The Ninja's Blade

by Tori Eldridge

  I trailed my fingers across the backs of the dining chairs as I moved behind the table. If I’d been trying to escape, I never would have pinned myself in this way. But I was buying time, and the barrier between us suited me just fine.

  Ricky sat and pulled buds from the bag.

  “Roll it fat, okay?” I glanced at Big D and winked. “I like ‘em big.”

  Ricky leaned back and grabbed his crotch. “Hey. Don’t look at him. I got what you want right here.”

  “I’m sure you do,” I said, leaning over the table and added a few more buds to the joint.

  “Fuck this shit,” said Big D. “This ain’t no prom date, bitch.”

  As Big D came at me from one side, Ricky, not to be outdone, advanced on the other. Rather than wait to be thrown onto the table and raped, I rolled across it and escaped. When the momentum of my rolling dismount pitched me forward, I cartwheeled into a casual fighting stance—left foot forward, elbows down, hands up and open as if to say, What’s up guys?

  I smiled like we were all having a really good time. “I thought we were going to party. Smoke a little weed, have a little fun.”

  Saint glared at me, not the least bit amused. “What the fuck, Manolo? You find this bitch at the circus?”

  I interrupted before Manolo could stop my shenanigans. Once begun, fights progressed quickly. The longer I could keep everyone talking, Payns and his task force would have to arrive.

  “That’s right, guys. Imagine all the things I can do with this limber body. In fact, check this out.”

  Showing off my former Wushu skills, I extended my front leg in front of my nose and carried it to the side. When my knee brushed against my shoulder, the men gaped.

  “Makes you wonder what else I can do, doesn’t it?”

  I continued rotating my leg and set my foot behind me in another equally strategic stance.

  Saint cocked his head, as if considering the possibilities. Ricky nodded, eager for a go. Manolo leaned against the wall to watch.

  Big D was pissed. “You ain’t nothing but a hole to me, bitch. And I’m going to rip that shit wide.” He strode around the table and unzipped his fly.

  He and Saint advanced from the left. Ricky advanced from the right. Behind me, the vinyl furniture waited for abuse. I had stalled as long as I could.

  I dodged Big D’s attack and rotated toward Saint, who grabbed my hair and pulled. I accelerated the momentum—to carry me farther from the biggest, most violent man in the room—and snuck under Saint’s arm. Securing his hand against my head so he wouldn’t rip out my hair, I sank, turned, and cranked his arm in a lock behind his back. Saint rose on his toes to escape the sudden pain and released my hair. I kicked the back of his knee, raked his face with my other hand, and used his nostrils as finger holds to guide him backward, effectively turning Saint into a human shield against Big D.

  Where the hell was Payns?

  Saint clawed at his face. So I released his nostrils and captured his fingers instead. With another kick to the back of the knee, I pulled him farther off balance into an excruciating taki ori wrist lock. With only his fingers in my grip, I had locked up the entire left side of his body and held him in place with the counter lock I still maintained on his right. Saint’s joints were stressed to their limits. A centimeter more and he’d be done.

  Big D threw his hands out in anger and pointed down at me. “You can’t hide from me, bitch.” Then he grabbed Saint by the shirt and yanked. Saint’s locked up joints popped with the telltale sucking noise of dislocation making him howl in pain.

  I hurried toward the front door, unlocked the first of two bolts for Payns, and returned to face Big D, who was staring at Saint with puzzled distaste.

  “Forget him,” Manolo shouted. “Get her.” Then motioned for Ricky to help.

  I drew the karambit from my boot and opened it behind my thigh so no one would see. Payns had warned me not to kill Manolo, but he hadn’t said anything about killing anyone else.

  Big D came at me hard and fast, tackling me against the door. He had my shoulders pinned against the wood and leaned his forearm across my neck. I tucked my chin to protect my throat, but I didn’t have much room to maneuver. A knee to his groin might piss him off, but it wouldn’t stop someone like Big D—the man was way too angry to be distracted by pain. So I did three things, simultaneously: I sank, I tightened my gut, and I stabbed my talon blade into his inner thigh. Big D’s pressure on my throat released. I used the space to drop my weight and slice the blade down to his knee.

