HUNTER (The Corbin Brothers Book 1)

by Lexie Ray

  She dashed to the kitchen and rattled around in the pots and pans. I grimaced at the clock—it was already just before four. Andrew could be there at any second.

  The door beeped just as Cream was running back with the skillet. We stared at each other for what must have been a fragment of a second, but it stretched on endlessly. I was sure my own face mimicked the exact level of panic and dread on Cream’s. This was our chance. This was our only chance. She knew that as well as I did.

  “Take it!” she screamed, lofting the skillet at me and sprinting for the door. Andrew had just been in the process of opening it when Cream threw herself into it, closing it again.

  I danced away from the heavy iron thing as it made a hell-raising sound against the marble floor and then ran after it as it skidded. I could hear Andrew roaring out in the hallway. I prayed that someone would hear him, that someone would call the police.

  Cream pushed against the door as Andrew threw his weight into opening it, the security system beeping and whirring and clicking almost worryingly. She cried out at the force of it, her leg muscles standing out as she leaned against his onslaught.

  “Pumpkin!” she cried. “The window!”

  I cursed luridly and heaved the skillet against the window. The thick glass only cracked, so I wound up and swung again. I hit the window so hard that the skillet spun out of my grasp, flying out the now broken window, along with shards of glass. The ear-splitting shatter wasn’t enough to drown out Cream’s scream from behind me.

  I wheeled around to find her struggling with Andrew, who’d finally overpowered her and gained access to his home. He was beating her brutally, even as wind from the outside filled the room.

  Cream wasn’t looking at her attacker. She was looking at me, wild eyed.

  “Go!” she coughed as he hit her. “Go!”

  Andrew jerked his head in my direction and stared at me. I saw my death in those ebony eyes, and it terrified me. I was torn. I wanted to help Cream, but I didn’t want to die.

  “Get help,” she said, her mouth full of broken teeth, blood coursing down her chin. “Tell my brother.”

  Andrew started toward me, but Cream grabbed his ankles, tripping him. He turned his fury again on her and I went to the window and looked down.

  The height was dizzying, the ground too far away. The window washers were staring up, bewildered, a skillet on the scaffolding between them.

  “Was that you?” one of them asked.

  “Help me!” I screamed. “Call the police!”

  I was pulled by my hair back inside the apartment, my hands scrabbling against the jagged window frame. I knew I was hurting myself, but I couldn’t make myself care. I needed out of there. I needed to get help for us.

  Andrew slapped me, again and again, his face ugly with rage. How had I ever thought he was handsome, or sexy? How could this be happening?

  Behind him, Cream struggled to her feet and jumped onto his back, scratching at his eyes. He roared and twisted around, trying to break her death grip on his neck.

  “Get out of here,” Cream said, turning to look at me, her voice garbled. Her pretty face was mangled, but her eyes shone. “Go. Tell my brother.”

  I wrenched my head around, back to the window, and leaned out again. The window washers were still there. I looked back at Cream just to see Andrew regain the advantage and give her a vicious kick to the stomach. Her breath came in wheezes and retches. Andrew started toward me again, his face as dark as his eyes, long scratches covering his cheeks. He was going to kill me. He was going to kill us both. I looked back to the window and didn’t give it a second thought. I jumped.

  Chapter Nine

  I landed with a crash on the scaffolding, which was a story below us. It shook and rattled with my sudden weight, but I was too scared—and too hurt—to scream with fear.

  The window washers were picking me up, asking me questions, talking to me, brushing shards of glass out of my hair. I didn’t understand what they were saying. I barely understood why I wasn’t dead. I didn’t have a clue why we were still there until I looked up. Andrew was leaning out of the window, leering at me like a madman.

  “Go down!” I screamed. “He’s going to kill me and my friend! We have to get help! Go down!”

  “We called the cops,” one of them said, holding up his cell phone as the other pressed the button for the scaffolding to descend.

  I looked up again, watching Andrew trying to negotiate the broken window frame, one of his long legs hanging out into the air.

  “What if he tries to jump?” I demanded. “Can’t we go faster?”

