Seven Crows

by Kate Kessler

  “Wuss,” she teased. “She was sitting on my lap for Christ’s sake.”

  “Do we clean her up or leave evidence?”

  Killian knew which she’d want were she the one on the sofa. “I gotta think it’s all compromised anyway. And you’re right: it’s going to be hard enough for her parents without seeing her like this.”

  “I’ll run a bath,” he said, and disappeared down the hall.

  Killian knelt beside the sofa. “Madallya?” She shook the girl’s shoulder. “Sweetie?”

  “Mm?” Thick eyelashes fluttered. “Hey, Aunt Killy.”

  “Hey. I’m going to call your parents to come get you, okay?”

  “Okay.” A tear slipped from one of her eyes. “They’re going to be so mad.”

  “No, they’re not, honey. I guarantee it.” Because if they were she’d personally put both of them in traction. “We’re going to get you cleaned up first. Madallya, is there anything else you can think of that might help me?”

  The girl looked at her, overplucked brows drawing together. “Yeah. Yeah, there is.” She rolled to her side, presenting Killian with her back. “On my hip. He said it was a message for you.”

  She’d ask who “he” was if she weren’t so certain she already knew. Besides, Wex wouldn’t have been stupid enough to reveal his name to her, in case she made it to the police.

  Carefully, Killian lifted the soiled slip and revealed Madallya’s thighs. She wasn’t wearing underwear, and her young skin was bruised and marked, smeared with blood and God knew what else. She lifted the slip higher and then she saw it. It wasn’t big, but it was big enough that she could clearly make out every digit.

  Someone had carved a phone number into her. The cuts were already infected and oozing beneath the scabs. Killian’s jaw tightened, her back teeth grinding together. She pulled her phone from her pocket and took a picture of the wound. “Did he say anything else, sweetie?”

  The girl shook her head. “I don’t think so. I can’t remember.”

  Killian pulled the slip back down. “How about a bath?”

  “Okay.”

  Dash already had the tub running in the guest bathroom and a couple of fluffy towels set out. He came down the corridor with a pair of women’s leggings and an oversize fleece sweater and set them on top of the toilet. Killian didn’t ask where he’d gotten them. She didn’t care.

  “You want something to eat, sweetie?” he asked Madallya.

  She nodded, avoiding his gaze.

  “Great. I’ll make you a grilled cheese.”

  Her eyes lifted a fraction. “That’s my favorite.”

  He and Killian exchanged a glance. He handed her a large ziplock bag. “Put what she’s wearing in here. At least it will be some evidence.”

  When he was gone, Killian closed the door and helped Madallya undress. She was filthy and bruised. Someone had bit her right breast and there was a cigarette burn on her stomach. Fucking animals. But she sighed when she got into the bath, trembling and weak. Killian washed her as gently as she could and still get her clean. She also shampooed and conditioned her hair. Then she helped the girl out of the skanky water, dried her, and helped her dress.

  “You want to lie down on a bed or back on the couch?”

  “Where are you going to be?”

  “The living room.”

  “I want to be with you.”

  Killian nodded. She put her arm around Madallya’s waist and guided her back to the sofa. Dash had already removed the towels from the cushions and set out a thick blanket for her to wrap up in. Killian was just getting her cocooned when Dash came in with the sandwich and a cup of tea. Still foggy from the drugs, Madallya slowly took a bite.

  Killian watched as she chewed and swallowed. “I’m going to call your parents now.”

  Madallya’s eyes widened. “Will you stay until they get here?”

  She really needed to get back out there and look for Shannon, but there was no way she could walk away from the kid. “Sure.”

  A tear slipped down the girl’s cheek. “Thank you.”

  “They’re going to pay for this,” Killian assured her. “Every last one.”

  Madallya’s gaze locked with hers. “Promise?”

  Killian took her hand. “I promise.”

  The girl closed her eyes. “Good.” Then her eyes opened again. “I remember something. One of the guys said Shannon wasn’t to be touched because she was meant for someone else.”

  “Did they say who?”

  Madallya thought for a moment. “Rick? Rand?”