  Big D howled in anguish. Blood spurt from his femoral artery in pulsating bursts. He clawed at his track pants and fell toward me. I slipped out of the way, grabbed his hand, and planted it against the wound.

  “Press hard, lie down, don’t move.”

  Now, two men groaned on the floor, one dying, the other writhing in pain from his dislocated joints. That left Manolo and Ricky.

  I leapt onto the coffee table and dropped behind it in front of the couch. As Ricky advanced, I lifted my end of the table and flipped it at him. He backed away, but the wood fell against his knees. I jumped in the air and landed with a double stomp kick onto the table. Bones broke. Ricky shrieked.

  Three men down, and still no Payns.

  A gun fired. I dove to the side and landed on the couch. Manolo stood on the other side of his crew, about ten feet away, pointing a pistol at my head.

  “You fucking whore,” he yelled.

  I rolled onto the floor as a bullet tore into the vinyl where I’d been standing. Another bullet splintered the coffee table’s upended leg.

  Big D yelled from the door. “Forget the bitch, Manolo. I’m bleeding out.” His blue track pants had turned black around his groin and thigh. “I need help, man. Call an ambulance.”

  “And bring them here? Are you fucking nuts?”

  “Well, fucking do something because I’m fucking dying on your fucking floor.”

  “What about me?” Ricky wailed. “Bitch broke my knees.”

  “At least you got arms,” Saint moaned, trying and failing to stand.

  Manolo swung his pistol back to the couch, but didn’t find me there. “What the fuck? Where’d she go, Ricky?”

  “I don’t know, I was looking at you and Saint.”

  Saint, who’d finally managed to stand without the use of his dislocated arms, shook his head then stopped as the motion made him sway.

  “Where is she?” Manolo yelled.

  The front door slammed open and Payns shouted, “Police.”

  Chapter

  Fifty-Three

  Everything happened so fast. Officers charged inside. Big D shielded himself from their boots, releasing his groin in the process and spurting blood onto the floor. An officer slipped. A gun fired. Ricky rolled against the upended coffee table. Saint backed against an ottoman, toppled, and cursed.

  I watched it all from the kitchen doorway.

  Manolo raised his gun. Payns fired three times. The girls in the back room screamed. And just like that, it was done.

  I dropped my knife and held up my hands. A burly officer grabbed my wrist and wrenched it behind me. Before he could grab the other, Payns shouted, “Not her.”

  “You sure? She had a knife.”

  Payns nodded toward Big D. “She was after him, not us.” Then he checked again to make sure Manolo was well and truly dead.

  A female officer called for an ambulance and instructed Big D to resume applying pressure on his wound. She snapped on a pair of gloves and checked him for weapons.

  I was surprised when she removed a pistol from behind Big D’s back. The gangbanger teen had been so certain of his strength when he came to rape me that he’d never drawn his weapon. After I’d cut him, the pain and terror of bleeding out had made him forget he even had it.

  An older officer secured Saint while Payns cuffed Ricky. Neither of the brothers were armed.

  The burly officer bagged my k
nife.

  “Will I get that back?”

  He smirked. “We’ll see.”

  With me cleared, the perpetrators secured, and Manolo dead, Payns and the older officer checked the back rooms.

  A moment later, Payns returned, mad as hell. “Son of a bitch has a girl locked in a cage.” He shoved Manolo’s corpse with his boot and patted his pockets. “Do you know where he keeps the keys?”

  I shook my head. “Haven’t had time to look.”

  “Johnson, get the wire cutters. Grady, call social. And call another paramedic. She’s in tough shape, and I don’t want her anywhere near these savages.”

  “Lily?” Dolla called from the doorway, cowering under the watchful gaze of the older white officer. Although he hadn’t done anything threatening that I could see, she seemed particularly fearful of him. Had Dolla’s life experiences given her reasons to mistrust older white men? Or would close proximity to any officer have triggered her fear?

  “It’s okay, Dolla. They’re here to help.”

  The officer nodded. “That’s right, miss. You’re going to be okay.”

