Tinged (The Electric Tunnel Book 3)

by Rachel Blaufeld

  Bruno released Chantilly and she returned to me, hooking her arm through mine.

  “We’re gonna chat, Bruno, and you’re gonna tell me all you know about this Rahm and where Miss Lincoln is,” I said, inviting myself in and heading toward the sitting room with my gun at the ready.

  I’D TOLD Carson we’d talk in the morning, but couldn’t wait when I finally got back from Bruno’s place. Against my better judgment, I dialed up my buddy at five o’clock in the morning East Coast time, waking him up and dragging him out of bed with his wife.

  “So, they roughed up the informant, and then what?” Carson asked after I’d started my story.

  I was pacing the length of the pool deck at Asher’s Florida house, my feet bare against the chilled stone. The moon was making its way down while the sun was trying to break free, bringing with it a new day.

  For me, though, nothing was new. I was still living the same nightmare as the day before.

  “He said something about Miss Lincoln not liking a fist up her cunt at first, but now she’s happy with her arrangement. A fist up her cunt, Carson. Did you hear that? That’s the woman I love they’re disgracing.” My voice cracked, and I couldn’t force any more words through my clogged windpipe. “I hear you, Mike. I do. But you have to calm down and tell me the rest. Then we’ll go from there,” he said calmly, pragmatic as usual.

  I told him about dragging Chantilly over to Bruno’s, leaving out everything about the guns and shit. He might have left the FBI years ago, but didn’t need to hear about all the illegal actions I’d recently committed—against the mob, no less.

  “At first, the ass thought I roughed up Chantilly, but we got that out of the way right quick. Then we got to discussing this Rahm dude. Apparently, he and his buddies roll into town every now and again for a good time. They take up a whole floor of a hotel or some shit, buy enough coke to take out an army, sun themselves by day and fuck by night. They pay triple or quadruple and like their girls all shapes and sizes—gingers, blondies, and darkies, according to Bruno. But the head of their group, he only likes dark. Always wants a Nigerian or Dominican. Do you hear where I’m going with this, man? He likes them dark, whoever the fuck he is.”

  “Shit.” Carson let out a loud breath through the line.

  I couldn’t stand any more after my rant. Lying down on the gray slate and staring up at the lightening sky, I talked some more.

  “This asshole Rahm is apparently the big guy’s cousin, an attaché or some fancy crap. He’s always the lead on the trip. The head honcho doesn’t always show. This time, he wasn’t planning on coming. Rahm told Bruno his cousin sent them on a little trip as a present, so they were all in for a good ole fucking time. Bruno told me he said ‘no darkies needed because my man is back home with that choice piece of ass you sent him.’” Sighing, I added, “That’s what I know.”

  “Now I know why this was all fucking tied up tight at the agency. Mike, this is no straightforward girl-gone-missing case. It’s sex trafficking, and we’re gonna have to get a fucking pair of Samurai swords to cut all the red tape in our way. But we’re gonna do it,” he said, full of false confidence. “I’m gonna get your girl, man. This is the break we needed.”

  Yeah, you’ll get my girl from some fucking sex-trafficking ring and a bunch of rich-as-shit foreigners.

  “Fuck!” I yelled into the phone. “I’m cracking, Carson. I gotta get her. Ended shit with Marta. Realized what a fuckup I am to do that. Need Lynx back like I need to eat and breathe.”

  “We’re going to get her,” he assured me. “What else did Bruno say? Did he know where they took Lynx? Did he broker the deal?”

  A sob raced up my throat, and there I sat crying like a baby on the phone with my friend, the tough-as-nails PI married to a former stripper. Tamping it down, I got myself under control and told him everything else I knew.

  “Bruno wouldn’t cop to much. Said that he only arranged for their entertainment when they were here, and whatever Lynx set up outside that wasn’t his business. As far as he knew, Lynx was living the good life with one of her johns.” I could barely push out the last few words, choking up all over again.

  Carson sighed. “Listen, I’m not on a case now. I was just hanging with Lila and the baby for a week or so before I start up again. I’m coming down there in the morning.”

