Page 28 of Room Nine: Masters of Control

My voice shakes as I hiss, “Muthafucker.”

10

O’DELL

Ihaul Bobby up by his biceps, prepared to walk him out of the building as quickly as possible, but my partners are gawking at the wall. I shove Bobby to his knees and tell him to stay still, only then allowing my focus to be pulled away from my criminal.

A chill shoots down my spine at over one hundred photographs of Kyra in various locations. Pictures that look like they were taken as she walked through her apartment in the morning or down the street in the afternoon. Pictures of her training at her dojo, or working her office job, or last, of her bartending at night.

“Muthafucker must’ve been following her for longer than she realized,” Kerr growls, his gun still gripped in his hand.

“Watch your weapon,” I say, swallowing down the bile rising in my throat.

Thoughts—dangerous ideas—run through my head. It would be so easy to kill him right now, take off the cuffs, put the gun back in his hands, and shoot him in the head. No one would think twice, and yet, for the first time in our lives we have something to lose.

We finally have a shot at true happiness and possibly creating a family with Kyra, and I don’t want to throw that away on this bastard.

Dem pulls a picture of Kyra off the wall, inspecting it, memorizing every pixel. She appears to have just showered, her hair’s wet, and she’s dressed in a tank top and bikini panties. He’s eerily quiet, his breathing ragged, as he stares at the photo.

Bobby makes the mistake of speaking. “That’s my girlfriend—don’t touch my pictures.”

I close my eyes for half a second, knowing Bobby just signed his death certificate.

Dem spins around so quickly, I barely see him change his grip on his weapon, striking Bobby across the face with the butt of his gun.

Our rabbit goes down like a sack of potatoes, his body limp on the floor.

“We can’t leave these here. If the Feds see these pictures, they’re going to come looking for Kyra, which will open up a whole other can of fucking worms.” Kerr looks at me.

“If we remove them and miss even one, they’ll know we tampered with evidence, but worse, it could affect their case against the entire organization.” My gaze purposely travels over to the wall of driver licenses. There have to be at least fifty, and in the three months we watched him, we saw him walk nearly twenty different girls through that house. Is this every girl that ever got abducted and sold by him? Do the other animals have similar trophy walls like this?

And why didn’t DiFallo’s goons torch this place earlier today when they came in? Maybe they never made it this far?

Can’t ask Bobby. He’s either out cold or dead.

“We have to leave it, and we should get the fuck out of here before somebody else shows up looking for him.”

Dem and Kerr both look down at the lump on the floor, their lips curled in disgust. I get their feelings, I really do, but I want to get this fucking nightmare over with and move on with our lives.

A life that includes Kyra.

I pull out my phone and take a couple photos of the driver’s licenses on the wall, texting them to our bureau contact.

Me:Get a team down here before somebody from the family comes in and scrubs this place.

Sandy responds immediately:“Do you have Bobby Lash in custody?”

I kneel and check his pulse before I respond. “Yeah, but he’s going to need some medical attention for his face.”

Sandy:“Will take care of it when you get here. We have a collection team standing by. They can be there in a few minutes.”

Me: “How’s the rest of the operation going?”

Sandy:“So far so good. No shots fired at any location. The other Townsend teams have secured their packages and are on their way in. You guys do good work.”

Me:“Roger that. We’ll see you shortly.”

I look at my partners, both of which are shaking with rage. I fucking hate it when I have to be the calm and collected one of our team. Although, that is why I am the lead, because I have a half an ounce more control over my temper than they do. That’s how you get that extra bonus in your check, by being a little bit less of a hothead.

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