Page 90 of These White Lies
We cut through the tree line, moving fast and silent, following the markers I left when Vincent and I were here earlier. Rhodes moves with me, his breathing steady. Through the dark trunks, we glimpse the white building gleaming in the moonlight. Two guards patrol outside, exactly where I expect them. One paces a semicircular route in the front, and the other is leaning on the corner of the house.
Rhodes gestures with two fingers, splitting us. I circle wide, keeping low, letting my dark clothing disguise me in the shadows. Timing the pacing guard’s turn, I creep closer, and the second his back is to me, I’m on him. My arm snakes around his throat, my hand locking behind his head, and I pull back just enough to cut off his air. He struggles against my hold before he goes limp. I quickly zip-tie his hands and feet, stuff the gag in his mouth, and lower him behind the shrubs.
Across the yard, Rhodes straightens from where he left his unconscious guard and gestures for us to move.
Less than two minutes and no alarms. Might be a personal best.
I follow Rhodes when he slips into the house through the side service entrance and cover his back as we move from room to room. Rhodes makes quick, precise work of the three men we come across: one in the back hall, one on the stairs, and one in the kitchen. All subdued and zip-tied before they can make a sound. Lucky for them, it’s Rhodes and not Callum tonight, so all will wake soon with their windpipes intact.
That leaves Carrow.
I catch sight of him through the windows of one room. He’s lounging on the back terrace, swirling a tumbler of something amber.
Perfect.
We wait in the deep shadows of the room while Carrow drains the last of his drink and stands, heading inside toward the wet bar.
He’s just setting the empty glass down when I deliver a quick strike to the side of his skull. Not enough to knock him out, but enough to scramble his brain a little. He staggers a step before Rhodes restrains him and shoves him into a heavy chair I’ve dragged into the middle of the room.
The only light is from the moon spilling in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, washing everything in a pale silver hue. Carrow’s head bobbles, and Rhodes cracks a vial of smelling salts under his nose. We don’t have time to let him come around naturally, and I need him in his full senses.
Carrow jerks, exclaiming at the sting in his nostrils. He yanks his wrists up and struggles for a minute to free himself, before he belatedly appears to notice the two men dressed head to toein black facing him. The balaclavas hide everything but our eyes, and I take a sick satisfaction in the way his breathing spikes.
I’m not surprised that he tries bravado first. “You don’t know who you’re messing with.”
I lean in, and catch the scent of Carrow’s cologne. The same cologne Sera and I smelled in Elizabeth’s house, proving he was involved in some capacity. The fact that it is also the same cologne our father wears adds an extra layer of anger to my mood.
Shaking off an unpleasant memory, I keep my voice low and raspy on purpose. “I know exactly who I’m messing with. You’re the scumbag who practically imprisoned his wife before she escaped from you. Must have been terrible to discover she’d started dating a member of the Russian mafia. Poor guy, I hear he’s out for blood over her death even though they’d broken up.” I haven’t told Elizabeth everything Finn discovered about the reality of Natalya’s life. If I know one thing about her, it’s that she would blame herself for not knowing.
Carrow goes deathly pale.
“Bloodthirsty folks, those Russians.”
Carrow’s throat bobs, and his gaze flicks to the door behind me, and he screams, “Help! Hey! Intruders!”
Rhodes lets out a dry laugh, arms crossed over his chest. We let him scream for a few more minutes until Rhodes presses an index finger to his ear. “Can we get on with it? He’s giving me a headache.”
Carrow’s mouth snaps shut, fear blanching his face as the enormity of his situation kicks in.
“Yeah,” I say in a conversational tone. “Help’s not coming. They’re a little tied up.”
I can practically hear Rhodes roll his eyes. “You havegotto come up with a new line, old man. Every. Single. Fucking. Time.”
“What?” I turn to face him. “It’s a classic.”
Our nonchalant banter is serving its purpose, which is to scare the shit out of Carrow. His breathing is shallow, his chest heaving as his panic grows. “Who the hell are you? His voice wavers. “Do you want money? My safe?—”
I turn to him and step closer until my boots scrape the legs of his chair. I bend until we are eye to eye. “If it were money, you wouldn’t still be breathing. I’d just take it.”
Carrow swallows hard, the tendons in his neck standing out in the dim light. “Then what the fuck do you?—”
I lean in again. “You know exactly what I want.”
“Is this about Natalya or one of the other women?”
Rhodes stiffens next to me. On the bright side, I don’t think tonight’s work will weigh on Rhodes’s conscience too much. He is a little touchy when it comes to women.
I turn back to Carrow. This piece of shit. How many people has he casually hurt in his life that he doesn’t know who someone would be seeking revenge for?