  “No. Fucking. Way,” I said, needing to kick that idea in the nuts. “Lila will kill me.”

  “Yes, I am. And no, she won’t. She wants you happy, Mike, like she is. Besides, her brother is here in LA now, and so is Asher’s brother, so she has a ton of family to keep her company.” Changing gears on the conversation, Carson said, “Look, I gotta roll. I’m calling the hanger to see if I can get a charter. I’ll see you soon.”

  When he disconnected the call, I tossed my phone aside and gripped my head in my hands.

  How the hell did Lynx get involved in sex trafficking? And what were they doing to her?

  I rolled into the pool, allowing the water to take me under, trying to succumb to the soft lapping and put an end to what I was currently feeling.

  Gasping, I came up for air and headed inside for a shower. No matter how much hell I was in, life went on, and I had a meeting with the architect on the hotel.

  HE TOOK her hand, bringing her fingers to his dark lips and kissing softly along her knuckles. “Hello, my lovely Lincoln,” he said, running his nose along her wrist, inhaling her scent.

  Lynx had been playing the role of an enamored woman for so long, her shudders remained hidden deep below the surface. Her perfectly convincing act carried her a long way, but not quite far enough. She needed tonight like a person stranded in the desert needs a drop of water.

  Thankfully, she had never told anyone in this mysterious place her real name. She was Lincoln all the time, and it was for the best. Especially in the beginning when she was at the disposal of so many men, she couldn’t bear to hear another man say her birth name. Just the thought of the strange jumble of consonants and one lonely vowel rolling off yet another man’s tongue gave her chills.

  “Hello, Zayid,” she answered dutifully, batting her eyelashes as was expected.

  The short man stood in front of her wearing an expensive tan suit, a crisp white shirt, and an ice-blue tie, reeking of cologne and privilege.

  He brushed his hand on her cheek. “How are you this evening?”

  “I’m lovely,” she said—yet another dutiful expectation of her.

  “And you certainly look lovely. Is this one of the dresses I purchased for you in London?” he asked, not allowing a minute to pass without his guardianship being noted.

  “It is. Thank you.” Lynx leaned in and ran her mouth over Zayid’s cheek, landing on his leathery lips for a kiss, welcoming him as she was expected to.

  He pulled her close, his erection digging into her front as he forced his tongue into her mouth. She willed her tongue to explore his, proving she was worthy of being one of his chosen.

  Breaking free, he asked, “Shall we?”

  As they left the apartment, escorted by several bodyguards through a series of underground tunnels, Lynx tried to get her breathing under control. She hadn’t been to one of the parties since before London. Then again, she’d been whisked on that trip after the last party—when a guest of Zayid’s got too close for comfort . . .

  LYNX HAD been drinking a cocktail with her long legs comfortably stretched out along a suede chaise, one of the other girls purring by her feet and another lounging by her head. The DJ was spinning some blaring American techno blend that was hurting her ears. There were girls everywhere in a myriad of variations . . . ginger, blond, brunette, freckled, Asian . . . but only one black. That was her—the sole dark woman.

  Men perused the room, free to take a sample or a taste of any of the numerous flavors on the buffet spread in front of them. If they liked what they tasted and wanted to savor a bit more, there were rooms along the corridor where they could feast to their content behind clos
ed doors.

  Except when it came to Lynx. Her off-limits status was clear by the placement of the lounge she inhabited to the left of Zayid’s regal chair.

  Of course, while she lay next to his throne, he was across the room running his skinny finger along the brow of an exotic Latin girl who was new to the complex. She sucked on a piece of fruit from her drink, running her tongue all around the limp, pickled piece of nothing, trying to act seductive. It was the same every time there was a new crop of girls. They all wanted to be a favorite, so they labored over ridiculous sensual acts in a desperate attempt to capture Zayid’s attention.

  It wasn’t enough to be paid to suck and fuck whatever rich idiots or heads of state Zayid entertained. No, the girls wanted the promise of trips and gifts and extra stipends. Lynx was the first to admit . . . it was hard not to get greedy when staring such opulence in the eye.

