Air Bound

6

KNOWING a depraved monster was just on the other side of the hatch kept Airiana’s stomach churning. She pressed her hand over the knots and took a deep calming breath. She didn’t know why she believed in Maxim Prakenskii, but she did. He exuded absolute confidence, and somehow, that gave her the strength to stay by his side.

Maxim took the MP-5 from her hand and laid it on top of his war bag, just to one side of the hatch, so when the door opened, no one could see it.

She let out her breath and twisted her fingers together, feeling naked and vulnerable without the weapon.

Maxim caught her hand for the briefest of moments. Her fingers trembled inside of his, and he pressed his thumb into the exact center of her palm. She felt the touch over her heart. Startled, she looked up at him, her gaze colliding with his. He had amazing eyes, brooding and hooded. Sexy. Dangerous. He was all those things and more.

He lifted one eyebrow. “Are you ready for this?”

She nodded her head. Who could ever really be ready to face a monster?

Maxim called on the air surrounding them. He blew out his breath in a circle around their bodies. Instantly she felt the difference, as if the air was heavier, much denser in the passageway. She actually could see it shimmering between them, distorting his features until he looked a little shorter, more compact and his shaggy, wild hair was glossy and polished.

He tapped on the hatch, a one-two signal repeated four times in rapid succession. Clearly he knew the right code, because the hatch began to creak and groan as someone inside slowly opened it. Maxim didn’t move aside, but stood firmly in the center of the opening, transferring his hold from her hand to her arm.

“The others are dead, Saeed, but I brought her to you.” Maxim spoke in a perfect replica of Shamar’s voice.

Saeed’s robed figure filled the doorway. The robe was open and his bloated body gleamed with oil. He rubbed his hands together gleefully, leering at Airiana, not even looking at his bodyguard or acknowledging that the men who had served him for years were dead.

She shuddered and forced herself not to move closer to Maxim for protection. Bile rose. The prince was disgusting, his face pure evil. She was afraid if she looked at him too long, she’d throw up. She gave her brain another problem to work on, pushing out fear to try to mathematically understand how Maxim had managed to distort the air until his own features resembled those of another human being. The voice was easy enough, but to be able to change appearances, that was exceptional.

She kept her head resolutely down, working the probabilities in her mind, trying to find a theory that would explain how he’d done such an incredible feat, anything to keep her mind away from what might happen to her if Saeed actually got his hands on her.

Chuckling, pleased with his victory, the prince turned his head to look over his shoulder. “All is well, Sasha. You can have that little used one and leave me alone for a few hours.” He sounded smug and magnanimous.

Maxim thrust Airiana behind him and struck fast, a blur of movement, whipping a garrote around Saeed’s throat as he spun him around to face the inside of the cabin. He twisted the thin wire mercilessly while the prince thrashed and fought.

Sasha rushed to his aid, dragging a naked child of about ten in front of him, holding a gun to her head. She cried continually, terror on her face and bruises on her body. There were thin knife cuts across her small torso.

“I’ll kill her, Maxim, let him go.”

The child called out in Italian, “Let him kill me. Don’t let that pig go.”

Airiana felt the breath leave her lungs in a burning rush, terrified for the little girl. The garrote continued to cut off the prince’s airway, his wild struggles only making it tighter. Maxim never moved. His face was set in hard, implacable lines. His ice-blue eyes had gone dark, a turbulent storm of absolute resolve.

He whispered in Italian, the thread of sound going straight to the child. “This pig will never harm you again.”

Saeed made horrible gurgling sounds, his face purple and his eyes bulging. His efforts to escape became feeble as the garrote tightened relentlessly. Maxim continued to look at the man he obviously recognized, his gaze unblinking while he strangled the prince in front of the bodyguard.

“You know I’ll kill her,” Sasha warned.

Airiana was standing almost directly behind Maxim. He moved so fast she didn’t actually catch the blurring motion as he whipped his hand behind him and withdrew a pistol, pulling it forward around the prince’s body and aiming all in one movement. The bullet hissed out of the chamber and smacked into Sasha’s forehead. A hole blossomed there, bright red and ugly.

