by Eva Ashwood
I count to three, drawing a mental map of the entire alley in my mind, remembering every detail of it that I can. Then I step around the corner and fire.
The bullet catches him between the eyes, and he jerks backward, collapsing like a sack of bricks.
A single shot rings out in the night air behind me, and then everything grows quiet. “Ciro?” I call.
“All good,” he calls back. “Five men, all down.”
“Make it six,” I throw over my shoulder, glancing back at the man in the alley. His prone form is hardly more than a shadowy lump in the darkness. “Secure the area. See if you can find the merchandise.”
I’m fairly certain we intercepted the deal before it could be completed. If I’m right, the van and the car belonged to two different groups—the buyers and the Rooks.
Striding into the alley, I make a beeline for the man’s downed form. I can’t interrogate him, but I can at least search his corpse. Just before I reach him though, a small noise makes me stop. It’s weak and thin, somewhere between a groan and a whimper. For a second, I think the guy might still be alive, but there’s no fucking way with a bullet in his brain. Besides, that’s not the noise of a dying man.
It sounds feminine. Scared.
With my finger resting lightly on the trigger of my gun, I take several steps deeper into the alley, passing by the man’s limp body.
When I finally see what made the noise, I mutter a curse.
Behind the crates that are piled into a rough stack near the back of the alley sit three women, bound and gagged, barely dressed against the chill of the Chicago night. It doesn’t take me long to put two and two together and realize what kind of goddamn deal we intercepted tonight.
Fuck.
So this is why Grace was asking about it—human fucking trafficking.
There’s no doubt in my mind that’s what the Rook men and their buyers were here for, that these three women were an essential piece of the deal that was going on.
I’ve never hated someone so much in my life as I hate Camilla. For putting Grace through emotional hell. For putting these poor women through the nightmare they’ve clearly been through.
They flinch away from me, staring at the gun. I raise it, lifting my finger off the trigger before holstering it.
“Look at me,” I tell them, my tone firm but gentle. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Three sets of eyes go wide, haunted and terrified.
17
Ciro
When I step forward, Hale and Lucas leave me alone with the women. The stacked shipping containers and wall create a little shadowy alcove where they sit, their shivering bodies thin and covered in bruises. They’re practically naked against the cold night air, thin camisoles and colorless boxer shorts identical to each other. It’s almost like a uniform, and that indicates one thing.
They’re not the only victims.
“You’re safe,” I say quietly. Taking a cautious step forward, I proceed another when they don’t immediately shrink back. “We’re going to help you, okay?”
I glance back at Lucas and Hale, considering calling for them, but I don’t want to scare the girls. It’s likely that they’ve already had enough of barked orders, and anything I say or do could trigger them at this point. Walking away slowly from the corner, I step out into the warehouse and get Lucas and Hale’s attention.
“Jackets,” I say, when they’re close enough to hear. They know what I’m talking about, immediately shucking their suit jackets and handing them to me.
I tug off my own, ignoring the bite of chill in the warehouse. When I walk back to the women, their eyes widen, their gazes flicking from me to the dark fabric in my hands. Not even their feet are covered, damn it.
I crouch down in front of the one at the front of the group, careful not to make any sudden movements. “Hey. I’m not gonna hurt you,” I say. The wild animal look in their eyes makes old memories rise up in my mind. “I’ll tell you what I’m doing, how’s that sound? I’m going to start by unbinding your wrists, okay?”
Even though I’m offering help and safety, they flinch. They flinch because whatever the Rooks have put them through are things no human should ever have to experience. They flinch because they’ve likely been teased with promises of safety before, only to have it taken away. Only to be mocked.
I talk to them in low tones as I work, explaining what I’m doing. When all of them have been un-gagged and untied, I carefully wrap a jacket around the first girl’s shoulders. When she finally realizes that I’m not the bad guy, her small body sags in relief, swallowed whole by the fabric. The other two girls take the jackets willingly as I move on to them next.
“Thank you,” one of them says. Her thin brown hair sticks to her face, and her voice is hoarse.
I give her a small nod, keeping my gaze on them. I know that she’s not just talking about the physical cold—she’s also talking about everything else they’ve been through. The fear. The violence. The pain.
Fuck.
A violent rage fills me. If we hadn’t already capped those motherfuckers from the Rook Syndicate and their buyers, I’d kill them a lot slower than we did the first time. I’d make it slow and painful, and unlike my usual interrogation jobs, I think I’d enjoy it.
“Do you think you can stand?” I ask. “Are you strong enough?”
No one answers. They’re all covered in a layer of grime and bruises, and I wonder when they last ate. Keeping them broken, malnourished, and weak is probably an intentional tactic to make them more malleable. Less resistant.
“It’s not a long walk. Promise.”
Reaching down, I offer a hand. None of them take it, but that’s okay. I don’t expect them to trust me now, or ever. They may never trust another person in their life. Not completely. My parents died when I was eleven, and it wasn’t until I got out of the system and found the Novak Syndicate that I even began to understand what trust really means. What family means. And after being held captive by a rival gang and tortured almost daily, the circle of people I trust completely has shrunk down to three.