  Killian’s heart gave a thump, even though she’d known all along it was going to come to this. “Rank?”

  “That’s it. They’re going to give her to Rank. Is that bad?”

  It was the worst, but Killian forced a smile. “I’m going to bring Shannon home. Don’t you worry about her.”

  “Shan’s lucky to have an aunt like you.”

  She couldn’t hold the smile any longer, so she patted the girl on the shoulder and went to the other side of the room to call the girl’s parents. Lucky, huh. The only way Shannon could be lucky was if Killian wasn’t in her life at all.

  After making Madallya’s food, Dash jumped in the shower. When he came out, dressed in fresh jeans and a sweater, Killian offered him a grilled cheese as well. She ate her own sandwich as she cooked.

  “She looks like a burrito,” Dash commented, glancing from the kitchen to the girl asleep on his couch.

  “She liked the blanket,” Killian replied with a faint smile.

  “She can keep it,” he said.

  Killian plopped his sandwich onto a plate. “I promised her we’d make them pay.”

  “We will,” he assured her. “Did you get her parents?”

  “They’re on their way.”

  His gaze lingered on her. “Hey, why don’t you go grab a shirt out of my closet? Yours has nastiness all over it.”

  He was right, and she didn’t think she had any more clothes in the car. “Mind if I do some laundry?”

  He shook his head. “Go for it. I’ll put coffee on. Her parents might need it.”

  Killian found a long-sleeved black T-shirt in his closet and pulled it over her head after removing her own. Then she gathered up the dirty clothes from the bag in her car and tossed them in the washer. She had just finished transferring them to the dryer when Madallya’s parents arrived.

  Hank lay on the floor in front of the sofa where Madallya was wrapped in her flannel cocoon. He stood up when the strangers entered his domain, but remained silent.

  “You must be Killian,” the woman said, coming forward. “I’m Emmanie. This is my husband, Tye.” Then she saw her daughter on the sofa, and her face crumpled.

  Tye put his arm around his wife, who pulled herself together. “Baby, you okay?” she asked.

  Madallya nodded, but her gaze was unfocused from sleep and the drugs left in her system.

  “She will be,” Killian answered for her. “Can I get the two of you coffee? We can talk in the kitchen.”

  They followed her from the room. In the kitchen they had a clear view of the sofa. Dash took Madallya a hot chocolate and turned the TV on. It didn’t matter what she watched; the noise was more so she didn’t hear their conversation.

  “What happened to her?” Emmanie asked, eyes wide. “Where did you find her?”

  Killian poured coffee into the mugs on the table in front of them before filling her own and Dash’s. “Madallya and Shannon were at a party Saturday night. Has Madallya ever mentioned someone named Cody?”

  Emmanie nodded. “She said he was Shannon’s boyfriend or something.”

  “Something,” Killian agreed. “He’s an asshole who got himself in trouble with some bikers for drugs. He paid off a debt with the girls.”

  The couple looked at her in confusion. “He did what?” Tye asked.

  Killian sighed. There was really no point in sparing them anything—not if Madallya was going to get the help she n
eeded. “Cody owed money to the Sons of Bitches—bikers. He gave Madallya and Shannon to Wex, the leader of that club, so he could traffic them.”

  “Dear Jesus,” Emmanie exclaimed softly.

  “Yeah. They’re the lowest of the low. Tonight, while I was looking for Shannon, I found Madallya at a brothel in Hartford called Annie’s.” She mentioned only herself, because that kept it simple.

  “A brothel?” Tye covered his mouth with his hand.

  Reaching out with both arms, Killian took both of their hands. “There’s no easy way to tell you this. Madallya has been raped, repeatedly. She’s also been kept drugged. She’s going to need medical attention as well as psychological treatment to combat what’s been done to her.”

  “Oh my poor baby.” Emmanie wiped at her eyes with fingers topped with long, glossy nails. “Why would someone do such a thing?”

  “Because they’re horrible,” Dash told them. “And because they can.”

  “I need you not to mention me to the police when you talk to them,” Killian said.

  They blinked in unison, looking even more confused. “Why?” Tye asked.