The child screamed and twisted out of the Sasha’s slackening grip. His gun fell to the floor. The prince was entirely limp now and Maxim allowed his body to fall as well. Grimly, he bent down to ensure Saeed was dead, using his knife to finish the job.

To Airiana’s horror, the child picked up Sasha’s weapon and turned it on herself, putting the gun to her head. “No! No! You’re safe. Don’t.”

Maxim was only a foot from the girl, crouched on the floor by the prince’s dead body. He reached out slowly, his hand closing over the child’s, his finger preventing the gun from firing. He was extremely gentle, every movement easy and unhurried.

“He is dead. Both of them. They can’t touch you again.”

His voice was so gentle, so compassionate, Airiana’s eyes burned with tears. In his company, she knew him as a lethal, dangerous and mostly rough man. He could be kind, but this was an entirely new side she hadn’t experienced.

“Find her something to wear. I’ve got a couple of shirts in my bag,” Maxim said, without turning his head toward her. “A dark color.”

Airiana hastened to do so. When she turned back, Maxim had the child in his arms. She sobbed against his chest, her black mop of long curls hiding her face. Maxim took the shirt from Airiana and pulled it over the little girl’s head.

“Tell us your name,” he encouraged.

“Nicia.” The girl’s voice was muffled. She didn’t lift her head, her arms around Maxim’s neck.

He picked her up and rolled the prince’s body completely into his opulent cabin with his foot and then closed the hatch firmly. “Nicia, we have to be very quiet. There are other men on board like Saeed. Bad men. Is there a place with other women or children where they kept you?”

Nicia nodded.

“How many women? How many children?” Maxim asked.

The terrible shaking that threatened to break the little girl’s bones apart had lessened, but she clung to Maxim as if he was the only thing in her world. “My sister Lucia, my little sister Siena and my brother Benito. I think Sofia, my twin sister, is dead. Sasha and another man came and got her last night and she never came back.” She began to sob all over again.

They both had seen the body of the child Saeed had killed. Maxim stroked the child’s hair and rocked her gently.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get here in time to save her, Nicia,” Maxim said. “But we’re going to do our best, all three of us, to save the others. Will you help us?”

Nicia nodded without speaking. She was so small, a little girl who should have been playing with dolls, not serving as entertainment for a depraved monster.

“The young girls had to be kept for Saeed. He had an insatiable appetite, and they would have brought more than one child aboard for him. Eventually he would have murdered all the girls.”

“Could they have brought the boy and the teen for him as well? He was looking at me, and while I might look young, I don’t look Nicia’s age,” Airiana said.

“He might want the teen as well, if she’s a virgin,” Maxim said. “But not the boy. There has to be another predator aboard. At least one more, possibly two.”

“How do we find them?” Airiana asked. She picked up the assault rifle and the web of ammo and weapons, slinging it over her shoulder.

“First we’re going to find the other children. I need Nicia in a safe place. We’ll move them to one of the cabins not in use. They can barricade themselves inside while we take care of the others.”

That made sense to Airiana. They couldn’t very well sneak around the ship with children in tow. She was certain Maxim was unhappy about having to take her along with him. More than ever, after seeing what was happening aboard the ship, she wanted to help find a way to stop whoever was running the trafficking ring. She understood Elle Drake’s need to put herself in harm’s way in order to stop it.

She also understood Lev Prakenskii’s need to try to find the source. Even if they stopped what was happening aboard this vessel, there had to be others, both on land and sea, where other children were being harmed.

“Don’t cry,” Maxim said, his voice firm. “I mean it, Airiana. I’ve already got this little one weeping, I can’t have both of you doing it. Nicia, tell me where you and the others are being held.”

“It was very dark. There were big containers everywhere. We were inside one of the containers. It was hard to breathe sometimes.”

Maxim swore under his breath. “Let’s find an empty cabin. Airiana, I’ll leave you with Nicia while I get the others.”

