by Jennifer Ann
Stone grunts in an appreciative sound, and I catch Stu and Keevan exchanging wide-eyed grins. If this guy weren’t the leader of an infamous cartel, I’d be tempted to throttle him for offering the women up like they’re appetizers. When I remember Zoe saying she was hired for Martyrs of Mayhem parties, I’m ready to spew. If I ever hear they used her for anything other than dancing, I’ll torch their clubhouse.
Angel starts walking toward the bar. “Come, my new friends. We’ll enjoy the best tequila while I tell you what you travelled all this way to hear.”
We follow him to a massive teak wood table. The bartender begins handing out margaritas from a large tray before everyone has settled. While I appreciate the niceties, my patience has worn thin.
“What do you know about my uncle’s involvement in organ trafficking?” I blurt, setting my untouched drink on the table as I claim the seat beside Angel.
He takes a sip of his drink before setting it down and locking his dark eyes with mine. “I know your uncle was not the one killing them.”
Gut twisted in knots, I shift in my seat, briefly eyeing Rook across the table. “How would you know?”
Angel strokes his beard while sizing me up. Have to say it makes me a little uncomfortable to be sitting across from someone with his power. “We were already partners when King Marty approached me years ago, wondered if I wanted to get involved in the business of selling kidneys on the black market. He assured me he had found willing donors, mostly students at the university who wanted to pay off their school debts. I had my hands in more than I could handle at the time, so I respectfully declined. Five years ago, your uncle came here asking for my protection. He said his head man was harvesting every last one of the donor’s organs behind his back. Once they heard your uncle was onto their business practices, they tipped the feds off about our operation. They wanted your uncle put away before he could shut them down.”
I let out a slow breath and rub my tired face. All these years I wanted to believe my uncle had nothing to do with Trask’s murder, and it would seem I finally have proof. And it makes perfect sense that Terrance is worried about my uncle’s location—especially if he’s still harvesting organs.
Rook’s face has turned a sickly shade of pale. “It was Terrance, wasn’t it?”
Angel dips his chin. “Sí. Terrance Fisher.” Then he crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. “King Marty returned home after we received word there’s been a new influx of organs coming from the Midwest. He believes Terrance resumed business. He’s determined to shut him down, angry someone he trusted messed with his empire.”
I rub at my temples, still unable to process the fact that my uncle chose not to tell me the truth all this time. “If everything you said is true, why didn’t my uncle tell me Terrance was behind it?”
Angel’s eyes narrow. “He knew how much you suffered when Terrance ordered a hit on your amigo. He didn’t want you getting involved—knew there was a chance you’d get killed too.”
“Motherfucker!” Rook snarls, shooting to his feet. Hands threaded behind his head, he wanders back to the pool area.
I feel his anger rushing through my own blood, choking me from inside out. All this time, Trask’s murderer was within my reach. There’s no question that Terrance will have to pay for what he did. It’s just a matter of how.
Angel’s associate returns, bending to whisper something to Angel, exposing a pistol tucked into his shorts in the process. Our host’s features draw tight and he nods gravely before standing. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m afraid I have urgent business to attend to. Please, stay and order as many drinks as you’d like. I’ll send the señoritas back out for your enjoyment.” He holds his hand out for me to shake. “It was truly my pleasure, Ryker. If there’s anything I can do to make your stay on my island more enjoyable, don’t hesitate to ask. As King Marty’s nephew, you can always count on me when you need something—even once you’ve returned home.”
I shake his hand, unsurprised when I feel a rush of relief as he walks away. Nice enough guy, but I’m eager to get the hell out of this place.
“I was wrong about your uncle,” Bender tells me, motioning to Rook. “We all were. I wanted you to hear the truth for yourself. Whatever Trask said to Rook before he died was either a lie, or Terrance was forcing him to implicate King Marty as the head of the operation.”
Stone grunts, upper lip curling. “A fucking letter would’ve worked just as well.”
