll ever be a good guy, but I can do something with the time I have left.

The gear I’m taking with me isn’t enough and I don’t have time to move the rest. I’ll have to consider it abandoned since I can never come back here, ever. I need more.

I’ll need whatever Dale can spare. He’s not going to be happy to see me, which is why I’m not calling.

When the first pass on the data eraser is done I get in the car, start her up, and drive out. It’s almost daylight now. I ease off the gas as I pass Rose’s house for fear of waking her, and drive too fast through the rest of the development to the front gate, angrily choke my steering wheel while the gate goes up, and drive.

I don’t care about lying low or tickets or anything like that. I want to drive, to feel the blood sing in my veins, for something, anything to break this hot gray malaise that grips my soul. I know nothing can fill the void Rose left within me. I leave my heart behind tonight. Tomorrow I am a dead man, waiting for my ticket to get punched.

I’m going to punch it first.
In the face
.

Easy, Quentin. Let’s get to Dale’s place first.

It’s not a long drive into Philly but it makes me nervous. I’m not exactly low key here. I ease off the gas even on the interstate as I get to the city. I take the exit onto Columbus and then Market Street, watching the city breathe in quiet before it really comes awake. They say cities never sleep but everybody sleeps at four in the fucking morning.

Including me, if I wasn’t out of my mind.

This is what I should have done in the first place. Meet them head on. Instead I run and discover that life is actually worth living, but I can’t keep it or I’ll poison it.

I used to spend most of my downtime in this city. Walking in Chinatown, eating in the Old City around the Liberty Bell, visiting theaters, picking up women at the clubs. If I wasn’t sneaking up on someone to shoot them in the back I’d be here.

I’ve wasted my life.

I take a circuitous route to Dale’s place, constantly checking that there’s no one following me. The city may be mostly dead, but mostly dead is slightly alive, and there are still cars on the road. A police cruiser slides by and I tug at my seat belt and give him a little wave as he gives me the eye.

He might be looking for me. Cops can be on the payroll in a town like this. I know I’ve greased my share of palms for the authorities to look away after a messy job. It’s part of the business.

The route I take to Dale’s garage is a big spiral, circling ever closer, until I edge around the big power substation and park in the alley behind the building. From the outside it’s exactly as I remember, a nondescript brick two-story appointed in early postindustrial hell. I cruise around the building itself on foot before approaching.

He’ll know I’m here now and open the door.

Except he doesn’t. I buzz, no answer. Okay, it’s now five in the morning, he might be asleep. I’ve never known him to be anything but a night owl, but it’s almost early right now. I give him a few minutes, feeling more and more exposed. It’s hot but I feel cold.

Finally I head around back and go in through the garage. The lock on the back door poses a problem, it’s better than you’d find on some random house, but not much of a challenge for me. Once inside I weave around Dale’s booby traps and alarms. I know them all; he showed them to me, in case I ever needed to get in if something happened to him.

My stomach closes to a grim, cold place as I pass through the garage. The door to the upstairs is unlocked. I let my eyes adjust and step carefully, watching for a tripwire or motion sensor.

They’re there but they have been disabled. That’s not normal. Dale never shuts down his grid.

As I ascend the steps, a wave of putrid, sickly-sweet odor hits me, and I step back heedless, gagging. When I muster the willpower to step into his dingy living space I’m confronted with a scene from hell.

Somebody took a giant ice-cream scoop and carved out the top of Dale’s head and most of his face, or rather a shotgun made it look that way. It was a long time ago, too. He smells. There are critters.

Good thing I skipped breakfast.

“Fuck,” I mutter. “Oh fuck me.”

“Hello, Quentin.”

At the sound of Santiago de la Rosa’s voice I jump and spin, drawing a pistol from behind my back, and it’s only from years of training and conditioning that I don’t put a bullet through the computer screen.

There’s a video. Santiago, sitting in Dale’s chair. He’s wearing that fucking mask but I can sense his distaste for his surroundings through it anyway.

“I’ve been waiting for you to return. Having observed you for some time I knew that, sooner or later, you would talk yourself into some heroic nonsense about protecting the woman and her children by excising yourself from their lives. This would of course give me the opportunity to present myself to them.”

