“Nope. The others can use the boat.” I leave the changing room, on a mission, trying not to think about Rose. Trying not to remember where she came from. Who she was before I took her.

  A slave.

  I suppress a growl, marching on and wading into the water, climbing on my ski. Brad is beside me, getting on his. “You need to take a few breaths, Danny.” He frowns when Leon tugs around a loaded ski and ties it to the back of the boat as Ringo, Otto, and Goldie get onboard. “Higham said—”

  “You want to go in unarmed?” I ask, feeling the top of my head for my shades. No shades. And then Leon appears, holding them out to me. I accept and slip them on.

  “Fuck me,” Brad breathes, looking across to James. Then we all look back to Higham driving off.

  “Let’s go,” I say, chugging out. “We go in from the left, close to the cove. There’s a concealed, dilapidated jetty a quarter mile from the shore,” I go on, more for James’s benefit, since he isn’t familiar with our old base. “We’ll go on foot from there.”

  I get no acknowledgment, everyone silent and taking a moment, before I put pressure on the throttle and stand from my seat, picking up speed, but not so much that Ringo can’t keep up.

  We stick close to the outskirts of the bay, and as soon as I have Winstable in my sights, I don’t take my eyes off it, doing everything I can not to let my anger rule me. The place my father built when I was fifteen, my childhood haven, now being used to hold abducted women? Lord, have mercy on my soul, I will butcher them all, and when I find out who bought it? Who fooled me into standing down? My teeth clench.

  Calm.

  I shut off the engine when I’m a few feet offshore and let the current carry me onto the pebbles next to the jetty. “Fucking hell,” Ringo mutters, eyeing the disintegrating wood. “If the current picks up and pulls the boat, this thing is collapsing and going under.” He gingerly steps onto the wood and leaves some extra rope before winding it around a stray post, the sturdiest he can find, which still isn’t too sturdy.

  “Will it hold?” I ask, stepping onto the shore. My boots land a few feet away, courtesy of Goldie, followed by James’s and Brad’s too.

  “Pray,” he grunts, and I do, stepping on board to help Otto drag the loaded ski closer.

  “What’s inside?” he asks, steadying it as I reach for the catch at the back and release it.

  “I don’t know.” I let the hydraulic levers slowly hiss their way up.

  “So it’s like a Pick N Mix for criminals?” he asks, and I chuckle, but quickly stop when I remember . . .

  “Fuck off,” I snap.

  “Easy, son,” Otto mutters, pulling out a harpoon.

  Son? My nostrils flare, and I grab an AK47, pointing it his way. It’s not loaded, but he’ll get the gist.

  “Boys!” Goldie hisses, smacking my gun away, followed by Otto’s harpoon. “I’ll kill you both myself.”

  I snarl, as does Otto, and we get back to business, passing back all the weapons and loading up. “Higham’s five minutes away,” Ringo says, holding his phone between his teeth while he slips bullets into a magazine.

  I start jogging along the shoreline, getting more charged the closer I get to Winstable. A few times, I lose my focus and cast my eyes out onto the ocean, seeing me, a young lad, recklessly riding across the water. Then I see me, a grown man, kissing a woman. Then being blown up. Fuck. I realign my focus.

  We make it to the shore, and I spend a moment taking in the drastic change in the landscape close-up. It’s derelict. Tidy, sparse, the land clear, except for the hangar, which makes hiding impossible from this side. The dense bushes and trees remain on the entrance side, hiding the hangar from the road. I hear Ringo’s phone chime quietly and look at him. He nods. Everyone locks and loads and moves in.

  Then James holds his hand up and we all stop. A man appears, lighting a cigarette. He looks up, spots us, and just as I’m about to fire, James moves in, forcing me to lower my gun. In one swift, stealth move, he grabs the man, applies pressure to his neck, and he’s soon crumpling to the ground, unconscious. We all crowd around his lifeless body. “Don’t ever do that to me,” I say, hearing Brad chuckle. “Wait, I know that face.”

  “The Chameleon.” James looks down at him, his face expressionless but deadly. “So your hunch was right. They’re operating from here.”