Well, four now.
The girls push unsteadily to their feet, holding on to each other for balance as they follow me.
By the time we round the crates and make our way down the alley, Hale and the rest of the team have finished up on their end, clearing the bodies. You wouldn’t be able to tell that six men had been shot here, other than the puddles of blood we can’t do anything about at the moment. Sidestepping the smears of dark red with the girls following close behind, I lead them toward one of our cars.
It’s already running, two armed men in the driver and passenger’s seat.
“Wait until Hale gives instructions,” I tell them, then help the girls into the back.
“Are you… the police?” The one who spoke first speaks up again, her suspicious gaze darting around the car.
“No. But we’ll keep you safe.” That’s all I say. Because that’s all that matters. “Wait here.”
I leave them behind and head toward Hale and the twins. They’re standing in a tight huddle, discussing something.
“We have to take them to a safe house,” Hale says, glancing at me as I step up beside him. “The risks of taking them to the police are too great for us at this point, and we can’t put them back on the streets either. So we’ll keep them under our protection.”
“That’s a good call.” Zaid nods, his eyes wide. “If this was really a Rook deal like we think it was, these women might’ve seen some shit. Camilla’s gonna want them back, and it’s probably better if she doesn’t realize we took them.”
“Then let’s move.” Hale nods sharply, and we all turn to head toward the car.
We take the women to a safe house located on the west side of the city, a modest little place nestled in the suburbs. It’s tucked back on its own private driveway, reserved for things just like this—protecting witnesses or members of our syndicate who’ve gotten on the wrong side of a ri
val mafia family. We have dozens of houses spanning dozens of states, ready for circumstances like these.
The women follow us into the house, walking on wobbly legs.
I don’t know what kind of shit they’ve been through, can’t guess at the specifics, but the haunted look in their eyes is uncomfortably familiar. So is the way they refuse to speak, either unwilling or unable to communicate. Even the one who talked to me in the car earlier has clammed up, looking shell-shocked and wary.
Once we’ve got them settled in the living room, I pull Hale aside, speaking in a low voice.
“If we’re serious about helping these women, we need to bring Grace in on this,” I murmur. “I’ve done everything I can. You’ve done everything you can. But Grace will know how to deal with them better than we do, and they’ll be a hell of a lot more likely to trust her than they do us.”
“Yeah.” He glances over my shoulder at the women. “Yeah, you’re right.”
They all need medical attention to make sure there are no internal injuries we’ve missed, and they’ll need a fucking shower and a change of clothes. Not to mention food and something to drink.
Hale’s gaze is still on the women, and I see his eyes darken a second before he turns away with a curse. He looks like he wants to explode but is trying to hold himself back so he doesn’t scare these poor girls even more. I get that. Rage simmers under my skin, threatening to burst out of me at any moment.
“I should’ve fucking known,” my friend bites out, his lip curling. “Should’ve known Camilla would do whatever it takes to get ahead—including shit like this. There’s money to be had selling women like fucking cattle, but my father never wanted a cent of it. We didn’t need it. He built his syndicate into a powerhouse because he made smart deals and built up respect among those he did business with.”
My hands curl into fists, his anger urging mine on, infecting me too. “Camilla’s in too much of a fucking hurry for that. Too fucking greedy to do things the right way. So she’s decided to scrap every shred of human decency she has to claw her way to the top.”
Hale’s right. There’s money to be had in human trafficking, for those sick enough to take it. And if this is what Camilla’s been up to this whole time, then she’s a more formidable opponent than we ever realized. She’s got a huge operation going, one that has managed to stay under our radar for months, growing like a weed before we could pluck it out—drugs, money, women.
The Rooks are poised to explode onto the scene of the Chicago underground, and the clock is ticking.
If we don’t take her down soon… Camilla could win this fucking war.
18
Grace
Movement beside me pulls me from sleep. The mattress dips, and my eyes fly open, my head jerking up from the pillow.
“Shh…” Hale says softly, his thumb brushing over my lips. “It’s just me. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
My heart pounds heavily for a few beats before slowing to a more normal pace, and I let out a breath as he crawls into bed beside me. He tugs me against his body, wrapping his arms around me in a tight embrace—a gesture that reminds me of the way he held me in his sleep for the first few nights after his father died.
I stay still for a few moments, letting him take what he needs from me. But after a little while, I press against his chest, wriggling a little. He relaxes his hold fractionally, giving me enough space to pull back and peer up into his eyes.
“What is it?” I murmur. “Are you okay? What time is it?”
He looks a little surprised at the question, like he’s not used to someone being able to read him so well. Then he draws in a deep breath and lets it out, his chest moving against mine. “Late. Some shit went down tonight. It’s a fucking mess.”
“What?”
Worry spikes in my veins, a shot of adrenaline bringing me wide awake and banishing the last cobwebs of sleep.
He grimaces. “Turns out you were right to ask me about human trafficking. I didn’t think any of that shit was going on in Chicago—we’re not doing it, and I assumed we’d know if a smaller organization even tried to get into that game. We should have known. But Camilla’s been able to keep her operation a secret up until now.”