He laughs softly. “Take a moment to absorb the irony. I wish I could be there to savor your reaction. I am imagining a great deal of childish tantrums full of screaming and swearing. Or perhaps you will manage a cold fury that you think would intimidate me.”

“Fucking bastard,” I mutter.

“Were I a common sniper you would already be dead. The contract doesn’t mention the woman and her children, but as I have been tasked with making you pay adequately for your failure, I have of course taken them and will ensure they understand that you are the root of their suffering. Since you had the temerity to embarrass me by denying my newest apprentice her first high-profile kill, in addition to botching one of your own, that suffering will be most profound. It will almost pain me to torture the smallest one. She is quite sweet. That is if I do not choose the more ironic path of selling them all into slavery as whores to replace the ones you stole from your employers and ‘freed’.

“I will allow you to see them again. I know your guilt and foolish hopes that you can actually stop me will motivate you to come. As you know, I am not without honor. If you meet my conditions I will allow you some time with them, and give you a chance at a doomed attempt to free them and save yourself. Of course if you do not, I will flay the mother living, make the children watch, and then feed them her skin.

“You will want to write this down. You will meet Lily, whom I’m sure you remember from the hotel. She will not kill you, but will bring you to me that I may do so myself and show to the employers you angered that the word of an assassin is bond. The address is…”

I scribble down the address.

“Forgive the cliché, but come alone and unarmed.”

I stand up and the video starts again.

“Hello Quentin.”

It must have been playing on a loop since the son of a bitch killed Dale. I turn it off and stand up, sighing.

There’s a sticky note on the monitor that says
USB
and it jumps out at me for some reason.

Wait, Dale sent me a USB key at the drop box. What the hell did I do with it?

I run back down to the car and rummage through the trunk, opening boxes until I find it, then charge back upstairs and shove it in his computer.

A window pops up and a bunch of green-on-black code flies by; it’s running one of Dale’s programs, custom shit that he doesn’t design a graphical interface for.

Then a video pops up. It’s him.

“Quentin, listen to me. I knew you’d come back here. I figured Santiago would come after me first. I didn’t tell him where you were, or at least I hope I didn’t. If you’re seeing this I’m dead and, obviously, I recorded this message first. There’s some things I need you to do.

“First, this place needs to blow. I already have a program running uploading all of my files and information. You’ll be able to access it through one of my custom terminals, like the one at the safe house. By the time this video stops it should be done, but I gave you a safety window to get gone. After we’re done here I want you to type some commands into the computer for me and throw some switches in the next room. Write this shit down.”

Hurriedly I scrawl down the info as he reads it off.

“Once that’s done you’ll have fifteen minutes to clear the building before the implosion charges I planted blow the whole place. The other safe houses and caches will be intact. I’m passing it all on to you. Cache four is not far from here, it’s in the city. A list should start printing any second.”

Nearby a printer chugs to life.

“You want to go to four. I know Santiago is going to make this a bitch on you. I left you a couple of presents. Godspeed, Quent. Kill the son of a bitch for me.”

I turn to his rotting body.

“I will. I’ll make what he did to you look like Christmas.”

Time to go get my girls back.

T
his can’t be happening
.

There’s a man in a mask in my living room and someone is pointing a gun at my daughter. This can’t be happening. I’m sitting on my couch shaking like a leaf in between my two girls, as this person sits in the side chair, crosses his leg over the other, and leans back.

“We shall be leaving soon. Before we go I would ensure it is made clear that all three of you must cooperate, or there will be unfortunate consequences.”

“What?” Karen blurts out.

“Do what I tell you or I’ll make you suffer.”

I grab Karen’s hand as she starts to shake even harder.

“If you’re looking for Quentin, he’s not here.”

The masked man sighs, puffing out the face of his mask a little.

“My dear, I am not so amateurish as to move against you unless he has already been found. I have been watching him since he arrived. Did he tell you why he is hunted?”

“Yes.”

The masked man nods slowly and rubs the fingers of his upraised hands together.

“You sound less disturbed than I had expected. A rare woman you must be. Did he tell
them
?”

I give Karen a nervous glance.