  “This is as fast as we go,” the washer with the control said. “But he won’t jump. We’re too far, now.”

  I looked up to see that the man was right. Andrew had thought better of it and ducked back inside his home. My heart clenched to think of Cream still in there, and I started weeping.

  “It’s okay,” said the washer with the cell phone. “You’re safe now.”

  “What happened to you in there?” the other one asked.

  “My friend’s still there,” I cried. “She’s still there.”

  “Look at that,” the man said, pointing downward. “Cops are already here, sweetheart. They’re going to save your friend. See?”

  I looked over the edge of the descending scaffolding and saw red and blue flashing lights, still too far away. I swooned and somebody’s arms around me were the last things that I knew. Somehow, they felt like Cream’s.

  * * * *

  I woke up to beeping and flinched, thinking it was Andrew’s door opening. But the beeping wouldn’t stop, and someone took my hand.

  “Are you awake?”

  I opened my eyes and wet my lips, but my voice didn’t work. Something was wrong with it. Slowly, a woman’s face came into focus.

  “My name is Officer Kim,” she said. “Do you know where you are?”

  I looked around. My hands were bandaged, and parts of me hurt. There was a window just a few feet away from me, and I shuddered. I didn’t like that. I didn’t like that window. I turned my head away from it and saw a jumble of wires and machines.

  “Hospital,” I whispered.

  “That’s right,” Kim said, smiling and nodding. “Very good. Now. Can you tell me your name?”

  My name? Who was I? I was in a hospital room with a police officer. Did that mean that I’d escaped from Andrew?

  “Is it safe?” I rasped. “Am I safe?”

  Kim pressed her lips together then smiled again. “Yes, honey. You’re safe. Now, your name?”

  I’d jumped out of a window, I realized suddenly, with a terrible jolt. Me, who was so afraid of heights, jumped out of a window on top of a building. I started shaking. I was chased out of that window. I only made it because Andrew had been too absorbed with beating the shit out of Cream. Oh, God. Cream. She had looked terrible when I jumped, a mess of blood and swelling and broken things.

  “My friend,” I said. “Where’s my friend? I have to see her.”

  I could feel Kim increase the pressure on my hands through the bandages, but I didn’t know why. I didn’t want to know why. It meant that as bad as I was, Cream was somewhere, worse off.

  “Tell me,” I said, closing my eyes, unable to look at Kim’s face one second longer. I only wanted to see Cream. “Tell me.”

  “By the time the police arrived in the penthouse, the other woman was dead,” Kim said, her voice emotionless. “Honey, I need to know your name. And hers, if you know it.”

  “She was my friend,” I said, my voice breaking. “Her name was Cream. Belle Nocton. Cream was her other name. The one she didn’t want to be anymore.”

  My eyes popped open and Kim looked confused. She couldn’t be confused about this. I had to make her understand.

  “She used to be Cream,” I said. “But she didn’t want to be anymore. Her name was Belle Nocton. She was my friend. She saved my life—distracted him, Andrew. She let herself get killed so I could get awa
y.” I was weeping.

  “You’ve been through a lot, honey,” Kim said kindly. “Your friend Belle Nocton was a brave young woman. Now, tell me. What’s your name?”

  My name? Who was I? Who could I be? Was Pumpkin gone? Were all the Pumpkins gone?

  Could I let them go?

  “I’m Sol Ramirez,” I said, wiping the tears from my face even as they continued to fall. “Andrew Steele bought us and kept us as his sex slaves. He tortured and abused us and killed my friend. He would have killed me, but Belle Nocton saved me. Belle Nocton and a well-placed window washers’ scaffolding.”

  “Police took Andrew Steele into custody at the scene of the crime,” Kim said, her kind face serious. “Justice will be served, Sol.”

  “Yes, it will,” I agreed. Sol Ramirez was going to see to that.

  Epilogue

  My boots clicked on the tiled floor of the building’s lobby. People looked at me as I walked by and I couldn’t help but think they knew my entire life’s story. They didn’t, of course. They were only looking at me because I had big ass, a pretty face, and I was dressed nicely. And my boots made noises.

