And in the air, I swear I can smell sin. Can taste it too.
I stare blankly at the window to my right as he comes down from his euphoric high a top me. And as I manage to take back control of my own breathing, there’s a voice in my head screaming that I should run.
“I…” I trip over my own words.
“Did I hurt you, Grace?” he questions from above me, his breath hot against my back.
“N-no.” Not physically, at least. But I can’t tell him the truth. That I feel like my heart is on my sleeve and I’m fucking terrified. “I have to go.”
“What?” He lifts himself up slightly, just enough that I’m able to climb out from underneath him and jump to my feet. “Where are you going?”
I just shake my head as I hastily rush into the bathroom, clean off and then yank my dress over my shoulder. When I re-enter the room and look back to him, I find his eyes gleaming for answers but right now, I don’t have any. Not for him anyway. “I forgot I have a class project due tomorrow,” I say as I snag my phone off the nightstand.
He sits up in bed, his hands dangling between his naked legs. It’s like he’s trying to coax me into staying with the way his rock hard abs stand out in stark relief. “Tomorrow’s Sunday,” he points out matter-of-factly.
“Yeah,” I stammer, searching for an appropriate lie and settle on probably the most unbelievable of them all. “World Religions meets on Sundays sometimes.”
He moves to speak, but stops himself. His tongue laps across his bottom lip as he shakes his head gently. “Let me take you home at least.”
“No! I mean, no thanks. I’m really sorry,” I say, bending down to slip into one shoe. “I’ll see you in class,” is the last thing I say before I scoop the other shoe into my hand and run out the hotel door…
The world’s sluttiest Cinderella.
I could have taken a cab back to my car, but it was still before midnight and I figured the alone time walking the short distance from the hotel to my ride would be time well spent pondering what the hell just happened.
How many times can I abruptly leave him and expect him to show any interest in me? That doesn’t matter right now. What matters is that, once again, I did run. Ran as fast as I could and now I find myself walking slowly a walk of shame.
I was never supposed to be this girl.
But now, I am this girl. I’m the girl who slept with her college professor, who apparently is a member of a sex club by night. I’ve become a cliché, but that’s not the thing that’s bothering me. He basically stunned me into panic back in the hotel. I had never imagined something could feel that good.
There is no college boy who could do what he just did to me. I’m doomed to sexual disappointment for the rest of my life after that hotel room escapade. I’m doomed for life…
Unless he wants me again, which at this point I highly doubt. But even if he did, I have the distinct feeling I’m doomed anyway.
Doomed for heartache.
13
Jack
The night ended way earlier than I expected, but it’s probably for the best. This was all a terrible idea from the start, and now I have to deal with the fact that I’ve taken what was probably an innocent college girl’s virginity for nothing.
But fuck, it hadn’t felt like nothing. It felt like everything.
In fact, more than twenty-four hours later, I’d thought of little else. Taking her to the Capestrana crime family’s sex club had been all kinds of perverse, but I knew she was a dog with a bone and if I didn’t give her something to chew on, she wouldn’t stop. Besides, as far as crime went in this city, the Capestranas were off my radar. They dealt in money laundering, racketeering and the oldest profession in the book, but nothing awful. Nothing like what Donny Carmichael was dealing in.
I pick up my lukewarm coffee and wince as I take a sip.
Three hours of stakeout so far tonight and still nada.
After some more research earlier in the day, I was able to locate Donny Carmichael’s residence. And now, here I am parked outside his house well after midnight just waiting for him to make his move.
Deep down, I always pray that I’m wrong, or at least I pray that the intel is wrong. My job isn’t an easy one. It’s not as satisfying as it might seem on the surface, because it forces me to realize the dark truth that there are monsters all around us.
Maybe I’m one of those monsters. Some people could very well think that about me, and I wouldn’t question their opinions. I’ve done terrible things.
Hunched over in my seat, my eyes are transfixed on the front door of his white home. I can only faintly see the door as the sprawling mansion is hidden behind a blanket of trees. Parked in front of the house on the paved driveway is a running Rolls Royce. I try to forget about Grace and put my head back on straight as I wait for this scumbag to show his face.
The front door peels open and out comes the son of a bitch, wearing a blank expression all the while his lip folds into a smirk at the corner. Little does he know that this all ends tonight, one way or another.
He climbs into the back seat, closes the door, and the next thing I know, the car is exiting the driveway through the gate at the end. Once they’re on the move, I turn the ignition and begin to follow closely behind—but not too close as to raise suspicion.
My mind goes back to Grace again as I find myself hoping that her virginity means she isn’t a pro after all. That, if she is helping one of these scumbags that she doesn’t know the truth about what these men truly do.
I shelve that thought again as I follow Donny to a warehouse in the industrial district. His driver pulls into the parking lot around back, but I don’t follow him inside. Instead, I park my car on the edge of a tree-lined street along a park that sits adjacent to the warehouse.
