by Tara Brown
All the other doors opened though. Men with trousers midway up their thighs ran from rooms, pulling their pants up and shouting. Girls scrambled.
But I didn't move. I watched them flee, letting them get out. Luce would grab girls and Coop would grab men, and I would wait.
That was the rotten plan we had.
Finally, Sierra came stalking from a room. The new girl behind her started to run, covering her hair with her hands and heading for an exit. Sierra gave me a look. “Who tha fuck are ya?” She was no longer sweet and ladylike. She was the gangster she had been all along.
“A mom,” I answered.
“A mum?” She smiled wide. “Any bitch can be a mum.” She held her hands out. “Congrats, ya spat a kid out yer twat.”
A slow smile crossed my lips. “I didn't actually. My twat is intact.”
She laughed. “Which one of these sluts is yers?”
“All of them.”
Her blue eyes narrowed. “Ya ain’t taking my girls.”
“No. You’re right about that. I’m not taking them. Scotland Yard is, and even then, I think some of them will end up somewhere very different from here.”
She pulled a gun from the back of her pants. “Fuck you!” She fired, but I spun, hitting the wall and throwing one of the chopstick-styled hairpins. She dropped the gun as the pin landed in her hand. She screamed, not accustomed to pain.
As she grabbed at it to pull it out, I broke into a sprint, taking her to the floor, punching once. My hands shook with my rage that had built to a ridiculous level, but they were not finishing what I had started. I spun her onto her back, pulling the zip tie from my pocket and fastening her hands behind her. I dragged the hairpin from her palm slowly, jerking it a little. “Where’s your dad?”
“Fuck you!” She sobbed.
I stabbed the hairpin back into the exact same wound. She screamed.
“Where’s your dad?”
“Fu-fu-fuck you!” She heaved as I jerked the pin to the right, like it was a stick shift.
“HE’S IN RUSSIA!” She lost control. I dragged it out again, holding it to her throat. “Where?”
“Stalingrad.” Her jaw trembled.
I got up, grabbing her gun and dragging her with me down the hall. “Where are the videos you make?”
Her eyes darted to the right.
“The videos, Sierra. Or I will jam that fucking hairpin in your eye.”
“I don't make videos, you crazy bitch.”
Slamming her into the wall I pulled out the hairpin and lodged it, straight and hard into the eye. She screamed and I pulled it out, leaning back as blood shot from her face. “Where?”
“IN THE FUCKING KEBAB STORE NEXT DOOR!”
Hearing the screaming downstairs as Scotland Yard showed up, I dropped her to the floor. She squeezed the damaged eye shut, bleeding and drooling everywhere.
“Good luck luring kids with one eye.” I turned and walked out, opening the door to the room I had asked remain shut. “Hurry up.”
The Scottish girl sat on the bed, shaking her head. “Who tha fuck are ya?”
“I told you. Now get up.”
She hurried and scrambled to my side, peeking out the doorway to where Sierra sat slumped on the floor, covered in blood. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, yer fucking crazy.”
“You have no idea.” I grabbed her arm and dragged her from the room. When I got downstairs it was pandemonium. Agents drew their weapons on me, but Coop shook his head, lifting a hand. “She’s one of us.” He used an English accent.
“The madam is on the second floor. The kebab shop next door has all the videos.”
The agent in front of me nodded, swallowing hard and looking confused. “Yeah, we hit their shop already. Got that information the moment we arrived here. How long have you guys been on this one?”
I gave Coop a look. “It’s classified. But all the evidence is here for you. No Blackpool police involvement this time.” I winked.
The agent blushed, looking down.
“Interpol is watching this and so is MI6. So if there is a single crumb swept under the carpet this time, heads will roll,” Coop threatened.
The man pressed his lips together. “I don't think that's a problem we’ll have.”
He reached for the girl next to me but I pulled her back. “This one comes with us.”
He looked like he might argue, as did Coop, but I stood firm on it.