  My face hadn’t been the one that had been on the news lately. I was safe from all that—so far.

  “Hello,” I said, as I approached the receptionist. “I’m looking for Sisters Together.”

  Her look turned sympathetic, but I didn’t mind.

  “It’s on the fourth floor, ma’am,” she said.

  “Thank you.”

  I took the stairs, not wanting to wait for an elevator. There were things I had to do, and I was in a hurry.

  I was puffing by the time I hit the landing on the fourth floor, and spoke with the receptionist there briefly, trying not to pant. I needed to walk some more, get some kind of exercise, I told myself.

  “Follow me,” the woman said, getting up from the desk.

  The space was modern but comfortable, the lights dimmed to a comforting brightness, the normal bright fluorescent lights having been replaced with pink bulbs. You could still see, but it wasn’t as harsh. It helped a lot with the atmosphere.

  We stopped at a glass-walled office, the door ajar.

  “Mrs. King? Someone to see you.”

  I walked into the office behind the receptionist, unsure of myself. The woman in front of me was gorgeous, dressed in a sapphire blue blazer, her dark hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun. She had been studying a spread of papers in front of her, tapping her fingers over the surface of the desk. I couldn’t help but notice a diamond ring on her finger. She looked up, her eyebrows raised in a question. Her mocha skin was just a few shades darker than mine.

  “Hi,” I said, resisting the urge to drop my gaze. “My name is Sol Ramirez.” I hesitated a moment, biting my lip. “Better known as Pumpkin. One of Mama’s girls.”

  The woman in front of me inhaled sharply and let the papers she was holding fall to the desk, scattering. She walked briskly around and studied me for a brief moment before taking me in her arms and hugging me. The receptionist left us.

  “I’m Jasmine King, but you know that,” she said squeezing me. “They called me Jazz back when I was one of Mama’s girls.”

  Physical contact from strangers was something that I had always squirmed at, but it was even harder now after Andrew. However, something was different with Jasmine’s hug. We had been through the same thing at Mama’s nightclub. She was one of many in a sisterhood of abuse, torment, and exploitation.

  She was my sister.

  I returned the hug before pulling away.

  “What can I do for you?” she asked, taking me by the hand and sitting me down in one of the chairs positioned around her office. She sat in the one right next to me, not bothering to go back around to sit behind her own desk.

  “I’m sure you heard about the nightclub shutting down,” I said, looking down at my fingernails.

  “Yes, of course,” she said. “Do you need a place to stay? I can help with that. What have you been doing since then? It’s been nearly a year.”

  She got up to grab some paperwork, but I snagged her wrist.

  “I need a lot of help, actually,” I said, hoping to convey to her that this wasn’t a normal situation. “Most of all, I need someone who knows what it’s like to be in this situation to just listen. Can you be that person?”

  There had been so many people who wanted to know my story—cops, first, then the media and other curious people. I could talk until I was blue in the face, but nobody truly knew what I was going through. I needed somebody like Jasmine, someone who had been to hell and back, to tell me that things were going to be okay. I desperately needed some kind of hope to hold onto.

  Jasmine slowly sat back down in the chair and took my hand. “I can be whatever you need me to be,” she said. “I’m here for you, Sol.”

  It felt strange to be Sol—not Pumpkin, not sorpresita, but Sol—me. My name. It told me that this was a true new beginning, that things were going to be different now. Maybe they wouldn’t be better. Not right away, at least. But things were going to be different.

  “I don’t know if you’ve heard about the situation with Andrew Steele,” I began, then trailed off, not sure where I should even start. It had been fucked up from the beginning, but it had only spiraled into the worst nightmare imaginable.

  “Andrew Steele,” Jasmine repeated. “The guy from MarshTide International Security. He’s been on the news recently. They just arrested him for—”

  Jasmine stopped and looked at me, her lips pressed together in a thin white line.