  Cheeks joined Dolla, grabbed her arm, and hugged it tight. As she scanned the room, she took in the blood, injury, and death. Her pretty face flickered through a host of conflicting emotions, as though she couldn’t decide which one to feel. Shock, fear, anger, relief. Her lips trembled. Then she saw me across the room and burst into tears. “Candy,” she cried. “Baby Girl wants out, real bad. She’s yanking on that gate so hard. Her fingers are bleeding.”

  I hurried into the room and slid in front of the cage. Ana Lucía’s fingers dripped blood as she tore at the gate. I petted them gently and cooed. “Shhh. it’s okay, honey. It’s going to be okay.” When she stopped yanking, I pried her fingers from the wire grid as carefully as I could. “We’ll get you out. I promise.”

  “Tell her to back up.” Payns said. “The lock’s embedded, so I have to cut the whole gate. I don’t want her rushing out before I’m done.”

  I touched her fingertips through the grid and stared into her eyes. “Did you hear that, Ana Lucía? Just a few more minutes and you’ll be out. But you have to back up, so the officer can cut through the kennel.”

  Ana Lucía grew hysterical again and clawed at the gate. “No, no, no, no, n Let me out, let me out, let me out.”

  “This isn’t going to work,” I said to Payns. “Give it to me.”

  “You sure? It’s not as easy as it looks.”

  “Seriously?”

  He shrugged and handed over the wire cutters. Much as I hated to admit it, he was right. Every cut required all ten of my fingers to squeeze the handle plus a ridiculous amount of facial contortions. By the time I was done, my hands had cramped so badly I could hardly pick up the gate and move it aside. Even so, having me near kept Ana Lucía calm.

  I held out my hands, and she crawled into my embrace—naked, trembling, and abused.

  I hugged her tightly and thought of Rose. No one had comforted my sister after that beast had ravaged her body. No one had stopped him from ending her life. Not even me.

  Tears rolled down my face into Ana Lucía’s filthy hair. This poor child had suffered unspeakable horrors. I would have given anything to wipe them away.

  Chapter

  Fifty-Four

  Patrol cars crowded Manolo’s alley, lighting up the dismal scene in red, blue, and yellow. Cops kept the curious neighbors away so the paramedics could load Big D’s gurney into the first ambulance. The man had lost a great deal of blood from the artery I severed, but he’d live. My instructions to apply immediate pressure had saved his life. As far as I was concerned, that made us even.

  Two detectives inspected the area around Manolo’s corpse, taking pictures and making notes while Payns’ task force searched the house for evidence of sex trafficking. Based on their enthusiastic comments and the volume of items they bagged, I assumed they were finding enough for the state to prosecute.

  Big D’s ambulance left, and another arrived to take its place. A new set of paramedics entered the crowded house with gurneys and gear to attend to Ricky and Saint. Although the paramedics worked as carefully as they could, Ricky cried and cursed as they jostled his broken knees. My stomp kick to the coffee table wedged against his legs had done a thorough job. I grinned. Served him right.

  Once the paramedics had secured Ricky, they attended to Saint. He was in bad shape. When Big D had yanked Saint away from me, he dislocated Saint’s joints and undoubtedly tore muscles and ligaments. Shoulder injuries took the longest to heal. Saint would be suffering the effects of this night well into his prison sentence.

  I glanced in the bedroom at Ana Lucía, nestled against Cheeks on the bed, nibbling on the sesame candy I had brought from home. She’d already downed the water we’d given her, but for the moment, seemed content with caring human contact. She wore the nylon sweatsuit I had rolled up in my backpack. It wasn’t particularly cozy, but it covered her nakedness and offered a thin shield of armor for the difficult hours ahead.

  Beside me, at the back of the house in clear view of the bedroom and living area, Payns questioned Dolla. “So you’re saying these men—Manuel Rodriguez, Big D, Ricky, and Saint—prostituted you, Ana Lucía, and Kristina Flynn?”

  “Who?”

  “The girl you call Cheeks. Her real name is Kristina Flynn. She disappeared from a college recruiting fair in Phoenix two years ago. She was fifteen.”