  At that last party, she was being a good girl in her red silk gown, showing off for the crowd how lucky Zayid was, when a stout man approached. Both the girl at her feet and the one sitting by her head leaned forward, trying to seduce the portly guy. No one was in the mood for a fight to break out.

  But this asshole paid no mind to the other two women and strode directly to the side of the chaise, grabbing Lynx by the hand and pulling her to her feet.

  “Why, hello there, you dark piece of meat.”

  “Please let me go.” She spoke quietly, keeping her eyes down while trying to get a glimpse of where Zayid was. He would go ape-shit if this fat fuck didn’t move along.

  “No way, baby doll. I was told I was allowed to sample the merchandise, and I want to take you back to a room,” he said, the stench of alcohol and pot oozing in equal measure from his breath and his pores.

  Lynx was trying not to gag when a member of the security detail came up from behind them. The big bald dude with rippling muscles in an all-black suit stepped close and lowered his voice, yet still maintained his menace.

  “Remove your hands from the lady.”

  Smoothing a clammy hand all along her arm, the fat man didn’t even glance his way. “Why?”

  “Because she’s off-limits.”

  “No fucking way,” the fat man scoffed, and the bodyguard grabbed his arm.

  “What in hell is going on here?”

  Zayid approached from the other side of the room, his accent coming through stronger in his amazement. Lynx wasn’t sure if it was because someone had the gall to bother her, or that someone disturbed his other little rendezvous across the room.

  The bodyguard tightened his grip on the fat man’s arm. “I was just asking this gentleman to move along and remove his hands from Lincoln.”

  Zayid glared at the man. “I would do what he says. Lincoln is not for anyone but me. That is my seat,” he said, pointing toward his large gold encrusted throne, and then gestured to Lynx. “And this is one of my personal women.”

  Tamping down a wave of disgust at the thought of being someone’s property, Lynx stood and smiled like a pageant winner. She almost started waving her hand in the air as if she were sitting on the edge of a convertible in a parade wearing a sash and a crown.

  The bodyguard dragged the fat dude out, and later escorted Zayid and Lynx to a private airstrip where they departed to fly to London. In the back of the plane, Zayid blindfolded his prize girl before roughly taking her from behind.

  The heavy scrap of fabric caught unwanted tears as Lynx came hard despite not wanting to give in to the sensations crashing through her body. Zayid knew where to flick and pinch, and within a matter of moments, she was squirming and panting. Her braids laid long and heavy on her back while her hands remained trapped—she wanted to rip her hair out by the roots, but her hands were stuck underneath Zayid’s heavy torso and her own weight.

  “Who is in charge?” he yelled as he pumped himself furiously into her most private spot.

  “You, Zayid. You,” Lynx answered dutifully.

  Slapping her ass, he pumped harder until he pulled out and emptied himself all over her lower back and ass crack, marking her. Smearing her with his dirtiness. Labeling her with shame—if it were possible to wear any more.

  She couldn’t wait to run and replace his marking with a more permanent one. The tattoo.

  TONIGHT, LYNX let out all her fear and apprehension on a long exhale as they approached where the gathering was already in full swing. It was late, close to midnight, but she’d lost all sense of day and night shortly after arriving here. She spent more time awake when it was dark than light.

  Almost at the party, Zayid stopped and pushed Lynx up against a wall. The cold stone pressed into her bare back as he said, “Don’t be encouraging tonight, Lincoln. Remember who owns you? Me. It was I who took you to London last month, and Hong Kong the month before that. Only I fill your holes. Do you know what I mean, my beauty?”

  “Yes, Zayid, I know,” Lynx said, lifting her gaze to meet his, something she didn’t often dare do, but she needed a favor from him tonight. “It is you, Zayid, who I belong to. Only you.”

  “Good. Now, let’s go have fun. And be ready to go down the hall to my private quarters later. I’m feeling very energetic, my beauty.” He ended the conversation by running his palm over the side of her breast and sliding his slobbery tongue along her ear.

  She waited until they were walking again to allow the cringe to exit her body.

  I WAS a little late getting to the club, so I went straight to the back bar where Carson was waiting. He’d arrived late that afternoon, but I’d been moving Chantilly and her daughter into Asher’s house.