I turn off the ignition and kill the lights, take a silent pause to myself before reaching into the glove compartment to grab two guns I keep loaded at all times. The cold metal is heavy in my hands, both by the sheer weight of the weaponry, but also with the cost that constantly weighs down on my soul, the heaviest of burdens.
I don’t abide by the law. I make my own. And tonight, I’m about to be the enforcer as well.
I slip out of my car and close the door gently behind me. Surveying the scene ahead of me, I figure the best way to sneak into the warehouse is to go through the woods, and that’s just what I do.
I carefully step through a small clearing in between the trees. Each step is more careful than the last, trying to make the least noise possible so as to not alert anyone that I’m coming their way.
Surprise is more often than not the key to a successful mission. Once I come to the edge of the woods at a clearing just across from the warehouse, I’m met with a tall wire fence that I’m able to scale easily.
My feet land against hard concrete. I crouch to my knees, taking survey of the parking lot and see no signs of life. If I’m correct, Donny is already inside the industrial building.
My heart beats slowly—I’ve learned over time to control my breathing—as I sneak across the large parking lot, taking refuge behind a row of trailers parked in a line of truck docks. There’s rattling inside the one right in front of me, alerting all my senses.
But it’s a false alarm, nothing more than the hot air inside expanding against metal walls. I tuck one gun behind my shirt and check the clip in the other before stepping to one of many exterior doors.
This particular door is on the opposite end Donny and his driver would have entered through since their car is parked on the opposite side of the warehouse. The door squeals as I pull it open.
I draw my gun from the side and aim it forward as I begin to pace down a long, dark hallway. Pale yellow lights pool around my feet from the loose bulbs overhead, casting swinging shadows on the greyed-out walls.
The scent of musk is overbearing, probably because this is a warehouse that’s been out of service for a little over a year since Park Industries relocated to Iowa. The lig
hts overhead are on an emergency system of sorts, with the electric being provided by an ancient pair of generators in the back that turn loudly in the near distance.
It’s hotter than hell, a fitting metaphor for the hell I’m about to find myself in. I tear through clear white curtain strips as I finally reach a clearing. I rush forward, hiding behind a stack of old pallets.
When I peek around the corner, that’s when I see them.
There’s a row of girls, seven of them to be exact, all standing in a perfect line. Their clothes are filthy and their bodies painted with dirt. Their eyes are empty and hollow as if their souls have been stolen from them. All of them are young, none of them appearing to be over the age of fourteen.
My stomach turns in knots as I whip back around and bang my head against the wooden pallets. I check my gun once more before exhaling silently and craning my head back around the stack of wood.
Donny paces back and forth in front of the girls while his muscle head driver stands in the background with his strong, buff arms crossed over each other.
Donny Fucking Carmichael. To the world, he’s a respected businessman who made his fortune creating database systems for private entities. To the world, he’s a loving family man living the perfect life with a perfect wife and two perfect teen boys.
After tonight, the world will know the truth.
Donny stops in front of a girl in the middle, a pale and short girl with her hair pulled tight into pigtails. She stares down at the floor, no emotion left on her tear-stained cheeks.
“Look at me,” Donny commands, but the girl is too exhausted to do as instructed. Donny chuckles quietly before reaching for the girl’s chin and forcing her to look at him, tears streaming down her face. “I said look at me.”
She nods affirmatively, but I’m not sure she speaks English, or any of them for that matter. It would fit the profile of many sex traffickers, bringing girls in from outside the country.
It makes me sick to my fucking stomach. How could anyone be this monstrous? Especially someone who has children of his own.
Donny moves to the next girl who has no problem staring him down. She’s got a fire in her eyes, which unfortunately means she’ll probably be the one who suffers the most. Donny pokes her in the chest, but she doesn’t validate him with any sort of response. Donny passes a cocky grin back to the meathead standing behind him before turning back to the poor girl and slapping her hard across the face.
My finger dances with the trigger of my gun.
Donny instructs the next girl to bare her teeth, but she doesn’t seem to understand what he’s saying. He reaches forward and pries open her mouth with his fingers, shaking his head in disgust before taking a step back. “This one is of no use to us,” he says to his driver, who immediately reaches for the girl’s arm and pulls her from the lineup.
She begins to cry, tries to fight the older man but it’s a fruitless fight. She’s simply too young, too exhausted, and too small to do anything about her fate.
That’s why people like me exist.
I could call the police. Fuck, that’s what I should do. It’d be the right thing to do. That’s been the plan since I first began this operation. I would find enough evidence to bury Donny and then turn it over to the police, letting the justice system work the way it’s supposed to.
At some point, I know I’m going to have to retire from this life of vigilantism I’ve created for myself. Maybe then I could finally find a good girl to settle down with and just live a peaceful existence.
Someday.
But when the bouncer raises his hand and punches the crying girl with jagged teeth in the face, I realize…
That today is not that fucking day.
I slip out from behind the stack of pallets and aim my gun squarely at the driver. My finger pulls back the trigger, a deafening bang cracking through my eardrums as I fire directly into his heart.
