by Lori Foster
Up to that point Star had stuck to her role of a carefree, unsuspecting party girl, not overcome with giggles like the one girl, and not fatalistic like the other.
Whatever was said just then got her tight-lipped with some strong emotion that resembled part fear, part rage. Cade couldn’t tell for sure.
In fact, the only thing he knew for certain was that he had to get her out of there. Now.
* * *
STERLING HADN’T BEEN prepared for the double whammy. First, she was introduced to a woman who’d been clearly abused. She appeared to be in her early twenties, either drunk or doped up, with an underlying fear that kept her breathless with panic.
That smack of reality was bad enough, really driving home her precarious position, locked in with monsters and little hope for escape. It reminded her too much of another time when she’d been locked in a room.
She’d been young and helpless then.
This time, she wasn’t.
Knowing the danger and hoping to spare someone else the things she’d suffered, she’d gone into this with eyes wide-open—though admittedly with no solid plan or exit strategy.
On the heels of that first surprise was the second shocker, the one that really did her in.
Mattox Symmes. Twelve years had passed since she’d had to see the cruel sneer on his wet lips. Twelve years since he’d looked at her with those dead brown eyes as if she weren’t a flesh-and-blood person.
Twelve years that she’d used to grow stronger, braver, to bury the past and give purpose to her present. She’d never thought to see him again, though she’d often thought of killing him, dreamed of killing him.
Still built like a freezer with legs and arms, and just as brutish as she remembered. His shoulders stretched the seams of his dress shirt, his neck too thick for the collar. The receding silver hair made his forehead seem more prominent. His gut was more prominent, too.
And he still looked at her like merchandise. But...he didn’t seem to recognize her!
Needing to know for sure, she held out a limp hand and summoned up a careless smile. “Hello, there. I’m Francis.” She waited for him to correct her, to say he knew the name was a lie.
Instead, he took her hand and smiled. “Now, aren’t you a nice present.”
Oh. Dear. God. Mattox was the man she was supposed to cheer up?
No. Hell no. She couldn’t do it.
Entertaining him was not on her agenda. Cutting his throat, yes. Cheering him up, not so much.
She knew she had to come up with a real plan—fast.
The effort to retrieve her hand only got her fingers crushed. He tugged her closer. “Have we met before?”
Her heart lodged in her throat, making her short laugh sound borderline hysterical. “Pretty sure we haven’t. I think I would have remembered you.”
“Hmm.” He continued to study her, his dead eyes appraising. “How long have you been in the area?”
“My whole life.” Another lie, since she’d moved here after escaping. When had he relocated? Or did he have contacts all over the country? A morbid thought.
Sterling told herself that she’d changed, not just emotionally, but physically, too. At seventeen she’d been skinny, with dyed purple hair, a ring in her lip and an excess of dramatic makeup.
Her rebellious stage, as her drug-addicted mother had called it when she was clearheaded enough to notice what her daughter looked like, which wasn’t often.
“I think I would have remembered, as well,” Mattox finally said, before towing her over to a chair so he could sit. The chair groaned under his weight. Sprawling out his tree-trunk thighs, he freed her fingers, yet she didn’t dare move.
In the locked room, where could she go? The windows behind her were accessible, but too high for her to get through quickly, even if she managed to break one before getting grabbed. Smith and his crony stood there grinning by the door. The bruised girl silently wept while the other couldn’t stop snickering over everything. It was almost more than Sterling could take.
Besides, if she tried to move away, he’d react as all predators did, by capturing, subduing. Devouring. He would enjoy her fear. It would probably provide the entertainment he wanted.
“Goddamn,” Mattox suddenly complained. “We have one too many in here.” He gestured at Smith.
Smith roughly grabbed the laughing woman and put her on the other side of the door, where a guard all but dragged her away. Only then did the woman start to protest.
Her humor wouldn’t last. Not for a second did Sterling think they’d let the woman go, and eventually the drugs would wear off. Best chance of her survival? If Sterling managed to kill these three men and whoever else was involved.
As Smith again closed and locked the door, her tension coiled with familiar emotions. The sense of helplessness. The burning hatred.
“Now.” Mattox sat back and laced his fingers over his gut. “You two can strip down. Make it quick, because I’m short on time.”
The other girl openly sobbed as she hurriedly stripped off her sandals and pants, tripping herself twice and making the men laugh. Fucking pigs. Sterling contemplated kicking Mattox in the nuts—but that would only get her killed.
Did Cade’s brother have a plan? Or was he just visiting the bar for his own hookup? He hadn’t left when she’d told him to, so did he know this was a location for buying and selling women? He’d seemed sharp, and Cade was most definitely more than a mere bartender.
“Jesus, Adela. Quit that caterwauling,” Smith ordered, giving her a shove that sent her into the wall.
Adela. It was the first time Sterling had heard her name. How long had she been here?
Long enough to be scared witless, obviously.
Somehow, someway, she’d get herself and the other girl out of this. Until a genius plan occurred to her, she’d just have to play along. If she could distract them, maybe they’d leave Adela alone.