  Dolla waved her hand. “I don’t know nothing about that. The girl showed up last year. Manolo named her Cheeks because he liked her…” Dolla shook her head. “She never talked about before. At least, not to me.”

  “Because you kept the girls in line? Recruited minors? Enforced the rules? After all, you were Manuel’s second in command, weren’t you?”

  I stepped between them. “Don’t answer that.”

  I glared at Payns. “We had a deal.”

  He shrugged. “Manolo’s dead.”

  “And who pulled the trigger? Because I don’t own a gun, and I guarantee you won’t find any firearm residue on me.”

  “What about the other guys?”

  “What about them? I fought off four men who wanted to rape me and I didn’t kill any of them—and I was fighting a damn long time. Weren’t you watching that video feed? Didn’t you see the trouble I was in?”

  Payns shrugged again. “We got here as soon as we could.”

  “Right. And then you shot Manolo.”

  I crossed my arms and channeled three generations of North Dakota Norwegian stubbornness. If Payns thought he could work around me, he had another thing coming.

  “We had a deal, Lieutenant. I kept my end of it, and I expect you to keep yours.” I pointed at Dolla. “This is Brianna Wilson. She’s eighteen. Manuel Rodriguez prostituted her since she was fifteen. Anything he coerced her to do is on him. Brianna has been victimized enough. She deserves our support and our respect.”

  Payns pressed his lips together and nodded. “All right. Miss Wilson, why don’t you go sit with the others until social services arrive.”

  I nodded reassuringly. “It’s okay, Brianna. I’m not going anywhere.”

  She joined Ana Lucía and Kristina in the bedroom.

  I turned back to Payns. “I called Forsaken Children: City of Angels and let them know what was going on.”

  “Setting the watchdogs on us?”

  “Do you need watching?”

  “No.”

  I smirked. “Then I guess they’ll just be here for support.”

  The ambulance with Ricky and Saint left, and another took its place in the driveway.

  “Is that one for Ana Lucía?”

  Payns nodded. “The girl’s in tough shape. She’ll need a full battery of tests, rape kit, IV, antibiotics. Who knows what else?”

  I glanced at Ana Lucía, Brianna, and Kristina sitting on the bed together like girls at a pajama party instead of the prostituted victi
ms they’d been an hour ago. Would they return to the life when all this was said and done, haunted by demons and unworthiness? Or would they find their way to a brighter reality?

  Payns read my mind. “Most of them go back to the life. You know that, right?”

  I nodded. “At least we’re giving them a chance.” I glanced back at the girls. “Have you notified Ana Lucía’s parents?”

  “One of my officers called it in. Her parents had filed a missing person’s report. The detective in charge has been notified.”

  “What about Kristina’s parents? Will someone tell them she’s okay?”

  Payns nodded. “When you focused the camera on her face for so long, I figured she might be the girl trafficked from Phoenix. We snapped a shot of her from the footage and sent it to PPD. When they found a match, I told them to wake up the detective in charge of her case. He’ll be arriving later this morning.”

  Across the living area and through the open front door, I could see dawn’s light bathing the driveway in a soft morning glow. A new day had begun—one that would prove drastically different for Manolo, his crew, and his victims.

  “Lieutenant?” the burly officer interrupted.

  “What is it, Jones?”

  “We found something in the master bedroom—photos, jewelry, and…what appears to be a woman’s bloodstained shirt folded into a neat little square. It’s disturbing. I think it might be a shrine.

  I cursed under my breath. In all the excitement, I had forgotten the main reason I had infiltrated Manolo’s lair.

  “Show me,” said Payns.

  Officers had busted through the lock on Manolo’s door—apparently, his bedroom was off limits to all but an invited few. Officer Jones led us to the items displayed on the dresser.

  Payns pointed to the photographs. “Is that her?”

  I nodded.

  A framed selfie of Emma and Manuel occupied the center of the shrine. They looked happy—her laughing and him nuzzling her ear—like a couple in love. Other photos showed a different story. In these, Emma appeared older, tougher, sexier. She stared at us in defiance, as if she’d known that, one day, people would see these photos and judge her life.