  “Has Madallya told you about me? Or Shannon?”

  He shook his head, and Killian expelled a heavy breath. “Tye, Emmanie, I’m on parole. Nine years ago I got into some trouble. Trouble related to the gang who took the girls. If the police find out I’ve gone anywhere near any of this…well, it won’t be good for me, and I still have to find Shannon.”

  The woman’s fingers tightened around her own. “She wasn’t there?”

  “No.” And she wasn’t about to wonder where she might be and what might be happening to her.

  “Dear God,” Emmanie whispered. “Poor Megan. Poor you. What can we do?”

  Their kindness was going to kill her. “Just take care of Madallya, and tell the police that she escaped the brothel when it caught fire. She managed to call you, and you picked her up in Hartford.” She gave them the name of a street not far from the brothel where there were a lot of stores and restaurants and people around. Madallya could have borrowed a stranger’s phone.

  Emmanie still held on to her. “I don’t know how we can ever repay you for finding our baby.”

  “You don’t need to. I just wish I’d found her sooner. I’m so sorry for what’s been done to her. I feel responsible.”

  “Hush. You are no more responsible for the vileness in someone’s heart than you are for the sun shining.”

  “But the man who took her wanted revenge on me.”

  Tye’s jaw clenched as he looked down at his cup. “We could blame you so we don’t have to blame ourselves. That would be easy to do, I won’t lie. But you didn’t hand those babies over to those men, and you brought our girl home when the police hadn’t been able to find her. I got to think that’s worth something.”

  “I wish I’d found her sooner.”

  The couple nodded. “I wish we’d never let her go out that night,” Emmanie added. “I wish a lot of things that don’t matter. What are you going to do when you find Shannon?”

  “What I have to.”

  Tye’s gaze locked with hers, and Killian felt like he understood her more than she wanted. “This place that had my baby. It wouldn’t be the place the news said burned down tonight, would it?”

  “It would.”

  He inclined his head. “That’s good. That’s real good.”

  The hand holding hers let go. “We’ll take her now. She needs to get to a hospital.”

  Killian stood when they did, casting a glance at Dash. He gave her a nod before following them into the living room. Killian walked the three of them to the door, Hank trailing behind the edge of Madallya’s blanket, his liquid gaze fastened on the girl.

  “If there’s anything you need…” Killian told Emmanie as Tye took their daughter outside.

  The other woman stopped at the threshold and met her gaze. “His head on a fucking pike?”

  Killian drew back, surprised, but then not surprised at all by the violence in the woman’s tone. Wex had hurt her kid; of course she wanted blood. She gave Emmanie a hard hug.

  “I can do that.”

  Killian had done a lot of things in her life that she wasn’t proud of. A lot of things that made her skin crawl if she thought about them too long, but one of the hardest things she’d ever had to do was call her sister that night and tell Megan that she hadn’t found Shannon.

  Yet.

  Sitting in the dark of Dash’s bedroom, she pressed the edge of her phone to her forehead and closed her eyes. Panic threatened, useless and wild. She wanted to rage. Wanted to snot and bawl and punch a wall until her eyes were swollen shut and her fists were ruined. She wanted to scream.

  She dialed her sister’s number. Megan answered on the first ring. “Did you find her?”

  “Not yet.” She had to force the words out of her mouth. “I will, Meg.”

  “I know you will.” There wasn’t any doubt, just disappointment. “Will he hurt her, Killy?”

  Oh fuck. “He’s more intent on hurting me.” There was no good reason to tell Megan he might use Shannon to do that. Her sister wasn’t stupid. “She’s a tough kid. She’s going to be okay.”

  “I know. She’s like you that way.”

  “You holding up?”

  “As well as I can. Good enough that Willow hasn’t caught on yet.”

  “Then you must be doing pretty good.” The kid seemed to have a built-in radar when it came to upset or trouble.

  “What about you?” her sister asked. “You okay?”

  “Yep. I need to get going. We’re heading out again in a bit.”

  “Oh, Killy.”

