by Robyn Nyx
“It’s important to me. I saw a lot of the ugliness of humanity in Afghanistan, and I feel like I didn’t really do anything about it other than shoot some terrorists from a mile away.”
A nearby runner paused abruptly, probably in anticipation of some juicy gossip to peddle. Elodie wasn’t comfortable sharing much of the details of her time in the Marine Corps. She was proud she’d served, but it was a part of her history she didn’t like to speak about with civilians.
“Mr. Fox wanted me to let you know he’ll be back shortly to continue the reading, Ms. Fontaine.” The plain-looking runner had sidled up to them to deliver the message, rather than deliver it from a distance she couldn’t hear anything.
“Thanks, Roxy.” Elodie waited for the runner to slink off before turning back to Lela.
“Maybe you should get Madison to write one of her long features on you and your time in the army. She’s a great writer, and she’s easy on the eye if you like bigger girls. Not that you’ve ever limited yourself to a type.”
Lela was clearly teasing, but Elodie felt the need to defend Madison. “I’m done with that life, and there’s nothing wrong with a fuller figure.” Lela was right about her not having a type. Almost every woman had something appealing about them, even if the attraction was fleeting.
Lela’s eyebrows raised. “Ah, so you do like her.”
“What’s not to like? She’s blond, has amazing blue eyes, an off-the-scale intellect, and a Marilyn Monroe figure.” Elodie grinned as she recalled first seeing Madison in the restaurant. She was happy to admit every part of her had liked every part of Madison.
Lela punched her lightly on the shoulder. “Earth to Elodie. No prizes for guessing where you went. Are you seeing her again?”
“Maybe. We didn’t make plans. She’s working on a new investigation into an organ trafficking gang, so she may not have time.”
“No time for Elodie Fontaine? Surely that can’t be the case. Have you finally found someone immune to your charms?”
Elodie laughed. “That’s such a clichéd phrase, Lela, even for you. I don’t expect every woman to fall into my arms.”
“You might not, but the rest of the world does.”
“Can we just drop it and concentrate on this?”
Lela shrugged. “Sure. Maybe when we start filming, I could drop by your trailer at night?”
Elodie knew she didn’t mean so they could rehearse lines. She thought of Madison but didn’t really know why. They were getting to know each other and were just friends. Besides, movie-work sex meant nothing to her or other actors. It was just an easy and enjoyable way of taking the edge off after a long day of filming. She delivered a typical sex-dripping trademark Elodie Fontaine smile. “I guess you’ll want to practice our sex scene.”
“You did say you like realism in a movie.”
The look in Lela’s eyes was clearly an attempt to tease Elodie into offering to take her home and think nothing of blowing off the rest of the read-through. “Indeed I do.”
“We probably shouldn’t wait until the rehearsals begin. We could get a head start, in the name of method acting.”
Elodie nodded. “Sure, is tonight too early?”
“We could grab some food after this and head to my place.”
Lela parted her legs a little so her thigh touched Elodie’s hand. She responded with a gentle caress, but stopped just short of the hem of Lela’s skirt.
“That sounds great. I just need to make a call to make sure I’m free for the rest of the day.”
Elodie left the room and quickly found an unlocked and vacant office. She closed the door behind her and settled into the basic office chair as she dialed Madison.
“Hello, this is Madison.”
“Hey, it’s Elodie.” I have no idea why I’m calling you. “Are you free tonight for your library tour?” She pinched the bridge of her nose. A library tour or no-strings sex? Elodie wondered what had possessed her to make this call.
“I would’ve loved to, but I’ve just arranged to meet the editor of Time magazine to discuss an organ trafficking feature.”
“Is that something to do with the whistle-blower who didn’t show to your meeting?”
“Yeah. She was found dead in her car in South Figueroa.”
“Jesus. Doesn’t that make your investigation impossible?”
“It makes it harder but not impossible.”
There was a long pause. “Are you still there?”
“I am. It’s just…I feel responsible for her death, which makes it impossible for me not to investigate.”
“Why do you feel that way? Was it her gang that killed her?”
“The police think so, and it wasn’t just her. They killed her mom too. I asked her to get some information for me: details of previous clients, financial dealings, photographs of the gang. I think she might’ve been discovered trying to pull those things together, and that’s why she was murdered. That makes it my fault.”
Elodie could feel Madison’s sadness almost as strongly as if she were in the room beside her. “You can’t know that. Her gang may have already known she was trying to get out, and no one gets out of these organized gangs alive. Do the police have any leads?”
“They’ve got nothing. As far as they’re concerned, it’s one more scumbag off the streets. I’ve got a friend there who’s going to find out what he can, but they don’t even know the leader. They don’t know their name, what they look like, or if they’re male or female.”
“Would you let me help? I can make some inquiries at GTIP, and I’ve got a good friend in the CIA who might know more or could find out. If no one else knows anything about this gang, I’d bet a million dollars she’ll know all about it.”
There was another long pause.
“Do you trust her? My contact said they had friends in the FBI keeping them off the radar.”
Elodie smiled as she thought about Ice Hamilton. She was more than a good friend; they’d served together in Afghanistan. “I trust her with my life. And if the CIA wants to know something, they don’t let anyone stop them, least of all the FBI.”