Rook returns, fingers threaded through his long hair, eyes rimmed, face long. He appears even more jet lagged than I feel. “Every goddamned time I think back to that day—the conversation I had with Trask before he was shanked—it goes a little differently. I couldn’t tell you what he said without second guessing myself.” Blowing out a long breath, he glances my way. “I was so ready to crucify your uncle that I may have only heard what I wanted.”
“I get it,” I say, lifting one shoulder. “I’d convinced myself he was responsible too.”
The four topless women come skipping out of the house, giggling with each other as they make a bee-line toward us.
Stone watches them closely, wetting his lips. “We staying, or what?”
“Knock yourself out,” I tell him as he’s already standing. I wave a hand in Stu and Keevan’s direction. “Go ahead. Consider it part of your tip.”
Stone hoists one of the women over his shoulder, leading another toward the guest house by her hand. The other two start for Stu and Keevan.
“They’ll be lucky if their dicks don’t fall off,” Rook says, snorting before sucking down the rest of his drink.
I turn to Bender. “Now that we know you’re good, we’re heading back first flight we can get out of here first thing tomorrow. You coming with?”
“Not sure. I kind of like it here.” His eyes snap away from mine. “Angel and his crew treat me with respect.”
“You saying I don’t?”
“Not always.” Looking back at me, he shrugs. “But it means something that you came all this way to find me.”
“You thought I wouldn’t? For fuck’s sake, Ben. You’re my brother.” When he continues to appear unconvinced that I give a shit, I grab his elbow. “Sorry if it seems like I’ve been a dick to you. Believe it or not, I love you. I know we weren’t raised to say that kind of shit, but I’m starting to think you need to hear it. I miss having your annoying ass around the shop, and in the band.” I take a sweeping glance over my shoulder, ensuring Angel’s men aren’t listening before I lean in closer. “Don’t stay here, Ben. I don’t want you getting involved in this shit. Come back with us…see how far we can take the band. Stone sent a demo to his cousin, and his producer wants us to visit his studio in New York. We could quit boosting cars and earn an honest living.”
Rook sets his glass on the table, one eyebrow lifted. “You serious?”
I answer with a slow nod, all at once feeling guilty for bringing it up in front of him. “Hope you know there’s always a spot for you. One of you two could learn to play rhythm, or even lead along with me.”
My old friend seems tongue-tied by a distant thought as my phone begins to buzz in my pocket. Finally. I whip it out, swearing to myself when seeing Morrison’s name on the screen.
“Why the fuck hasn’t Zoe called me back?” I bark.
There’s a heavy pause as Morrison clears his throat. “You need to come home.”
14
Zoe
Without a window or any other way to tell how long it’s been since Terrance’s goon left me in the small room, anxiety presses heavily on my shoulders. My spirits sink a little further whenever I imagine how upset both Charlize and Ryker will be once they discover I’ve disappeared. I try to keep my mind busy, focusing on the grisly fact that they could be harvesting the heart from an innocent victim in the next room. Most of all, I ponder why the hell King Marty would be down in this shithole along with me.
While doing cardio exercises to keep my mind sharp, I run ov
er the scenario of seeing him a thousand times. Dirty dress shirt and pants, hands tied behind his back, face gaunt compared to the night I saw him at Pinky’s, there’s no question King Marty was also being held prisoner. Although he didn’t say a word, I sensed he was too afraid to acknowledge the fact that he recognized me. But why? Why is Terrance holding him here against his will?
It seems an eternity has passed before I hear the lock slide on the other side of the door. I drop down to the cement floor, wrapping my arms around my knees and moaning in an attempt to look feeble.
My captor strides in, cupping a hand over his nose and mouth when greeted with the stench of vomit. “Holy shit! What’s that smell?”
“My stomach hurts,” I whine, rocking on my butt. I was able to make myself throw up the chicken sandwich he brought earlier, selling the lie. The last few hours have been total torture with the stench of puke clinging to my shirt, but I learned to breathe through my mouth. Better to make these assholes think I’m gravely ill than give them free reign to violate me. Maybe it’ll even cause whatever monster’s doing the surgeries to think twice about taking my insides. “I feel like I’m dying.”