“I thought not. Always a sentimental one, my Quentin. I should have dealt with his weakness with greater strength, but alas I myself am human, despite all the rumors to the contrary. I had a soft spot for Quentin once.”

Karen squeezes my hand.

I can’t think of a way out of this. If I even move too fast, an unseen gunman will put a bullet in my chest and this
creature
will be free to do whatever he wants to my girls.

As if he isn’t already, Rose.

Where are you, Quentin?

“He will come for you,” the masked man says. “Gripped by some delusion, he will come and, thinking himself the hero, try to ‘save’ you. He was also so concerned with ‘innocent’ life. I tried to teach him the truth: no one is innocent. Evidently he didn’t listen.”

“He doesn’t care about us.” I squeeze Karen’s hand harder. “Or me. He had his fun and dumped me. He won’t come back.”

“That is unfortunate for you, since I have already sent him an ultimatum in a place he is sure to find. I made a promise, and Santiago de la Rosa is a man of his word.”

He lifts his hand and peels back his coat sleeve to check his watch.

“Time is at hand. Now, we are leaving. I will give you simple instructions. You will walk outside and get in the vehicle. If you make any attempt to run, raise the alarm, or draw attention to yourself, you will be shot in the head. Is this clear to you?”

I nod.

“Good. Front door, to the car in the driveway. Go.”

I stand up, holding the girls’ hands. I have to drag Karen to her feet before she starts moving, practically clinging to me. I slowly walk to the front door, turn the knob, and step out. The sunlight stings my eyes.

The street is utterly deserted. There’s barely any sound other than the soft rumble of the big SUV sitting in my driveway. A tall, thin man in sunglasses is holding the back door open. Deep breath, and I gently push the girls in first then climb in after them and sit in the middle of the bench seat between them.

The door closes, and the other side opens. The man in the mask steps inside and sits in the seat in front of us, facing us, like a limo. He reaches into his coat, draws out a pistol with a long, fat tube on the barrel and rests it on his leg then reaches back and raps on the glass partition with his knuckles. I can’t see the driver.

Think
, Rose. There’s a way out of this, an angle you’re not seeing.

“Where are we going?”

The masked man looks up, or at least his head lifts.

“Yes, I should have known you’d ask questions. It doesn’t matter. I’m taking you to a place of certain importance to recent events. Did Quentin tell you why he was forced to come here?”

“Yes.”

I glance at the girls and tighten my grip on their hands. They don’t need to hear that story.

“I would take you to the target’s house, but our dear Quentin burned it down. I will instead take you to one of his working facilities. That will, I think, be more appropriate.”

“Working facilities?”

“Patience, my sweet, thorny Rose. You shall see. In fact you shall become quite acquainted with it.”

Oh God.

I pull my girls close and stare at the floor, trying not to draw his attention. He holds the gun in a loose grip, his finger resting near the trigger. It’s pointed at the door now but he could have it pointed at me, or worse, one of my daughters, with a flick of his wrist.

I could try getting it away from him. I’m not tied down.

“I know what you are thinking,” he says in a bored voice. “It is a terrible idea. There are three of you. I can lose one before we reach the grand finale.”

I settle back into the seat.

“How do you know he’ll get your message?”

“I know where he’ll go when he’s put to flight. I know his ground. The rabbit will run into my snare, and he will put his head in the noose of his own volition. It was valiant to try and lie to me on his behalf but I have known Quentin Mulqueen since he was twelve years old. You cannot think you know his heart better than I. He loses his head for women. You are not the first.”

I feel a little sting there. Then I remind myself he wasn’t my first either. It doesn’t matter now. All that matters is that we get out of this and get away from this lunatic.

This guy is
nuts
.

After maybe an hour in the car we turn off. I don’t recognize this place. It’s somewhere outside of Philadelphia, I think, in an industrial area. We drive through a chemical plant or an oil refinery, something like that. Lots of tanks and pipes, except there’s nothing going on, no activity. I know it’s Sunday but places like that don’t usually shut down. It takes a long time for them to start up.

Toward the back of the complex there’s a big warehouse. Parked outside are busses, tucked together in rows. Other cars, signs of life. I stare anxiously through the windows as we park and more men in suits emerge from the building.