  “I’ve spent the last year with him,” I said simply, and then told my story. I started in East Harlem, introducing Jasmine to the female contingency and Jimmy, took her into Mama’s nightclub and right back out again, brought her up on the auction block with Cream and me, and then invited her into our private, personal hell. Jasmine never took her eyes off of me as I poured my heart out to her, escorting her through the escalation of sex and violence I’d experienced.

  When I got to the part about Cream and the window and the scaffolding, I fell silent, unable to continue.

  “You’re the one who escaped,” Jasmine said quietly.

  “And Cream was the one who died,” I said. “Belle Nocton. Another one of Mama’s girls.”

  Jasmine looked at me, her face serious. “If you need a place to stay, it’s done,” she said. “I will move heaven and earth to help you get what you need. All you have to do is tell me what needs to be done. I take it going back to East Harlem isn’t an option.”

  I shook my head. “I can’t go back there,” I said. “Not after everything.”

  “We’ll get it figured out,” Jasmine promised me.

  For the first time, even though I’d told my story over and over again, I felt as if a significant burden had been lifted. I knew that Jasmine understood where I was coming from. I knew that she had lived that life, walked that path. What was special was that Jasmine was listening to me, but also giving me a way to move forward. She’d been here before and she knew the way out.

  My heart still weighed heavy in my chest, and I couldn’t think of Cream without crying. She’d saved my life. I owed her everything.

  I owed her everything, and I would do anything to repay that debt.

  “That evil man’s trial is coming up,” Jasmine said. “Are you thinking about testifying? You certainly wouldn’t be expected to, after everything. Sisters Together can get you legal help, pro bono.”

  “I am going to testify,” I said. “I owe Cream—Belle—that much. People need to understand what happened to her. If they can’t understand, they have to at least know. I don’t trust the courts to not get it all twisted. There needs to be a firsthand account, and I’m the only one who can do that.”

  Jasmine gave me a ghost of a smile. “You’re a brave young woman, Sol. Can I tell you something?”

  I nodded.

  “You’re doing this the right way,” she said. “You’re facing your
fears, not running away from them. It may not seem possible right now, but you’re going to be okay. It might take a long time, but you’re going to get through this. Sisters Together is here for you. I’m here for you.”

  I smiled back at her. “Thank you,” I said. “I came here because I thought you might understand.”

  “I was tortured by my mother’s boyfriend while I was still in high school,” Jasmine said. “I was raped by a customer at Mama’s nightclub when I was just eighteen years old. That man gave me HIV.” Jasmine spread her hands. “And yet here I am. I am living proof, no bullshit, sitting in front of you and telling you that you can do this.”

  She lifted my spirits. I wanted someday to be able to sit across from a virtual stranger and tell her the worst of what ailed me as easily as reciting from a shopping list. One day, perhaps. One day.

  “I have a request,” I said. “I’m afraid it is a lot like moving heaven and earth, though.”

  “I am in the heaven and earth moving business,” Jasmine said. “Tell me.”

  “I need to find Terry Nocton,” I said. “Belle’s brother.”

  “I find people all the time,” Jasmine said. “What makes you think this is so hard?”

  “He went missing in action while he was serving in the Army,” I said. “In Afghanistan.”

  Jasmine’s eyes were serious, but she smiled all the same.

  “Give me time,” she said. “All I need is time.”

  * * * *

  The house was small, nondescript, and not in a great neighborhood, but it had a well-maintained chain link fence, and flowers. The person who lived here cared about the place. That much was evident.

  I let myself in through the gate and walked up to the porch, leaves crunching under my shoes. It was past autumn, winter settling into the city. It would be Christmas, soon. I smiled, thinking about the Christmas lights that the female contingency would unwind every year, draping them around the walls and windows inside the apartment. It was one of my favorite times of the year.

  There was a bundled newspaper thrown on the porch, and I stooped to retrieve it. One of the headlines blared at me: “Steele case to proceed; survivor to testify.” It was the right thing to do. I didn’t care that I’d look Andrew in the face again. I wanted to. I wanted the world to know what he’d done. I wasn’t shy about justice. He was going to get his.