“Jesus Christ,” Walt hisses, looking back to the hallway. “Come on. Let’s clean you up.”
I make it look as if I’m too weak to stand, wobbling and catching myself on the mattress. Walt rushes forward to help me up. I lean against his hard body and glance up, looking him in the eye. He almost appears empathetic.
“Thank you,” I whisper, wanting to throw up for real. I’d much rather bash his head in than show him any gratitude.
Huffing, Walt helps me out of the room, towards the small bathroom. The hallway is exceptionally quiet, making me wonder if it’s either super early in the morning, or late at night. I’ve dozed off so many times for who knows how long that somewhere along the way I lost any sense of reality. But quiet is good. If I catch this asshole off guard, there’s a chance I can hightail it out of here without anyone else stopping me.
Walt leans me against the wall outside the little bathroom. “Wait here. I’ll get some water to wash you down.” He backs away, sharp eyes slowly traveling down my soiled shirt. My stomach violently churns when I notice he’s hard inside his jeans. “Better yet, take that off. I’ll rinse it off in the sink.”
“Please, you have to help me get out of here,” I plead. “I have a little sister at home who needs me. If I die down here…she has nothing. I’ll make sure Ryker rewards you for bringing me back to him.”
Deciding it’s now or never, I lift my leg, delivering a sharp kick to his groin before jabbing the palm of my hand into his nose. In the blink of an eye he’s down on the ground, roaring in pain. I sprint down the hallway, in search of my freedom. The violent thuds of my heart shake my entire body as I locate the stairway that will lead me out of this nightmare.
Adrenaline kicks in as I jump the stairs two at a time, holding my hand over my head once I near the door, ready to push it open.
But it opens on its own.
Terrance stands at the top, his surprised expression likely an exact replica of my own.
No. No!
For a split second I consider taking him on, charging at him full speed and knocking him down.
“Grab her!” Terrance roars.
Someone fists a handful of hair on the back of my head, yanking me backwards.
Letting out a silent scream, I fall.
My vision blurs in and out, along with a sharp pounding in my head.
The backs of my bare thighs rest on cold concrete. Bringing a hand up to the back of my skull, I find a large knot and release a garbled moan. I must still be in the underground shelter.
The fuzzy outline of a person waivers before me. “Terrance had the surgeon take a look at you,” a deep voice tells me from nearby. “You hit your head on the steps when Walt dragged you down, but you’re going to be okay. They put you in with me so I could keep an eye on you. Can you see clearly?”
I blink several times until the foggy haze lifts. King Marty squats in front of me, thin lips pinched with concern. A second later he’s pressing a plastic bottle in my hand. “Drink. You look dehydrated.”
The water’s tepid, but delicious and soothing. I slug it down, eyes still on King Marty. Unlike before, he’s wearing a plain white t-shirt, but he still appears ragged. As I finish the rest of the water, I notice I’m wearing a long-sleeved dress shirt—the one he had on the last time I saw him.
In rare form, the old man’s eyes project kindness as he watches me, now sitting with his legs crossed. “You’re that dancer from Pinky’s…the one with my nephew.”
I nod. “My father owes Terrance a large gambling debt.” Clearing my hoarse voice, I frown. “Why are you here?”
“Because Terrance wants to watch me suffer a miserable, drawn-out death.”
“Why?”
He lets out a slow breath, eyes flickering away from mine. “Years ago, I started recruiting young women to be fairly compensated in exchange for their kidney. There was a shortage in the black market, so it was a lucrative business. But Terrance knew other parts were worth ten times as much. He betrayed me, convincing my investors to harvest every organ those poor girls had to give. Once I found out, I tried to shut it down. The minute he caught wind that I was onto him, he had his contacts with the FBI drive me out of the country.” The muscles in his jaw flex when he takes a deep, shaking breath. It’s difficult to believe the frail, elderly man in front of me once ruled the South Side. “I discovered he had started up again, and was snagging more students from the U. I returned to stop him once and for all. But I learned the hard way that I’ve been stripped of the power and respect I once held over the neighborhood.”
