Neever snorted and dragged him from a limo into a sunny cottage on a private island off the coast.
Ian contained a huff. He would have been terrified if he hadn’t agreed to do this. And if he hadn’t had that idiot Dalton in his brain at all times.
“I heard that,” Dalton answered in his mind. “Now quit being afraid, princess. Your buddy Keegan is wiping up the place with a huge-ass body count. And Heather is kicking serious ass, but in a pretty way. Man, no wonder Keiser put a ring on her. Nice roundhouse.”
“What?”
“Just focus on what’s happening around you. Soon as you see Kerr, you ping me. Shout, yell, get my attention pronto. Owen will do the rest.”
Ian mentally nodded. As much as he didn’t want Owen to have to kill Kerr, he knew Owen needed the closure and Kerr had to go. So Ian would do what he had to do to help. “You sure Owen’s okay? Dalton? Dalton?”
Great. The prick decided to go silent. Whatever.
Ian let Neever walk him into the cottage and took an immediate inventory. He cataloged the array of weapons stashed around what appeared to be a hunting cottage. Ian didn’t care to think about what they’d hunted out here. Knowing Kerr, probably people.
He followed Neever into a comfortable den. A huge sectional sofa in deep red was currently occupied by three young, naked men wearing collars affixed to chains on the floor. They lazed in wait, seeming not at all bothered by his presence.
“Stay.” Neever shook his finger at Ian before leaving him alone with the trio.
“Stay, my ass. Dick.” Ian muttered. He turned to the guys on the couch. “Ah, hi.”
“You’re pretty,” one of them slurred. “But he’s mine. My daddy has a big dick.”
Wow. That was so…ew. These guys looked young enough to be minors. And then referring to daddy with sex—gross. No wonder Owen hated it when Ian called him that. Not going there again.
“Right. So where is your daddy?”
He glanced around, seeing nothing but more of the same. Expensive furnishings. Sex toys and weapons out of reach of the chained young men. A fireplace currently burning, giving the room a nice, even temperature, considering the coolness of the island despite the summer season.
“Daddy is right here,” a new voice sounded from behind him.
Ian spun around and took his first good, hard look at Carl Kerr. Cute, if one went for the sadistic, skinny type. A glint of cruelty lingered in his light blue eyes. His blond hair looked meticulously cut, and he wore tailored slacks and a silk polo quite well.
Ian took the initiative. “My pleasure. You know, for all that Owen has said about you—and trust me, none of it has been complimentary—you’re a handsome psychopath.” Ian made sure to be flowery, fluttery, and as nonthreatening as possible while he flirted.
Kerr studied him with interest. “You’re a beautiful boy, aren’t you? No wonder Owen’s been keeping you close.”
“Dalton, he’s here. Hey, Caleb.” Nothing. Helping Owen, no doubt.
Ian called on his courage. He could handle this guy. A con man knew when to bait and switch. Time to work for his pay for a change. He grinned and held out a hand. “A pleasure, dear sir.”
“Oh, and such manners.” Kerr squeezed Ian’s fingers with force, his gaze locked to Ian’s.
Ian flinched. “Hey. Don’t damage the goods, strong man. I’m worth a lot unmarred.”
Kerr laughed. Not a sound to inspire confidence. “Oh, honey. When I’m through with you, you’ll be priceless beyond compare. Fielder, Koffman, take him into the back and strip him down.” His lips twisted, and he snorted. “Carefully. Best not to damage the merchandise until my good friend Owen’s here to see it destroyed up close.”
Owen stared through a haze of sweat at a man who was supposed to be dead. Why the hell had Keegan Price not killed the biggest threat first?
“I was promised a huge payout for burning you up. But not killing you, not yet,” Mickelson sang, his voice shrill and not fitting with the plain, average features of the psychotic he’d turned out to be. The man was notorious for washing out of early training, then having his father pay good money to give Junior whatever he wanted. Apparently, Ronald Mickelson had wanted to be a killer.
“Don’t forget the glory,” Owen said drily. “Anyone who can fix the Fixer will become legend.” He tried to stall while he listened to more destruction around him. Keegan, Caleb, and Jack must have been busy, or they’d have taken Mickelson out. Shit. That meant he’d have to save enough reserve to end Kerr once he fixed Mickelson. Because if he didn’t stop the man from pouring more heat into him, Owen would be ash and Ian dead for sure.
If he used too much of himself, he might die, but he couldn’t let anything happen to Ian. Not at Carl Kerr’s hands.
He grabbed Mickelson by the neck, shocking the man. Burns flashed over his hands. Mickelson’s fucking skin was like a furnace.
“Hey, Ronald.”
“Yes?”
Mickelson grinned at him, and Owen felt as if he’d become a human torch. Holy hell, but his hand hurt. “Fuck you.” Owen directed a blast into Mickelson’s mind, effectively shattering the precious hold he’d had on his version of sanity.
Explosions boomed around him, and Owen screamed as his hand literally caught fire, but he didn’t let go. He had to kill Mickelson before the bastard destroyed the others. He clamped down hard on the man’s mind, crushing his brain stem from within and smothering the organ so that his brain stopped functioning.
Mickelson didn’t make a sound. He just folded onto himself on the ground.
Owen remained standing, barely, and clutched his hand to his chest, the pain excruciating. But his mind was clear. A bit tired, but ready to help Ian.
“Caleb,” he yelled in his mind. “Where the hell is Ian? Do we have Kerr yet?”
He heard nothing back and had a sinking feeling. The power came back on, and lights flooded the penthouse. In the distance, sirens could be heard growing closer. Bullet holes riddled the walls.
“Owen, over here,” Keegan said as he coughed. Covered in soot and battling another fire, he stood with Jack, who no longer looked like Heather. Caleb lay under a fallen support beam, unconscious.
Owen’s tenuous link to Ian, severed at the worst possible time.
He met Jack’s gaze.
Jack scowled. “I know. I’ve got Aiden on standby. He’ll be here in an hour.”
“That’s if Ian has an hour.” Owen felt a cold sweat work its way over him.
“Jesus, Owen. I can see bone.”
Jack’s wide-eyed stare at his hand didn’t help, nor did the notion he was going into shock. “Ian. Have to find Ian.” Owen held on, praying for Ian to be strong. I’ll find you, little thief. Just hold on. “Caleb, wake the fuck up.” But Caleb didn’t move, and the blow to his head had left a large, purple-and-blue welt. A goose egg that looked really, really bad.
Chapter Twelve
Ian glared at the thugs holding him by the loop on the ugly-ass collar around his neck. When they entered the living room again, he shook his head and pretended his nudity didn’t bother him. “Please, Carl. This collar is hideous.”
Fielder and Koffman sneered at him and left him with Kerr at Kerr’s command. The playthings he’d had with him in the living room were gone, leaving just Kerr, Ian, and a big mounted camera before the roaring fire. Man, cliché of clichés, a bearskin rug lay before the monstrously large fireplace.