They have guns.

The driver pulls the door open and Santiago motions with his pistol. I step out first and pull the girls close to me. Santiago steps out behind me and tucks his tie into his jacket to stop it blowing in the breeze. Sweat beads on his mask, soaking through the fabric. He takes a moment to dab it off with a handkerchief before shoving me around the car as I pull the girls along.

“Get them inside,” Santiago commands. “I don’t want them touched yet. Take them to the office.”

Three men nod, one of them shaking when Santiago looks at him. They’re afraid of this man, I realize. No, they’re terrified.

Karen and Kelly cling to my side when we walk inside. It’s boiling hot in the warehouse, and it
smells
. It takes me a moment to understand what I’m seeing.

Pens. There are pens. They’re made of chain link on posts driven into the floor, ten-foot fences open to their air and topped with concertina wire. Each has six bunk beds in it, and each pen is crowded with ten or more women and girls, packed so tightly together they can do nothing but lie on the beds in puddles of sweat or huddle close to each other, trying to cool themselves on the bare concrete floor. No showers, no privacy, just buckets.

Oh my God.

“Repulsive, isn’t it?” Santiago says loudly.

The armed men glance at him but quickly look away.

“All men are pigs, do you know this? All women, too. This is what people are: they eat and they shit and they make more little people to eat and shit. Strip away the veneer of civilization and this is what you are left with: the strong holding dominance over the weak. You have been told enough already by Quentin, no doubt, to understand that these women are here to be processed and sold.”

“Where do they come from?”

“Many places. Some are homeless, others are runaways. Others answer classified ads looking for models, or offering acting work. Some are here to settle gambling debts or because they needed something they could not afford, and turned to the wrong people. Men are lucky. They are only tortured and killed. Women have something that is always in demand and thus at the end of the day, their bodies are always collateral.”

“This is disgusting.”

“I agree completely.”

“You could do something about it.”

The three men with guns look back at me.

Santiago laughs softly under his mask. “I could. These three I could dispatch before they knew I even meant to kill them, but why should I do this thing? What would I gain by it? It is not by my hand that these unfortunates will be sold, not for me to determine if their masters are pleasant or cruel. Santiago de la Rosa is already the master of death. He has no cares for life. Let them rot. Everyone is rotting anyway.”

“You talk too much,” one of the thugs grunts.

“Begging your pardon,” Santiago says, his voice deadly calm. “What did you say?”

“You talk too much, and her, too.” He looks at me. “Shut the bitch up.”

Santiago sighs. I can barely hear it, muffled through his mask.

Then he whips his whole body in a spin, moving so fast he almost blurs. Something metal flashes in his hand and the guard’s throat opens in a red spray, fanning the wall with blood. I grab the girls and cover their eyes, but it’s too late. The big man falls to the floor in a boneless heap, lying at the foot of metal stairs leading up to a box office overlooking the warehouse floor.

Santiago doesn’t even have a speck of blood on him.

“You two would do well to remember who you are speaking to. Santiago de la Rosa is not a common tough to be ordered about by such as you. Count yourselves blessed if you are alive tomorrow and remember always that it is because Santiago de la Rosa permitted it. Now, up to the office.”

Karen makes a whimpering sound as she has to step over the dead man. I pick up Kelly and carry her, trying to hide it all from her eyes. She squeezes me tight, shaking as she tries not to sob.

The climb up is hard, carrying her. The stairs are narrow and close together and the whole thing is steep, reaching a good twenty feet up in the air.

Some kind of manufacturing used to be done here. This was a control room and foreman’s booth. Santiago gestures for me to sit down in one of three chairs. Karen sits and I lower Kelly to the chair next to mine and hold their hands.

Santiago sits down opposite us, holding his gun in his hands. He looks at the thugs.

“You two, go slop your pigs. Inform your masters I am ready and will be in touch when the quarry arrives. Now get out.”

They leave, pulling the door shut behind them.

“Forgive me the unpleasantness. Santiago de la Rosa is not slighted by some jumped-up thug. I have a reputation to uphold.” He sighs. “Now I have an important question I must ask you, before the festivities begin. Which of your daughters do you love the
most
?”