He drops dead instantly, his muscular body landing with a crack against the concrete flooring. It’s a satisfying display for me, but I also instantly recognize that these innocent girls will live with the terrible memory of seeing a man die right before their eyes for the rest of their lives.
I figure though that it’s a thousand times better than the alternative.
The girls all cower to the ground, covering their heads with their hands as Donny twists on his feet to face me and throws his hands in the air, surrendering.
I aim the gun squarely at his head as I pace towards him in a slow march. Time seems to stop as I fight an internal battle. A part of me wants to kill him right here and now just as I’ve done to his driver. But I find myself hesitating because cold murder is a tough pill to swallow. Taking a life isn’t something that’s easy to live with, even when that life is literal scum. The world will be a better place without these monsters breathing the same air as the rest of us. I know, and still I hesitate.
Once I’m closer to him—but not close enough for him to make any sort of calculated move—I come to a stop and reaffirm my aim.
“Whatever you want, you can have it,” he says with a level of confidence you don’t often see in men who are mere feet away from death. He’s probably used to getting whatever he wants or needs with money. Little does he know that I can’t be bought. “I can give you a cut, say, thirty percent.” A wicked grin hitches across his lips, his forehead wrinkling with glee as he gestures towards the girls with his head. “You can take one of them home with you. Any one you want.”
My jaw clenches. My finger flirts with the trigger that I’m aching to pull.
I decide to test him just a little, dropping my gun slightly as if I’m interested in what he’s offering, and he does me the world’s biggest favor.
He reaches for the gun in his waistband.
I shoot him dead between the eyes with a double-tap of my finger against the trigger.
He stumbles forward, his mind unable to process the shock of what’s just happened. He fumbles forward, his head cracking against the concrete and forming a pool of blood that seeps outwards.
I’ve gone further than I’ve ever gone before. Perhaps I’ve gone too far, but I hadn’t realized how deep this shit had gotten and I’m more determined than ever to clean up this town, especially when I see these seven girls cowering in fear in front of me.
I dig a burner phone from my jacket and dial 911 while raising my finger to my lips and making a shhhh gesture. When the operator on the other end of the line answers, I drop the phone onto the concrete and kick it towards the girls, and offer them a silent nod.
One of the girls stumbles forward and scoops the phone up into her hands. “Yes, hello,” she cries, a look of silent relief passing over her face as she begins a conversation with the people who are capable of helping her.
I wish there was more I could do, but I’ve played my part and it’s time to go. I take one last glance at the weeping girls, who all seem to nod with gratitude as I slink backwards and into the shadows.
I’m sick to my stomach as I make my way down the same familiar dark hall I entered through, all the while hearing the girls in the background continuing to weep and cry. I wish I could adopt each and every single one of them, and protect them as if they were my own. But there’re a million other girls just like them out there and I can’t save them all.
Doesn’t mean I’m not going to try.
When I get back to my car, I toss my jacket and gun into the trunk before taking a moment to myself in the front seat. I lean back against the headrest with my eyes closed, unable to shake not only the image of the girls, but also the image of the two men I’ve just murdered in cold blood.
I tell myself over and over that they deserved it—which they did—but it doesn’t seem to help lift the burden that’s now weighing down on my soul. I wait in my car a little longer, just until I hear sirens.
That’s my cue to leave.
I turn the ignition and peel out onto the street, racing past two squad cars and an ambulance with ma
ny more still to come. By the morning, the whole city will know about what went down in the old Park Industries warehouse, but nobody will know that I was the one who stopped it.
The world doesn’t need to know. I don’t do this for any monetary reward, or do it for the fame. I do it for other reasons, reasons that are my own.
I grit my teeth as Grace pops into my mind and grip the steering wheel even tighter than before. Now that I know just how bad Donny is, I have to keep her close. She could be involved in something far more nefarious than she could ever know. And if she’s not? Being with me could have put her in the crosshairs of some very bad motherfuckers.
If she got hurt because of me? I’d never sleep a solid night again.
Which left me only one choice…
14
Grace
Everyone hates Mondays, and for good reason, I’d say. Not only because they follow the freedom that is the weekend, but also because many times questions that develop during the weekend linger into the week.
Mondays are slow. Sometimes I don’t even want to get out of bed. Today? I literally had to drag myself out of bed as if I were engaged in a tug-of-war with myself.
I haven’t heard from Jack since Saturday, which in my world is akin to an eternity, especially because there are lingering questions nagging at what is left of my frazzled mind.
Sitting in the cafeteria with Willow, I’ve somehow managed to drown out all the raucous morning noise. Where the heck do my peers find so much energy to spare on a Monday morning?
I raise a Styrofoam cup to my lips and take a quick sip of too-hot coffee. “Have I ever told you I’ve been drinking this crap since I was five?”
“Stop avoiding,” Willow says deadpan, grabbing the coffee out of my hand and setting it out of the way. “I want details.”
Saving Grace: A bad-boy virgin romance Page 10