  The fair-skinned tall drink of water whose real name was Lisa was finally safe. She’d kept offering to pay me rent, and the whole affair took longer than I expected, but was worth it. Now Lisa and her beautiful blue-eyed daughter were set up in a mansion worth more than she’d ever make in a lifetime, and I was late for my meeting with Carson, but I didn’t need another missing person on my conscience.

  “Hey, man,” I said, slapping Carson on the back.

  He stood up and pulled me in for a bro hug before returning to his Scotch.

  Lifting my chin to the bar back, I said, “I’ll have what he’s having.”

  “Like what you did with the space down here.” Carson smirked, his gaze wandering the club’s lilac decor.

  “Shut up. You probably spend as much time in strip clubs as I do. Besides, your wife did all this purple shit.”

  “How you doing, man,” he asked while we waited for my drink, his brown eyes laser focused on me. He was older than me—over a decade—and I took in the hint of gray in his beard, the laugh lines and slight crow’s feet. All evidence he was living life, and doing it while smiling.

  “Not good, bro,” I answered honestly, staring down at my basketball shoes.

  Silence hung between us. Carson wasn’t Asher. He might be as bossy and protective with his lady and kids, but Carson was different. Schooled in real-world shit, well-educated, and a decorated federal agent, he was calmer, cooler, more pragmatic than Ash. He was the right person to ask for help on this. Asher would have already lost his shit, ridden his bike over to Bruno’s, and opened up fire—all before hiring some mercenaries to find the people keeping Lynx.

  “You got to have a clear head, Mike,” Carson said, interrupting my thoughts. “Getting yourself all tied up in emotion is gonna fuck everything up. Like when I saw Lila’s ex drag her into that building, intending to rape her, I had to wait and go in at the right moment. It was hell for me, but my patience got that piece of shit locked up behind bars forever.” He ran his hand through his hair and released a long breath. “More important than that, I got Lila back safely.”

  “I feel you, man, but this shit is fucked up.” I tossed back my drink. “Really fucked up. How the hell did Lynx get involved with a sex ring? And why? For fuck’s sake, why?” I tamped down the urge to slam my fist on the bar, shoving it deep inside where it formed a knot from all the tension.

  “We don’t
have those answers. If we did, we’d have Lynx. But we’re going to get her, you hear me?” He clamped a hand on my shoulder and shook it.

  My head bobbing with the movement, I barely heard him over the hip-hop blaring in the background, and the DJ announcing the next girls to take the stage. My mind was a million miles away from the Wave.

  “How the hell we gonna do that?” I’d been on my own since I was a teen. I was used to solving shit solo, and I didn’t like feeling helpless.

  “Leave that to me, tough guy,” Carson said matter-of-factly. When I stared at the floor, the deep mahogany hardwood planks eating up my panic, he tilted his chin toward the main stage, changing the subject so I wouldn’t have time to wallow in my fear. “You got a sweet thing going on here.”

  Dragging my head out of my ass, I scanned the club. “Yeah, we’re doing well. Way in the black, just like Lila over in LA. Asher may not know much, but the ass knows strip clubs. He’s got the formula fucking down.”

  “Think you do too, buddy. You got more stages down here, and I saw the long line of people behind the red rope, waiting to get in here. Oh, and I also know about the hotel, my man. You know Lila can’t keep that shit bottled up,” he said, smirking.

  I shrugged. “Cat’s out of the bag now that Nat knows. We broke ground and the foundation is in. That shit is happening.”

  Carson’s gaze moved back to the stage. “That the one you were sleeping with?” he asked, nodding toward Marta.

  “Yeah. I’m stupid, man,” I said, running my fingers through my hair. It was growing out. Instead of my usual soft spikes, I was looking more like a shaggy surfer. I’d been so busy moving Chantilly, managing the club, meeting on the hotel, and obsessing over Lynx, I hadn’t been in for my regular buzz, another reminder of how even the little things didn’t matter anymore.

  “Nah, you’re just a man.” Carson shook his head and eyed me. “But good thing you put an end to it, because that woman is crazy for you. She’s giving you a private dance in a room full of ready-to-go spectators.”