The Arrangement 22 (The Ferro Family) (3 page)

W
hen we climb back
into the van, everyone settles in. There’s a little more space without Marty next to me, so I kick out my legs. Justin hangs out with Geeky Guy just behind Henry’s seat. Mel is sitting across from me, mirroring my pose and looking like she’s imagining driving that Bugatti.

Sean steers us back toward the neighborhood we were in before, slowly meandering through the streets, killing time until Marty finds us.

There’s still a lot of excited chatter about the collection when he interrupts, “I need to say something. It could change things, so you need to know. My mother, Constance, was being held at Black’s mother's house.”

“The residence we just left?” Justin's voice betrays his shock.

“Yes,” Sean replies darkly.

Mel blanches, “What? Your mother was there? She’s dead!”

“I thought she was deceased as well," Sean says, matter-of-factly, his hands never faltering as he continues to guide us toward Black's house. "Apparently, the body at the mansion wasn’t her.”

I remember the arm, the ring on that slender female finger. I’m sitting in the back across from Mel again. “Why would your mother’s ring be on another woman’s hand?”

Sean sighs, rubbing his face one-handed while turning the steering wheel with the other. When we round the corner, he confesses, “She was Mother's lover.”

Everyone makes a sound of disbelief, questions erupting from every mouth but mine. They all talk at once, shouting over each other.

Sean silences the van with one stern look in the rear-view mirror. “I don’t know how long or why she didn’t say anything publicly. Ask her yourself when all this shit is over.”

I blink rapidly, wondering how Sean holds it together so well. If she were my mom, I couldn’t have left her there. I couldn’t have walked away. I glance out the window and see Marty streak by on Sean’s motorcycle. He waves at us, unaware of our conversation, unaware Constance Ferro is alive.

The world thinks she perished in the explosion. Her funeral was televised uninterrupted, and throngs of mourners placed flowers at the foot of the Ferro mausoleum. Eventually, the front doors became inaccessible, and anyone trying to get near it had to wade through the waist-deep flowers surrounding Constance’s grave. She might be a nasty piece of work, but the public doesn’t feel that way. They mourned her like a lost princess. It was fascinating in a surreal way.

When we pull up at Black’s, we repeat our process from before. The tech guys ring the bell. When there’s no answer, they dart around the side of the house and tamper with a wire. Apparently, that’s the phone line. The device they clip on it contains a computer chip designed to reroute any calls to Justin's cell number in case the alarm system dials out for help. He can then pretend to be whatever we need. That chip on the line is a failsafe.

When we enter, I glance around. Black’s house is modern and sleek. Everything is glass and chrome, in stark contrasting shades of gray. There are a few fine pieces—an antique chaise lounge, a French writing desk, but nothing expensive enough to betray her reported income. On the surface, this is the home of an upper-middle-class woman living alone.

Sean waves me down a long, mirror-lined hallway and into the master bedroom. He rushes me into the closet where Mel is placing her bead on a computer and taping it in place. The monitor flickers for a second as she deposits the bead on the machine.

Henry locates the footage of us entering and deletes it. “Have at it," he says, without looking up. "Only ten minutes this time. Longer than that is pressing our luck.”

I head out with Mel and Sean. Marty is canvassing the perimeter, watching for Black and her security detail to come home. If she arrives, he'll tell Henry, who will then tell us, and we’ll bolt. I still don’t like this—wandering through her house feels like an invitation to get shot.

Mel disappears into one room and Sean into another. I take the last door at the end of the hall. When I open the door into the room, I wish I hadn’t. It’s a retrofitted gym with dark wood floors, thick mats, and chrome poles with leather tethers dangling from the top. Mounted to a wall is something that looks like it belongs in a torture chamber. It has straps and clamps attached to it directly, and an assortment of removable metal spikes waiting on a nearby table. I cringe. Was Sean into this with her? Has he been here? In this very room? Did Black introduce him to all this dark, painful sex play stuff? I don’t know.

Ignoring as much as possible of the contraptions surrounding me, I head toward the back of the room to a small bed and nightstand. Nervous, I pull the glass knob too forcefully and accidentally pull the entire drawer from its frame. It clatters to the floor, spilling its contents. A bottle of lube rolls to a stop at my feet. I swear under my breath as I shove it back in the drawer along with condoms and permanent markers. As I stretch to slide the drawer back into its tracks, I notice something odd. The inside of the drawer is shallow, but the outside of the drawer is deep. I put it on the floor and push at the corners of the inside of the drawer. It tilts.