  I blow out my cheeks, an icy chill tickling its way down my spine as I kneel and pat down his body. I pull out a VP9. The fuckers. I was right. I was fucking right! I’d love nothing more than to put a bullet between his eyes, but for the sake of keeping our presence undetected, I resist the urge.

  We move forward again, James now leading, and I’m fine with that. The bloke spent years in the shadows, unseen, unheard, and I’m not arrogant enough to admit I could learn a thing or two from The Enigma. And that move back there? He’s showing me how it’s done. It could come in handy when my wife won’t heel.

  “Right,” Otto says flatly from behind me, and James is suddenly moving again, stealth as fuck, somehow making it behind a tall, lanky fucker before he has a chance to raise his gun. He drops like a sack of shit and his Glock lands in James’s waiting hand before it hits the concrete.

  “Good catch,” I say quietly, moving forward, poised, wondering what the fuck Higham is playing at. “Wasn’t he supposed to distract them?” I ask.

  “Left,” Goldie mutters, making James turn quickly, sweeping his leg out, taking another man off his feet. He hits the deck on his back with a thwack, and everyone winces at the sound.

  “I’m changing his name from Rambo,” Brad says. “Meet Bruce.”

  “Wayne?” I ask, accepting the Glock James hands me and dipping, throwing a brutal punch, knocking out James’s latest victim and taking his gun too.

  “Wayne?” Brad asks. “No, Bruce Lee.” He claims the second Glock. “Who the fuck wants to be a rodent?”

  I shrug, just as Otto raises his gun at me. “Are you for real?” I ask, standing taller, raising both of my guns too.

  He steps a fraction to the side and fires, and I flinch, the whoosh of his silencer short and sharp. I look to my right, seeing a pool of blood growing near my feet. “This does not mean you can date my mother.”

  “I don’t want to date her, you moron,” he grunts, pushing past me.

  “Oh, right, so what? You want to love her?”

  He stops, his whole body twitching. “Doesn’t she deserve that?”

  “Yes, she deserves that, but from someone worthy,” I hiss.

  “And who would that be?” he asks, facing me. “In your world, Danny, who the fuck do you expect to swoop in and take care of her? A school teacher? An accountant? Need I fucking remind you who you are?”

  I snarl, raise my gun . . . and get tackled from the side by Ringo. I stagger a few paces but remain on my feet. “Calm the fuck down and save it for later.” He gets up in my face, furious. “I wouldn’t mind leaving here intact.”

  “Fine.” I push past him, my attention shooting to Goldie when I hear her sharp inhale. She’s opened a door, and whatever is on the other side has stunned her. “What is it?” I rush over, everyone else on my tail, and cautiously peek through the small gap. “The fuck?” I breathe, seeing two rows of beds, perhaps ten in each row, many with women on the dirty, bare mattresses. All with lines into their arms. “Jesus.” I stand, stock-still, and all I see is my wife. My wife as a young girl, and my mum.

  I’m consumed, ruled by the anger rising. “Get them out,” I say on impulse, counting the occupied beds. Ten.

  “Danny, how?” Goldie asks, sounding so fucking torn and disturbed. It’s a fair question. There are too many. Most completely spaced out, drugged up to their eyeballs. They’ll need carrying, and there’s not enough of us.

  “Fuck,” I hiss, moving deeper into the room, feeling everyone at my back, armed, poised, ready to fire, whereas my gun is limp by my side, shock keeping it there.

  “We can come back,” she says, an attempt to pacify me.

  “We can’t come back.” James steps forward, assessing the lines of beds. “There’s two unconscious men and a dead body out there.”

  I look to my left when I hear a murmur and see a young woman writhing on a bed, distressed. I stalk over and remove the line from her arm, bending over her body. Her eyes open and widen, disturbed when she sees me. “No,” she mumbles. “No, please.” Her accent is thick, but I can’t place it.

  I hush her, trying to settle her down. “You’re going to be okay.”

  “We have to let the police take them in,” Otto says.

  “Agreed.” James moves in. “But in not so long, we’re going to be discovered and all these young girls will get caught in the crossfire.”

  “So, what?”

  “We take them,” I say, starting to work my way through the young women, gently pulling the lines from their arms one by one, being left no choice but to leave each of their punctures exposed and hope they don’t bleed too much. “Call Doc. Have him ready at the house. We’ll deal with the police when I’ve cleared my head.”