  The softness of Megan’s tone brought hot, stinging tears to her eyes. Killian furiously blinked them away. “I’m good, Meg. I’ve got to go, though. I’ll call again real soon. Love you.” She hung up, swiped the back of her hands over her eyes, and stood up.

  “You need anything?” came Dash’s voice from the doorway.

  She glanced at him, standing there. He was silhouetted by the light in the hall, his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans as he leaned one shoulder against the doorframe.

  “I need to find Shannon.”

  He nodded. “I made a few calls. A friend says an SOB was in his bar earlier bragging about taking her.”

  Killian’s eyes narrowed. “What else was he bragging about?”

  To his credit, Dash didn’t avoid her gaze. “You really want me to say it?”

  She nodded. “Exactly as it was said to you.”

  He sighed. “He said he fucked her.”

  “What else?”

  Dash’s face was like granite. “And that her pussy was even sweeter than yours.”

  Fire ignited in Killian’s veins—a sweet, hot rage that burned away all the fear and panic. The heat filled her, chased away the chill. She didn’t have to worry about the worst now, because it had happened—if the SOB was telling the truth. And she knew he was, because she knew exactly who he was. Obviously, he’d forgotten that rage was like her Adderall—it only brought things into sharper focus, honed her concentration.

  “Is he still at your friend’s bar?”

  Dash nodded.

  Killian’s fingers tightened into a fist around her phone, her already bruised knuckles aching beautifully. “Let’s go.”

  Seven

  Stop crying.

  Shannon sniffed and pushed herself up on the dirty mattress. It smelled of beer and unwashed skin. She’d gotten a good whiff when that scary bastard pushed her face into it.

  She’d had a good cry when he was done with her, but she was finished with that. Done with crying. So far, crying hadn’t gotten her shit. Aunt Killy always told her to get angry instead of feeling sorry for herself. Anger was strength. The heroines of her favorite books never sat around crying for themselves. They took matters into their own hands and got their payback.

  She had no idea how to get payback, but anger she could do. Sh
e was angry at Cody for trading her for his debt—not that he was given much of a choice. Angry at her friends for abandoning her. Angry that they’d taken Madallya somewhere else. Angry at God for making her a girl. The only thing she had to be thankful for was the fact that she was on the pill.

  And that Killy would eventually find her.

  Though it might be too late by the time her aunt got there. Shannon couldn’t count on it. Killy was always rescuing her. She’d warned her about Cody, but Shannon hadn’t listened. She hadn’t wanted to believe.

  No, she hadn’t wanted her aunt to be right. She wanted to be right, and she’d ended up being very, very wrong.

  So now what the fuck did she do?

  She wiped her eyes. The makeup she’d worn that weekend was long gone, smudged around her eyes, soaked into that filthy excuse for a bed. Just the thought of it made her itch, her skin crawl.

  Where had they taken Mads? Was she okay? Madallya wasn’t as tough as she pretended to be. She’d pray if she thought it would do any good. Her mother prayed a lot whenever her father was deployed, but Shannon didn’t put much faith in it. What good was prayer going to do against an IED?

  Pleading to God hadn’t done her any good when that asshole had his dick inside her.

  Shannon stood up. Her legs were shaking but reliable. She pulled on her jeans and straightened her shirt. She needed a shower, but that probably wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. Okay, she needed to think.

  The room they put her in wasn’t very big. There wasn’t even a window—just a bare bulb overhead. There was a bucket for her to piss in over in the corner, and she’d quickly gotten over her reluctance to use it. Someone came and dumped it every day. She supposed she could throw it at the next person who came in, but would it really be a deterrent?

  She had to be smarter. Madallya once told her that if she faked being more stoned than she was, the boys would stop giving her drinks and drugs. She’d been right. Maybe if she pretended to be wasted, they’d stop feeding her the shit they’d been giving her. Was she an addict now? Fucking assholes.

  If she pretended to be stoned they’d underestimate her—let their guard down. There was absolutely nothing in the room she could use as a weapon, so she’d have to try to take one off the next person who came in—or make one. They fed her fairly regularly—hadn’t Aunt Killy told her about someone making a shiv out of a plastic spoon?