The girl looked worried, but I had told her something and I was keeping my word.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Winning
The helicopter was waiting when I got to the airport in Blackpool. Even in the dark of night, I could see that he looked annoyed. I had to be grateful that he was even there without having to be asked. He didn't walk to me or take my hand. He didn't even introduce himself to Lindsey. He sat in his seat and waited for us to board.
The five of us strolled across the helicopter tarmac and boarded. Lindsey trembled and itched. She would need drugs to get off the drugs. I didn't know if the nuns would allow for that but she needed a hand up.
As we flew along the dark coastline and across the country, she eventually relaxed and started staring out the window.
Servario glared at Coop who gladly returned the look with even more intensity, thanks to his steely blue eyes.
My eyes didn't want to leave Lindsey. I had a picture in my mind of what she might have been. She was pretty and bold.
“Where’s your mom?” I asked eventually, making sure the conversation was kept between the two of us and shrouded by the noise of the helicopter.
“Back home in Glasgow. Works two jobs.”
My insides tugged when I realized the poor woman was probably crazed with worry. “Life’s expensive, Lindsey. Where’s your dad?”
“I don't know.” She offered it, but I could tell she didn't want to. “Him I haven’t seen in years.”
“Is there a way I can reach her and tell her you’re okay?”
Her brow knit but she nodded. “Yeah.” I held up my phone and she entered the contact for me under the name Ruth.
We didn't speak of it again. I didn't need to. I had what I wanted to know, what I needed.
When the helicopter landed again with the nuns and the beautiful coastline, Servario climbed out into the early sunrise. He walked ahead, not speaking to me.
Lindsey looked worried. “A Catholic church?”
“No. It’s a place for kids who have seen the worst the world has to offer. They will help you and keep you safe.”
She turned, maybe starting to panic because of her need for a fix.
I lifted my hands and gripped her thin arms. “They will help you through this. They will help you be and find more in the world. I promise.”
Tears filled her eyes but she nodded. She turned away from me without a hug. Were you meant to hug the person who saved your life, or did I think she should have hugged me because I was a mom and it seemed like the right thing?
She walked on her fragile legs to the older woman with the gentle smile.
As they had the last time, they welcomed her warmly.
Servario turned and walked back to the helicopter. His eyes didn't even graze my face. He was pissed and I knew why. I knew he had been in the shadows, and maybe I had played a little harder than I should have at smitten with Coop.
When I got back inside I texted my kids. It was too early for them to be up and texting me back, but I needed to send them something. I needed to feel that connection of love and motherly emotion.
“Drop us off in Germany if it’s all the same to you, Servario.” Coop sighed and rubbed his eyes.
I gave Servario a look. “Except me. Take me to Scotland.”
“What am I, your fucking pack mule?” His dark eyebrows lowered over his eyes, darkening them too. We all ignored the question, hoping he would stop pouting.
Luce lost the battle on staying awake, her head slowly falling to the window. Jack grabbed it and pulle
d it onto his shoulder. He closed his eyes and leaned against her too.
Maybe we would need a couple of days of R&R before we could start something else. No one liked sex slavery.
Coop leaned forward, gripping my knees. “The boss man contacted Jack, told him he was pleased we had found some time to do our actual jobs.”
I laughed. “Of course he did.”
“We did a good thing there.”
Servario rolled his eyes. “You stopped one brothel. They have hundreds. Michele Saransk is the man I have been tracking for ages. He is the main trafficker for all of Europe. He has mob ties and friends in all the right places.”
“Michele Saransk? How do I know that name?” I knew it from somewhere.
“You’re thinking of Michele Strophsky probably, the Russian double agent,” Coop answered.
“Maybe. But he’s dead.” I knew that because I had killed him. “Are all Russian mobsters named Michele?”
“Focus.” Servario’s eyes darted to me. “Beating Saransk’s daughter up is the one thing you did that he might take notice of. You might be on the radar now.”