  “Fucking hell,” Brad whispers, joining me, helping remove the lines. “We’ll have to do two trips. Ten extra bodies, Danny.”

  “We’ve got three jet skis. Otto and Goldie can hop on with two of us. Ringo can take the boat. It’ll be a squeeze, but we can do it. We don’t have time to wait.” I look up at James, who nods. He gets it. “Goldie, call Leon and have him close down the boatyard.”

  “And Higham?” Ringo asks.

  “Tell him we need more time.” I pull up the eyelids of the girl in the final bed on the first row and look into her comatose eyes. Blue eyes that look black from the sheer level of dilation. I see a million flashbacks in the dark, lifeless pits. “At least half an hour.” I need to pull my head out of my arse and get this done before I grab my gun and shoot to kill.

  “Done,” Ringo joins us, assessing each girl. “Can any walk?”

  “If you’d been pumped full of sedatives for fuck knows how long, would you be able to walk?” I ask, dipping and picking up the girl and getting her onto my shoulder, placing one arm over her thighs and keeping my other free. Armed. “Goldie stays here to keep an eye. One of us stays at the other end when we get there. That leaves four of us to get ten girls out of here. We’ve got some working out to do. Get moving.”

  “Fucking hell,” Ringo sighs, claiming a girl, as do the others. Never before have I been so grateful that I work out.

  After the first drop, Otto, the oldest and most indignant about it, stays behind to watch the girls while James, Brad, Ringo and I file back like ants, all of us blowing out of our arses already, to collect the remaining girls. I’m not clockwatching, but I know we’re close to the wire.

  “Time,” I call back to Ringo as I jog along the ragged cove back to the hangar.

  “He’s lost their attention. They’re all filing back in.”

  “Fuck!” I yell, my pace naturally picking up. I reach the back of the hangar, just as Goldie flies out of the door.

  “Time’s up.”

  “I’m not leaving without all of them.”

  “You’ll get us all killed, Danny.”

  I hold up my gun, looking at her, and I see the moment she realizes I’m unmoving. She blinks slowly, inhales, and matches my pose. She could go. Tell me to go fuck myself. What the fuck does she care about those women? Her life, James’s life, all of our lives are precious. But, and it’s a small mercy, we’re not animals. Inhumane. Rapists. “There’s two doors fifty feet from the beds,” she says. “One’s bolted, the other ajar. They’ll come through there.”

  “How many?”

  “Fifteen, at least.”

  “Go,” I order, and she runs back inside, covering the door, while we go to the final bed. James heaves a blonde onto his shoulder, Ringo a brunette, and Brad moves in on a black-haired girl, and all I can think is that these fuckers are clearly trying to cater for every taste. I look down at the pasty, washed-out face of the blonde before me, and her eyes flutter open. The glassy pools are blank.

  “Brace,” Goldie says lowly, prompting me to get moving, lifting her floppy body onto my shoulder and turning to face the door, holding up my gun. I hear laughter from the other side, rough foreign voices. I sneer, willing them through the door so I can blow out their sick minds.

  “We have one more,” Brad hisses, going to the final bed. “Fuck!”

  “I can’t carry and cover.” Goldie looks between us and the door.

  “She’s awake.” Brad dips. “Can you walk for me?” he asks. “I’ll help you.”

  She nods, it’s strained, and she starts to push herself up, losing her balance constantly, her arms lifting to steady herself. I wince and look away when her ragged tank slips down her arms, revealing breasts tinged purple and yellow. Fuck me. I swallow, blinking away the vision of the bruises decorating Rose’s back when I met her. Brad helps the redhead, easing her top up to save her dignity, all the while holding the other woman on his shoulder, leaving him unarmed.

  “Let’s go,” James grunts, leading the way out, looking back at Goldie. She’s closed the door and pushed a nearby bed up against it, buying us some time. “Goldie, move it.”

  “I’m coming.” She jogs across the open space, the thuds of her boots echoing around the vast room, and just as she reaches us, the sound of metal scrapping concrete sounds along with a collection of rushed, foreign words.

  Curses.