“Okay, if you don’t mind, that sounds great. Maybe we could talk about it some more after my library tour?”
“Sure. Are you free tomorrow evening?”
“I am.”
“Let me send my driver to pick you up at six. We can have something to eat.” Elodie stopped, conscious she was dictating the evening. “If you want. Obviously, you don’t have to.”
“No. That sounds nice, but I’d rather drive myself. I don’t want to be tempted to drink too much.”
Elodie wasn’t sure how to take Madison’s words, but decided not to ask. “No problem. I’ll text you the directions.”
“Excellent. See you tomorrow.”
Elodie was thankful Madison ended the call before she could say she was looking forward to it. She didn’t want to make the same mistake twice. She left the office and went back to the reading room to find Lela back in her own seat. She turned around, her look questioning.
“I’m free.” Elodie smiled, but was strangely aware that she was more looking forward to tomorrow evening with Madison than tonight’s promise of sex.
Chapter Eleven
This meeting was the last piece of the jigsaw for Therese’s new medical facility off the coast of L.A. Transplant tourism was getting too risky. The U.S. government’s Decade of Delivery was beginning to pay off, and countries all over the world were trying to get their status improved on the Trafficking in Persons report. Therese had thought her operation would be safe in Cuba, given its history with the States, but even they’d become unhappy with their tier-three classification.
You just can’t rely on old enemies anymore. She needed to figure out a way to ensure her operation had longevity before the situation in Cuba became untenable. She needed a way to stay ahead of her competitors, and this was it. A custom facility on American soil. The beauty of Cuba, however, lay in the ready supply of des
perate, poverty-stricken people ready to sell any part of their bodies they could live without—and some they couldn’t. And although there were desperate Americans and illegal immigrants, it was too risky a business plan. No, Therese needed something different. She thought the Chinese had the right idea, using the organs of executed prisoners, but that method wasn’t readily transferable in the States. Not enough criminals made it to death row, and even then, the average time before their sentence was actually carried out was more than a decade because of appeals, petitions, and all the things a democratic country should have. Political dragging of feet, an underfunded defense system, and the state fighting litigation battles around the legality of lethal injection all got in the way of Therese’s business.
What she needed was an entrepreneurial prison warden, and she’d found that in Todd Wilson. He was a far-right Republican who believed criminals were the scum of the earth, and spending U.S. tax dollars keeping them alive in cozy prisons all over the country was a misguided liberal concept. For a relatively small fee per body, Wilson was more than prepared, happy even, to provide Therese with a steady stream of healthy organ donors to order. He already had the prison infrastructure in place. He’d established a fight-to-the-death betting ring in six of the prisons his company had won private contracts for. Criminals were being murdered by other criminals. It was a win-win situation, and there was always an unerring stream of new criminals entering the system at any given time. The medical intake would have to be a little more stringent to establish a database for Therese to choose her donors, and the selection process for her clients would be slightly more mysterious, but the principle was bulletproof.
“Ms. Hunt, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” Todd Wilson, CEO of California Collective, the largest private prison portfolio holder in the country, bowed his head slightly. He didn’t offer his hand. Therese assumed Nat had briefed him on her dislike for the formal ritual.
“It certainly seems to have been a long time in the making, Todd. Please, call me Therese.”
“Natasha tells me you have acquired your location and that your facility is being refurbished. That’s great news for us.”
Therese smiled at his presumptive use of the term “us” but let it slide. She would have to set aside some of her personal prejudices if this relationship was going to work. Thus far, she had made a deliberate choice to avoid close working partnerships with men. While they were eminently easier to control and manipulate than women, she found them abhorrent and unpleasant to be around. Sometimes, even just the smell of them was nauseating.
“It is. The work will be completed by the end of the month. The Navy left behind a facility that was almost perfect for what we need. It’s that pristine that it may even have been a human testing lab. The barracks require the most upgrading, but I’ve employed the right people to make sure the schedule is met.” Therese was beyond eager to get her new facility up and running as fast as possible. Right now, she was reliant on foreign contractors and at the mercy of the corrupt officials within the Cuban government, who could be ousted at any moment. This endeavor would be under her complete control: U.S. medical staff, fewer palms to grease, no borders to negotiate. As soon as it was operational, Therese’s profits had the potential to increase by 500 percent, and that kind of projection pleased her enormously. Clients who had balked at the necessity to travel to a Third World country and who were suspicious that the care they would receive wouldn’t be up to scratch would now view her as the only option if they wanted to avoid the risk of being caught by the authorities. This way, her island would just be seen as an exclusive getaway. It would cripple her competition and make her the most prolific organ trafficker in the country.
“I’ve been impressed with your outfit thus far. You seem to be running a very smooth operation. I think we’re going to have a very profitable and long-running business relationship.”
“I’m glad you see it that way. You’re running a very neat venture across your prisons.” Therese watched Todd preen in response to her compliment. He straightened his tie, sat up a little stiffer in his expensive-looking leather chair, and smiled, clearly pleased with himself.