Skeptical of his story, I study his wrinkled face for a moment. Then again, what other reason could Terrance have to hold his former boss captive? “Why didn’t you tell Ryker all of this when you came to Pinky’s? He’s convinced you were lying to him. Why not just tell him the truth?”
Shoulders rolling forward, he briefly closes his eyes and takes a long, steady breath. “I knew once he found out Terrance had ordered the hit on Trask, he’d want revenge. I wasn’t going to stand back and watch my nephew die while attempting to accomplish something I should’ve done myself years ago.” His eyelids flip back open, and he pins me down with a heavy look of regret. “It’s my fault for hiring Terrance in the beginning. If I hadn’t put my trust in him, those girls and Trask would still be alive.”
Scowling, I shake my head. “Ryker deserves to know the truth. It almost cost him his friendship with his brother and Rook. I can’t stomach the thought of anything happening to him either, but it should be his choice whether or not he wants to avenge Trask’s death.”
He stares back at me, unblinking. “Are you in love with my nephew?”
“Yeah, I am. He’s a good man. If I make it out of here with my organs in tact, I’m going to take your nephew up on the offer to move in with him.”
Voices seep through the doorway, lodging my erratic heart into my throat. I still don’t know what Terrance plans to do with me.
King Marty grabs my arm, a spark of determination lights his gray eyes. “Listen to me very carefully, young lady. I’m going to get you out of here. Soon. Terrance and Walt are the only two down here tonight right now, so it might be the best shot we’ll have. You need to stay sharp, because I’m not sure when the right opportunity will present itself. But when it does, get the hell out of here as fast as you can, no looking back. Do you think you’re strong enough to run?”
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I nod.
The door swings open. I spring to my feet along with King Marty. Terrance’s eyes fall on me, radiating with disgust. He’s alone, dressed the most casual I’ve ever seen him in a button-down and khakis, but he’s still wearing that ridiculous fedora. The urge to strangle him for hurting Ryker and his crew spreads like ice through my veins.
“Glad to see you’re not dead,” he
snarls. “That would’ve put a serious wrench in my plans.”
“Let her go,” King Marty demands. “I’ll pay double whatever amount her father owes you.”
Terrance laughs in a deep, rumbling sound. “It’s going to take a lot more than money for me to willingly release Ryker’s new plaything.”
Plaything? I bite my tongue, knowing I’d be an idiot to argue with a man who likely plans to murder me.
“You’ve had it out for my nephew ever since his mother died,” King Marty sneers, stepping closer to him. Terrance has him beat by a foot, and he’s nearly twice as wide as his former boss. “What the hell do you have against him?”
“For starters, he’s not your nephew.”
King Marty’s eyes narrow into slits. “That may be the most ludicrous thing to ever come out of your mouth.”
“Think about it. Lucinda slept with countless men back in the days when she was a dancer at Bunny’s. Probably hundreds. You really think it’s impossible for someone else to be his real father?”
My throat thickens. Ryker’s mom was a stripper too? Did he know? Is that why he was so adamant about me quitting Pinky’s?
A dark smirk pulls at Terrance’s lips as he continues spewing words at King Marty. “Your brother was madly in love with Lucinda, and wanted to marry her. He thought she was his, but that was never true. He was not the father of her first born. Lucinda was in love with someone else.”
The walls close in around me. If what Terrance says is true, Ryker’s real father may still be alive.
“How would you know?” King Marty demands.
“Because she was in love with me. Ryker’s mine.”
Although my stomach’s empty, it still lurches angrily. Terrance? Ryker’s father? Holy shit. If what he says is true, it could change everything. Paired with the fact that Terrance had Trask murdered, the truth could destroy the man I love.