Airiana caught her breath, stopping herself from protesting. She didn’t want Maxim out of her sight, but she wasn’t going to complain. She knew too much time had passed. Saeed had been occupied with Nicia and the other child he’d murdered, so while the teen and the youngest child were probably safe, the boy wasn’t. Maxim was going to go after the boy. She wasn’t going to whine because she was afraid. He’d given her an assault rifle and she knew, deep in her heart, that she would protect Nicia against anyone trying to harm them.

Airiana’s gaze clung to his. Maxim wanted to comfort her, but he needed her strong. When planning his escape from the boat, he knew he had to stop the engine to allow him to get Airiana into the water, but he hadn’t planned on rescuing children or having to leave dead bodies behind.

He couldn’t take the children with him, and he couldn’t leave the crew alive to kill them, which they would. The crew of the ship would have to destroy all evidence of human trafficking in case they were boarded. Airiana didn’t have a clue as to the extent of their problem. He glanced at his watch. He was under a time constraint as well. The sub was going to rendezvous with him at night, the best chance for him to get Airiana away without anyone noticing. Now . . .

He put Nicia down, but she clung to his leg, terrified all over again.

“He needs his hands free to protect us,” Airiana said, in perfect Italian. “Stay with me, behind him. It’s the safest place.”

Nicia studied her face for a long time. “Does he belong to you?” She spoke in English, a little halting, but she’d clearly been raised using both languages.

“Yes,” Maxim answered her firmly. “I belong to her. I won’t ever let anything happen to her—or you. Just stay close and be as quiet as you can.”

Maxim followed the passageway down the corridor to the next hatch. No bodyguards were present. There were four luxury cabins on this floor. Saeed would have wanted complete privacy, so the odds that the cabin on each side of his was empty were very good. There would have been some activity already, but no one was moving around at all. Still . . . he wasn’t going to take chances.

Maxim signaled Airiana and Nicia to move to the far side against the wall, out of sight of the hatch. He noted that Airiana pushed Nicia behind her and brought up her weapon in a very businesslike manner. It was difficult not to feel admiration for her.

She looked darned cute in her black pants and makeshift scarf covering her bright hair, with a MP-5 cradled in her arms and a webbing of weapons and ammunition slung over her shoulder. He sent her a small salute before banging with his fist on the hatch. Silence met his demand for entry. He quickly spun the lock and stepped back to swing the door open. The cabin was empty.

Relieved, he signaled to Airiana. She took Nicia’s hand and they went inside. The room was equipped with a large bed, mirrors, a closet, and drawers that locked in place. There was a private bathroom. Along the walls and on the floor were bolts to loop chains and cuffs through. An array of devices was displayed in cabinets locked onto the wall. Everything from whips and floggers to canes.

“I’m sorry, honey, I can’t do anything about the room,” Maxim said. “But you’ll be safe in here. No one will know you’re here. I’m going to leave some extra ammo, a knife and a couple of grenades, just in case. I should be back soon.”

Airiana nodded her head but she didn’t speak. Tears were already welling up in Nicia’s eyes and he had the feeling that Airiana wanted to cry right along with her. Nicia took the nearest chair, sinking into its luxury and drawing up her knees beneath Maxim’s shirt, unable to control the shivering in her body. He knew it wasn’t from the cold, she was terrified of him leaving. Airiana immediately tucked a blanket around her.

Maxim turned to go, but couldn’t do it. Not like this. Not without giving her something. “Come here, Airiana,” he ordered softly without turning around. He stood facing the hatch, away from the room.

Puzzled, she stepped around him to stand directly in front of him, tilting her head to look up at him. Her eyes caught him like they always did. Sky blue eyes that could signal sunshine or rain, a coming storm or a hurricane.

He caught her wrist and lifted her palm straight up facing him. “In my family there is a small thing a man does when he belongs to a woman—when the woman belongs to us. We have to feel it, not with our bodies, but deep in our soul. Mine was ripped to shreds a long time ago and there isn’t much left. But whatever remains belongs to you. I’ll come back for you. No matter what, I’ll come back.”