“Then you enjoyed the tour of this particular prison?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I did. I’m looking forward to watching your fight club.”
Todd nodded vigorously. “I promise it’s worth the wait. Dodge is unbeaten in six fights. I think he’s made out of marble. Lucky for us there’s always someone who thinks they’re bigger and better than anyone else.”
Therese appreciated the sentiment. It was the same in her line of work. There was always a bigger dog in the next yard. That’s why she made sure her crew outnumbered any challengers and why she’d cultivated a particularly vicious reputation. It helped that she thoroughly enjoyed maintaining it.
“Do your guards ever fight?”
“Sometimes. For obvious reasons, those bouts aren’t to the death. Criminals are disposable, guards not so much.”
He laughed again, and Therese was beginning to get the picture that Wilson amused himself far more than he ever amused anyone around him.
“How do you get your inmates to volunteer themselves? Surely they don’t all have death wishes?”
“The privileges of the winners are enough to tempt them. We have a special cell for the winner, practically a studio apartment. It has everything they miss in the outside world. It’s amazing what people will put themselves through for a chance of home comforts.”
“And do you ever have to encourage them to volunteer?” Therese wanted to understand exactly how Wilson’s set-up worked. She couldn’t believe all the inmates would be dumb enough to risk their lives for a brief stay in a pimped-up cell.
“You have to understand, Therese, everyone here is here for good. They know there’s no real chance of parole. They’re lifers, and this is the end of the line for them. That’s why I’ve got them, in here and in the other five prisons. These are inmates the system has washed their hands of. Family and friends have deserted the majority of them, and I certainly don’t allow any of that prison pen pal nonsense. The life of a champion in here is as good as it’s ever going to get for them.”
“So you’re sure you’ll be able to cope with demand on top of your fight club deaths?”
“I’m positive. Our population could do with thinning down. Looking at the numbers Natasha was projecting, we’d be able to cope with three or four times that kind of demand.”
“Plenty of room for expansion, that’s good to know. Our facility should put other suppliers out of business, and that’ll mean an increase in product demand for us.”
“That’s something I can cope with. You can be sure of that.”
He pushed his chair from under the desk and stood. He was an unimpressive height, something she saw as more of a failure in men than women. Her own stature often resulted in her being able to tower over most women and a good percentage of the men she came across. Height was intimidating, and it was another weapon in her arsenal she always used to full effect.
“Shall we go and watch the fight?”
Therese smiled. “Sure. There’s nothing like the sight of fresh blood to start the morning right.”
*
Nat was already ringside, close enough that any airborne blood from the fighters would surely ruin her suit. Therese liked it when Nat was suited and booted. She looked powerful, with her hair tightly tied in a ponytail and just the right amount of makeup to accent her features but not so much that her natural beauty was lost. Therese was glad she’d managed to find someone easy on the eye that shared her passion for destruction. It made the sex even more explosive. She knew they’d watch this and end up fucking in the car. Violence was a powerful aphrodisiac for them both, even when they weren’t the agents of the aggression.
“Who’ve you put our money on?” Therese placed her hand on the back of Nat’s neck and squeezed firmly. The breathy gasp she elicited was precisely what Therese expected, but it n
ever failed to please her.
“The new guy, Hank. He’s a little skinny, but I reckon that’s why the other guy will underestimate him.”
The guy Todd had called Dodge was instantly recognizable as he strutted around the ring, naked from the waist up. He had muscles on muscles, defined and pumped, with veins navigating their way around his body on the outer limits of his skin. Every inch of his body below his neck was inked with nasty, poorly done tattoos that bled into each other, making his canvas of a physique look like an abstract painting.
Hank was lean. He was muscular but with a physique that looked like he could still run like a gazelle if he needed to. Strangely for a convict, he didn’t have a single mark on his dark skin. Therese could see why Nat had bet on him as the victor. His eyes were shadowy, and they hid something evil, the kind of blackened soul that had experienced far more than its fair share of malevolence. She could see a kindred spirit, the kind of life force that never gives up no matter how many times life, or some other bastard, knocked him down.
“I think you’ve placed our money wisely, girl.”
Nat looked at Therese and pulled out the adjacent chair. “Close enough to smell the iron.”
She sat beside Nat and placed a hand on the small of her back. Nat glanced sideways and then looked at the floor, smiling. Win or lose, they probably wouldn’t even make it to the car. Therese had always wanted to fuck someone in the showers of a prison. Maybe a detour on the way out could be arranged. She looked at Wilson taking the chair beside her. He seemed the kind of guy who’d accommodate that happily.
The bell rang to signify the beginning of the fight, and it pulled Therese from her reverie. Hank didn’t waste any time. He went in strong, throwing flat, hard packed, crunching punches from both fists, moving so fast, they were almost blurred. It caught Dodge off guard, since he was still working the crowd. Now he was pinned against the corner of the ring, dazed, and trying to defend himself against Hank’s onslaught.
Therese slipped her hand onto Nat’s thigh and then up between her legs. She could feel heat and moisture through her trousers. She knew if she shoved the heel of her palm hard against her, it’d be all she needed to come right there and then, unabashed in front of the hollering horde of two hundred machismo-heavy inmates.