“False bottom,” I mutter to myself and remove all the items from the top part of the drawer.

Then I push again and grab a corner as it lifts. Beneath the board rests a chain with three slender, golden keys. It looks like jewelry. I lift it in my hand and turn them over. The keys are big enough to be real, but something about them reminds me of the Tiffany’s key pendants I’ve seen others wear over the past few years. I look for a tool mark or the 14K stamp, but there’s nothing. Glancing around, I wonder what they unlock and why they’re hidden. Whatever they unlock, it’s not here. I return the keys to their hiding place, then return the drawer to the nightstand.

I head toward the front of the room and stop to stare at a pole. It has leather straps in three spots, one of which resembles a collar. In front of that is a wand on wheels. It’s about three feet tall, adjustable, and has a clamp on the top. It goes with the pole, but I can’t figure out what it does.

Mel’s voice startles me. “You want a demonstration?”

“No.”

Mel laughs, rolls the thing forward, and locks the wheels. “Adjustable, and there’s a remote somewhere. You get tied to the post, locked in so you can’t move, and the other person uses the remote with the correct toy on the end to either tease or make you come. I had a client who was into this shit. He had a shocking dildo he liked to use.”

My eyes go wide as my girlie parts cringe. “Oh, God! Did it hurt?”

She shrugs. “Not really, but it’s not my thing. Well, if I'd been the one calling the shots, it might be a different story. Black is into some messed up shit! Is that a bucking barrel?”

Mel walks over to a large, tapered cylinder with an O-ring on the front. It’s upholstered in leather and sits suspended horizontally, elevated off the floor by an iron hydraulic frame. “Shit. This thing cost a fortune!” Mel runs her hand down the length of it, then knocks her fist against it, expecting to hear a hollow sound. Instead, it thuds like something is inside. She glances at me, “Wonder what’s in here?”

Mel crawls underneath, finds a seam in the leather, pulls it apart, and shoves her hand into the barrel. She immediately pulls her arm out again, dumping a wad of cash on the floor. Her face lights up. “No fucking way! Black hid her cash in here?”

I look under and grin. “She put it in the one place no one would look.”

“She forgot about us. This kinda thing makes most people want to run away. Not me. Been there. Done that. Literally.” Mel reaches inside again and pulls out more cash. The third time she yanks out a black bag too. She sits up and opens it. “Damn. I could live off of the contents of this purse for the rest of my life.”

“What is it?” I lean in, trying to see.

Mel folds the fabric open and offers it to me before leaning down and sealing the trap door on the bottom of the barrel.

I open the little sack and look inside. Something glints in the darkness. I tip the bag into my palm, and a collection of stones tumble out. “Diamonds! There are, like, three dozen in here.”

“And they’re big,” Mel adds, straightening.

“Who would have paid her in diamonds?”

Mel gives me a look. “Who do you think? Which means Black has been doing shit she shouldn’t do for a while. I wonder if she was into this shit while Vic’s father was alive.” Mel stops ogling the stones in my hand and glances at me. I put the rocks back in the bag, and she murmurs, “He’s not your father, you know, and that junior asshole isn’t your brother. Blood is just shit that runs through your veins, Avery. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

That makes me feel a little better, but it still makes my skin crawl to know I’m related to such evil people. There are no guarantees in life. None. It wouldn’t bother me so much if I knew who I was turning into, but my identity slipped between my fingers the day I met Sean. It’s not his fault. It’s just timing. I would have been ensnared in all this with or without Sean. In a way, the insanity has brought me friendships that are stronger than blood—which is what Mel means.

I drop my head and sincerely tell her, “Thanks, Mel. You’re as close to a sister as I could get.”

She offers a wry smile and sniggers, “You just wish you were this tan!”

Arching a brow at her, I fold my arms over my chest. She’s such a goofball. “I think you mean black.”

“That, too. Then you could wear hoop earrings and be a badass like me. But you can’t. You’re the younger sis, the nerd, and way too pasty. It’s all right,” Mel covers my hand with hers. “I’ll look out for you.”