“Sierra?”
“Marina Saransk is her real name. She isn’t his favorite daughter or anything dreadful. She’s just one of the groomers he uses and she runs his Northern UK brothels. Blackpool, Ireland, Scotland, and York. Her sister Nina runs London and the South of England. They groom or abduct, whatever the job requires. Each city in Europe has a branch of the tree but Michele is the base. He’s the roots and the stump.”
“He’s on the list of people searching for the Burrow,” Coop added.
“Of course he is. He’s also on Interpol’s most wanted and he’s on about twenty hit lists. No one sees him. No one speaks to him.”
“He’s in Stalingrad.”
“Volgograd. No one says Stalingrad anymore.” Servario nodded. “He’s there protected by an army. His brother was in the KGB with the President of Russia. They were brothers in arms and now they are just brothers. Michele finds a lot of safe hideaways in Saint Petersburg and Moscow, but he prefers to be in Volgograd. He is one of the people making a fortune off the industrial sectors there. He owns factories and other legitimate businesses. Oil money.”
“How do we kill him?”
Servario laughed. “Not this week, Evie. Jesus. Save your energies. Taking down the Burrow is going to be one hard task.” He glanced at Coop. “What did you do to make her so blood thirsty?”
Coop lifted his hands. “Wasn't me.”
“I have always been blood thirsty.” I sighed and looked out the window as the sun rose higher.
When we landed at an airport in France near the border of Germany in a town called Haguenau, Jack, Luce, and Coop got out. Jack and Luce walked to the car waiting for them, but Coop gave me a look. “You want me to come?”
“No. This is something only a mother can do.”
His eyes darted to Servario’s but he didn't fight me on it. “Hurry back.” He turned and walked to the car we didn't order but knew was for us. It was the beauty of being with Servario—everything was always smooth.
The pilot ordered a fill for fuel, and as we sat there and watched them drive away, Servario leaned back, finally getting it off his chest, “You still love him.”
I lifted my gaze, sighing. “I love you both. I hate it but I do. I love you more.”
“But he fits so much nicer.”
“With the kids and the family life, yes.” It was brutal honesty, but he was smarter than I was; there was no point in trying to deny anything.
“When you close your eyes, what do you see for the future?”
I leaned back, desperate for some sleep and less drama. “A quiet life.”
“You won’t ever choose to be with me, Evie.”
I cracked an eyelid. “Don't cut me off.” I closed my eye again and continued, “I see a quiet life, run sort of the way my mom did it. I never knew a single thing was going on. She protected me from it all, but she didn't give up who she was. She didn't give up the things she loved. I have thirteen years left where my kids need me, and technically only five left with Mitch. They will turn eighteen and go to college and become adults. They will do the things I did. I stopped needing my mom in my life constantly when I was eighteen. I liked having her there in case, but I never used her much. My kids are my life, right now. But realistically they won’t be my life forever.”
“So what you’re saying is you want me to wait a decade or so, without touching myself or letting anyone else touch me?”
I laughed and sat up. “Oh Gustavo, I wouldn't ever imagine you could be abstinent for a decade.”
“I did it once before.”
“Liar.”
“From when I was born to the time when I was twelve, never had sex once.”
“Gross.” I grimaced. “You had sex at twelve?”
“No, I discovered touching myself. It was revolutionary. Then I discovered I could blackmail the maid into touching me. Also revolutionary.”
“Boys are nasty. You made her a pervert.” I cocked an eyebrow, no longer wanting to hear his childhood stories. “I want you to wait for me until we can do this.”
“Is that what you have asked Cooper for?” He didn't miss a thing.
“No. I told him it’s over.”
“It didn't look over. He sucked a fry from your fingers. That's an intimate act.”
A wicked grin spread across my lips. “You jealous?”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes again. “Good.”
“I have warned you, Evie,” he growled. It was a winning moment for me.