He pushed air at her palm. More than air. Something deep inside him rose to rush toward her. He felt it rise, a connection that would be unbreakable. He was giving himself to this woman not knowing if she could accept him as he was, rough and scarred and very lost. He didn’t know if he would even come out of this alive, but he had to do this one thing. The need—the compulsion—overcame everything else. He belonged—somewhere. With someone. Airiana Solovyov was his someone.

He heard the sound of the air hitting her palm, an electrical charge that actually zapped her. Two intertwined circles flared into life, a brand. A tattoo. The rings blazed a bright gold and then slowly faded into her skin, disappearing entirely.

Airiana yelped and tried to jerk her hand away, but he held her wrist firmly and brought the injured palm to the warmth of his mouth. His tongue stroked over the exact spot where the two rings had sunk beneath her skin. He traced each one, feeling the brand of Prakenskii, knowing it was on his own hand, trying to soothe the ache she felt. Her eyes widened and she gasped, heat flaring between them.

“What have you done?” she whispered.

He allowed her hand to slip away from him. She rubbed it down her thigh, her gaze clinging to his. “I gave myself to you. What you do with me is up to you. But I don’t lie to children, and I won’t lie to you. I’m coming back, Airiana.” He stepped closer and framed her face with his hands. “I’m coming back for you.”

She opened her mouth to answer him, to protest or to plead. He didn’t know. He didn’t care. He stopped all words with his own mouth, kissing her like a man drowning. Hot. Passionate. Pouring himself into her. Just this one time he took what he wanted from her, dragging her response from her, kissing her again and again, unable to stop himself from sinking further under her spell.

Abruptly he jerked away, and without another word, left her there. He swung his war bag over his shoulder and stalked out, closing the hatch behind him. His body was on fire. Crazy in the situation he was in, but still, he felt alive for the first time in more years than he cared to count.

He checked the other two cabins and both were empty. That meant the boy was on the next level down. There would be more bodyguards and probably a crew member or two. There would also be a despicable deviant who would torture and kill a small boy just because he could.

He had no compassion for any member of the crew who had signed on to work this cargo vessel. There were no secrets on a ship this size out to sea for long weeks. Every man who worked on board the ship was aware of what took place in the cabins.

He went down the stairs using extreme caution. Without Airiana he could move much faster, using his stealthy, silent mode. Air cushioned his sound, preventing any spills so, although he was large, he could move easily through the ship and never be heard. He kept his image distorted so a quick glance from someone passing at the end of the passageway wouldn’t be enough to spot him.

His gifts allowed advantages, and as a covert operative, he needed—and used—every one of them. As he neared the bottom of the stairs, he waited a moment to allow the air to speak to him, delivering vital information. Being bound to air was a part of him, natural, like breathing, and he read every nuance in the displacement like a map.

There were two men in the passageway, down toward the end. No others seemed to be around, but it was a long way to get to them without being seen. He slipped down the last two steps and into the shadows just beneath the stairwell, studying the situation.

Two bodyguards—he recognized them both. They were mercenaries out of Italy. Both had belonged to the mob, worked as contract killers, and when it got too hot, they left the country to hire out until things cooled down. He had an entire dossier on both and wasn’t surprised in the least that they were on board this particular type of vessel, because the last he’d heard, Evan Shackler-Gratsos had hired them.

Leone Marciante was a brutal killer. He had grown up a bully and had continued to be one. His uncle was embedded deep in the mob in Italy and he had naturally gravitated toward his uncle’s work. He rose fast, a ruthless, dangerous man who had no problem killing anyone, even when he was a boy.

His partner, Ricco D’Amato, had grown up down the street from Leone. He’d been wild from the beginning, beating up his mother often and raising hell at school. The two stayed close, probably because their similar personalities allowed them to feel safe tormenting schoolmates and families. It was a natural progression for Ricco to join the mob with his longtime partner.

Leone had a penchant for women. He thought of himself as a charming ladies’ man, and often bragged about what a lady-killer he was. He laughed heartily at the intended pun.

Ricco preferred men. Not men, younger boys. Teens as a rule, but it was rumored he sometimes preyed on street boys even younger. He generally garnered their loyalty, using his street teams for information, spending money on them and setting them to be drug runners, even occasionally using them for other crimes. He was far more careful than Leone, making certain no trail ever led back to him. Where Leone loved to brag about his prowess with women and his work, Ricco rarely spoke. Maxim considered him the far more dangerous of the two.