N
othing
. Miss Black keeps her secrets close and her enemies closer. I thought I knew her well but never considered her capable of human trafficking. Kidnapping and enslaving people is so far removed from her original life goals that I wonder if she lied to me the entire time I knew her. It wouldn’t surprise me now.

Survival instinct is strongest when a person is about to hit rock bottom. Miss Black isn’t the type of woman to go down without a fight. Even so, this is so disturbingly wrong I don’t know how to process it. It makes me wonder who is a more formidable opponent here—Black or Vic Jr.? While getting shot by that bastard would suggest Vic, the silent involvement of Black makes me wonder if she’s the brains behind the whole operation. In which case, unhinged or not, we should be more wary of her as our adversary.

My mind flickers back to my mother, singed and chained. Her filthy face and ripped nails didn’t escape my notice. She was either in or near the mansion when the explosion occurred. Dirt and grime lined her nail beds and covered her forearms as if she'd been digging through the wreckage. She lost someone significant to her that day. Now the world thinks she’s dead, and Black intends to sell her. She won’t be bought for her body—anyone interested in acquiring Constance Ferro is her enemy. Mother wronged so many people it’s impossible to choose who it could be, but I have a few hunches. The good thing is she’s still locked in that room. No one jumped at the chance to buy her. The bad thing is she’s still locked in that room. It’s possible they were stalling to line up her sale.

Avery’s compassion nearly made me stop and take Mother with us and damn the consequences. Regardless of the bad things Mother’s done, this is a hideous way to die—being sold as property and losing all sense of safety, sense of self. That alone could unhinge her.

I rustle through papers on a hallway desk and hear Marty approach. He’s silent, but there are telltale signs in the way he moves, in the noises of the house. A floorboard groans softly, and I don’t turn as I speak. “Time to go?”

“Pull out. They’re headed this way with Vic Jr. in tow. I’m supposed to be here for them so get the fuck out now.”

“Got it.”

Marty jogs down the hall, repeats his message to the girls, then melts into the shadows.

I want to free my mother, but that means revealing we’re coming. It risks Avery, and I can’t do it. I’ve played the scenario over and over again in my mind, trying to come up with an alternative, but I come up empty handed. There’s no way to release my mother without giving us away. I can’t jeopardize Avery. I won’t lose her. I have to protect her. Even so, Pete will kill me if something happens to Mother. Jon will... Well, it’s hard to predict how he’ll react. Jon’s still pissed at the world and hides it with a smile.

As I move down the hall, I meet up with the girls. Mel arches a brow at me and snorts. “You were into kinky shit before you met Black, weren’t you?”

Avery gasps and whispers, “Don’t ask him that! I haven’t even asked him that!”

“Well, ask him! He’s standing right here.”

I repress the growl that’s building in the back of my throat. “Ladies, we need to grab Henry and get out. I’m sorry it was for nothing. I can’t believe we’re leaving empty handed.”

“We aren’t.” Avery’s eyes gleam, and she tips her head toward Mel.

“We found a stash of cash and more. Check it.” She holds up a baggie and tosses it to me. I slow, glance around a corner, then open the pouch and glance inside. Clear stones gleam within.

“Diamonds?” I'm surprised Black keeps them here. “Where were these?”

“In a practice bull along with a stash of cash.” Mel holds up a handful of one hundred dollar bills.

“You took it?” I hiss, scolding her. I can’t help it because it was an incredibly reckless, infantile move. “Removing those things could backfire. What if she notices they’re gone?”

“There had to be a cool mil in there, along with a bunch of other jewel baggies. She won’t miss one unless she inventoried before tonight.” Mel shrugs. “Besides, this could make a big difference for a girl like me. I earned this and, if I don’t get whacked tonight, I’m starting over again. This pouch will help me.”

Avery reaches out, takes Mel’s hand, and squeezes it reassuringly.

We’re taking too long, and I feel my nerves fraying. “That’s a lovely story, but we need to get the fuck out of here. Where’s Henry?”

“Still in the computer room,” Mel says, but as we step in front of the door, he’s gone.

I swear and shove my hands through my hair. I need to get that moron out of here before he gets caught, but I don’t know where he went. I shoot a text to Marty and continue shoving the girls toward the door.