My heart lurches as I try to follow his words. “Camilla? What are you talking about?”
Hale pulls me a little closer, tucking my head under his chin. His voice rumbles against my ear. “My team and I got wind of a possible Rook exchange, a handoff with a buyer. We crashed the party and took their men out, along with the buyers. Unfortunately, the merchandise we seized wasn’t the usual illegal weapons or drugs. Instead, we found three women.”
I blink into the darkness, breathing in his scent. “Women? My mother is trafficking… women?”
“Yeah.” His tone is clipped and full of anger. “I wondered why the hell she mentioned human trafficking to you, why she tried to convince you the Novaks were dealing in that shit. It’s what she’s been doing.”
I swallow, trying to keep my tone even. “What did you do with the women? The ones you found?”
He shakes his head. I can’t see it, but I feel the movement. “We’ve got them in a safe house, full security on them. We couldn’t just leave them there or put them back on the streets. Camilla’s a goddamn piece of work. I’m fucking positive these aren’t the only three girls she’s captured. Human trafficking isn’t the kind of thing you dabble in.”
Shit.
My mind is running a mile a minute. I pull back again and stare at Hale, pieces of the full picture falling together in my head.
Agent Brady is wrong.
Camilla is the one running a human trafficking ring.
But she’s diverting attention from herself by making it look like the Novak Syndicate is the one responsible. Whatever she’s done to point guilt toward the Novaks, it’s enough to warrant an FBI investigation of Hale’s syndicate.
My mother is as fucking clever as she is ruthless, and I hate her for it. This kills two birds with one stone—she’s building up her organization by doing one of the worst things I can imagine, and if her plan works, the Novaks will be the ones to take the fall for it.
The FBI’s investigation of Brian led them to Leland. From Leland, they made a connection to the Novaks… a connection that led them to believe that Leland was still loyal to us, and that the human trafficking ring was ours instead of the Rooks’.
The FBI is going to pin this on us, but they’re wrong. They’re preparing for a war with the Novaks, and meanwhile, the real enemy isn’t even on their radar.
Fuck. I’ve got to tell Brady.
“I want you to come to the safe house with me tomorrow,” Hale murmurs, tilting my chin up a little. “These women are in rough shape. Ciro’s been through something similar enough that he at least knew how to deal with them, but they’re never going to truly trust any of us. They might trust you. They might feel better having another woman around.”
“Okay,” I agree quietly. My body has gone tense in his arms, and I force myself to relax, not wanting to betray any of my thoughts.
I can’t tell Hale about Brady. Not now. I know it would only cause a blowup, endangering my men and all of the Novaks. But a plan is forming in my mind, the only way out of this that I can see.
“Thank you, Grace.”
Hale pulls me closer and kisses me, breathing me in the same way I did to him, as if he’s drawing strength from my proximity. Then he rolls onto his back, resting my head on his chest. We stay like that for a long time, and slowly, his breathing evens out. His hold on me relaxes a little as he sinks into sleep.
I keep my body soft against his, pretending to fall asleep alongside him. But my eyes blink open every once in a while to steal a glance at his face.
Once I’m sure he’s asleep, I slowly draw away from him, slipping out of his embrace. He shifts slightly, his head settling against the pillow, and I release a slow exhale as I slide off the bed.
I wait another long minute
to make sure he’s still in a deep sleep before I tiptoe into the bathroom and pull out the burner phone Agent Brady gave me. I quickly flip it open, thankful that the battery still has some power.
My hands shake as I find the only number saved in the contacts, an innocent set of digits that I know will connect me to Agent Brady.
He picks up after only one ring.
“Grace.” His voice is rough with sleep, but his tone is alert and professional, as if he snapped from asleep to fully awake in the space of that single ring. “Are you all right? What’s going on?”
Everything feels wrong right now. So fucked up. The last time I had a phone in my hand, heard another human voice over a phone was the last time I talked to Brian. Right before I escaped.
This isn’t the same, I tell myself, trying to squash down the unpleasant twisting of my stomach. You’re not trying to run from these men. You’re helping them. Not betraying them.
“I’ll help you.” My voice is firm. “But you’re going to help me too.”
There’s a pause on the other end before Brady says, “All right.”
“I don’t want to explain myself,” I say quickly, “but I don’t need to be rescued. I’m not leaving here, and I’m not going back to Washington.”
“All right,” he repeats, drawing out the words as if he’s not sure where this is going.
“Here’s what I want.” I glance toward the bathroom door, gripping the phone tightly in my hand. “I’ll help you track down information about the human trafficking ring. I’ll help you bring it down. But if I can prove to you that it’s not the Novaks who are behind it, you’ll back off your investigation of them.”
“What are you talking about?”
I quickly tell him everything I know—about the Rooks, the human trafficking, all of it. I tell him he was right that humans are being bought and sold, but wrong about who’s responsible for it. I get it all out in a rush, trying to make sure the details are as clear as I can make them.