He always found it interesting how criminals found one another so easily. They formed packs when they came across one another, especially child abusers. They exchanged pictures, stories and even children, aiding one another across countries.

These two men had left Italy, but they found the very man, Shackler-Gratsos, who would allow them to continue their lifestyle. Maxim slipped his gun into his belt and loosened his knife. He breathed into the air, blowing out a steady flow from under the stairwell. The surrounding air turned warm as it streamed along the narrow corridor, filling it from floor to ceiling, slowly elevating the temperature.

Evan must have provided the bodyguards for whoever was in that room. The man probably wanted to torture and kill a child in private, far from anyone who would know him—including his own bodyguards. There were a few, like Saeed, who thought themselves so powerful it didn’t matter, but most didn’t want their sins out in the open where they might be blackmailed.

He waited a short time until he knew the two men would be feeling the rise in temperature and then blew more air, increasing the heat until it was much hotter in the passageway. Both men took off their jackets, exposing the harnesses their weapons were housed in.

Leone swore loudly and walked over to tap on a vent. “What the hell? The air down here is stifling,” he snapped, wiping at the beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

“It’s happened before,” Ricco said, his voice low and calm.

“Not like this. It’s bullshit. I’ll bet Galati’s room is plenty cool for him and his little friend.” He laughed. “That kid looked like a scared little rabbit. He thinks you’re going to save him. I love that look of utter devotion they give you. They do anything you want them to, don’t they?”

Ricco shrugged. “He’s a smart kid. He could be of use to me, but once they’re aboard this ship, there’s nothing to be done but get rid of them. I tried to steer Galati to another boy, but he chose Benito.” Ricco turned cool eyes on his partner. “We were given orders to give Galati whatever he wanted so . . .” He shrugged.

“Too bad. Are you in love with him?” Leone taunted. “Maybe you want to take him home with you?”

He sounded jealous, which again, didn’t surprise Maxim. Leone might appear the dominant in the relationship, but it was actually Ricco. Leone had no one else in his life and he didn’t share well with others. Maxim would bet his last dollar that Leone had helped Galati choose Benito out of Evan’s special catalogue of young children, probably from a video recording.

“What I want doesn’t much matter. Galati has his hands on him now. He’ll be brutal with the kid and ruin him. The kid’s straight and needs to be handled with care, but Galati plans to kill him so he’s not going to bother with finesse.” Again Ricco shrugged, but his eyes were watchful on Leone’s face.

“You’re the one who killed his family,” Leone pointed out. “Just so you could cultivate him. I wonder how he’ll feel when Galati whispers that to him right before he kills him, or maybe he’s already done it. He likes the kids to know ahead of time what he plans to do to them. He said the terror increases the fun. He strangles them and lets them come back just so he can do it all again.”

Maxim increased the temperature again, this time the heat rising fast, as if fires had broken out all around them. The metal on the walls of the passageway nearly glowed. Both men’s shirts were damp, sweat running in rivers and pooling on the floor. They began to look uneasy, tempers increasing along with the heat.

“This is bullshit,” Leone said, kicking at the wall.

Ricco said nothing, but he tested the temperature of the wall, using the flat of his hand. It was hot, but not excessively so despite the fact that it nearly glowed, a trick, maybe, to the eye. “I think the ventilation system stopped working is all,” he said.

“I don’t give a damn what happened,” Leone snapped. “Someone needs to fix it.”

Maxim added a whisper of condensation, so fine it could barely be seen, but the water in the air increased, hot now, turning the passageway slowly into a steam room. Again it was a slow process to fill up the corridor, and at first neither noticed until the long fingers of haze began to creep around them as if they were in a sauna.

“I’ll go check and see what’s going on,” Ricco said abruptly.

“The hell with that. I’m not staying here to burn to death,” Leone protested. “I’m going too. No one’s going to disturb Galati and if it’s getting hot in there, he can boil for all I care.”

