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.