My phone buzzes:

“Shit.” Something inside me snaps and clicks into place. I’m on autopilot. I usher the girls to the basement. Just as the back door opens, we're swallowed by the darkness, safe to observe several pairs of feet shuffling by, each making a distinct sound. The click-clack noise of Black’s heels is easy to identify. The thick leather soles of Vic’s shoes make a silent swish. The other men scuffle behind them, totaling eight.

A silver beam of moonlight cuts through the basement window, illuminating Avery's face. Her big brown eyes glance at me, near panic. She whispers, “What do we do?”

I shake my head and put a finger to my lips. Knowing Black, she has the entire place bugged. Unless Henry left the security system in chaos mode, she’ll see us. Cameras are concealed in the upper corners of the basement walls. I saw them in the security room when we entered the house.

Mel gestures toward the tiny windows leading to the side lawn. She tips her head and moves her eyes in a way that tells me exactly what she’s thinking.

I nod silently and step closer, whispering so low it barely makes a sound. “I’ll boost you up. Mel first, then Avery.”

Avery turns toward me with her eyebrows knotted together. “What about you?”

“I’ll be fine. Just go.” My voice tells her this is not open for debate, so she doesn’t argue.

Mel unhooks the latch and points to a spot in the shrubs. “Meet me over there, Avery. Sean, we’ll see you back at Henry’s.”

I nod tightly and lift her with ease. Mel shimmies through the tiny window and rolls onto the grass. She rights herself and crouches as she slips into the shadows.

I step toward Avery, heart pounding as fear tries to take hold. I shove it down and swallow hard. As I grip her thighs and lift, she looks down at me, pleading.

“Don’t make me leave you here. Sean, I can’t—”

“You can. I’ll be fine—especially if I don’t have to worry about you. Meet me at Henry’s. I’ll see you soon. Go.” I hold her up to the window ledge, waiting as she grabs hold and crawls out onto the lawn. She rolls on her side and looks down at me, worry filling her dark eyes.

She reaches back through the window and touches my cheek with her fingers. It’s a soft caress, the kind I’d been afraid of before I met her. “Be careful.”

Her eyes tell a different tale, swirling with anxiety so intense it’s impossible to hide. Her neck is rigid, with every muscle corded tight. Her hand quivers slightly, but I don’t comment. She’s stronger than she thinks she is, and, when pushed, Avery turns into a tiger. She thinks she’s some frail flower, doomed to wilt at the slightest difficulty. She couldn’t be more wrong. Her ability to explore new things with me—like the tank, for example—show she’s able to hold it together when she’s most vulnerable. People like that are rare. She doesn't know the extent of her strength, not yet. When push comes to shove, she’ll find out. The floodgates holding back that truth will strain and crack. Only then will Avery know who she is and what she’s capable of, and not a moment sooner.

I take her hand and kiss her fingertips, mouthing, GO.

I step away and close the window as Avery fades into the inky black landscape. Mel is skilled with her knife, so if they get spotted before they're off the property, I expect she’ll win. As long as a gun isn’t involved.

I can’t think about it. My stomach churns uneasily, and I move to the back of the room looking for a place to bunker down. That’s when I hear the small whisper.

“Pssst.” I glance around in the darkness, not seeing a thing, but I recognize the voice—the ridiculously feminine and formal call. It’s Henry.

“Over here, you massive oaf.” Henry leans out from under the staircase and waves me over. I duck underneath just as the lights flick on and flood the room. Henry lowers his gaze, blinking as he adjusts to the brightness seeping under the stairs.

The room is unfinished for the most part. The small space under the stairs has a concrete shelf to support the steep staircase above. Henry jerks his head to the side and climbs, shifting over to make room for me. I don’t fit as easily as he does. I have to shimmy myself in place, stomach down on the cold cement, with my shoulder overlapping Henry’s.

He glances up at me, murmuring, “Next time I’m the big spoon.”

I punch him lightly in the kidney, and he winces. “Shut up,” I hiss.

Voices carry down from the landing above, followed by the sound of footfalls creaking on the staircase, until several men are on the basement floor. I can see their ankles as they pass.

They’re talking to one another, and I don’t recognize any of their voices. “Why are we keeping the bitch? This is going to blow up in his face.”

“You weren’t paid for your brain, Gragg. Grab the barrel and lift on three. One. Two. Three.”