Ricco shrugged and started down the passageway toward the staircase. Leone followed, grumbling every step of the way. Maxim let them come within several feet of him before he fired two rapid shots, aiming for the kill, a bullet right in the middle of the forehead, his signature shot. Both went down simultaneously. Neither ever saw Maxim and probably didn’t know what hit him.

Maxim used a silencer, but still, he remained beneath the stairwell, in the shadows, in case Galati or anyone else heard the shots. He was patient, taking his time, ignoring the two bodies lying on the floor. He allowed the temperature in the passageway to cool just a little, although it didn’t affect him. He kept a bubble of cooler air surrounding him, but he didn’t want Galati to get spooked and maybe kill the boy.

He found it difficult to think about the boy locked in a room with a man who intended to use him and then kill him. He couldn’t allow his mind to go there, not and be of any use to the kid. He’d been taken from his home and become a prisoner of the state, beaten and trained, shaped into a killing machine, so he knew, more than most, what it was like. He could identify in many ways with the boy.

Maxim was grateful Airiana wasn’t with him. He had no idea what he’d do to Galati, or what condition he’d find the boy in. Like little Nicia, the boy would be traumatized for life. To have a woman witness such a humiliating and degrading circumstance would only make it worse.

Nothing moved. No one came to investigate. He slipped out of the shadows, nudged Leone’s body aside with the edge of his foot and padded silently down the passageway. The hatch to the luxury cabin was sealed. He couldn’t go in with guns blazing, he needed Galati to voluntarily open the door, so that he was away from the boy.

He had to heat the room through the ventilation system. Doing so could spread the heat throughout the ship, but still, even if the crew became alarmed, they wouldn’t think to come to the cabin as the source. They’d be checking the engine room first.

He located the shaft in the passageway and manipulated the air once again, sending both hot air and condensation into the cabin. The room, although good-sized for a cabin on a cargo vessel, was small in comparison to the passageway and it warmed fast. He could feel the heat radiating from the hatch. He stayed to one side of it, pressed against the wall, allowing the air around him to distort his image.

The lock spun and the hatch swung open. Galati, naked, sweat dripping from his body leaned out to take a breath. Maxim yanked him into the corridor and threw him up against the wall. Galati’s head hit first, Maxim’s strength was enormous enough to nearly knock him out. Only self-preservation kept Galati from falling, although he staggered and grabbed his head, trying to focus.

“What the hell?”

“Hell has come for you,” Maxim snapped and slammed the knife deep into Galati’s throat to shut him up and get it over with fast. He twisted the blade, withdrew it and then stabbed into the carotid artery for good measure.

His temper had surged forward, a volcano erupting when he’d been taught to stay in control. He was tempted to do a little torture of his own, and he knew more ways to cause pain than Galati had ever thought of, but he never wanted to be that man. He wanted to execute fast and dispassionately. The problem was, he detested men like Saeed and Galati who preyed on children.

Maxim let the man drop to the floor and left him there, sprawled out naked and dirty, lying in his own pool of blood. Stepping over the body he hesitated at the doorway, steeling himself for what he might find.

The boy looked to be about twelve or thirteen. He was tied over a rack in a kneeling position. His body was covered in whip marks and bruises. Tears ran down his face, leaving tracks, but his eyes were defiant, furious, filled with hatred, which told Maxim the kid had a chance at recovery.

“He’s dead,” he announced. “I’ve come to get you out of here. Nicia is alive and I’ve left her with my woman in a safe place. I’ll take you there and get the others.” He spoke softly, seeing the distrust on the boy’s face.

He cut the ropes digging into the boy’s wrists. His hands were swollen and bruised, nearly purple. Galati had deliberately used a harsh rope to hurt the boy more.

“Flex your fingers to get the blood back into your hands,” Maxim instructed over his shoulder as he went to the hatch to watch down the corridor. “Shake your arms out. When you can hold the knife, I want you to cut your ankles free. We could have company any minute.”

He wanted to give the kid something to do to help himself and at the same time, by giving him a weapon, show he was no threat. Still, he kept an eye on the boy.