“So,” she said, shrugging the unbuttoned shirt off one shoulder and shimmying so her boobs bounced. “How about I do this slow, like a tease? Would you like that?” It might give her an opportunity to get the knife from her boot. If nothing else, she could straddle Mattox’s lap and use her necklace blade to slit his throat.
She’d tucked the necklace inside her T-shirt, but even if he saw it, he wouldn’t recognize it as a weapon. It looked like nothing more than a decorative metal medallion on a long chain, but by the push of a small button, the disk opened to reveal a curved, razor-sharp blade that when used correctly would be deadly.
She knew how to use it, and here, in this moment, she wouldn’t bat an eye at ending Mattox.
The impatient bastard showed his teeth in an evil smile. “No, I don’t think I want to wait. Take off both tops.” He stared into her eyes, the smile vanishing. “Now.”
Well, hell. She tried to tease, but a tremor had entered her voice when she said, “Anxious for the goods, huh? Fine by me, but when do I get my money? I was told I’d be paid for this little performance, and I prefer cash up front.”
Smith snorted. “Let’s wait and see if you’re worth it.” Softer, he complained, “Adela sure as fuck wasn’t, were you, doll?” He reached for the girl, who screamed. Sterling turned, prepared to attack him despite the consequences—and suddenly a chunk of concrete crashed through one of the windows, sending glass everywhere. A second later, the lights went out.
Chaos erupted with Adela shrieking and the men cursing as they lumbered around, but Sterling seized the opportunity. In a practiced move, she swiped the knife from her boot and stabbed toward the chair where Mattox had been sitting.
Her knife sank deep...into chair padding. How the hell had such a big man moved so quickly? Putting herself behind that chair, Sterling listened to the sounds of a vicious fight ensuing, trying to place bodies.
She couldn’t see dick and wasn’t ab
out to use the flashlight on her phone, knowing that’d only draw attention to her. Hearing Adela’s whimpers, she felt her way along the wall until she reached the girl.
Someone hit the floor in front of them, and what sounded like another body crashed into the wall where she’d just been. Whoever did the demolishing did so silently, efficiently.
Oh, she heard the grunts and groans of the men going down, but from the big shadow doing the damage? Not a peep.
Her hand closed around Adela’s arm. The door behind her opened to let two more men charge in. Out in the bar, she heard pandemonium break out with panicked shouts and a lot of scrambling bodies, probably in a rush for the exit.
“Come on,” Sterling said, dragging Adela with her. It surprised her that the girl didn’t fight her, didn’t resist in any way, and she’d stopped sobbing. Maybe because escape seemed imminent.
Someone ran into them, almost knocking Sterling over, but she managed to keep her feet. She dragged Adela along until she felt the doorknob for the men’s room that she’d noted when they’d led her down the hallway. Inside, the room was dark and foul, but Sterling didn’t slow. On the opposite wall, the light of a streetlamp filtered through a grungy window.
“Let’s get out of here, okay?” She didn’t wait for Adela to answer.
The window was narrow, and it opened out instead of up, but she’d figure it out. She released Adela, then shoved the knife back into her boot to use both hands to force the rusted knob to turn. Knowing they could be found at any moment, her heart thundered and her palms sweat.
“I can’t go,” Adela whispered.
“What?” The window creaked ominously, like a special effect in a horror movie, opening inch by inch. “It’ll be fine. You’ll see. I can hoist you up first.”
“No, I can’t. They’ll kill me.”
Why did she have to get stubborn now? “They can’t kill you when we’re gone,” Sterling reasoned. “I promise, I’ll get you someplace safe.”
“Your house?”
What? Since she wasn’t about to reveal her own private location, she said, “No. I know another place—”
“I can’t risk it.” Adela drew a breath. “I should stay. We both should.”
Terror did strange things to people, sometimes paralyzing them with the worry of repercussions. Sterling understood that, but she wasn’t quite sure how to overcome it.
At least Adela wasn’t sobbing anymore. Wasn’t hysterical, either.
Someone shouted from the hallway. A flashlight shone from beneath the door.
“We have to go now,” Sterling whispered, reaching for the vague outline of Adela’s body.
The girl backed away. “No. No, I can’t.”
“At least take this.” Sterling fished a card from her pocket and thrust it toward Adela. “It’s my number—in case you change your mind.” The card had a phone number but nothing else. It wouldn’t lead anyone to her, but it could be a link to freedom for a victim.
She’d handed out those cards a dozen times in recent years.
Adela took it, then opened the door and yelled, “I’m here!”
Hating herself for failing, mired in regret that she couldn’t help Adela, Sterling turned and, with one boot on the edge of the sink, hoisted herself up and through the partially opened window. She scraped her spine along the edge of the casing, her hip and thigh, too, before kicking and wiggling to land hard on her side on the rough gravel drive. Something cut through her jeans. Her palm cracked on a solid surface, and one of her fingers bent unnaturally.
For a moment, in her crumpled position, her body couldn’t assimilate the pain. Then feeling rushed in, and with it a welcoming wave of adrenaline.
Too bad she didn’t know where Reyes had gone. She had to admit to herself she wouldn’t mind some muscle right about now. Unfortunately, in the dark chaos, she couldn’t attempt to find him. She was on her own, so she had to get to it.