Huffing, Gragg groans, “Even so, moving her is risky.”

“These aren’t for Ferro—they’re for Vic’s kid sister.”

Ice shoots through my veins. I strain to hear more, as they move up the stairs.

“What’s got him so obsessed with her anyway? She’s a distraction,” Gragg complains.

“Right, and the sooner she’s gone, the better he can focus. So stop talking and lift the fucking barrel already.”

Gragg curses and pauses before reaching the landing. “Got it. Get the girl, shove her in here, give her to the boss, and get more cash than we can spend. I’m down with that. It just seems like a waste of time.”

“Since when is earning massive amounts of money a waste of time? Lift the goddamn barrel, and let’s get the fuck out of here. The girl was spotted. We’ve got to grab her before she vanishes again. I’m not taking a bullet for that bitch, and Vic won’t stop until he gets her, so let’s move already.”

Gragg protests, “Yeah, but I don’t get it.”

Several swearing voices scold Gragg simultaneously. He stops asking questions, and when the rest of the men are out of the basement, the room goes dark.

Henry whispers, “They’re headed to my mansion to take Avery.”

I was thinking the same thing. I shove off of Henry and fall on the floor, frantic to warn her. Rushing to the window, I peer outside. Marty is pacing with another man. Shit. I can't leave this way while they’re standing there. I’ll be spotted and shot.

Henry walks up behind me. “Thanks for your help back there, you lumberjack.”

I tug at my hair and pace like a caged animal. I can’t text Marty, and risk his life. At the same time, I can’t get to Avery if they don’t fucking move. I want to scream, but I can’t. My heart races faster as I think about what they’re going to do to her. Shoving her body in one of those oil barrels is going to make her nuts. She’ll have to fold her body into a tiny ball and once they seal her inside—fuck. That will screw with her so that she won’t have her wits about her when they dump her out in front of her asshole brother.

“We have to get out of here,” I growl.

“Yes, I heard.” Henry glances at the remaining barrels. “They took more than one. You realize that means they’re planning on capturing several of us tonight. It’s ironic we’re all over here, and Vic is headed toward the mansion. He must have seen the article in the paper and recognized Avery.”

I turn, drained of patience, and grab his shirt collar, squeezing hard. “Avery and Mel just took off in that direction, and, unless we stop them, they’re fucked. Do you get that?”

Henry swats at me. “Yes. Kindly release me.” I set him down, and the man smooths his shirt. He looks at the floor, then back at me. “There’s something I can do.”

“From here?”

“Yes, well, perhaps. It depends on if my drone is charged.” Henry grabs his phone, and the little screen glows as he flips to an app and opens it.

I want to strangle him. “You denied owning a drone.”

“Pish, posh.” He waves a limp wrist at me. “I denied saying the drone shooting pictures of Avery was mine. I also stated my belief that drones are a pain in the ass, and that I don’t appreciate being forced to register mine with the FAA. I never said I didn’t have one.”

I want to kill him. Glaring at the side of his head, I snarl, “You said exactly that.”

He shrugs, “I exaggerated, and you should be glad. My little white lie may just save the girls.” He taps in a series of commands and then stares at a live camera feed from the drone. It’s inside a building, hovering by a window. “I liked that pane. It’s handmade glass from an estate in Suffolk, you know.”

“Henry—” I warn.

He smashes the drone through the window, and it’s off into the night. The thing shoots up high and buzzes over the house before darting toward us. If Avery is still on foot, it might be possible to get to her first.

“Can you talk to her through the drone? I mean if you find her, how will she know it’s you?”

He tucks his chin and represses a grin. “She won’t be able to hear me, but she’ll know it’s from me.”

“How?” Henry squirms, avoiding my gaze. I don’t press him and change my line of questioning. “And then?”

“Then we get them to follow the drone away from the mansion.”

“Mel is more likely to hit it with a bat than follow it.”

“Perhaps, but once they glance at it—well, you’ll see.” Henry flies the thing around five hundred feet—low enough not to interfere with aircraft, but high enough that it can’t be seen from the ground. A few minutes later, it’s over Black’s house, dropping like a stone from the sky. It stops, hovers above the ground, and pivots slowly near the trees where Avery was supposed to meet Mel, but they’re already gone.