“He has two bodyguards,” the boy said. He spat onto the bed several times and then reached for the knife. “They’ll kill you for him.”

“He’s dead and so are they,” Maxim said. “And we have to get the hell out of here. Do you have any clothes?”

“My name’s Benito,” the boy said and tried to stand. He groaned and nearly fell.

Maxim didn’t make the mistake of trying to help him. “When we get to the safety zone, remind me. I have some ointment that will help in my bag.”

“My clothes are on the sink. He said he likes to keep them for a memento.” The boy turned too-old eyes on him. “He was going to kill me.”

“I know. He’s dead,” Maxim reiterated for the third time. The boy was in shock but trying to fight his way back. His alarm system nagged at him. They weren’t going to get a clean exit, the boy could barely walk.

Benito staggered over to the sink and turned on the water, rinsing his mouth repeatedly and spitting. Maxim pretended not to notice the tears still tracking down the boy’s face. He wanted to kill Galati all over again. He thought of himself as a monster until he ran across men like Saeed and Galati and those who supplied them.

“We’re going to have company in a minute. Get dressed,” Maxim repeated, keeping his voice low and confident. “Keep that knife close, you may need it, but don’t do anything unless I give the okay. Do you understand? We still have to get the others free. I need you to stay quiet and obey me.”

For the first time he looked the boy in the eye to show he meant business. Benito dragged on his clothes, or tried to. Clearly every movement caused pain. Maxim had no idea how long the boy had been tied in that position, but judging by the swollen purple bands around his ankles and wrists, it had been awhile. The boy had been caned and whipped, the cuts deep. Pins and needles had to be horrendous, but he valiantly struggled into his clothes.

Maxim nodded approvingly when he picked up the knife. “You’ll do, Benito. Stay close to me no matter what happens. Behind me,” he added. “We’ll get out of this alive, but I might have to kill a few people for that to happen.”

Benito nodded. “All right by me,” he said. “Kill as many as you’d like.”

Maxim entered the passageway first and headed toward the opposite end where the stairs would lead down to the next floor. That was the engine room, and below that was the cargo hold where he was certain the other two girls were being held.

Movement behind him had him spinning around, his gun tracking. The boy bent over Galati, stabbing down with the knife several times, his face a mask of hatred.

Maxim remembered rage. Deep down he still felt it and in certain situations, such as this one, it welled up like a volcano, impossible to suppress. He understood rage. He moved up behind the boy and gently caught his wrist, stopping the movement.

“He’s dead.”

“Not dead enough,” Benito said, and spat on the body.

“Dead is dead. You’re indulging yourself,” Maxim kept his voice harsh. “I need you one hundred percent if we’re going to get those girls free. If you can’t control yourself, you’re of no use to me—or them.”

Benito straightened up slowly, wincing as he did so. “I’m with you.”

Maxim nodded and slowed his pace. They were going to get caught. The air was moving again and sending him all kinds of messages, none of them good. He had planned to take the boy to Airiana and leave him in the relative safety of the empty luxury cabin, but Benito needed action to bring him back.

“Good. We’re about to have company. They’re coming down the stairs now and we don’t have time to reach the stairwell. Hug the side of the wall and let’s make it to that passageway just ahead.”

Benito tried but there was no way he could double-time it. Maxim glanced toward their destination, saw they wouldn’t make it, and he signaled Benito to halt, waving him against the wall. Maxim took up position in the center of the passageway, once more distorting his image to look vaguely like Ricco. The two crew members ascending the stairs would see who they were prepared to see, at least until they got close.

He walked fast, covering the distance quickly now, bending air continuously so that it shimmered in waves, the distortion all around him.

He needed to kill these men silently. They were from the engine room. He could smell the heavy fuel oil on them. The air carried the scent of sulfur clinging to their clothes. Evan Shackler-Gratsos didn’t believe in saving the environment, just in adding more money to his coffers.

Evan had complete deniability of course. He owned the ships, he didn’t run them. He’d recently inherited them from his brother. Nothing Maxim had found could tie Evan to the human trafficking ring—not yet.

Maxim continued toward the stairs and the two men coming up them.