Teeth locked, she lumbered to her feet and took off awkwardly, running as fast as she could down an alley, behind two abandoned buildings, through a parking lot and finally to the main thoroughfare. A stitch in her side kept her half doubled over—and then she noticed the blood.
Ignore that for now. Ignore the people gawking, too.
Focused only on escape, Sterling hobbled toward the lot where she’d parked her car several blocks away from Misfits. She hadn’t wanted to risk being followed, but she hadn’t planned on leaving battered, either. Despite the expanding pain, she walked a wide path around the car, ensuring no one paid her undue attention, before taking the key from her boot and unlocking the driver’s door.
As always, she checked the back seat, saw it remained empty and dropped behind the wheel. She hit the door locks first and then, with shaking hands, started the black Fiesta she drove when she wasn’t in her rig.
What had happened with Cade’s brother? Was he still in the bar? Was he the one who’d caused the ruckus?
For only a second, she considered circling back to make sure he was okay, but when she raised her hand to the steering wheel and saw her unnaturally bent finger, another slice of pain jolted her. Right now, she couldn’t help anyone.
She stepped on the gas and hoped that Cade was there, watching out for his brother.
She had his number at home, and once she recovered, she’d call him. She had so many unanswered questions...
But for now, she only wanted to put distance between her and Misfits. A couple of miles out, she pulled in to a well-lit Walmart parking lot and slowly worked off her loose shirt to tie it around her bleeding thigh. God, with her mangled finger, getting it done really hurt, but even without tightening much, it’d stem some of the bleeding.
By the time she got home, she felt like one giant pulsing bruise. She still used extreme caution in going up to her place, every step a trial of determination.
As usual, the apartment building was quiet and she didn’t run into anyone. Severely limping now, she forced herself to keep to her routine, checking the doors, beneath the bed and in the closets, before staggering into the bathroom.
Under the bright fluorescent lights, she freed the shirt from around her thigh and winced. A chunk of glass embedded in her skin left an inch-wide puncture. Seeing the mess she’d already made on the floor, she more or less collapsed into the bathtub.
With a harsh groan, she caught the edge of the protruding glass with blood-slick fingers and, gritting her teeth, slowly pulled it free. Swamped with self-pity, she tossed it toward the garbage can. More blood blossomed on her jeans.
Two slow, deep breaths helped, as did her lame pep talk. You’re okay. Everything will heal.
For now, you’re safe.
She needed to clean the wound or she’d be facing bigger problems, like infection or even blood poisoning. There was no one to do it for her, hadn’t been anyone for too many years to count—if ever.
Stripping off her clothes caused more than a few guttural groans, as well as a light sheen of sweat. Her lace-up boots and tight jeans especially proved difficult. Stupid skinny jeans. She hadn’t been skinny in a very long time, and it took a major incentive to get her to wear anything that uncomfortable.
Killing a human trafficker topped her list, but still...
It took every ounce of agonizing grit she possessed to get naked. Panting with the effort, her clothes in a heap on the other side of the tub, Sterling inspected the damage.
Black-and-blue swelling bruises marred her skin from her waist to her ankle. Christ, no wonder she hurt. If only Adela hadn’t balked, if only she’d gotten that window open a little more. Failure left a bitter taste in her mouth.
She didn’t want to move, but what choice did she have? It hurt like hell, but she could bend her leg, so she assumed it wasn’t broken.
Slowly sitting upright, she turned on the shower and, once the water warmed, inched
forward to sit under the spray, her forehead resting on her knees. At some point she must have zoned out. She didn’t know how long she’d sat there, but the lack of hot water revived her. Teeth clenched, she carefully washed her thigh. When she reached to turn off the water, renewed pain seized her.
Her finger. With so many aches to choose from, she’d all but forgotten about the ring finger on her right hand. Looking at it now, she knew she’d dislocated it in her fall.
Switching to her left hand, keeping her right tucked close to her body, she shut off the shower and, leaning heavily on the wall, managed to get upright. Her thigh continued to ooze blood, so she dried it as best she could and applied several butterfly bandages, then wrapped it in gauze.
Rather than get her bed wet, she eased her injured hand through the sleeve of her big terry robe, wrapped it around her and gimped her way to the couch, where she curled up. Exhausted, she thankfully slept.
CHAPTER FOUR
CADE TRIED CALLING HER. He even tried tapping quietly on her door. It was two in the morning, far from a decent hour to call on someone, but he was surprised he’d lasted this long without getting hold of her.
He and Reyes had rounded up several women, as well as Smith and his cohort, but they’d lost sight of both Star and the young woman who’d been with her. That bastard Mattox had gotten away, too, and it tortured Cade thinking he might have Star. His sister was on it, and she’d locate Mattox eventually—when it might be too late.
No, he couldn’t accept that, so here he was, checking Star’s apartment and praying she was safely inside.
He knocked again, hard enough that a neighbor stuck her head out and cursed him.
Somewhere between eighty and ninety, eyeglasses askew, hair frazzled, cranky and nowhere near properly dressed, the woman snapped, “What the hell are you doing?”
Great. Not what he needed right now. “My apologies, ma’am.”