Page 105 of What Doesn't Kill You…

"He usually brings six and leaves one with the boat." His face was lined and tight from the pain.

Twelve against two, if you didn't count the men outside the building. Wait, she'd already killed a couple of guards, so it was ten against two. Much better.

"Anything else I should know?" Violet asked.

His eyes were filled with hatred. "Only that you're gonna die tonight, bitch."

Violet sighed before waving a hand at Alan. "Put him to sleep," she ordered.

He promptly caught the guard in a chokehold, cutting off his oxygen until he passed out.

"Let's go," she said once he was done.

Alan followed her back out into the hallway. She appreciated that he didn't ask her to explain what they were doing. Instead, he just followed orders. Strange as it seemed, he was one of the best partners she'd had in a long time.

Violet's plan was simple. She intended on sneaking up to the sitting room, cracking the door, videoing Damien and his mysterious partner, and then getting the hell out of the mansion. Every minute she was stuck inside was a minute Max was alone in the storm. And she had a very bad feeling about Max being out there alone, he had a tendency to attract trouble. Yeah, the sooner she got back to him, the better.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Abasi had been ordered to cover Damien's private dock, but seeing as all it held was an empty boat and one bored guard, he didn't see the point in wasting time on it. So, he knocked out the guard, tied him up and shoved him in a closet, then disabled the boat. After that, he went to check out the flower warehouse. Now, that was much more interesting.

It was easy to take out the warehouse's security cameras. The storm covered the gunshots. It also provided more than enough noise for him to pick the lock and sneak inside without alerting anyone to his presence. Not that there was anybody there to see him. The place was empty, apart from a light coming from beneath the secure room at the back of the building.

He made his way toward it, surrounded by hundreds of flowers. The scent hit his senses like a battering ram, and he was thankful he didn't suffer from allergies. Abasi had never understood the allure of cut flowers. By definition they were dying as soon as they'd been removed from the plant. Why would you give someone something that was dying? It didn't make sense to him.

He made his way straight to the secure room and deftly picked that lock too. All the while, shaking his head at the piss-poor security Damien had in place. The guy wouldn't have lasted two minutes on the London crime scene. With a sigh of disgust, he opened the door and promptly shot the only guard stationed inside square in the head. A woman screamed and Abasi held up a finger to his lips to shush her. She instantly fell silent. So did her four companions.

The women were dressed only in their underwear, with bare feet and hair tied back. None of them looked damaged or under duress. Although, they were pretty damn freaked out at his sudden appearance.

Abasi gestured to the wall that didn't have stainless steel tables running along its length.

"Line up over there," he ordered. "And keep your hands up where I can see them."

They rushed to obey.

"Are there more guards?" he asked as he prowled the room, taking in Damien's drug smuggling set up.

“Not tonight,” one of the women said. “There’s an important meeting and the boss needed the men.”

There were bags of white powder at one end of the tables, which were used to fill much smaller bags before they were attached to bouquets of flowers and put in boxes, ready to be shipped out in the morning.

Still keeping an eye on the women, and his gun aimed their way, Abasi lifted one of the smaller bags and read the printing on it—plant food. Cute. He strode to the wall of boxes, stacked near the roller door at the back of the room and opened the nearest box. Sure enough, there was a bouquet with a bag of food taped to the stems. He read the labels on the boxes. They were all destined for America.

"How many boxes do you send to America daily?" he asked the women.

The one nearest him answered. "Maybe one hundred, two. I don't know for sure. Our job is to fill the bags and we only do that at night. The men take care of the deliveries in the mornings."

"That's a couple of hundred boxes with drugs," Abasi asked. "I’m guessing they go out as part of a much larger shipment that isn’t laced with product?”

"Yes," she said.

Abasi let out a whistle. There's no way they could ship that much into the US without bribing the hell out of customs. It made him wonder about the DEA agent who'd been working undercover. Surely, he'd have told his handlers about an operation this size? They should have raided the island before now. It didn't make sense, unless the guy was on Damien's payroll.

He gave some thought to the women. "Are you paid to work here or forced to?"

The one nearest him wet her lips. "They pay good wages."

At least that was something. People deserved to get paid for a day's work. No matter what the work looked like. "Okay, where are your clothes?"