  Then, gunfire.

  Then, screams.

  I spin, raising my gun, having a split-second check that everyone is behind me before I squeeze the trigger and send bullets raining as I walk backward. It’s our only option with no cover. Nothing to shield us. I roar, the muscles in my arm burning from holding my position, my shoulder aching from holding the woman.

  “Back up,” James yells, appearing beside me, his shoulder bare. A quick glance to Goldie tells me he’s handed her the woman he was carrying. He has two machine guns. Two belts. Endless bullets, and he sprays them, the guns drifting effortlessly from side to side, ensuring he covers every inch of space. Men drop like flies before me as they run through the doorway, too eager to be a hero, insufficiently armed.

  The yells and screams persist, chaos at every turn. It’s all happening in slow motion but at lightning speed. I make it outside and drop my gun, using both hands to hold the woman as I jerk my shoulder, getting her slipping body back into place. I look back and see Brad helping the stumbling, dazed, redhead along while struggling to keep another unconscious woman on his shoulder.

  “Get moving, Danny,” Ringo barks as he jogs past, the woman on his shoulder now awake, alert, and crying.

  James appears out of the hangar, slamming the door and pushing his back up against it while he reloads. “There’s five more,” he pants, knackered. “I can hold them.”

  “Fuck that,” I say over a labored laugh. “Get your Rambo arse in gear now.”

  He turns a snarl onto me. “I work better alone, now fuck off and let me deal with this.” His eyes meet mine, and I try so fucking hard to push friendship aside and remember who James is. The Enigma.

  “Fuck!” I bark. “Brad, you good?” I go back to him, taking over with the redhead so he can get a better hold of the woman he’s carrying.

  “We need to up our game in the gym,” he pants, shifting, reclaiming the woman from me and breaking out in a steady jog, taking the lead. He looks down at her bare feet. At the rocks and uneven ground we’re treading.

  “Blank it out,” he says, and she looks at him. “You can do it.”

  She frowns, and it occurs to me that she probably can’t even understand him. But her pace increases, so perhaps she does. I look back, seeing James still against the metal door, his body jerking with every jar from the other side. He looks up at me, just as I round a corner, losing sight of him.

  And then, gunfire.

  I exhale, grit my teeth, and focus on getting the women to safety. We make it to the boat and skis, and Otto is literally hanging on to the rocky cove by his fingertips, the jetty in pieces of rotten wood floating around the boat. He says what I knew he would the moment he sees me.

  “Where is he?” he growls, looking past me as Brad helps the redhead into the boat before we both lay the women on our shoulders down. I see many of the others are coming around, looking absolutely terrified. “Where the fuck is he, Danny?”

  I take a fresh pistol from the loaded ski, the only one left, and check the magazine. “You go,” I say to no one but everyone.

  “What?” Brad grunts, standing tall, rolling his shoulder. “No.”

  I turn sober eyes onto him. “Go,” I demand, and everyone looks between each other, waiting for another protest. “Take James’s ski.”

  Ringo, reluctant, gets on and starts the engine, looking to Goldie in instruction to get moving, then to Otto, who releases the rock he’s clinging to, allowing the tide to carry the boat out. He starts the engine and gives me a look that tells me I’m dead if I don’t bring James back.

  I believe it.

  “I’ll see you in a minute,” Brad says, and for a moment I think he’s talking to me, but then he appears by my side, checking the chamber of a rifle. “Say one word,” he pants. “I’ll fucking shoot you.”

  Again, I believe it.

  And I haven’t got time to waste trying to reason with him.

  I nod and get on my jet ski, Brad jumping on his, and as soon as the current has turned me, I slam down on the throttle and head around the cove toward James. It takes only a few seconds to make it to him, and I find him still with his back to the door. “I’m out,” he yells, tossing his guns aside and forcing farther back into the metal door. I turn my ski and keep just enough pressure on the throttle to counteract the current and remain stationary. I look back at James, nodding.

  “So we’re stuntmen now, are we?” Brad asks, locking and loading.

  “Hey, Rambo Junior,” James bellows, easing off the door a little, revealing endless bumps from endless bullets. “Don’t miss.”

  Brad laughs. It’s sardonic. “Ready when you are.”