I mimicked his voice, “No Evie, she was the daughter of a most trusted friend and I never touched her, I swear.” I laughed at him, something he hated.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The End of Cyril
The house was small, but not at all what I had expected. There were flowers and gardens and it looked nice. I snuck in the back door, slipping inside and closing it. The deadbolt clicked in my fingers as I scanned the kitchen. The smell of bread and pastries filled my nose. Again, not what I had expected. I crept from the kitchen to the living room, surprised to see a sleeping woman on the couch.
Her hearing aids sat on the TV tray next to her.
Leaving her to sleep in peace, I tiptoed down the hall to the bedrooms and bathrooms. First it was a bathroom with floral themes choking it up. The bedrooms were neatly made up and clean.
I turned, confused until I saw a door I hadn’t opened. Keeping my eyes on the lady, I walked to the door, opening it quietly.
Nothing moved below but that didn't mean he wasn't there. I took the stairs slowly at first and then hurried when I realized the basement was open concept.
He sat on the couch, his head facing the wall opposite the stairs. The TV played a soccer match, or football in Scotland. As I walked to the couch I noticed his hand in his trousers, resting there and a beer in his other one. He looked like a much older version of Al Bundy from Married with Children.
I pulled the hairpin from my hair, stabbing down over him, through his hand and into either his dick or leg. I couldn't tell. He parted his lips to scream, but I slapped a hand across them and leaned forward. “This is from Lindsey.” I dragged the knife from my other pocket and sliced it across his throat, spilling his blood down the front of him as he sputtered and gasped for air, making gargling noises.
I didn't wait for him to die. I wiped my blade, pulled my hairpin from his hand, and walked back upstairs. I sat across from her, perhaps a little bloody for the living room but not really caring.
I stared at her until she flinched and woke, jumping when she saw me. I lifted my finger to my lips and pointed my knife at her hearing aids.
With trembling hands and wide eyes she put them in, demanding answers, “Who are ya? Why are ya in me house?”
“Did you know your husband was molesting girls?”
Her eyebrows dropped, not lifting in surprise but droppin
g in anger.
“Them girls are liars and teasers. My Cyril wouldn't ever touch—” She gagged and choked as the handle of my knife stuck out of her throat. I got up and dragged it from her, letting her artery shoot blood in a steady stream at me.
I pulled the matches from my pocket and lit one and then the whole pack, tossing it at the stack of magazines in the basket next to the floral couch. The flame looked like it might die out but the basket soon caught fire, sparking like something had been spilled on there.
I walked out the back door after stealing a raincoat to cover the bloody mess I was. I only needed to get a block over to the car where he was.
“Jesus, Evie. You are the messiest killer. Why don't you use a gun?”
Glancing down at the blood on my hands I shrugged. “I like the idea of them dying by my hand and not by the gun. I killed them.”
“You’re sick.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “I’m sick? You sell drugs, guns, and women, and I am the sick one because I enjoy ending perverts’ lives?”
“You were going to light the house on fire, I thought?”
“He had to know it was from Lindsey. I had to kill him first.”
“Of course you did.” He sat back as the car drove us through the suburban area on the outskirts of Glasgow. I dragged my clothes off, putting them into a bag and using the Lysol wipes from my purse to clean myself up. I stuffed it all into another bag and grinned at the face he was making. I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and pressed in the number for Ruth.
She answered on the fourth ring. “Hello?”
“Hi, Ruth please.”
“Speaking.” Her accent was thick.
“I am calling from the center where your daughter is being treated. I wanted to let you know she is safe and sound.”
After a moment, sobbing and whimpering took over the silence on the other end. She wept, uttering things I couldn't understand. Finally, she spoke clearly, “Oh, thank God. I prayed so hard for her soul. Is she able to talk to her mum?”
“I’m sorry, she’s detoxing. We are monitoring her. She was part of a brothel in Blackpool. A large raid.”